28 One Woman’s Way

A week passed and I could learn nothing of Varian’s intentions, although Major Tyler came to see me often, and the guards, who were friendly enough, talked freely. Blanchard was my immediate jailer, but he said little, merely asking me once if I had any complaint to make of bad treatment. Varian did not come again, nor did Elinor. The major told me that she had asked the privilege more than once, but it was refused. Her aunt was with her constantly and kept watch on all her movements.

A dark and rainy day came at last. I seemed to be unnoticed, and through the hole in the logs which served as the window of my apartment I saw much bustle in the camp. Major Tyler visited me in the course of the afternoon and chattered after his usual lively and inconsequential fashion. He had been talking to Varian that morning, he said, and the general spoke of moving the camp in a few days to a fortified and stronger place.

“Do you know,” said the major, “he told me that he would be glad to make the change, and one of his reasons was his ability to keep a better guard there over you, as he is much afraid that you may escape from this place. He must think that you are a spy, Henry, and that they can get valuable information out of you in Richmond when they take you there, or he wouldn’t be so anxious to hold you. As for myself, I’d be glad to see you get away.”

I thanked the major for his good wishes, and presently he left me. I was confirmed again, by his words, in my purpose to escape at all hazards, and I saw that the attempt must not be delayed. I might not secure an opportunity elsewhere.

I was left alone throughout the remainder of the afternoon. A guard brought my supper about dusk, and when I had eaten it I looked again through the hole between the logs. The wind was blowing, a fine rain was falling, and the night was dark. All the conditions were favourable, and I was thrilled by a feeling of exultation. I promised myself that if I escaped from Varian now—and I was sure that I would—I should take care not to fall into his hands again.

I waited one hour, two, three, and more, until all the noises died in the camp, and then I tried the lock. The key had been turned, but it was an ordinary plate lock, screwed on the inside of the door, and I was confident that a single kick of my boot delivered with all my might would knock it from its fastenings. But I preferred to wait at least an hour longer in order to make sure that all but the sentinels would be asleep, and I went back to my stool, where I sat waiting for the hour to pass.

And now a wonderful thing happened, which I must tell in the language of the chief actor, since no words of mine can describe the depths of a woman’s devotion, nor her willingness to make any sacrifice for those whom she loves. I knew little of its import while this scene was passing, and suspected nothing of its nature. The truth is told in an old letter written to my grandmother, and sent by her to me, which now, yellow and worn by many readings rather than by time, lies before me. I read it again for the thousandth time:

“Dearest Grandmother: You insist that I tell you the whole story of that terrible night, and, since you know a part, it is best now that you learn all. I had thought to keep it concealed forever, but I would rather you knew the truth than some wild distortion of it. Why I did it I do not know, but I think it was the result of a wild impulse and my fear for him. Indeed, after the idea came to me I did not have a chance to think. The time left was so short that I was in a fever. And then, dearest grandmother, you know that he was my husband, and I loved him with all my heart and soul, and I believe that if you had been in my place you would have done as I did.

“It was Major Tyler who told me of their foul and wicked plan. It was this old friend who did us a service that we can never repay. You know how he liked Henry, and still likes him, although they were on opposite sides in that terrible war. Varian and Blanchard misjudged him—it was Providence that made them commit the mistake—and about nightfall Blanchard said something before him that revealed to him all their plan and all their wickedness; he was far more acute than they thought, and he resolved that such a crime should not be done, if he could help it. He dared not ask leave to see Henry again, but as soon as he could get away from them he came to me. He wanted me to go at once to Varian and beg for Henry’s life, and I promised that I would go, although I did not intend to say what the good major wished me to say, as I knew how vain and idle such words would be.

“I found Varian in the parlour of the house which he had made his office, writing despatches, and I told him that I desired to see Henry. He was my husband, I said, and I wished to talk with him alone for a little while. I asked it not as a privilege, but as my right; and I said that if I were treated with such continued cruelty I would appeal to President Davis himself. I was not acting then, for as I spoke I thrilled with indignation against Varian and all his allies.

“He looked at me with one of the strangest looks that ever I saw on a man’s face. ‘When do you wish to see Mr. Kingsford,’ he asked; ‘to-morrow?’ ‘No,’ I replied, ‘to-night; now!’ ‘Very well,’ he said, ‘you can see him, since you insist upon it, and alone; but I fear that circumstances will make it the last time.’ I shivered; I understood his meaning, though he knew it not, but his words and the hidden threat in them only urged me on. You know, dearest grandmother, that with women, when we do a thing it is not so much a question of bravery, as men understand the word bravery, as it is of nervous excitement. And I knew of no other way.

“General Varian went with me to the door, and asked me if I would not have an escort and a light to the barn where Henry was imprisoned, as it was dark and raining. There was a strange tone in his voice, an accent as of sympathy or pity—was it for Henry, or for me?—but I said No; I was not city bred, and I did not mind a little rain, nor did I fear the darkness. I was not in a mood, I added, for any company save that of my husband, whom I had not seen in many days. He bowed his assent—his manner was most gentle; I am not able, grandmother, to read the motives of men, they seem so strange to me—and then I walked toward the barn. I saw him still standing in the doorway, the lantern that he had offered me held motionless in his hand, and his eyes following me. But I shuddered to see him watching me so, and I was glad when the path led around the shrubbery on the lawn and hid me from him.

“The wind was blowing, and I could hear it moaning among the hills like a human voice; it dashed the rain in my face, but the cool, wet touch strengthened me, without taking from me any of the fever in my veins that carried me on. I can forget no event of that terrible night. It was very dark; the barn itself was only a shapeless black mass in the darkness, but, knowing what they had prepared, my imagination gave me new eyes. I was sure that I saw Blanchard himself standing behind a rosebush, with his rifle in his hands. Henry had struck him down once for good cause, and Blanchard, who, I think, disliked everybody, unless Varian was an exception, hated most of all the man who gave him the blow.

“I was stopped near the barn by a sentinel with a lantern, but I showed him the order from Varian, and he went with me to the door, which he unlocked himself. While I was standing there, waiting to enter, I became weak from excitement and nervousness, but it was only momentary. I said to myself again that there was nothing else to do. I knew that Henry would attempt to escape that night, and the good major, prompted by Varian, and not dreaming in his innocence that he was used for such a purpose, had suggested it, and the night itself invited it. The lock on the door could be. broken easily, and Henry would take flight by the way that seemed most obvious, the way that they wished him to take, across the unoccupied space east of the barn and toward the hills, which on that side were less than half a mile away. You may ask me why I would not tell Henry to stay, and not to make the attempt, but I knew that after such a failure they would not spare him. I could save him only for the moment by such advice, and I clung to the way that I had chosen. You who are a woman yourself know how tenacious of our purpose we can be, weak as we seem.

“The guard opened the door, and after he shut it behind me when I entered I heard his retreating footsteps on the turf. There was a dim candle burning on the table, and Henry was sitting on a stool in the corner. He sprang up with a cry of surprise and delight, and the next moment I was clasped in his arms. How we women like to have some one stronger than ourselves to love and protect us!

“He asked me many questions: how I had been able to visit him, what was the news in the camp, what were my own plans, and I answered them all in the best way that I could. I know that my manner was excited and nervous, but he did not seem to notice it. Then he told me that he intended to escape that night; that he had tried the lock on the door, and he could break it; he was confident of escaping through the camp in the darkness and the rain, and while it was not likely that he could reach Northern territory, he was willing to surrender to some other Southern force, where he would not be the victim of a private revenge. He would secure an exchange, and then send for me; he knew that I would keep a brave heart, he said, and he would claim his wife, if he had to come to Richmond itself to get me.

“He asked me, too, if the sentinels outside seemed to be vigilant; and when I replied No, he said he would break from the barn within a half hour of my departure. Did I not think the opportunity was good? and I replied faintly, Yes. He said that he had already chosen his course; it was easy to do so, as it lay straight before him; he would run for the hills, which he could reach in a few minutes, and once there he would have no fear of recapture by Varian’s men.

“‘You must not go that way,’ I said, and I said it with such eagerness that he looked at me in surprise. ‘It is the most dangerous road,’ I continued with excited emphasis. ‘Some Northern skirmishers were seen on those hills to-day; they are supposed to be there even now, and Varian’s men are watching especially on that side for them.’ He seemed to be both pleased and convinced, and he replied: ‘ It is good news that you tell me; if those sharpshooters would only make an attack now, it would be much easier for me to escape while the firing is going on.’ And that put a thought in my head. ‘Oh, yes,’ I said, ‘it may occur at any moment, and if you hear it, break open the door and run. Be sure to go to the west, even if you have to dash among the soldiers’ tents to follow that course. Now, I am only a woman, Henry, and not a military genius, but I know I am right, and promise me that you will do as I ask you.’ I smiled at him, although I knew it was but the shadow of a smile. He put his arms around me and kissed me again, and said he would do just as I asked, and that I was the wisest and truest woman in the world. Then he took my hands in his, and looking into my eyes, said: ‘I do not know how I ever won you, but I have won you, and that is enough.’ Then I said that I must go. ‘I want a promise, too,’ he said, ‘and it is that you keep inside the brick walls if there should be any firing.’ I replied that I would do so, a promise for which I do not need to ask any forgiveness, and then I walked toward the door. But he stopped me and kissed me again. I was trembling all over, but he did not know why.

“‘For the last time,’ he said.

“‘For the last time,’ I repeated, but with another meaning.

“‘You are protected against the rain?’ he asked.

“‘Yes,’ I replied, ‘see my coat! one could take me for a soldier.’

“I had wrapped a great army overcoat of rubber around me, and I drew the cape of it over my head after the fashion of a cavalryman in rainy weather. ‘Could I not pass for a soldier?’ I asked, walking across the room with quite a military swagger.

“‘Yes, if you were not so handsome,’ he said—I merely give his own words; then he kissed me once more.

“‘This is really for the last time,’ he said.

“‘This is really for the last time,’ I repeated.

“I was upborne now by a great exaltation. The time for doubts had passed and the supreme moment was at hand. ‘Don’t forget,’ I repeated, ‘that if you hear the shots of the skirmishers the time for your flight has come.’ He replied that he was not in the slightest danger of forgetting such an important sound, and then I knocked on the door. The guard opened it, and when I stepped out, quickly closed it again behind me. He raised his lantern, looked at me, and then, laughing slightly, said:

“‘If you had been a little larger I would have taken you for a trooper. As it was, I had to look at you close, lady. I’ve heard tales about men slipping out of prison in their wives’ clothes and the guards all the time thinking they were women.’

“‘But you see that I am not Mr. Kingsford, do you not?’ I asked, echoing his laugh with one of my own.

“He offered to escort me back to the house, but I asked him if he would not let me carry the lantern. He demurred, but I insisted, giving various reasons at length, and flattering him too—you know that the American soldier is conquered easily only by a woman. When I appealed to his gallantry he handed me the lantern. I wanted to achieve time with all this talk, in order that Henry might think me back in the house before anything happened.

“We walked a few steps side by side, approaching the point where we would come into the view of the others, and then raising the lantern I dashed it into his face with all my might. I am not a weak woman, you know, and it was a cruel blow to one who had treated me kindly, but I was thinking of Henry just then. He uttered a loud, terrible cry, and fell stunned to the earth. I threw away the fragments of the lantern and instantly ran across the open space on the eastern side of the house and toward the hills, drawing my rubber coat closely around me as I ran.

“I fear that I could never have the spirit and courage to be a soldier, even if I were a man, and I am truly thankful that I am not one. My feverish nervousness and excitement became in those awful moments sheer terror, and I think that I must have run as a woman never ran before. Some one fired at me from the shelter of a bush before I had taken a dozen steps. I think that it was Blanchard himself, eager as he would be for the first shot. The bullet passed by my face. I felt the rush of the wind and heard the awful whistling sound that it made, and in my fright I scarcely felt the earth beneath my feet as I ran. More shots were fired—I do not know how many, but they seemed innumerable to me—and the bullets whistled all around me. I wondered why I was not wounded or killed, but I did not feel any bullet strike me. Then I remembered that soldiers were often shot mortally in battle and were unconscious of it at the moment, and I ran with all the strength that I could summon in order that I might carry out the plan which I had undertaken.

“They continued to fire at me, and they raised, too, a shout that the prisoner was escaping. I saw many lights flashing, the lights of lanterns, and of exploding gunpowder. I knew that Henry was a man of decision and undaunted courage, and I believed him now to be out of the barn and escaping in the other direction, while all the soldiers ran after me, sure that I was the prisoner. The belief gave me courage and hope, nor did I feel any weakness coming from a wound. I was sure now that I had not been hit, and then suddenly the love of life flamed up in me. I do not know why all of them missed me. Perhaps it was the haste, the confusion, and a darkness that exceeded the calculations of Blanchard and Varian.

“I was more than half-way to the hills, and I felt that I had passed the worst of that fearful gantlet. The hills were before me, a black and indistinct but welcome mass, and oh, how I longed to reach them! Henry himself would find me there and rescue me. They could have overtaken me if it had been daylight, but they became confused in the darkness, they mistook each other for me, and ceased to fire much, for fear of shooting their comrades.

“I ran into some bushes, and now I believed that I had escaped. They could scarcely find me in the woods and hills on such a dark night; but I had underrated the cunning of Blanchard and Varian. Upon some pretext or other they had placed two men in the bushes at the foot of the hill to shoot down Henry should he escape the rest; and when they heard me running, and the cries of the others that a prisoner was escaping, one of these men rose up before me.

“He lifted his rifle and aimed directly at my head. I saw his finger on the trigger, and I stopped quite still, unable to move from terror. I should have been killed then, grandmother, but at the last moment I remembered. It was an American soldier before me, and suddenly I threw the rubber coat off my head, and stood there gazing at him. He was not ten feet from me, and as he was looking along the barrel of his rifle into my face he knew me for what I was, a woman. He uttered a cry of surprise and instantly dropped the barrel of his gun. ‘Was I about to kill a woman!’ he exclaimed in a tone of horror. I sprang aside and ran on among the bushes. I did not hear him following me.

“I reached the hills quickly now, but I continued to run as fast as I could, and soon I heard nothing save the sound of my own footsteps. But I went on, for how long I know not, nor in what direction, but at last I heard a noise as of some one approaching. I was weak and staggering now, and I turned aside to escape. I ran almost against a man, and looking up, I saw with a joy I can never describe that it was Henry. Then I fell in his arms in a faint.

“Elinor.”

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