A Little Traitor to the South - Cyrus Townsend Brady (popular novels .TXT) 📗

was it a woman? Tell me, and, by heavens, I'll make such an example of the traitor as will never be forgotten in South Carolina or the Confederacy!"

"I cannot, sir."

"Think! Your rank, your honor, it may be your life, all depend upon your reply. You are concealing something from me. You do not answer," continued Beauregard, keenly scanning the face of the young man standing before him in stubborn silence. "I see that you are shielding some one, sheltering some unworthy person. Who is it?"

Still no answer. The general's patience was gradually vanishing in the face of such obstinacy. Yet he restrained his growing displeasure, and continued his questioning.

"Where did you go after you left me?"

"To my quarters, sir, to write a letter."

"Were you there all the time?"

"No, sir."

"Where did you go after the letter was written?"

No answer.

"Major Lacy said--" began the general, changing his tactics.

"Did he tell you?" cried Sempland, in sudden alarm and great dismay.

"He knew then?" exclaimed the general, triumphant in his clew. "No, he didn't tell. He never will tell now. I have learned from a picket boat that was captured last night by our patrols, that nothing was seen of the _David_ after the explosion."

"Poor Lacy!" said Sempland. "Well, sir, he died the death of his choice."

"Yes," said Beauregard, "little in life became him as the ending of it."

A little silence fell between the two in the room.

"And I might have been there," said Sempland at last.

"I had rather see you dead, sir, than in your present case," commented the general, deftly.

"Yes, sir, and I'd rather be there myself," returned the young man, "but I--I beg your pardon, General, were they successful?"

"In a measure. They missed the _Wabash_, but blew up the _Housatonic_."

"Did the cotton ships get out?"

"Unfortunately, no. One of them was sunk. The other two returned in safety. But all this is beside the question. We are losing sight of the main point. For the last time, will you tell me why you failed to be on hand?"

"General Beauregard, as I said, I would rather be where Lacy is now than have failed as I did, but I cannot tell you what detained me"

"For the last time, Mr. Sempland, I beg of you to answer me. You know the consequences?"

The general spoke sharply now. Such determination and contumacy had at last got the better of his patience and forbearance. He had tried to save Sempland, but the young officer would give him no assistance. Well, on his own head it would be.

"You realize what is before you, sir?"

"Yes, sir."

"A court-martial. Possibly--nay, certainly, death. For in the face of your refusal to explain I can do nothing more for you."

Sempland bowed to the inevitable.

"You have said," he began, "that you did not believe I was a coward, nor a traitor. If you will not allow the stigma of either of these charges to rest upon me, I will bear with equanimity whatever punishment the court-martial may award."

"Even to loss of life?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very well," said the general, shrugging his shoulders, a trick of his French ancestry. "I have done my best, Mr. Sempland, for you. As to my personal beliefs, I can and will express them, but I cannot tell whether the court-martial will receive them or not. Will nothing move you?"

"Nothing, sir."

The general struck a bell on the desk before him.

"Orderly," he said, as a soldier presented himself, "my compliments to the assistant adjutant-general. Ask him to come here. Ah, General Wylie," he said as that functionary presented himself, "will you make out an order assembling a court-martial to try Lieutenant Rhett Sempland, here, for disobedience of orders and neglect of duty in the presence of the enemy, and--well, that will be enough, I think," he continued after a pause which was fraught with agony to Sempland at least, lest the general should mention cowardice or treason again. "Meanwhile see that Mr. Sempland is carefully guarded here in the headquarters building."

"Very good, sir," said the officer, saluting. "This way, Mr. Sempland."


CHAPTER XI


THE CONFESSION THAT CLEARED

As the two men left the room the orderly entered it once more and announced to the general that a lady was below who asked the privilege of an interview with him.

"Lady? What lady?" demanded Beauregard, impatiently.

He was in no mood for feminine society after the difficult interview in which he had just participated.

"I think it is Miss Glen, sir. She says she must see you and--"

"Ah!" interrupted the general, hastily, as he recollected the scene on the wharf the night before, when Fanny Glen had fainted at the news that the boat was gone and that Lacy had gone with it. "Show her in here at once, orderly."

He had intended to seek her in her house in the course of the morning and break the melancholy news to her that the torpedo boat was lost in all probability with all on board, for from her agitation on the wharf he inferred that her affections were bestowed upon Lacy. He was very sorry for her, of course; but knowing Lacy as he had, and estimating Fanny Glen as he did, there was a certain sense of relief that she would not be condemned to a lifetime of misery which such a marriage would inevitably have entailed. Still he pitied her profoundly, and he pitied her more when she came into the private office in the wake of the orderly and threw back her veil. Her beautiful face showed the sorrow under which she labored. Suffering had thrown a blight upon it. The freshness and youth seemed to have departed from it. She was a piteous little spectacle indeed.

The general received her with the utmost cordiality and consideration. He handed her to a chair, and bade the orderly see that they were not disturbed on any account.

"Miss Fanny," he began gently--the war had brought the general and the brave girl very close together--"I was coming over to see you in a little while. You have shown yourself a brave little woman many times. You need all your courage now."

"Yes, General," said the girl, faintly, "I know."

"You have sustained a terrible loss."

"Is--is--Mr. Sempland--?"

"He is well enough at present. I refer to your friend, Major Lacy."

"Is he--?"

"I am sorry to say that in all probability he has lost his life in the torpedo boat. We can get no tidings of her or of any of her crew. She must have sunk with the ship."

"Did they succeed, sir?" interrupted Fanny Glen with an anxiety and an apprehension too great to be controlled.

"They did," returned Beauregard, somewhat surprised at her question, "but the torpedo boat, I think, went down with the ship she blew up; at any rate no one has seen her or any of her crew since the explosion. I knew that it was almost certain death to them."

Fanny Glen sank back in the chair. She almost lost consciousness in her agony. She murmured strange and incoherent words. The general did not understand them, but he rose, came to her side, bent over her and took her hand, patting it softly.

"I know, I know, my dear child," he said gently, "how you must suffer. Many another woman has had to give up her heart's desire for our beloved country. Think of the service he rendered, to you and to all of us! Think of his noble sacrifice, his death! Cherish his memory and be proud that he loved you and that you loved him. Few women have done more for the South than you, and there is still much to do. Work will assuage your grief," continued the general, laying his hand tenderly upon the bowed head. "You will always have the deathless memory of his heroism."

"Oh!" cried the woman, throwing back her head, "you are wrong. You do not know, you do not understand. I honored Major Lacy, I rejoiced in his courage, but I did not love him. It is not he that I think of. It is my father."

"Your father? What do you mean?"

"Admiral Vernon."

"What!"

"Yes, he is my father. My name is Fanny Glen Vernon."

"Good heavens! It cannot be possible."

"It is true. My mother was a Southern woman, one of the Glens of Halifax--"

"I knew her!" exclaimed Beauregard.

"She died when I was a child, and I was brought up by her sister. My father--I did not see much of him. He was a sailor, and after my mother's death he sought constantly to be in active service. When the war broke out he said he must stand by the old flag. I strove to persuade him differently. It was horrible to me, to think that a son of South Carolina, and my father, would fight against her. There was a quarrel between us. I told my father I would not acknowledge him any longer. I repudiated the Vernon name and came here and worked for the South, as you know. When I learned yesterday that you were going to blow up the _Wabash_--"

"But my dear child," interrupted the general, quickly, "we didn't blow up the _Wabash_."

"But you said that Major Lacy had succeeded!" said the girl in great bewilderment.

"He did. The _Wabash_ and _Housatonic_ exchanged places during the night, and the latter was sunk. The _Wabash_ is all right. For your sake, my dear Miss Fanny, I say thank God for the mistake."

"Then my father is safe?"

"He is. Some Yankees we captured this morning say that he is to be relieved of his command and ordered North on a sick leave. He will no longer be in danger from us, you see."

"Thank God, thank God!" cried the girl, and the relief in her voice and face seemed to make another woman of her. "It was wrong, I know. It was treason to the South--I love the South--but I strove to prevent--"

"Ah!" exclaimed Beauregard. "I have it now! Sempland--"

"Oh, sir!" cried the girl, "where is he?"

"He is preparing," continued Beauregard, coolly--he had the clew to the mystery and he determined to follow it to the end--"to be tried by a court-martial--"

"By a court-martial, General Beauregard! For what, sir?"

"For disobedience of orders and neglect of duty, in the face of the enemy. And I am in two minds whether to these charges should be added cowardice and treason or not!"

"Impossible!" exclaimed Fanny Glen.

"Miss Glen, it is an absolute fact. He came to me yesterday afternoon and volunteered for the command of the expedition. Begged for it, in fact. Major Lacy reluctantly but generously yielded to him with my consent."

"It was for me he sought it," said the girl, full of reproach for herself. "I had mocked him for his lack of distinction, sir, before he saw you. He hazarded his life for my approval and for the cause of the South."

A fuller light broke upon the general's mind. He understood all now, yet he went on pitilessly.

"After getting command in this peculiar way he failed to present himself on the wharf at the appointed time. We waited ten minutes for him, as long as we dared, in