Raiding with Morgan Part 33

Mr. Crawford was what is known as an original Abolitionist. Before the war his house was one of the stations of the underground railroad, and many a runaway slave he had helped on the way to Canada. Twice he had been arrested by the United States officials for violation of the fugitive slave law, and both times fined heavily. He believed there could be no virtue in a slave-owner; such a man was accursed of G.o.d, and should be accursed of men. His daughter had to a degree imbibed his sentiments, and the idea of slavery was abhorrent to her; but her heart was so gentle, she could hate no one. Calhoun's helplessness appealed to her sympathies, and she forgot he was one of Morgan's raiders. Although young, only eighteen, she had admirers by the score, but her father so far had forbidden her receiving company, considering her as yet only a child.

Joyce's beau ideal of a man was her brother Mark, and he was worthy of her adoration. Several years her senior, he had watched over and guided her in her childhood, and never was a brother more devoted.

The next morning the news came that Morgan was captured, and the scare in Columbiana County was over. The morning also brought Miss Crawford, who had come hurrying home on receipt of the news that Morgan was in the county. She nearly went into hysterics when she learned that one of the dreadful raiders was in the house. "How could you do it, child?" she cried to Joyce; and "Doctor, why did you let her?" she added to Doctor Hopkins, who had just come in to see his patient.

"Madam, it was a case of life or death," replied the Doctor. "Joyce did right. We are not heathens in Columbiana County."

"But you will take him right away?" pleaded the lady.

"It would be death to move him."

"But he might murder us all," said Miss Crawford.

The Doctor smiled. "If he lives, it will be weeks before he will have the strength to kill a fly," he answered.

Miss Crawford sighed, and gave up the battle. She was not a hard-hearted woman, but the idea of having one of Morgan's dreadful raiders in the house was trying on her nerves.

The afternoon brought Major Crawford. The story of Joyce's capture of a raider had travelled far and wide, and the Major had already heard of it.

"So you captured a prisoner, did you, Puss?" he exclaimed, kissing her, as she threw herself in his arms. "Is he a regular brigand, and bearded like a pard?"

"No, no, he is young, almost a boy," she answered. "Margaret Goodsen is taking care of him now. Come and see him, but he is out of his head, and raves dreadfully."

She led the way to the chamber where Calhoun was. No sooner did Major Crawford see him than he turned pale and staggered back, "Great G.o.d!" he exclaimed.

What fate was it that had led the man he had shot to the house to be cared for by his sister?

"What is it, Mark? What is it?" she cried, seeing his agitation.

Should he tell her? Yes, it would be best. "Joyce, you will not wonder at my surprise, when I tell you it was I who shot him."

"You, brother, you!" she cried, and instinctively she shrank from him.

Mark saw it, and exclaimed, "Great G.o.d! Joyce, you don't blame me, do you?

I had to do it to save my life. He was about to cut me down with his sword when I fired."

"No, no," she cried, "I don't blame you, but it was so sudden; it is so dreadful. I never before realized that war was so terrible."

"Well, Joyce, save the poor fellow's life if you can; I don't want his death on my hands if I can help it. Do you know who your prisoner is?"

"No, you see the condition he is in."

"His name is Pennington, Calhoun Pennington. He is one of Morgan's bravest and most daring officers. I ought to know him, he took me prisoner twice."

"You, Mark, you?"

"Yes, you remember I told you how I lost my horse in Tennessee. He is the fellow who took it. He afterwards captured me at Cave City."

"Mark, what will become of him if he gets well?" she asked.

"The United States officials will take him," he answered. "His being here must be reported."

"And-and he will be sent to prison?"

"Yes, until he is exchanged."

"But you were not sent to prison when you were captured," she protested.

"No, I was paroled; but I hardly believe the government will parole any of Morgan's men."

"Why?" she asked.

"They have given us too much trouble, Puss. Now we have them, I think we will keep them."

"Mark, Aunt Matilda don't like my taking this Pennington in. She says father will not like it at all."

"I will see Aunt Matilda, and tell her it is all right. I will also write to father. No, Joyce, I don't want Pennington to die. It is best, even in war, to know you have not killed a man. So take good care of him, or rather see he has good care. Get a man to nurse him nights."

"I will look out for that," said Joyce.

"Well, Puss, good-bye, keep me posted. I had leave of absence only a few hours, so I must be going."

"Oh, Mark, must you go so soon?" And she clung to him as if she would not let him go. Gently disengaging her arms, he pressed kiss after kiss on her brow and was gone. She sank into a chair weeping, and for a time forgot her prisoner.

The next day Joyce had another visitor, in the person of Andrew Harmon. He had heard that his horse was at Crawford's, and that the officer who took him was there desperately wounded. He made his visit with pleasure, for of all the girls in Columbiana County, she was the one he had selected to become Mrs. Harmon. He had no idea he would be refused, for was he not considered the greatest catch in the county?

Harmon had two things to recommend him-good looks and money. He was accounted a handsome man, and was as far as physical beauty was concerned.

He had the body and muscle of an athlete, but there was nothing enn.o.bling or inspiring in the expression of his countenance. By nature he was crafty, mean, cruel, and miserly, and was one of the biggest cowards that ever walked.

Like many others, he was a great patriot as far as talk was concerned. He had been so unfortunate as to be drafted at the first call, and had promptly furnished a subst.i.tute. He was fond of boasting he was doing double duty for his country, not only was he represented in the army, but he was doing a great work at home. This work consisted in contracting for the government, and cheating it at every turn. Many a soldier who received shoddy clothing, paper-soled shoes, and rotten meat had Mr. Harmon to thank for it. But he was piling up money, and was already known as one of the richest men in the county. When he went out with the Home Guards, he had no idea of getting near Morgan; he would look out for that. But his party ran into Morgan's advance unexpectedly, and as has been related, he was captured by Calhoun. It was a most wonderful story he had to tell.

He had been beset by at least six of Morgan's men. A desperate conflict followed, and he had killed, or at least desperately wounded, three of his a.s.sailants, and it was only after he had not a single shot left in his revolver and was surrounded that he had surrendered.

"So enraged were they at my desperate defence," said he, "that the officer in charge pulled me from my horse, brutally kicked and struck me, threatened to kill me, and then appropriated my horse. He is a desperate fellow, Miss Joyce; I would not keep him in the house a single moment."

Joyce, who had listened to his account much amused, for she had heard another version of it, said, "I do not think, Mr. Harmon, he could have beaten you very hard, for I see no marks on you, and you seem to be pretty lively. As for sending Lieutenant Pennington away, the Doctor says it would be death to move him."

Mr. Harmon s.h.i.+fted uneasily in his chair as Joyce was saying this, and then asked to see Calhoun, as he wished to be sure whether he was the one who had captured him. This Joyce consented to, provided he would be careful not to disturb him. Harmon promised, and he was taken into the room. Calhoun was tossing on his bed, as he entered, and no sooner did his wild eyes rest on Harmon than he burst into a loud laugh, "Oh! the coward!

the coward!" he shouted, "take him away."

Harmon fled from the room white with rage. "Miss Joyce, that fellow is shamming," he fumed. "I demand he be delivered to the United States officials at once."

"The Doctor thinks differently; he says it will kill him to be moved," she answered.

"Let him die, then. It isn't your business to nurse wounded Rebels, especially one of Morgan's cutthroats."

"I do not have to come to you to learn what my business is," answered Joyce, haughtily, and turned to leave the room.

Mr. Harmon saw that he had made a mistake. "Joyce! Joyce! don't go, hear me," he exclaimed.