"How came this board knocked off?" demanded the sergeant, who had perhaps observed some other indications of the advance of the fugitive in this direction.

"The wind blowed it off t'other day," promptly replied the farmer. "Yer don't s'pose the feller went out that winder, do yer?"

"No; but I think he has been up here somewhere."

"Well, I hope yer'll find him; but I've showed yer into every hole and corner in the house; and I tell yer he's five mile from this yere 'fore now."

The sergeant looked out of the window, looked up to the top of the chimney, and looked up to the ridge-pole of the house. He was no sailor himself; and, if the thought had occurred to him that the Yankee had pa.s.sed from this window to the roof of the house, he would have been willing to take his Bible oath that not a man in the Southern Confederacy could have accomplished such an impossible feat. He could not do it himself, and consequently he believed that no other man could. After examining the situation to his entire satisfaction, he retired from the window, and with a great many impolite and wicked oaths, aimed at Yankees in general, and deserters in particular, he descended from the loft, and abandoned the search.

Somers was happy, and even forgave the deserter in the lower part of the chimney for his stupidity. He waited patiently for the troopers to depart--very patiently, now that the burden of the peril seemed to be over; for he had heard the conclusions of the sergeant at the window.

From his present perch near the top of the chimney, he could hear some of the conversation in front of the house; and he even ventured to take a look at his enemies below. To his intense satisfaction, he saw them mount their horses: and he was not much disturbed by the unamiable reflections which they cast upon him.

Captain de Banyan was with them; thus proving in the most conclusive manner that the gentleman in the chimney was not this distinguished individual. Having lost one prisoner, they were particularly cautious in regard to the disposition of the other. The captain marched off in gloomy dignity, with two cavalrymen before and two behind him. Somers caught a glance at his face as he turned the corner into the road. It was sad beyond anything which he had ever observed in his countenance before, and a momentary twinge of conscience upbraided him for deserting a comrade in such an hour; he might have waited till both of them could escape together. But the captain's record in the Third Tennessee a.s.sured him that he had only done his duty; though he hoped his brilliant friend would be able, if an opportunity was ever presented, to remove the stain which now rested on his name and fame.

With a feeling of intense relief, however much he commiserated the misfortunes of his comrade, Somers saw the little procession move up the road which led to Richmond and a rebel dungeon. They disappeared; and while he was considering in what manner he should make his way down to the creek, where he hoped to find a boat in which to leave this treacherous soil, he heard a voice beneath him, and farther down than the locality of the deserter.

"Yer kin come down now, Tom," said the farmer.

Though the name was his own, the invitation was evidently not intended for him; and he remained quietly on his perch, waiting for further developments.

"Hev they all gone, dad?" asked the deserter.

"Yes; all gone. Yer kin come down now."

The renegade, then, was the son of the farmer; which accounted for the unwillingness of the latter to have the house searched by the soldiers; and, though Somers had a general contempt for deserters, he felt his indebtedness to this interesting family for the service they had unwittingly endeavored to render him.

Tom--Somers wanted to have his name changed then--Tom descended from his position in the chimney. It was an easy matter; for the kitchen was at the other end of the house, and there had been no fire on this hearth for many a month.

"Dad," said this graceless son of a graceless sire.

"Go and wash yer face, Tom. Ye're blacker than Black Jack."

"Dad, there's another man up the chimley. We come near havin' a fight up there. I told him what I would do; and he got skeered, and went up top."

"What d'yer mean, Tom?" demanded the patriarch.

Tom stated again, more explicitly than before, the subject matter of his startling communication.

"I reckon he's a Yank, dad; he talks like one, but says he b'longs to the Forty-fust Virginny. I know he's a Yank. I kin smell one a mile off."

Somers was flattered; but he was not angry at the compliment, and calmly waited for an invitation to join the family below.

"He's the feller that gin the soldiers the slip," added the father. "The sergeant says he's a Yank; but t'other prisoner says he's a James River pilot."

"I know he's a Yank. He'd 'a' killed me if I hadn't skeered him off."

"I reckon he skeered you more'n you skeered him," added the head of the family, who appeared not to have a very high opinion of his son's courage. "We'll smoke him out, Tom. Go'n git some pitch-wood and sich truck."

Somers had a very strong objection to being smoked out, and he commenced a forward and downward movement in the direction of the a.s.sailing party.

Fearing that some unworthy advantage might be taken of his lower extremities before he could a.s.sume an att.i.tude of defense, he drew his pistol, and placed himself a few feet above the fire-place. Tom returned with the fuel, and the old man ordered him to make a fire.

"One moment, if you please," said Somers. "I'll shoot the first man of you that attempts to make a fire there."

With an exclamation of terror, Tom retreated from the hearth; and Somers, improving the opportunity, leaped down from his perch. Stepping out from the great fire-place, he stood in the presence of the hopeful son and sire.

CHAPTER XXIV

A BROKEN BARGAIN

Somers was entirely satisfied with himself when he stood in the presence of the farmer and his son; and, so far as they were concerned, he had no fears for the future. The redoubtable Tom retired to one corner of the room, and, full of terror, awaited the issue. The father was the braver of the two, and stood in the middle of the floor, confronting the pestilent Yankee who had thus so unceremoniously invaded his house.

"Who be you?" demanded the old man.

"No matter who I am," replied Somers, with the pistol still in his hand.

"I propose to spend the day with you, and will pay for everything I have."

"Perhaps yer will stay here, and perhaps yer won't," replied the farmer doggedly.

"There's no perhaps about it; I intend to stay here."

"I s'pose yer don't keer whether I'm willing or not."

"On the contrary, I do care. I had much rather stay with your consent than without."

"Well, then, yer won't stay with my consent."

"Then I shall stay without it," answered Somers, with a degree of decision which was exceedingly annoying to his involuntary host.

"No, yer won't," growled the farmer.

"I will pay you well for the use of this room, and for all that I eat and drink," said Somers, wishing to be fully understood.

"Yer can't stay here."

"No, yer can't," added Tom.

"I have made you a fair offer, and am willing to do what is right; and, as I said before, I intend to stay here till to-night, whether you are willing or not."

"Yer kin put up your pistol; I ain't afeerd on it."

"I have no desire to use the pistol to your injury, and shall not do so unless in self-defense. You know that I am a fugitive."

"A n.i.g.g.e.r, by gracious!" exclaimed the farmer, whose vocabulary was very limited, and who had no idea that the word "fugitive" could mean anything but a runaway negro.

"You know that the soldiers are after me, and it will not be safe for me to leave this house before dark. I'm not a n.i.g.g.e.r; and it makes no difference to you what I am."