"I've been asleep these two hours, I believe," gaped Somers. "What time is it, Tom?"

"'Tain't eight o'clock yet. Yer hain't been asleep more'n fifteen minutes."

"Haven't I?"

"Not more'n that. Better lay down, and finish yer nap; kase I s'pose yer won't git much sleep to-night, if ye're gwine over the river."

"I feel better than I did, at any rate. I think I'll get up. It's tremendous hot here. Don't you ever open your windows?"

"I reckon we do. I was just thinkin' o' that."

And it was quite probable he was thinking of it; for he certainly wanted the earliest information of the approach of the soldiers. He opened the window in the front of the house, and Somers opened that in the rear. The latter then went to the door, and took a careful survey of the entry, in order to determine the way which the deserter must take to reach the cellar, where he was to conceal himself when the soldiers came. The prudent son of the master of the house had opened the door leading to the cellar, from which he was to enter his subterranean retreat.

For more than an hour, Tom nervously watched the wakeful Yankee, and several times suggested to him that he could sleep just as well as not, promising to wake him up if there was any danger; but Somers was most provokingly lively for a man who had been up all the preceding night, and resolutely refused to take a hint or to adopt a suggestion. Both of them were fearfully anxious for the result that was pending, and each had his plan for overreaching the other. It was a long hour; but at last Tom broke the spell which seemed to rest on both of them by declaring that he was "clean choked up," and must go and get a drink of water. At the same moment, Somers heard the tramp of the soldiers in the road as they approached the house, and understood why his companion had suddenly become so thirsty.

"No," said Somers, placing himself between the deserter and the door, with the revolver in his hand. "I don't want to be left alone. Somebody is coming to the house--half a dozen men. They are soldiers!" he exclaimed, glancing out at the window.

"Run right up chimley thar, and you'll be as safe as if you was t'other side of the river."

"But they'll catch you too! Come, Tom, up chimney with you, and I'll follow. If any one attempts to follow us, I'll shoot him with my pistol.

Be in a hurry, Tom! We have no time to spare," urged Somers, driving the coward before him towards the fire-place.

"You go up fust," pleaded Tom, in mortal terror of the revolver.

"Up with you, or I'll blow your brains out!" added Somers in a low, fierce tone, which frightened his companion half out of his wits.

"Don't fire, and I will," replied the wretch, as he stepped into the fire-place, and commenced the ascent of the chimney.

"Up with you!" repeated Somers. "Now, if you attempt to come down, I'll shoot you."

The voice of the farmer, leading the soldiers to their prey, was now heard close to the house; and Somers deemed it prudent no longer to remain in the room. Darting out into the entry, he made his way to the cellar, closing the door behind him just as the rebels were about to enter.

"Where is he?" demanded the sergeant, who belonged to the battery at the works near the house.

"In this room," replied the farmer, putting his hand on the door of the apartment where he had seen the victim lie down to sleep an hour before.

"But yer must be keerful with him. He had a pistol, and mebbe he mought shoot some on us."

"We aren't afraid of all the Yankees this side of the north pole," added the sergeant, as he pushed the door open and entered the room, followed by his squad of soldiers. "Where is he? There aren't no Yankee here."

"Well, he was here an hour ago," said the farmer.

"See here, old man, if you've been makin' a fool of us this hot day, I'll spit you on my bayonet. We heard that a deserter and a Yankee had been taken, and that the cavalry lost one of them."

"That was the Yankee. They lost him, and I found him ag'in."

"Where is he, then?"

"He aren't far from here," said the farmer, walking up to the fire-place, and pointing up the chimney, where he had no doubt the victim had retired when he heard the soldiers approaching.

"Up there?"

"That's where the feller hid when the troopers was lookin' fur him; and yer kin be sure he's up there now. But yer must be keerful; fur he's got a pistol, and is a mighty savage fellow."

"We'll soon bring him down," added the sergeant as he stepped into the fire-place, and looked up the chimney. "I see him; but he's half way up to the top. I reckon we can smoke him out best. Come, old man, take some of this pitch-wood, that will make a big smoke, and kindle a fire."

"We'll soon have him," said the farmer as he obeyed the order.

"I say, Yank!" shouted the sergeant up the chimney; "if you don't want to be smoked out, come down."

No answer came to this polite suggestion; and then one of the soldiers proposed to fire his musket up the chimney; which so terrified the occupant thereof, that he begged for mercy.

"Don't shoot, and I'll come down!" groaned the wretch.

"The cowardly Yank! He's like all the rest of them. Come down quick, then!"

The farmer, who had stepped out for more wood, returned; and at the same moment, Tom the deserter, begrimed with soot, dropped down on the hearth, and stepped out into the room.

CHAPTER XXV

SOMERS IS COMPELLED TO BACK OUT

Very likely the Virginia farmer had some idea of retributive justice when he saw his hopeful son step out of the fire-place into the very jaws of ruin. To say that he was astonished would be expressing his state of mind too tamely; for he was overwhelmed with confusion, fear and mortification.

He had expected to find the Yankee asleep on the floor; but, as he was not there, it was sufficiently evident to him that he had again resorted to the chimney for concealment. It had been distinctly arranged beforehand, that Tom, his son, should conceal himself in the cellar; and, of course, he did not expect to find him in the chimney.

In short, all his expectations had been defeated, and he himself had opened the trap for his son to enter. He probably knew how strict was the discipline of the rebel army in respect to deserters. He had frequently heard of executions of persons of this cla.s.s; and he could hardly expect his son to escape the penalty of his misconduct. He had broken his bargain with the fugitive; and, in attempting to surrender him to his implacable enemies, he had deprived his heir of liberty, if not of life.

"This is your Yankee, is it?" demanded the sergeant, as he gazed at the remnants of the rebel uniform which Tom still wore.

"No, no; this ain't the Yankee!" stammered the farmer.

"Well, you needn't tell us who he is; for we know. I was told to keep a sharp lookout for one Tom Rigney, a deserter; and I reckon this is the chap. You are my prisoner, my fine lad."

"There, now, dad!--d'ye see what ye've done?" snarled poor Tom Rigney, as he glanced reproachfully at the patriarch, who had unwittingly sprung the trap upon him.

"I didn't do it, Tom," replied Farmer Rigney, appalled at the calamity which had overtaken his house.

"Didn't you bring me in here to capture this boy?" asked the sergeant, who appeared to be bewildered by the unnatural act of the father.

"I brought yer here to take the Yank, who was as sa.s.sy as a four-year-old colt."

"He promised the Yankee he'd take keer on him till night," added the vengeful Tom.

"That was only to keep him here till I could fotch somebody to take keer on him," pleaded the farmer. "The Yank must be up chimley now," he continued, reminded that his own reputation for loyalty to the great and general Southern Confederacy was now doubly compromised.

"He ain't up there, dad, nohow," said Tom.