"Marvel, you used to be a very sensible fellow when you were in the Third Tennessee," said the rebel captain. "I am surprised to see you adopting such a stupid method to conceal your ident.i.ty."

"I had good reasons for it," replied De Banyan, casting his eyes behind him, as if to a.s.sure himself that none of the soldiers were within hearing.

"What reasons?" asked the officer curiously.

"I should think a man of your discretion would easily understand the reason, without any explanation. If I am to be tried for any offense, I don't want to be judged by a whole company of cavalry. You know I always took pride in my reputation."

"I used to think so; but, when we missed you one day, we got rid of that opinion in the Third Tennessee."

"Then you wronged me; for I have faithfully served my country from that day to this."

"I am glad to hear it, and I hope you will be able to prove what you have said. How came you here?"

"I came over from the other side of the river last night. You intimated that my departure from the Third was not all regular," added the captain.

"In a word, it was understood that you had deserted."

"That was a mistake."

"I am very glad to hear it; but you will remember that your loyalty to the Southern Confederacy was not above suspicion when you joined the regiment."

De Banyan punched Somers with his elbow at these words, as though he wished him to take particular notice of them; but his admiring friend needed no such admonition to induce him to give strict attention to the statement, for it was the most satisfactory remark he had heard during the interview. Captain de Banyan rose twenty-five per cent in his estimation at the utterance of those words, however injurious they were in the opinion of him who had spoken them. There was hope for the captain; and Somers trusted that he would be able fully to exonerate himself from the foul charge, when the occasion should permit such an exposition.

"My loyalty ought to be considered above suspicion, and those who know me best do so regard it," added De Banyan as he administered another mild punch on the ribs of his fellow-sufferer. "I was taken by the Yankees, in short; and, at the first convenient opportunity, I have come over to see you again."

"I hope it is all right, Barney; but I am afraid it is not."

"I shall be able to clear myself of every imputation of disloyalty, before the proper tribunal."

"How did you get over?"

"I have been following the fortunes of the Yankee army till last night; when I took a boat, and came over the river. On the way I met a pilot whose name was Andy, who turned me over to this man, who is also a pilot, and came down to take out a fire-ship."

"The one that was burned in the creek last night?"

"The same. I refer you to Captain Osborn for the truth of the last part of my statement; though the time was when you did not ask me to bring vouchers for what I said."

"For nothing, except your stories of the Crimea and the Italian war,"

replied the captain of cavalry with a significant smile. "I must do you the justice to say, that I never knew you to tell a falsehood on any matter connected with your social or business relations."

"Thank you for so much," replied De Banyan. "Now that I have made it all right, I suppose you needn't trouble yourself to attend to my affairs any further."

"No trouble at all, I a.s.sure you. Under the circ.u.mstances, I shall feel it my duty to deliver you into the hands of my superiors, and they can do as they please with you. But I sincerely hope that you will be able to vindicate your character from the stain which rests upon it."

"I don't think it needs any vindication."

"There is some difference of opinion between us on that point. Where are you going now?"

"To Richmond," replied De Banyan promptly; and perhaps he intended to go there with the Army of the Potomac, though its present prospects of reaching the rebel capital were not very favorable.

"This is not the way to Richmond. Your stories don't agree very well."

"I thought it was; or rather to Petersburg, and from there we expected to get a ride up in the cars."

"Oh, very well! I can procure you a pa.s.s to Richmond," added the rebel.

"And an escort to attend us, I suppose," replied De Banyan with a smile.

"A small one; but here is the house where Captain Osborn lodges. If he knows your friend here, and can vouch for his loyalty, all well; if not, we shall not part two such loving friends."

Captain Osborn had not risen when the company of cavalry reached his quarters; but he was called from his bed, and appeared in front of the house in the worst possible humor; for, being human, he did not like to have his slumbers disturbed by unseasonable calls. As Somers feared Captain Osborn denied all knowledge of the prisoners, except so far as related to his interview with them during the night. He had never seen either of them before; and he even took the trouble to add that he didn't believe the young fellow was a pilot, which was gratuitous and uncalled for on his part.

"Well, Marvel," added the cavalry officer rather coldly, "this business is settled very much as I supposed it would be. I shall have to send you up to Richmond, where, if your stories are all true, I doubt not you will be able to clear yourself."

"Thank you, captain. You are the same affectionate fellow you used to be when you were a lieutenant in the Third Tennessee," replied De Banyan with a sneer; for it was evident that he was not at all pleased with the result of the affair.

Four soldiers were detailed from the company to conduct the prisoners to a certain camp near the railroad at City Point, and there deliver them over to the keeping of an officer whose name was mentioned.

"Good-morning, captain," said De Banyan with forced gayety.

"Good-morning, Marvel, and success to you."

"Thank you."

"By the way, Barney, if there is anything I can do for you, don't fail to call upon me; that is, anything consistent with the duty of a faithful officer."

"Such a remark was entirely uncalled for," said De Banyan with dignity.

"Do you think I would ask an officer to sacrifice his conscience?"

"Excuse me, Barney. I meant no offense," added the rebel captain, touched by the proud and dignified manner of his former friend.

"Your words and your conduct are in keeping with each other."

"Really, Barney, I meant nothing by the remark."

"Then it was the more unmanly to make it."

"I am still your friend. In proof of it, permit me to do you a favor,"

pleaded the rebel, much concerned at the wound he had inflicted on the sensitive nature of his late a.s.sociate in the Third Tennessee.

"I ask no favors," answered De Banyan proudly.

"You are too hard upon me. Upon my word, I meant no offense. As a proof of my friendship, I will take your parole of honor not to escape, and you shall report at Richmond at your own pleasure. If you have any interest in this young man, I will allow him the same favor."

"After what has happened, I cannot accept a favor at your hands. I can't see how an officer who doubts my word should be willing to take my parole."

"As you please, Marvel," added the captain petulantly. "I can do no more for you."

Somers was greatly relieved when the rebel officer rode off, followed by his company. He had trembled with anxiety, when the parole was offered to De Banyan, lest he should accept it, and thus compel him to do the same.