A Little Traitor to the South<br />A War Time Comedy with a Tragic Interlude, Cyrus Townsend Brady [the best motivational books .TXT] 📗

said, in no condition to understand anything very clearly, and caring little for the moment for anything except that she loved him.

"And you forgive me?"

"Forgive you? With all my soul. This moment with you in my arms, with your arms around my neck, with your kisses upon my lips, with your words in my ear, with your love in my heart—this makes up for everything! I shall go to my death gladly."

"To your death!" she exclaimed, drawing away from him in surprise and alarm.

"Yes. Your confession to me makes no difference."

"But I will tell the general."

"I forbid it! Darling, you have committed an act of treason to the South, and while your love for your father—and for me—has explained it, you could not make such a plea as that before any court-martial composed of soldiers. You would only harm yourself, and you would not help me, and so I won't allow it."

"But I must tell the general!" she persisted.

"Dearest, no," said Sempland, smiling fondly at her. "We will anticipate what might have been. If all had gone well, you would have promised to obey me before the altar. Would you not?"

She nodded with astonishing docility.

"Well, then—"

"And if I will not?"

"Why, then, I shall have to discredit you, as I threatened, and my own situation will be more serious than before, for I shall brand myself as a coward, as well, and you would not like your lover to have that stigma on him."

"You will not let me save you, then?"

"No," answered the man, sighing deeply, "and life is so different to me now. I didn't care an hour ago what happened, but now—"

There was a tap on the door.

"What is it?" he called out impatiently.

"It's me, Lieutenant Sempland—Sergeant Slattery," answered the sergeant of the guard, a whilom friend to the prisoner. "On me own account, sor, I come to tell ye that they'll be afther comin' for ye in a few minutes, an' ye'd better git ready fer 'em. If ye have anythin'—any preparations to make, ye'd better be quick about it, sor."

"Thank you," answered Sempland. "You hear, dearest? You must go. I must have a moment to myself to enable me to face this court-martial. Leave me now, I beg of you. Go home. After it is over I shall ask permission of the general to have you visit me."

"I cannot go," said Fanny Glen, archly.

"Why not?"

"I am a prisoner."

"A prisoner! What for?"

"For treachery, disobedience of orders, oh, everything!" she answered glibly.

"What do you mean?"

"General Beauregard sent me here this morning. The court-martial is for me, not you. They're going to set you free and I am to be tried and shot, it may be."

"Nonsense! How did he find out?"

"I told him myself. I didn't disobey you, you see. You had not forbidden me to do it then."

"What did you tell him?"

"That Admiral Vernon was my father, and that I kept you—I—I—loved you."

"Great heavens! And—"

"And then he called the adjutant-general and they whispered together a moment, and then he sent me here."

"Why did you do it?" cried the man, reproachfully. "They will punish you in some way. I would rather have died than have you tell. What shall we do now?"

 

CHAPTER XV

THE GENERAL'S LITTLE COMEDY

There was a hurried movement on the part of the sentry in the corridor, followed by the trampling of many feet. Sabres clanked, voices broke the stillness. Fanny Glen was really frightened now. They were coming. They were there. What were they about to do to her? Of course, they would not shoot her,—she was reasonably sure of that,—but in any event she was certain to be parted from her lover. She drew nearer to him as the door was opened.

On the threshold stood General Beauregard himself, his visage charged with an unusual degree of solemnity. Back of him were grouped the members of his staff and others who had been on the wharf the night before. They were all in full uniform and made a most impressive sight. It was a highly dramatic moment, full of menace to the woman. As for Sempland, he scarcely comprehended it.

"The court-martial!" whispered Fanny Glen, fearfully, instinctively shrinking closer to Sempland as she spoke.

That officer knew, of course, that no court-martial was ever inaugurated in that manner, but he said nothing. He did not understand. He would await developments. Something was in the wind, certainly. What could it be?

"Captain Sempland," said the general, formally, advancing further into the room, followed by the rest, "you are relieved from arrest, sir, and—"

"Captain Sempland?" murmured Sempland in great surprise.

"Yes, sir, Captain Sempland," with marked emphasis on the title. "You are restored to duty forthwith, sir," continued the general, smiling at his astonished subordinate. "The charges of neglect of duty and disobedience of orders which I made last night and repeated this morning are withdrawn. There never was any suspicion of cowardice or treason. Although you did not succeed, having been prevented by causes beyond your control, as I now learn, from taking out the David, yet your earnest desire to do so, the fact that you volunteered for the detail, and even besought me to give it to you, the extreme measures to which you resorted to escape from confinement in order to carry out your orders, even going so far as to threaten a lady, warrant me in promoting you. Here," receiving the weapon from one of the staff officers, "is your sword. I return it to you." Next the general drew some papers from his coat. "Here is your commission as captain. Here are orders which take you to the Army of Northern Virginia. They are accompanied by a personal letter to my friend, General Lee, in which I have asked him to give you a position on his staff with all its opportunities for useful service and distinction. May you reflect credit, as I have no doubt you will, upon the South, the state of South Carolina, and all our hopes and ambitions for you. Gentlemen," to the others, "you are all witnesses to this rehabilitation of Captain Sempland."

The room was instantly filled with the sound of hearty cheering from the officers in attendance.

"General Beauregard, you have overwhelmed me," faltered Sempland as soon as he could make himself heard. "I have done nothing to deserve this honor."

Beauregard stepped nearer to him.

"You would have sacrificed your life for a woman," whispered the gallant little general, approvingly. "I understand." Then he said aloud: "See that you strive to merit our trust and confidence in the future, then. You will have many chances for great deeds with General Lee. Would that I were with him!"

"General," said the young man, "your kindness emboldens me. This lady, sir—"

"Is a prisoner," said the general, shortly.

"I know it, sir. She committed a terrible blunder, yet—"

"Gentlemen," said Beauregard, turning to his staff officers, "you know the story of last night. How this lady interfered to prevent an important military manœuvre, the object of which was the destruction of the Federal flagship by a torpedo, and incidentally the probable death of Captain Sempland. Such conduct is essentially treasonable, especially in a state of war. What is the punishment for such actions in the face of the enemy?"

"Death, sir," returned the adjutant-general, solemnly.

"Are you all agreed as to that, gentlemen?"

"We are, sir," was the unanimous reply.

They had been well tutored in the little comedy which the general had arranged, it was evident.

"Impossible, sir!" cried Sempland, in agony. They deceived even him with their seriousness. "This is most irregular! I protest—"

"I am ready, gentlemen," whispered Fanny Glen, bravely, turning very white as she spoke, and not appearing at all ready in fact, "I—I—am glad to—suffer, since Captain Sempland—" she faltered with a miserable attempt at courage.

"One moment, please," broke in the little general, imperatively. "But, gentlemen, the culprit has otherwise deserved well of her country, as you know. During the war her services in the general hospital have been beyond price. She is a woman. On the ship which it was proposed to blow up was her father, Admiral Vernon, a South Carolinian, whose ideas of duty led him to continue his services to the United States. These are mitigating circumstances. Here is no treachery to the South, merely a woman's desire to save her father from a swift and sudden death. No mischance has arisen from her action. Major Lacy took out the boat with his usual distinction, although, fortunately for the lady and the admiral, the Housatonic seems to have suffered instead of the Wabash. Under these circumstances, I think, it does not behoove us to be too severe. You agree with me, I am sure, gentlemen?"

"Certainly, sir, we do," replied the officers in chorus.

"Thank you! thank you!" exclaimed Fanny Glen, gratefully, with boundless relief in her voice.

By this time she was as close to Sempland as she could get, and entirely unconscious of what he was doing, the latter had thrown his arm protectingly around her waist.

"Wait, Miss Glen," said the general, severely, lifting his hand and checking her further speech, "you cannot think to escape scot free. Such actions cannot go entirely unpunished. So long as Miss Fanny Glen exists she must suffer for her actions. You are agreed with me, gentlemen?"

"We are, sir."

It was remarkable the unanimity with which they all supported their general's decisions on so serious a matter, and practically without deliberation.

"Captain Sempland, as a soldier, I am sure you will acquiesce in the views of your brother officers."

Sempland bit his lip. Fanny Glen nestled closer to him and looked up at him beseechingly.

"Oh, General!" he said at last. "Isn't there some way out of it?"

"There may be," said the general, solemnly. "Let me think a moment. Suppose—ah, suppose, Miss Fanny Glen were to disappear?"

"But where can I go, sir?" asked the girl, nervously. "All that I love—" she observed a smile flickering upon the general's lips as she glanced at Sempland. "I mean everybody and everything that I love is here." She stamped her foot impatiently. "You won't send me to the Union fleet? I know my father is safe—but I love the South. I will never do anything wrong again if you won't send me away!" she pleaded.

It was, indeed, a sweeping promise, one she could scarcely have kept.

"There are other ways by which Miss Fanny Glen might disappear," said Beauregard, gravely.

"How, sir?"

"You might change your name—again!"

"Change my name?"

"Yes. You might become—Mrs. Rhett Sempland, let us say!"

"O-o-oh!" cried the girl, blushing furiously and drawing away from her lover's side.

"Quite so," answered the general with deep gravity, too deep not to be suspicious, while Sempland's heart leaped with happiness. This was the meaning of the general's little play, then?

"Proceedings which would have to be instituted against Fanny Glen could then be allowed to drop," continued Beauregard, enjoying the situation immensely. "Is not that a solution, gentlemen?" he asked, throwing back his head and laughing cheerfully at the pleasant ending of the little comedy he had planned, which pleased the small audience hugely.

"That is the happiest of all solutions, sir," said Sempland, taking Fanny Glen's hands.

"I won't be married simply to save my life," said the girl.

"Of course not," said the general. "Yet either you must be court-martialled or Mr. Sempland will be."

"I—I might do it—to save—his life, sir," she said, blushing furiously again.

"However it is done—" said Sempland, "however it may be brought about, it satisfies me completely."

"'If 'twere done when 'tis done, 'twere well 'twere done quickly,'" quoted the general with striking appositeness, greatly delighted at the outcome of the affair.

"I agree with you entirely, sir," returned Sempland, smiling—it was the part of wisdom for a captain to agree with a general always, and the way of prudence was the path of pleasure in this instance.

"Captain Sempland," said Beauregard, "your orders need not be carried out until to-morrow. There will be time enough before that time for a wedding, in which, in the absence of her father, I promise myself the pleasure of giving away the