Chapter XIV. In Washington

The Guns of Bull Run

by Joseph A. Altsheler

A quarter of a mile from the forest, the wood ascended
considerably, throwing him into relief. He felt some shivers here,
as he did not know who might be watching him. Field glasses were
ugly things when a man was trying to hide. He glanced at the little
group that he had seen on the hill, and he noticed now that the
officer with the glasses was looking at him. But Harry was a long
distance away, and he had the courage and prudence of mind to keep
from falling into a panic. He did not believe that they could tell
the color of his uniform at that range, but if he whipped his horse
into a gallop, pursuit would certainly come from somewhere.

He rode slowly on, letting his figure sway negligently, and he
did not look back again at the group on the hill, where the officer
was watching him. But he looked from side to side, fearing that
horsemen in blue might appear galloping across the fields. It was a
supreme test of nerve and will. More than once he felt an almost
irresistible temptation to lash his horse and gallop for the wood as
hard as he could. That wood seemed wonderfully deep and dark, fit to
hide any fugitive. But it had acquired an extraordinary habit of
moving further and further away. He had to exert his will so hard
that his hand fairly trembled on his bridle rein. Yet he remained
master of himself, and went on sitting the saddle in the slouchy
attitude that he had adopted when he knew himself to be observed.

The wood was only three or four hundred yards away, when far to
his left he saw several horsemen appear on a slope, and he was quite
sure that their uniforms were blue. The distance to the wood was now
so short that the temptation to gallop was powerful, but he still
resisted. Pride, too, helped him and he did not increase the pace of
his horse a particle. He saw the dark, cool shadow very near now,
and he thought he heard one of the new horsemen on his left shout to
him. But he would not look around. Preserving appearances to the
last, he rode into the forest, and its heavy shadows enveloped
him.

He stopped a moment under the trees and wiped the perspiration
from his forehead. He was also seized with a violent fit of
trembling, but it was over in a half minute, and then turning his
horse from the path he rode into the densest part of the forest.

Harry felt an immense relief. He knew that he might be
followed, but he did not consider it probable. It was more than
likely that he passed for some countryman riding homeward. Martial
law had not yet covered all the hills with a network of iron rules.
So he rode on boldly, and he noticed with satisfaction that the
forest seemed to be extensive and dense. Night, heavy with clouds,
was coming, too, and soon he would be so well hidden that only chance
would enable an enemy to find him.

In a half hour he stopped and took his bearings as best he
could. It seemed to be a wild bit of country. He judged that it was
ground cropped too much in early times, and left to grow into
wilderness again. He was not likely to find anything in it save a hut
or two of charcoal burners. It was a lonely region, very desolate
now, with the night birds calling. The clouds grew heavier and he
would have been glad of shelter, but he put down the wish, recalling
to himself with a sort of fierceness that he was a soldier and must
scorn such things. Moreover, it behooved him to make most of his
journey in the night, and this forest, which ran almost to
Washington, seemed to be provided for his approach.

He had fixed the direction of Washington firmly in his mind, and
having a good idea of location, he kept his horse going at a good
walk toward his destination. As his eyes, naturally strong, grew
used to the forest, and his horse was sure of foot, they were able to
go through the bushes without much trouble. He stopped at intervals
to listen for a possible enemy--or friend--but heard nothing except
the ordinary sounds of the forest.

By and by a wind rose and blew all the clouds away. A shining
moon and a multitude of brilliant stars sprang out. Just then Harry
came to a hillock, clear of trees, with the ground dipping down
beyond. He rode to the highest point of the hillock and looked
toward the east into a vast open world, lighted by the moon and
stars. Off there just under the horizon he caught a gleam of white
and he knew instinctively what it was. It was the dome of the
Capitol in that city which was now the capital of the North alone.
It was miles away, but he saw it and his heart thrilled. He forgot,
for the moment, that by his own choice it was no longer his own.

Harry sat on his horse and looked a long time at that far white
glow, deep down under the horizon. There was the capital of his own
country, the real capital. Somehow he could not divest himself of
that idea, and he looked until mists and vapors began to float up
from the lowlands, and the white gleam was lost behind them. Then he
rode on slowly and thoughtfully, trying to think of a plan that would
bring rich rewards for the cause for which he was going to fight.

He had discovered something already. He had seen the bayonets
of a regiment marching to join the Northern army, and he had no doubt
that he would see others. Perhaps they would consider themselves
strong enough in a day or two to attack. It was for him to learn.
He was back in the forest and he now turned his course more toward
the east. By dawn he would be well in the rear of the Northern army,
and he must judge then how to act.

But all his calculations were upset by a very simple thing, one
of Nature's commonest occurrences--rain. The heavy clouds that had
gathered early in the night were gone away merely for a time. Now
they came back in battalions, heavier and more numerous than ever.
The shining moon and the brilliant stars were blotted out as if they
had never been. A strong wind moaned and a cold rain came pouring
into his face. The blanket that he carried on his saddle, and which
he now wrapped around him, could not protect him. The fierce rain
drove through it and he was soaked and shivering. The darkness, too,
was so great that he could see only a few yards before him, and he
let the horse take his course.

Harry thought grimly that he was indeed well hidden in the
forest. He was so well hidden that he was lost even to himself. In
all that darkness and rain he could not retain the sense of
direction, and he had no idea where he was. He rambled about for
hours, now and then trying to find shelter behind massive tree
trunks, and, after every failure, going on in the direction in which
he thought Washington lay. His shivering became so strong that he
was afraid it would turn into a real chill, and he resolved to seek a
roof, if the forest should hold such a thing.

It was nearly dawn when he saw dimly the outlines of a cabin
standing in a tiny clearing. He believed it to be the hut of a
charcoal burner, and he was resolved to take any risk for the sake of
its roof. He dismounted and beat heavily upon the door with the butt
of a pistol. The answer was so long in coming that he began to
believe the hut was empty, which would serve his purpose best of all,
but at last a voice, thick with sleep, called: "Who's there?"

"I'm lost and I need shelter," Harry replied.

"Wait a minute," returned the voice.

Harry, despite the beat of the rain, heard a shuffling inside,
and then, through a crack in the door, he saw a light spring up. He
hoped the owner of the voice would hurry. The rain seemed to be
beating harder than ever upon him and the cold was in his bones.
Then the door was thrown back suddenly and an uncommonly sharp voice
shouted:

"Drop the reins! Throw up your hands an' walk in, where I kin
see what you are!"

Harry found himself looking into the muzzle of an old-fashioned
long-barreled rifle. But the hammer was cocked, and it was held by a
pair of large, calloused, and steady hands, belonging to a tall, thin
man with powerful shoulders and a bearded face.

There was no help for it. The boy dropped the reins, raised his
hands over his head and walked into the hut, where the rain at least
did not reach him. It was a rude place of a single room, with a
fire-place at one end, a bed in a corner, a small pine table on which
a candle burned, and clothing and dried herbs hanging from hooks on
the wall. The man wore only a shirt and trousers, and he looked
unkempt and wild, but he was a resolute figure.

"Stand over thar, close to the light, whar I kin see you," he
said.

Harry moved over, and the muzzle of the rifle followed him. The
man could look down the sights of his rifle and at the same time
examine his visitor, which he did with thoroughness.

"Now, then, Johnny Reb," he said, "what are you doin' here this
time o' night an' in such weather as this, wakin' honest citizens out
o' their beds?"

"Nothing but stand before the muzzle of your rifle."

The man grinned. The answer seemed to appeal to him, and he
lowered the weapon, although he did not relax his watchfulness.

"I got the drop on you, Johnny Reb; you're boun' to admit that,"
he said. "You didn't ketch Seth Perkins nappin'."

"I admit it. But why do you call me Johnny Reb?"

"Because that's what you are. You can't tell much about the
color of a man's coat after it's been through sech a big rain, but I
know yourn is gray. I ain't takin' no part in this war. They've got
to fight it as best they kin without me. I'm jest an innercent
charcoal burner, 'bout the most innercent that ever lived, I guess,
but atween you an' me, Johnny Reb, my feelin's lean the way my state,
Old Virginny, leans, that is, to the South, which I reckon is lucky
fur you."

Harry saw that the man had blue eyes and he saw, too, that they
were twinkling. He knew with infallible instinct that he was honest
and truthful.

"It's true," he said. "I'm a Southern soldier, and I'm in your
hands."

"I see that you trust me, an' I think I kin trust you. Jest you
wait 'til I put that hoss o' yourn in the lean-to behind the
cabin."

He darted out of the door and returned in a minute shaking the
water from his body.

"That hoss feels better already," he said, "an' you will, too,
soon. Now, I shet this door, then I kindle up the fire ag'in, then
you take off your clothes an' put them an' yo'self afore the blaze.
In time you an' your clothes are all dry."

The man's manner was all kindness, and the poor little cabin had
become a palace. He blew at the coals, threw on dry pine knots, and
in a few minutes the flames roared up the chimney.

Harry took off his wet clothing, hung it on two cane chairs
before the fire and then proceeded to roast himself. Warmth poured
back into his body and the cold left his bones. Despite his
remonstrances, Perkins took a pot out of his cupboard and made
coffee. Harry drank two cups of it, and he knew now that the danger
of chill, to be followed by fever, was gone.

"Mr. Perkins," he said at length, "you are an angel."

Perkins laughed.

"Mebbe I air," he said, "but I 'low I don't look like one.
Guess ef I went up an' tried to j'in the real angels Gabriel would
say, 'Go back, Seth Perkins, an' improve yo'self fur four or five
thousand years afore you try to keep comp'ny like ours.' But now,
Johnny Reb, sence you're feelin' a heap better you might tell what
you wuz tryin' to do, prowlin' roun' in these woods at sech a
time."

"I meant to go behind the Yankee army, see what reinforcements
were coming up, find out their plans, if I could, and report to our
general."

Perkins whistled softly.

"Say," he said, "you look like a boy o' sense. What are you
wastin' your time in little things fur? Couldn't you find somethin'
bigger an' a heap more dangerous that would stir you up an' give you
action?"

Harry laughed.

"I was set to do this task, Mr. Perkins," he said, "and I mean
to do it."

"That shows good sperrit, but ef I wuz set to do it I wouldn't.
Do you know whar you are an' what's around you, Johnny Reb?"

"No, I don't."

"Wa'al, you're right inside o' the Union lines. The armies o'
Patterson an' McDowell hem in all this forest, an' I reckon mebbe it
wuz a good thing fur you that the storm came up an' you got past in
it. Wuz you expectin', Johnny Reb, to ride right into the Yankee
pickets with that Confedrit uniform on?"

"I don't know exactly what I intended to do. I meant to see in
the morning. I didn't know I was so far inside their lines."

"You know it now, an' if you're boun' to do what you say you're
settin' out to do, then you've got to change clothes. Here, I'll
take these an' hide 'em."

He snatched Harry's uniform from the chair, ran up a ladder into
a little room under the eaves, and returned with some rough garments
under his arm.

"These are my Sunday clothes," he said. "You're pow'ful big fur
your years, an' they'll come purty nigh fittin' you. Leastways,
they'll fit well enough fur sech times ez these. Now you wear 'em,
ef you put any value on your life."

Harry hesitated. He wished to go as a scout, and not as a spy.
Clothes could not change a man, but they could change his standing.
Yet the words of Perkins were obviously true. But he would not go
back. He must do his task.

"I'll take your clothes on one condition, Mr. Perkins," he said,
"you must let me pay for them."

"Will it make you feel better to do so?"

"A great deal better."

"All right, then."

Harry took from his saddle bags the purse which he had removed
from his coat pocket when he undressed, and handed a ten dollar gold
piece to the charcoal burner.

"What is it?" asked the charcoal burner.

"A gold eagle, ten dollars."

"I've heard of 'em, but it's the first I've ever seed. I'm
bound to say I regard that shinin' coin with a pow'ful sight o'
respeck. But if I take it I'm makin' three dollars. Them clothes o'
mine jest cost seven dollars an' I've wore 'em four times."

"Count the three dollars in for shelter and gratitude and
remember, you've made your promise."

Perkins took the coin, bit it, pitched it up two or three times,
catching it as it fell, and then put it upon the hearth, where the
blaze could gleam upon it.

"It's shorely a shiner," he said, "an' bein' that it's the first
I've ever had, I reckon I'll take good care of it. Wait a
minute."

He picked up the coin again, ran up the ladder into the dark
eaves of the house, and came back without it.

"Now, Johnny Reb," he said, "put on my clothes and see how you
feel."

Harry donned the uncouth garb, which fitted fairly well after he
had rolled up the trousers a little.

"You'd pass for a farmer," said Perkins. "I fed your hoss when
I put him up, an' as soon as the rain's over you kin start ag'in, a
sight safer than you wuz when you wore that uniform. Ef you come
back this way ag'in I'll give it to you. Now, you'd better take a
nap. I'll call you when the rain stops."

Harry felt that he had indeed fallen into the hands of a friend,
and stretching himself on a pallet which the charcoal burner spread
in front of the fire, he soon fell asleep. He awoke when Perkins
shook his shoulder and found that it was dawn.

"The rain's stopped, day's come an' I guess you'd better be
goin'" said the man. "I've got breakfast ready for you, an' I hope,
boy, that you'll get through with a whole skin. I said that both
sides would have to fight this war without my help, but I don't mind
givin' a boy a hand when he needs it."

Harry did not say much, but he was deeply grateful. After
breakfast he mounted his horse, received careful directions from
Perkins and rode toward Washington. The whole forest was fresh and
green after its heavy bath, and birds, rejoicing in the morning, sang
in every bush. Harry's elation returned. Clothes impart a certain
quality, and, dressed in a charcoal burner's Sunday best, he began to
bear himself like one. He rode in a slouchy manner, and he
transferred the pistols from his belt to the large inside pockets of
his new coat. As he passed in an hour from the forest into a rolling
open country, he saw that Perkins had advised him wisely. Dressed in
the Confederate uniform he would certainly have had trouble before he
made the first mile.

He saw the camps of troops both to right and left and he knew
that these were the flank of the Northern army. Then from the crest
of another hill he caught his second view of Washington. The gleam
from the dome of the Capitol was much more vivid now, and he saw
other white buildings amid the foliage. Since he had become
technically a spy through the mere force of circumstances, Harry took
a daring resolve. He would enter Washington itself. They were all
one people, Yanks and Johnny Rebs, and no one could possibly know
that he was from the Southern army. Only one question bothered him.
He did not know what to do with the horse.

But he rode briskly ahead, trusting that the problem of the
horse would solve itself, and, as he turned a field, several men in
blue uniforms rode forward and ordered him to halt. Harry obeyed
promptly.

"Where are you going?" asked the leading man, a minor
officer.

"To Washin'ton," replied the boy in the uncouth language that he
thought fitted his role.

"And what are you going to Washington for?"

"To sell this hoss," replied Harry, on the impulse of the
moment. "I raised him myself, but he's too fine fur me to ride,
specially when hosses are bringin' sech good prices."

"He is a fine animal," said the officer, looking at him
longingly. "Do you want to sell him now?"

Harry shook his head.

"No," he replied. "I'm goin' to make one o' them big bugs in
Washin'ton pay fur him an' pay fur him good."

The officer laughed.

"You're not such a simpleton as you look," he said. "You're
right. They'll pay you more for him in the capital than I could.
Ride on. They may pass you over Long Bridge or they may not. That
part of it is not my business."

Harry went forward at a trot, glad enough to leave such
dangerous company behind. But he saw that he was now in the very
thick of mighty risks. He would encounter a menace at every turn.
Had he realized fully the character of his undertaking when he was in
the charcoal burner's hut he would have hesitated long. Now, there
was nothing to do but go ahead and take his fate, whatever it might
be.

Yet his tale of wishing to sell a horse served him well. After
a few questions, it passed him by a half dozen interruptions, and he
became so bold that he stopped and bought food for his noon-day meal
at a little wayside tavern kept by a woman. Three or four countrymen
were lounging about and all of them were gossips. But Harry found it
worth while to listen to their gossip. It was their business to
carry vegetables and other provisions into Washington for sale and
they picked up much news. They said that the Northern government was
pushing all its troops to the front. All the politicians and writers
in Washington were clamoring for a battle. One blow and "Jeff Davis
and Secession" would be smashed to atoms. Harry's young blood flamed
at the contemptuous words, but he could not afford to show any
resentment. Yet this was valuable information. He could confirm
Beauregard's belief that an attack would soon be made in great
force.

When Harry left them he turned again to the left, as he saw a
stretch of country rolling and apparently wooded lying in that
direction. Once, when a young boy, he had come to Washington with
his father for a stay of several weeks, and he had a fair
acquaintance with the region about the capital. He knew that
forested hills lay ahead of him and beyond them the Potomac.

In another hour he was in the hills, which he found without
people. Through every opening in the leaves he saw Washington and he
could also discern long lines of redoubts on the Virginia side of the
river.

Late in the afternoon he came to a small, abandoned log cabin.
He inferred that its owner had moved away because of the war. As
nearly as he could judge it had not been occupied for several weeks.
Back of it was a small meadow enclosed with a rail fence, but
everything else was deep woods. He turned his horse into the meadow
and left his saddle, bridle and saddle blanket in the house. He
might not find anything when he returned, but he must take the
risk.

Then he set off at a brisk pace through the woods, which opened
out a little after dusk, and disclosed a great pillared white house,
with surrounding outbuildings. He knew at once that this was
Arlington, the home of one of the Southern generals, Lee, of whom he
had heard his father speak well.

But he also saw, despite the dusk, blue uniforms and the gleam
of bayonets. And as he looked he saw, too, earthworks and the signs
that many men were present. He lay long among the bushes until the
night thickened and darkened and he resolved to inspect the
earthworks thoroughly. No very strict watch seemed to be kept, and,
in truth, it did not seem to be needed here so near to Washington,
and so far away from the Southern army.

Before ten o'clock everything settled into quiet, and he
cautiously climbed a great beech which was in full and deep foliage.
The boughs were so many and the leaves so dense that one standing
directly under him could not have seen him. But he went up as far as
he could go, and, crouched there, made a comprehensive survey.

It was a fine moonlight night and he saw the earthworks
stretching for a long distance, thorough and impregnable to anything
except a great army. Beyond that was a silver band which was the
Potomac, and beyond the river were the clustered roofs which were
Washington. But he turned his eyes back to the earthworks, and he
tried to fasten firmly in his mind their number and location. This,
too, would be important news, most welcome to Beauregard.

The boy's elation grew. They had given him a delicate and
dangerous task, but he was doing it. He had overcome every obstacle
so far, and he would overcome them to the end. He was bound to enter
that Washington which, in the distance, seemed to lie in such a close
cluster.

He felt that he had lingered long enough at Arlington, and,
descending, he made a great curve around the earthworks, coming to
the river north of Arlington. His next problem was the passage of
the Potomac. He did not dare to try Long Bridge, which he knew would
be guarded strictly, but he thought he might find some boatman who
would take him over. As the capital was so crowded, the farmers were
continually crossing with loads of provisions, and now that an
uncommonly hot July had come the night would be a favorite time for
the passage.

A search up and down the bank brought its reward. A Virginian,
who said his name was Grimes, had a heavy boat filled with
vegetables, and Harry was welcome as a helper.

"It's a dollar for you," said Grimes, who did not trouble to ask
the boy his name, "an' here are your oars."

The two, pulling strongly, shot the boat out into the stream,
and then rowed in a diagonal line for the city, which rose up
brilliant and great in the moonlight. Other boats were in the river,
but they paid no attention to the barge, loaded with produce, and
rowed by two innocent countrymen. They soon reached the Washington
shore, and Grimes handed Harry a silver dollar.

"You're a strong young fellow," he said, "an' I guess you've
earned the money. My farm is only four miles up the river an' thar's
goin' to be a big market for all I kin raise. I need a good han' to
help me work it. How'd you like to come with me an' take a good job,
while them that don't know no better go ahead an' do the
fightin'?"

"Thank you for your offer," replied Harry, "but I've got
business to attend to in Washington."

He slipped the dollar into his pocket, because he had earned it
honestly, and entered Washington, just as the rising sun began to
gild domes and roofs. Coming from the boat, his appearance aroused
no suspicion. People were pouring into Washington then as they were
pouring into the Confederate capital at Richmond. One dressed as he,
and looking as he, could enter or depart almost as he pleased,
despite the ring of fortifications.

Up went the sun, and the full day came, extremely hot and clear.
Harry turned into a little restaurant, and spent half of his
well-earned dollar for breakfast. Neither proprietor nor waiter gave
him more than a casual glance. Evidently they were used to serving
countrymen. Harry, feeling refreshed and strong again, paid for his
food and went outside.

The streets were thronged. He had expected nothing else, but
there was a great air of excitement and expectancy as if something
important were going to happen.

"What is it?" asked Harry of a man beside him.

"Don't you know what day this is?" asked the man.

"I've forgot," replied the boy in the slouchy speech and
intonation of the hills. "I jest came in with dad this mornin',
bringin' a wagon load of fresh vegetables."

"You look as foolish as you talk," said the man scornfully.
"This is the Fourth of July, and the special session of Congress
called by President Lincoln is to meet this morning and decide how to
give the rebels the thrashing they need."

"I did hear somethin' about that," replied Harry, "but workin'
in the field I furgot all about it. I 'low I'll stroll that way."

He drifted on with the crowd toward the Capitol, which rose
nobler and more imposing than ever, a great marble building, gleaming
white in the sunshine. Harry's heart throbbed. He could not yet
dissociate himself from the idea that he, as one of the nation, was a
part owner of the Capitol. But, forgetting all danger, he persisted
in his errand. A great event was about to occur, and he intended to
see it.

There were soldiers everywhere. The streets blazed with
uniforms, but the people were allowed to gather about the Capitol and
many also entered. A friendly sentinel passed Harry, who stood for a
few moments in the rotunda. He was careful to keep near other
spectators, in order that he might not attract attention to
himself.

All things that he saw cut sharply into his sensitive and eager
mind. It was in truth an extraordinary situation for one who had come
as he had come, and he waited, calm of face, but with every pulse
beating. The comments of the other spectators told him who the famous
men were as they entered. Here were Cameron and Wade of the lowering
brows. There passed Taney, the venerable Chief Justice, and then dry
and quiet Hamlin, the Vice-President, on his way to preside over the
Senate, went by. A tall and magnificent figure in a general's
uniform next attracted Harry's attention. He was an old man, but he
held himself very erect and his head was crowned with splendid snowy
hair.

"Old Fuss and Feathers," said a man near Harry, and the boy knew
that this was General Scott, the Virginian, who had led the famous
and victorious march into the City of Mexico, and who was now in
name, but in name only, commander of the Northern army. His father
had served under him in those memorable battles and Harry looked at
him with a certain veneration, as the old man passed on and
disappeared in another room. Then came more, some famous and others
destined to be so.

The atmosphere of the great building was surcharged. Harry and
his comrades had heard that the North was discouraged, that the
people would not fight, that they would "let the erring sisters go in
peace." It did not seem so to him here. The talk was all of war and
of invading the South, and he seemed to feel a tenacious spirit
behind it.

He managed to secure entrance to the lobbies of both Senate and
House, and he listened for a while to the debates. He discovered the
same spirit there. He felt that he had a right to report not only on
the forts of Washington and the movements of brigades, but also on
the temper in the North. Resolution and tenacity, he now saw, were
worth as much as cannon balls.

Harry did not leave the Capitol until the middle of the
afternoon, when he drifted back to the restaurant at which he had
obtained his breakfast, where he spent the other half of the dollar
for luncheon. Then he resolved to escape from Washington that night.
He had picked up by casual talk and observation together a fair
knowledge of Washington's defenses. Above all he had learned that
the North was pouring troops in an unbroken stream into the capital,
and that the great advance on the line of Bull Run would take place
very soon. He could scarcely expect to achieve more; he had already
surpassed his hopes, and it was surely time to go.

He left the restaurant. The streets were still crowded, and he
saw standing at the nearest corner a figure that seemed familiar. He
took a long look, and then he was shaken with alarm. It was Shepard.
He had seen him under such tense conditions that he could never
forget the man. The turn of his shoulders, the movement of his
head--all were familiar. And Harry had a great respect for the
keenness and intelligence of Shepard. He could not forget how
Shepard had talked to him that night in Montgomery. There was
something uncanny about the man, and he had a sudden conviction that
Shepard had seen him long since and was watching him. He thrust his
hands into his capacious pockets. The pistols were still there, and
he resolved that he would use them if need be.

He went at first toward the Potomac, and he did not look back
for a long time, rambling about the streets in a manner apparently
aimless. Now and then a quiver ran down his back, and he knew it was
due to the mental fear that Shepard was pursuing. When he did look
back at last he did not see him, and he felt immediate elation. It
would not be long now until dark, and then he would make his escape
across the river.

Time was slow, but it could not keep darkness back forever, and,
as soon as it had come fully, he turned toward the north. Southern
troops would not be looked for there, and egress would be easier in
that direction. He passed on without interruption and soon was in the
suburbs, which were then so shabby. Then he looked back, and cold
fear plucked at the roots of his hair. A man was following him, and
he could tell even in the dim light that it was Shepard.

A shudder shook him now. A rope was the fate for a spy. But he
recovered himself and walked on faster than ever. The cabins thinned
away, and he saw before him bushes. His keen hearing brought to him
the soft sound of the pursuing footsteps. Now he took his
resolution. There were few games at which two could not play.

He passed between two bushes, came around and returned to the
open. But he returned with one of the pistols cocked and levelled,
his finger on the trigger. Shepard, pursuing swiftly, walked almost
against the muzzle, and Harry laughed softly.

"Well, Mr. Shepard," he said, "you've followed me well, but as
I've no mind to be hung for a spy or anything else, I must ask you to
go back."

"You have the advantage at present, it is true," said Shepard,
"but what makes you think I was going to shoot at you or have you
seized?"

"Isn't it what one would naturally expect?"

"Yes--perhaps. But I could have given the alarm while you were
still in the city. I speak the truth when I say I do not know just
what I had in mind. But at all events the tables are turned. You
hold me at the pistol's muzzle and I admit it."

He smiled and the boy could not keep from liking him.

"Mr. Shepard," said Harry, "what you told me at Montgomery was
true. We of the South did not realize the numbers, power and spirit
of the North. I know now the truth of what you told me, but, on the
other hand, you of the North do not realize the fire, courage and
devotion of the South."

"I understand it, but I'm afraid that not many of our people do
so. Suppose we call it quits once more. Let this be Montgomery over
again. You do not want to shoot me here any more than I wanted to
shoot you down there."

"I admit that also," said Harry.

"Then you are safe from me, if I'm safe from you."

"Agreed," said Harry, as he lowered the weapon.

"Good-bye," said Shepard.

"Good-bye."

But they did not offer to shake hands. Each turned his back on
the other, and, when Harry stopped in the bushes, he saw only the dim
outlines of Washington. At midnight he found a colored man who, for
pay, rowed him across the Potomac. At dawn he found his horse
peacefully grazing in the meadow, and at the next dawn he was once
more within the southern lines.