A Little Traitor to the South Part 6

"Do you know that you will dishonor me? If you care, let me go."

"There is another reason. I will not have the Wabash blown up. There is a-a-"

"Another man?" shouted Sempland. "You are a coquette! Let me out, I say! I will get out! My G.o.d, was ever a man in such a situation?"

He beat and hammered on the ma.s.sive door until his bruised hands bled again. He shook it in its frame like a madman. He was exhausted by the violence of his efforts and of his pa.s.sion. Through it all the girl stood in the hall frightened nearly to death. What mad scheme had she entered upon? Had she strength enough to carry it through? The three servants were terrified also, their eyes rolling in their sockets, their hands nervously fingering their weapons. Suddenly another voice, Caesar's, broke through the turmoil, reaching even the ear of the desperate man on the other side of the heavy mahogany door. He stopped to listen.

"Miss f.a.n.n.y," said the butler, "dah's a sojah man at de do', an' he wants to know if Ma.s.s' Semplan' is heah."

"Tell him, no," said f.a.n.n.y Glen, resolutely. "Say he left a half-hour ago."

"My G.o.d!" groaned Sempland. "I am a disgraced and ruined man! Listen to me, f.a.n.n.y Glen! I swear to you, on my honor as a gentleman, if you do not instantly open this door I'll blow my brains out in this room!"

"Oh, you wouldn't do that?"

"I will, so help me G.o.d!"

There was conviction in his voice. The girl listening in the pa.s.sage heard the click of a raised revolver hammer.

"Don't!" she cried in greater terror than ever, "I will open!"

He heard a brief whispered consultation, the key was turned in the lock, and the door was suddenly flung open. Sempland darted toward it on the instant and recoiled from the terrible figure of the little woman barring him with outstretched arms. If he had suffered within, she had suffered without the room. Such a look of mortal agony and anguish he had never seen on any human face. She trembled violently before him. Yet she was resolute not to give way, determined to keep the door. Cl.u.s.tered at her back were the three trembling negroes armed one with a knife, another with a pistol, another with a stout club. He would have swept them out of his path in an instant had it not been for the girl. She stood before him with outstretched arms, her att.i.tude a mixture of defiance and appeal.

"The door was suddenly flung open."

"It is too late," she said, "you were to go at seven. It is past that now. Saved, saved!"

He could do her no violence, that was certain. He stood silent before her, his head bent toward the floor, thinking deeply. Her heart went out to him then, her soul yearned to him. She had hurt him, he must hate her-and she loved him.

"Will you not come in and speak to me for a moment?" he asked her quietly enough at last.

She signed to the men, stepped forward, the door was closed, and locked behind her, and they were alone.

"Did you think to be of service to me?" he burst out, as she drew near and then paused irresolute, miserable. "You have ruined me for life! I begged that detail. I volunteered. I must get out! They may wait for me. It may not be too late. For G.o.d's sake unlock that door!"

She shook her head, she could not trust herself to speak.

"I don't understand you. If it is-love-for me-"

She stared at him beseechingly, mute appeal for mercy, for help, in her lovely eyes.

"You are condemning me to death, to worse than death. I am going!"

"You cannot!"

She came nearer as she spoke. Suddenly he seized her, drew her close to him, held her with his left arm, and there was happiness for her in his touch. She was as a child before his strength. With his right hand he presented his pistol to her temple. He took advantage of her weakness, but only in the service of a higher cause than love of woman, in answer to a greater demand than even she could make. She offered no resistance either. What was the use?

"Boys!" he called out sharply. "Are you there?"

"Yas, suh," answered Cato.

"I have your mistress in my arms, my pistol is at her head. If you do not instantly open the door, I shall kill her where I stand!"

"Cato, I forbid you to open!" cried f.a.n.n.y Glen, in a ringing voice, still making no effort to struggle and looking up into the infuriated man's face with the expression of a martyr and an angel. He saw and recognized, but persisted; it was his only way.

"Open instantly!" he said again, "unless you would see your mistress die!"

That was a threat the men could not resist. In a second the door was opened. The awe-struck faces of the blacks peered into the room.

"Throw down your arms, here at my feet, you black hounds!" shouted Sempland. "Quick! Or I fire!"

Instantly knife, pistol, and bludgeon clattered on the floor at his feet.

"Out of the way now! Leave the hall! I want a clear pa.s.sage!"

"Kill me! Kill me!" cried the girl, "and have done!"

He released her in a moment.

"You have dishonored me," he cried. "I fear it is too late. I wouldn't hurt a hair of your head. But I love you, I love you!"

He strained her to his breast, pressing a pa.s.sionate, burning kiss upon her lips. He wasted a few precious seconds, but he could not help it. She threw her arms about his neck and returned his kiss. He could feel her heart beating against his own.

"I cannot let you go!" she cried. "Stay with me and I am yours!"

"I must go!"

He tore himself from her and ran down the pa.s.sage into the street. She thought she would have fainted at that instant, but something-suspense, the faint possibility of success, doubt-nerved her to action. After a few moments of awful uncertainty she followed Sempland along the hallway, out through the door, and into the night. He was not to be seen. She knew where he had gone, however, and she bent her steps toward the government wharf. She went slowly at first, but finally ran at her greatest speed.

CHAPTER VI

AN ENGINE OF DESTRUCTION

The David, so named because although she was small it was hoped she would strike terror to the huge Goliaths of the Union fleet, was built of boiler iron. She was thirty feet long and of a cigar shape, her greatest diameter being a little less than six feet. She was propelled by a hand engine worked by members of her crew, and could be submerged at pleasure, but experience had shown that once down she usually stayed down with all on board. A resume of her history has been given. She was a floating, or sinking, death-trap.

Originally she was intended to drag after her a floating torpedo in the hope that she could pa.s.s under a vessel's keel and explode the torpedo when she reached the proper position. General Beauregard, however, had positively forbidden that she should be used as a submarine any longer on account of her disastrous behavior, and on this occasion she was provided with a long spar sticking out from her nose, on the end of which was one hundred pounds of powder in a copper cylinder provided with four extremely sensitive tubes of lead containing a highly explosive mixture, which would ignite upon contact with a s.h.i.+p's side or bottom and explode the torpedo.

She was painted a slate-gray, and her ballast was so adjusted that with the seven men who manned her on board, one to steer, one to look after the torpedo, and five to turn the propeller crank, her low hatch scarcely rose above the water. In that condition, and especially at night, she looked like a plank floating on the surface. By hard and conscientious labor her five man-power engine could shove her along at about a speed of four knots. Although the order of General Beauregard that she should not be submerged again had materially diminished the risk which experience had shown was overwhelming, yet the proposed expedition was nevertheless hazardous in the extreme.

In the first place, an excellent lookout was kept on the Union s.h.i.+ps on account of the several attempts which had been made against them by similar boats. If she were discovered, one shot striking the boat as she approached, even a rifle shot, would suffice to sink her. No one knew what she would do even if she succeeded in exploding the torpedo. It was scarcely hoped that she could get away from a sinking s.h.i.+p in that event.

The little party of officers grouped on the wharf bade good-by to the men who entered the deadly affair as if they were saying farewell to those about to die. Every preparation had been made, the artillery officer had finally and carefully inspected the torpedo to see if it was in good working order, the men had descended into the cramped narrow little hull of the boat and had made ready to start the propeller. None of them wore any superfluous clothing, for it was oppressively hot in the confined area of the little iron sh.e.l.l, and they might have to swim for their lives anyway-perhaps they would be lucky if they got the chance. In short, everybody was ready and every one was there except the commander of the expedition.