os

‘True Blue.

FRANK STARR & CO., 41 PLATT BIREET, N.. Y.
The American News Co., New York.

 

 

 

 

 
 
$atelasaats

RR MAIR CN
. *

 

 

Vor. XVI.} SEPTEMBER 2, 1876. [No. 203.

TRUE BLUE;

THE WRITING IN CIPHER.

BY EDWARD WILLETT,
Author of the following Mammoth Star Novels:

162. Tar ArKANsAs REGULATORS. 196. Taz BusnwHackEr's DavuGcurer.
193. Bos Brant, Parrior anp Spy. 199. Crazy Dan.

/

NEW YORK:

FRANK STARR & @CO., PUBLISHERS,
41 Platt Street.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the
year 1865, by Sixcharm Tovssy, Publishers’ Agent, in the Clerk’s Office of the District

Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York.

>

 
REO lp a amt

 

 

 

 

  

  
 
 
    
  

 

 

4. Gane

Beda: De Fe

 

CHAPTER I.
Sunshine and a Cloud.

Tr was a beautiful morning in the sum-
mer of that ever memorable year, 1861. It
was several months since the batteries of
Charleston had opened their concentrated
fire upon Fort Sumter, and since the loyal
North had risen, almost as one man, to
avenge that insult to the flag of the Union ;
but it was only a short time since the dis-
astrous battle of Bull Run, when the undis-
ciplined Federal host was hurled back, shat-
tered and bleeding, to the defenses of Wash-
ington. The Southern “ Confederacy” was
fairly organized, and the reign of terror—
the reign of impressments, conscriptions,
imprisonments and executions—had begun.
The Southern leaders were exultant, and
were confident in their ability to drive back
at least five times their own number of

“Northern scum,” if another attempt should’

be made to invade their “ sacred soil.” It

‘seemed a dark hour for the Union, but the

loyal people were not dishear' tened ; their
statesmen and Generals were quietly organ-
ng their armies, maturing their plans, and
eins their resources, preparing to strike
those heavy and determined blows, which
were destined, in God’s good time, to over-
any treason, to liberate the bond and the
oppressed, and to establish the authority of
ne Union over the whole land.
Though the political horizon was gloomy
enough, there Were no clouds in the natural
sky, as a boy walked briskly and merrily
ver a sandy road in the old North State,
not many miles from the city of Wilming-
n.. It was still early, and the heat of the
had not begun to make itself felt, but
si n was shining brightly, and all nature
seemet ‘to rejoice as it took its morning bath

in eee of glorious light, The green

 

 

blades of the long grass, the delicate leaves
of the vines and bushes, the gay colors of
the flowers, and the bristling frondage of the
tall pines, all glistened with the heavy dew
which had accumulated upon them during
the night, and which the rays of the sun
were just commencing to drink. Birds sung
merrily on the boughs, butterflies fluttered
in all directions, and the air was alive with
the rush and hum of innumerable insects.

The boy appeared to belong to the scene
and the season—to be a necessary part of
them. It seemed that the beauty of that
morning would have lost half its charm, if
the element of human life had not been
added to it, and that element could not haye
been better represented than by the cheer-
ful face, laughing eyes, and elastic step of
the boy. He was about fourteen years old,
well grown and well developed for his age,
with long, fair hair, blue eyes, regular fea-
tures, and clear, ruddy complexion. He
seemed to be the perfection of health and
the embodiment of good-humor. He was
neatly dressed, and his manner, as well as
his attire, betokened culture and refinement.
He was attended by a large, black Newfound-
land dog, that seemed to share in the excite-
ment and happiness of his youug master,
now darting ahead at full speed, to chase a
bird or a butterfly, and then bounding back
to the boy, barking joyfully, and putting up
his shaggy head to be patted.

The handsome, bright-eyed boy, and the
spirited, frolicsome dog, harmonized well
with the beauty of the scenery and the fresh
air of the morning. The cause of the boy’s
exuberance of spirits was rendered apparent °
by a bundle of letters, which he took from
an inner pocket of his light coat, and waved
triumphantly in the air, as he bounded for-
ward with a hop, a step and a jump.

“Hurrah, Nero !” hByexclaimed, as the

‘
erent gaeeel

*

8 TRUE BLUE.

dog leaped up and attempted to seize the
letters; “ won't they be glad to see us at
home, my boy, when they know what we
have brought? I tell you they will, old
fellow, and there will be kisses and a good
dinner for me, and cold meat and bones for
you, sir.”

Nero testified his joy, and his appreciation
of the good things in store for him, by a
gleeful bark, and by a more impetuous leap
toward the letters, nearly succeeding in
snatching the bundle from the hand of his
young master.

“Down, Nero! Down, sir, I say! you
shan’t touch them. If they were newspapers,
you might carry them, but these are worth
more than ever so many newspapers. See,
you great, clumsy rascal, you have wet
sissy’s letter with your tongue, and have
left the marks of your sharp teeth in the
corner of this big yellow one. Never mind,
my boy; you meant well, and I will take
the scolding, if there is any. But they will
be so glad to get the letters, that they won’t
scold us. Let me see—here is a letter for
mother, and it will make her both glad and

. sorry, for I suppose it is the last she will

get from the North until the war is over.
And here is one for sis; I know who that
letter is from, well enough, but I can’t even
guess where it is from, for there is no post-
mark on it, nothing but the address. Sis
will be glad enough to get it, and she will
tell me all about it. But this letter for

father, in the big yellow envelope, is the,

strangest one of all. It looks like some
official document, such as he used to get
when he was postmaster. But it can’t be
any thing of that kind, of course, as he is
not a postmaster now, and has no chance
of being one, as well as I can guess. Per-
haps it may be from the Governor, or some
military officer ; but no—it hasn’t any stamp
or postmark. Well, Nero, I suppose it is
none of our business, and we had better not
bother our brains with wondering about it.
Come along, sir! Now for a’ run! We'll
see who will get home first. But it is not
a fair race, for you have got four legs to my
two. Come, sir!”

The boy flourished the letters, holding
them high above the reach of the dog, and
bounded merrily over the sandy road, Nero
barking and leaping at his side, or darting
swiftly ahead, to return at the familiar
sound of his young master’s whistle.

But a cloud quickly came over this
brightness, changing it to gloom; a cloud

 

like that of secession ; which, at first seem-
ingly no bigger than a man’s hand, so
swiftly overspread and darkened the face of
the fairest and happiest land that the sun
ever shone upon.

The cloud was in the shape of a man,
who stepped out from among the pine trees
at the side of the road. He seemed to bea
middle-aged man, with abundant black hair,
streaked with gray, full face, small, black
twinkling eyes, and a half-cunning, half
cruel expression. He wore no_ beard, and
was neatly dressed in a suit of very good -
homespun, with his face shaded by a large
felt hat. He was rather stout, but not cor-
pulent, and seemed to be unarmed, with the
exception of a heavy leather whip, loaded
at the butt. A peculiar unctuous smile
played about the corners of his large mouth
as he stepped into the road and accosted
the boy.

“Hello, my boy! where are you going
this morning ?”

The change caused by the cloud was in-
stantaneous. Its shadow settled on the boy,
ina second. The bright look died out from
his eyes, and the cheerful expression melted
away from his face, changing to a distrust-
ful, downeast gaze, and a bitter sneer that
spoke of hatred, or contempt, or both. The
dog, also, was changed as suddenly, either
from sympathy with his young master, or
from some good canine reasons of his own.
He stopped his gambols immediately, and
trotted slowly by the side of the boy, glanc-
ing suspiciously at the intruder. Both had
lost their lightness of spirits and elasticity
of tread, and walked firmly and cautiously,
Evidently, here was something to be guard-
ed against, if not to be feared. &

“Hope I hayen’t scared you,” said th
stranger, with a repetition of his unctuous
smile, as he planted himself in front of ‘the
playmates, ‘“ Where are you going this.
morning ?” _

“ Going home,” curtly replied the boy,
he hastily replaced the letters in the fe
pocket of his coat. Mic

“Going home? I reckon you will have
time to stop and speak to me a few moments,
You need have no fear that I will hurt you, —
my son. It is not my duty, as a minister
of the gospill, to harm the young and the
innocent, though I am afraid, that yo
not as innocent as you might be,
Badeau, and that you have not felt the
ed consolations of the gospill.”

“T don’t like the doctrine you preacl

 
   
 

 

 
 

 

A SECESH CLERGYMAN. 9

Mr. Dabney, and that’s a fact; I would say
s0 with my last breath. But, if you have
any thing to say to me, I am ready to hear
it.”

“Of course you are, my son, and I am
glad to perceive that you show a docile and
tractable spirit. I am sorry that you dis-
like the doctrine, for it is the only doctrine
suited to us sinners of the South—the only
doctrine whereby we can preserve our pecu-
liar institutions, and it is more than possible
that unbelievers may be punished for their
unbelief. Curse that dog! He had better
not show his teeth at me!” *

“Ts that your sort of doctrine, Mr. Dab-
ney ?” sneered the boy. “Do ministers of.
the Gospel blaspheme, and do they curse
brute animals ?”

“Take care how you speak, Paul,” re-
plied Dabney, as his small eyes snapped
maliciously. ‘Take care how you speak,
for I am not to be trifled with. I am about
to join the church militant, or the church
belligerent, as some of the tories in the
State will learn to their cost. You had
better teach your dog better manners.
This is not the first time he has tried to
show his spite at me, and if he does it
again, I will kill him.”

The -boy drew himself up proudly, and
his face was flushed with crimson, and his
eyes flashed indignantly, as he looked his
oily interlocutor full in the face.

“Tf you kill that dog, Mr. Dabney, I will
kill you !”

“Tut, tut! You crow mighty loud for

such a young chicken. I am afraid that
your wings will have to be clipped before
a... or you will fly over the fence. But I
e no wish to harm you, my son, ahd I
not hurt the dog, if he does not molest
As you are going home, I believe I
walk with you. I flatter myself that
society, by the blessing of the Lord, has
ways been improving to the young. Will
find your excellent father at the house ?”
“TJ suppose so,” was the gruff reply.
“Tt would become you, My son, to show
& little more respect to a clerical gentleman,
I have some business with Adam Badean,
d may be able to offer him some good
lyice, for which I shallcharge him nothing,
ere haye you been, Paul ?”

    
 
 
  
   
   
 
  
  

 

h! you spent the night there, I sup-

What did you go there for?”
siness for father.”

uppose so, and it could not have

 

been any very important business, or he
would not have sent you to transact it.
Still, I would like to know what that busi-
ness was ?”

“ For what reason ?”

“Merely out of curiosity, my son.”

“Tam not bound to satisfy your curiosity.”

“What letters are these in your pocket ?”

“T have not opened them.”

“T did not accuse you of doing so, my
son. Who are they addressed to, and where
are they from ?”

- “Mr. Dabney, I don’t wish to be ‘disre-
spectful to you, though you know I don’t like
you, but I must simply say, that it is none
of your business whose those letters are,
or where they are from.”

“ Paul Badeau, you have a sassy way of
talking to a minister of the gospill, and you
need a lesson. I am inclined to believe
that there is something treasonable in those
letters, and I want to see them.”

“You may want, as long as you please,”
sturdily replied the boy, “ but you shall not
see them, as you have no business with
them.”

“ Show me those letters !” exclaimed Dab-
ney, advancing upon Paul in a threatening
attitude, while he showed teeth like those of
a wolf, and his eyes snapped again.

But: he was confronted by a another
double row of teeth, that, were fully as cruel
and as fierce as his own. They were the
white, sharp, and glistening ivories of Nero,
who showed them savagely, as he interposed
between his young master and his assailant,
ready to spring at the throat of the bellige-
rent “ minister of the gospill.”

Dabney raised his loaded whip, as if to
strike the dog,who only growled menacingly,
and the boy thrust his arm into the side
pocket of his sack coat, and drew out a
small revolver, which he hastily cocked and
presented.

“Tf you touch that dog with your whip,
Mr. Dabney,” said he, “I will bore a hole
through you.”

The dog and the pistol appeared to con-
vince Dabney that he was stepping beyond
the line of his clerical duties, for the color
fled from his brown face, and the heavy
whip dropped from his nerveless hand.
But his trepidation was only transient, and
he immediately resumed his wictuous man-
ner, with an unpleasant laugh.

“ Put up your pocket pistol, Paul,” said
he. “I have no desire to see the letters, or
to harm your fine dog. That is a splendid

’
sa ee

10 TRUE ‘BLUE.

animal, and you may he weli proud of him.
If he was mine I would defend him with my
life, and nothing could induce me to part with
him. I was only trying you, my son, to
see what stuff you are made of, and I can
tell Adam Badeau, that he has one of the
brightest and spunkiest boys in North Caro-
lina. Ireckon you didn’t get that grit from
your mother’s side, from the Yankee stock,
but from the good Southern blood that your
father brought. from South Carolina,”

“Don’t say any thing against my mother,
Mr. Dabney. She is of as good stock as any
one South of Mason and Dixon’s line, and
there is as much grit in Northern blood as
there is in Southern blood.”

“There you are, again, my son. You
flare up like a train of gunpowder. I was
not saying any thing against your mother.
On the contrary. I respect and admire her
greatly, as weli tor her virtues as for her
beauty. Come, Paul; the sun is getting
high, and they will be anxious to see you
at home, as you spent the night in
town.” ;

“JT have no objection to your walking
with me, Mr. Dabney,” replied the boy, “ if

-you will not try any more of your experi-

ments, and will confine youtself to what
concerns you. Nero is able to take care of
himself; and you see, sir, that I am not
afraid of you.” i

“Hal ha! Afraid! That is too good
a joke to keep, and I must tell it to your
father. Afraid of me! Ha! ha!’

The man, the boy and the dog then
walked briskly forward over the dusty road,
the man walking on the left, the boy keep-
ing his pistol in the right pocket of his
sack, and the dog trotting by the side of his
master, still glancing suspiciously at the
man. Dabney kept up a continual flow of
oily utterances, to which Paul replied
briefly. It was evident that the “ minister
of the gospill” was prosecuting some un-
satisfactory pumping operations, and that
he was regarded with unconcealed distrust
by both the boy and the dog.

Nevertheless, they walked on peaceably,
until they passed the belt of pines, emerged
into a richer country, came in sight of the
Cape Fear River, and stood before a fine
mansion, or farm-house.

-| Dabney.

 

CHAPTER II.
The Viper and his Slime.

Tue house in which the travelers found
themselves stood half a mile from the bank
of the river, and was connected with a large
and fine plantation. It was a two-story
building, broad and spacious, with a chim-
ney at each end, on the outside, and with
verandas at both stories, in front and rear.
The grounds were well laid out, and were
adorned with an abundance of shade-trees,
and provided with flower and kitchen
gardens. The outbuildings were at a con-
siderable distance from the house, and the
negro-quarters were still further off.

As the man, the boy and the dog walked
up the graveled road that led to the front
entrance, a small male African, shoeless,
hatless, and scantily attired, stared at them
a few moments, with eyes as big as saucers,
and then, elevating his hands and throwing
out his heels, rushed helter-skelter to the
veranda, vociferating: as he went:

“Oh, Miss Mamie, here’s Mass’ Paul!
Mass’ Badeau, he’s come! Missy, de young
gen’leman has got back !”

The summons was immediately answered
by a tall and graceful young lady of seven-
teen, who came bounding out of the house
and down the’ graveled slope. Mary Ba-
deau was “beautiful exceedingly,” but her
beauty was of an entirely different type
from that of her handsome young brother.
Her hair was as black as jet, and her eyes

were large and dark, while in complexion.
It need- de

she was a rich and ripe brunette.
ed but a glance to tell that she wa
woman grown, for her beauty was of tha
style which matures quickly under ‘the
sunny skies of the South. She was, to
describe her in as few words as possible,
the embodiment of young life, warmth, p:
sion, animation and impulse. She
down over the gravel, threw her a

 

around the neck of Paul Badeau, and kissed
him vociferously—a Frenchman would say,

 

vey the idea,

When Paul emerged from the cloud o
muslin, he drew his sleeve across his lip
like an ungrateful brother as he was, a
looked at his companion—not Nero

“Good-morning, Mr. Dabney,”
young lady, with a pleasant smile.
must pardon me for not noticing you ‘sooner.
What has brought you out here so mojeenty e

 

   
 
  

 
 

CRAMP IN THE STOMACH.

“TJ accompanied my young friend, Miss
Mary,” answered the “ minister of the gos-
pill,” wiping his face with a red silk hand-
kerchief, “as I wished to hold some con-
yersation with your excellent father.”

“Walk in, Mr. Dabney; I have no
doubt that he will be glad to see you.
Paul, have you brought me any letters ?”

“No, sis.”

“Ah, Paul, you ate a sly coon!” said
Dabney, venturing to give the boy a sly
poke in the ribs, a familiarity which Nero
resented by a growl anda threatening dis-
play of teeth.

The four then walked up on the veranda,
where Paul was cordially greeted by his
father and mother.

Adam Badeau seemed to be a man of
about forty years of age, and his wife was
probably five years younger. The son ap-
peared to have inherited the personal char-
acteristics of the mother, and the daughter
those of the father, for the latter was dark-
haired and dark-eyed, while Charlotte Ba-
deau had the light hair, blue eyes and
blonde complexion that rendered .Paul so
handsome. Both were well, though not
finely, dressed, and they had the appear-
ance of a well-to-do planter and his wite.

Dabney did not meet a very flattering
reception from either ‘ef the heads of the
family. He was invited to take a seat,
with the rest, in the wide hall that ran
through the middle of the house, but he
was treated by Adam Badeau only with
courtesy, and by his wife with decided
coolness. He did not seem at all abashed,
however, and complacently wiped his fore-
ws with his large red silk handkerchief.
“Paul, did you bring any letters from
own, or any thing else?” asked Adam
eau.

_ “No, sir; nothing but myself and Nero.”
“Fal ha! ha!’ laughed Dabney. “ That
‘a good one, my boy! You tell that as
rraight as I could preach a sermon.”

“ What do you mean, Martin Dabney ?”
asked Badeau, as a frown settled upon his
fine features.

, “Jwas just going to say that that re
minds me of a good joke that I had this
4 orning. The boy says that he has no
ers, but I met him, as I came through
pines to the road, and—”

, mother !” exclaimed Paul, putting
nds upon his stomach, and doubling
lf up with an expression of pain, “I
an awful cramp. I had one in

 

   
   
  
 
   

   
  
   
 
 
 

 

 

lil

the road this morning, and thought I should.
never get over it. Can you give me some
brandy right away ?”

“Yes, my son,” replied the matron, an-
swering a look of intelligence that flashed
from the eyes of the boy. ‘Come up to
my room, and I will give you something
hot that will relieve you.”

“Shall I assist you, Charlotte?” asked
Adam Badeau, as his wife half supported
Paul up the broad stairs.

“No, I thank you; I think I can man-
age him best alone, with no excitement.”

The boy was quickly got up-stairs, and
laid upon Mrs. Badeau’s bed, Mary following
her mether and her brother into the room,

“ Mary,” said Mrs. Badeau, “run down
and get some old piece$ of flannel from
Phillis, and tell her to have some boiling
water ready.”

As soon as his sister had hastened out
of the room to perform the errand, Paul sat
up in the bed, as straight and as strong as
if he had never known what it was to have
a cramp.

“ Here, mother,’ said he, drawing the
bundle of letters from the inner pocket of
his coat, “this is what is the matter with
me. I would not have that Mr. Dabney
see these letters for the world, nor would
father, I am sure. He tried to scare me
into showing them to him, but Nero and I
were not to be frightened. Hide them, as
quick as you can, mother, for it will not do
to let father know that they are here, until
that man is gone.”

Mrs. Badeau took the letters, and hastily
thrust them under the mattress of her bed,
and Paul lay down, with an expression of
pain, just as his sister reéntered the room.

“He seems to be easier, Mary,” said
Mrs. Badeau,,“and I think we will not
need the cloths. A glass of hot brandy
and sugar will soon relieve him. I will
give it to him, and will leaye him in your
care, while I go down-stairs.”

In the mean time, Martin Dabney was dis-
tilling venom into the ears of Adam Badean.

“ Have you heard of the great victory ?”
he asked.

“What victory? I have not had a mor-
sel of news for a week.”

“ This is news enough to last you a long
time. Beauregard and Johnston met the
big Yankee army at Bull Run, or Manassas
Plains, or whatever it may be called, and
whipped them, by the blessing of the Lord,
in next tono time. They captured General

 
 

a TRUE

Scott, and his splendid carriage, with a
number of members of Congress, and drove
the whole crowd, after slaughtering thou-
sands and thousands of them, back to
Washington. The Yankees outnumbered
us, ten to one, but our men whipped them
without half trying, and they will never
show their faces again as an army.”

“Ts this true, Martin Dabney ?”

“Of course it is,if General Beauregard’s
dispatches, and the President's official an-
nouncement, and hundreds of other ac-
counts, are to be believed. I would have
brought you a paper, if I had thought of
coming this way. I tell you, Badeau, the
Yankee cause has gone up, and it won’t do
for people to be trying to play the tory
around here any more. I have sometimes
thought that you had adurking inclination
that way, and I hope it will not bring you
into trouble ; but, if it should, you know that
you can rely upon my friendship, and I
stand well with the authorities.”

Adam Badeau was silent. He seemed
stunned when he first heard the news, and
then conflicting emotions appeared to be
struggling within him for the mastery.

“Tf you have had any such idea, my
friend,” continued Dabney, “ you will give
it up now, of course, and will readily settle
down to the new order of things. As your
age is within the military limits, you had
better join some organization for home pro-
tection and police duty, such as Iam now
getting up, which will exempt you from
active service, if we conclude to carry the
war into Africa, and’ invade the Yankees.”

“Thank you; I will think of it,” moodily
answered the planter.

“By the way, don’t you keep a Union
flag here in the house? I know that you
had one a while ago.”

“There is nothing of the kind in the
house,” said Mrs. Badeau, who had quietly
entered, and seated herself in the hall.

“Ah! Ifa lady says so, of course it
must beso. I only wished to say that, if
you did happen to have any thing of the
kind, you had better destroy it as soon as
possible, for there is no more market fo
such goods in these parts, and, if it was
found in your possession, it might bring you
into trouble. Take the advice of a true
friend, and get into the new traces as soon
as you can, without kicking, or ying to
step on the shafts.” »»

Adam Badeau, sitting with bent "Mow
and downcast eyes, remained silent.

 

BLUE.

“Tt seems strange,” continued the viper,
dropping out his bitter words, as if they
were morsels of sugar candy, “that you
had not received any news of the great
victory. Isolated as you are, or rather, as
you keep yourself, I should have thought
you would have heard something about it.
Your son must have heard of it in town.
I should not be at all surprised if the
letters that he brought contained the
news.”

Adam Badeau was moody and downcast
no longer; but his dark eyes flashed fire,
as he raised his head, and gazed earniy: at
his guest.

“ Are you sure, Martin Dabney, that my
son brought letters home with him ?”

“Sure? Of course I am, my dear sir.
Ha! haf ha! I was going to tell you a
joke about those letters, when the boy was
taken with a cramp, or pretended to be.
As I was about to say, I met the boy and
his dog as I struck the road, after passing
through the pines. They were running and
jumping, and the boy held up a handful -
of ‘letters, which the dog was leaping after.
I stopped the boy, asked him if you were
at home, and told him that I would walk
with him as far as the house. I thought I
would try the boy; to see what stuff he was
made of; so I asked him to let me see the
‘letters. He refused to do so, and I walked
toward him, with as severe a look as my
mild features could assume, as if I meant to
take them from him, when up jumped the

dog, with his teeth all on edge, and out . /—

bounced a pistol from my lad’s pocket,
Then I burst out in a laugh, told him of the
trick I had been playing on him, commend:
ed him for his spunk and spirit, and pro
ised him'that I would tell the joke to
when we reached the house, and we jo
along like good friends.”

“ Are you sure that you saw the letters
in his hand ?”

“ As sure as I am that you are singin
that arm-chair. Besides, when I had spoken:
to him, and was close by his side, I saw him
put the letters within an inner pocket ‘of
his coat. The mystery about it is, why he ~
denies having the letters, and says that he
had received none. I can not account for
it, unless it may be that he has taken a
unreasonable dislike to me, and that t $
a little exhibition of obstinacy. I ho
ig nothing worse.”

“Ts this true, Martin Dabney? ‘Tfina it
hard to believe that-my son wa be guilty

 
 
 
 

 

  
 
 

 

 

 
 

A COWHIDE. 19

of telling such a willful, barefaced false-
hood.”

“True, my dear sir? There can be no
doubt of it. Do you think that I, a minis-
ter of the gospill, who haye preached the
Word in these parts for twenty years, would
tell you what was not true—especially in a
matter in which I am in no wise interested ?
I only wanted to tell you of the joke that
T mentioned, and thus this matter came out.
E now ‘wish that I had said nothing about
it.

“This must be investigated,” said Adam
Badeau, as an unusually stern expression
darkened his fine features. “ Charlotte, wg
you have the kindness to bring that bo
down here ?”

“TY hardly know whether he is well
enough to come,” answered Mrs. Badeau, in
a trembling voice. Ef

“ Sick or well, I command you to bring
him here, immediately. This matter must
be investigated, and, if he has told a false-
hood, I wish. to know it. At all events,
his conduct must be explained. I never
knew him to lie to me.”

The will of Adam Badeau was. law in
his house, to young and old, to bond and
free, and his wife left the room, with a
heavy heart, to do his bidding. As she
went up-stairs, her compressed lips, and her
clenched hand, told what she would do to
Martin Dabney, if the chance should be of-
fered her, ‘

CHAPTER III.

99 Tie Viper Bites Young Flesh

es! Mrs. BADEAU soon returned to the hall,
~ accompanied by Paul, and followed by his
sister Mary. The two ladies seemed anx-
ious and agitated, but the boy appeared to
de in perfect health and strength.

“Our young friend seems to have been
cured of his cramp very Sraeenyy sneered
Dabney.

The boy’s face flushed, but he made no
answer.

“JT have sent for you, My son,” gaid
Adam Badeau, “because I wished you to
-\ make an explanation concerning the letters
that you brought from town. Iam con-
-Yinced that you told me a downright false-
d, in asserting that you had no letters.”
“Tf you are convinced, father,” replied

, “what use would there be in my say-

g any thing about it ?”

   
  
 
   
 
  
  

 

“Do you mean to be impudent, sir, as
well as a liar? Such conduct will not help
your case. When you returned, I asked
you if you brought any letters from town,
or any thing else, and you answered that
you brought nothing but yourself and Nero,
Mr. Dabney, who is a gentleman of excel-
lent character; and a minister of the Gospel,
assures me that, when he met you, you
were running and playing with the dog,
and that you were holding up a handful of
letters. He also says that, in order to try
your metal, he asked you to show him the
letters, and, on your ‘refusal, he walked to-
ward you, as if to take them from you, but
that the dog showed his teeth, and you
showed a pistol. He then laughed, and
explained the trick that he had been play-
ing upon'you. He was sure that you had
the letters, because, afier he had spoken to
you, and when he was close by your side,
he saw you put them in an inner pocket of
your coat. Paul, what have you to say to
this statement Pr

Adam Badeau delivered his harangue,
charge, or indictment, as sternly, coolly, and
inexorably, as a case-hardened judge would
sentence a conyicted criminal to be hung by
the neck until he was dead; but the boy
showed no sign of trepidation or dismay.

“T have only to say, sir,’ he answered,
“that the statement is not true. I brought
no letters from town, and I have no letters
with me.”

Martin Dabney held up his big hands,
and rolled up his little eyes, with what was
intended for an expression of holy horror.

“ God of Israel !”" he exclainied, “ is it pos-
sible that so fair an exterior can conceal
such a heart of guilt? Paul Badeau, your
own dog, if he could speak, would condemn
you, for I am sure that I saw the marks of -
his teeth upon one of those letters.”

“Tf Nero could speak,” answered Paul,
with flashing eyes, “he would soon give his
opinion of you.”

“ Silence !’ exclaimed Adam Badeau, “I
will not have my guests insulted by a diso-
bedient boy. Do you still persist in deny-
ing that you brought any letters from town”

“T brought no letters from town, sir.”

“Paul, it is evident to me that you are
telling an atrocious falsehood. If you are
ready to confess your fault, and explain the
reason of this contumacy, your punishment
will be light ; if not, I will see whether the
cowhide can bring you to a sense of your
misconduct.”

 
sae!

ae

ee

 

4 TRUE BLUE.

Mrs. Badeau was seated in a chair, pale
and silent, and with the tears ready to burst
out from her eyes. Mary stood by her side,
with glowing cheeks and an expression of
the most oe indignation.

“TI am sure,” ‘said the latter, “that I
would believe my brother Paul, in prefer-
ence to any one else. I have never known

“him to tell a lie, and you haye no right to

punish him on such proof.”

“Silence!” thundered the head of the
family. .“ Go to your room, girl, and re-
main there until you are sent for.”

“ Silently and submissively—for the man-
dates of the stern planter were not to be
disputed—the young lady walked up the
stairs, casting, as she went, a pitying glance
upon her young brother.

“ Now, Paul,” said Adam Badeau, “ come
#vith me into the back yard.”

Followed by Paul, his wife, and Martin
Dabney, Mr. Badeau led the way through

‘the back hall door, which opened upon a

garden crowded with luxuriant flowers,
shrubs, and graceful trees. As he went, he
took from the wall a cowhide of formida-
ble dimensions.

“Take off your coat !” was his command,
as soon as the open air was reached; and
the boy obeyed without hesitation.

“ Adam——Mr. Badeau—” implored the
matron, “ before you proceed any further,
will you not permit me to speak with you
a moment in private ?”

“Leave me alone, Charlotte! I know
what you want; you want me to forgive him
—just this once. You are too tender-hearted.
You would soon spoil the boy, if I would
Jet you.”

“Pardon me,” interrupted Dabney, clasp-
ing his hands, with a particularly meek and
pitying expression, “pardon me, my dear
friend, if I suggest, as a Christian and a
minister of the gospill, that justice should
sometimes be tempered with mercy. Per-
haps, if the youth has time to reflect upon
the enormity of his sin, he will confess it,
and will produce the letters.”

“Mr. Dabney, you must know that just-
ice, in such a case, is the best mercy. I
had rather see my son perish before my eyes,
than know him to be a liar. I can permit
so interference in my management of my
family. Paul, are you ready to confess that
you told me a falsehood maeene hose
letters ?”

“T told you the truth, air” w was the an

reply.

 

“We will see if the truth can be got out
of you,” said Adam Badeau, as he raised
his whip.

When the first blow fell, Pawi’s large
Newfoundland dog rushed to the scene, and
growled savagely. Mr. Badeau struck at
the animal with. his whip, but Paul turned
to him imploringly, with tears in his eyes,

“Please, father,’ he entreated, “do not
strike poor Nero. He has done nothing
wrong. Whip me, sir, but let Nero go.”

A negro was called, who tied a rope
around the neck of the noble dog, and
dragged him, howling and struggling, out

sight.

Alas, poor Nero!—so full of life and
joy when the dew was on the grass in the
morning—is this the welcome that you and
your young master had anticipated so fondly?
Does this seem like the kisses and good
dinner for him, and the abundance of cold
meat and bones for you, that you had so joy-
fully promised yourselves? Martin Dabney,
“minister of the gospill,” if you have done
wrong in this matter, be assured that retri-
bution, sooner or later, will find you out!

The boy was severely whipped, for Adam
Badeau was a powerful man, as well as aman
of strong passions and a high sense of honor.
He had often punished his son, but had
never before punished him in this way, and
had never had occasion to punish him for
telling a falsehood.

Paul bore his punishment bravely; the
tears rolled down his cliceks, but he did not
even groan, and never spoke, except when
his father adjured him to confess the truth,
when he simply answered, that he had spo
ken the truth. . His mother had sunk upo
the grass, where she coyeréd her face wit
her handkerchief, and sobbed’ in silen
Martin Dabney mopped his forehead with
his square yard of red silk, and gazed at
the scene with an unpleasant expression,
vainly endeavoring to squeeze a few tea
out of his mean little eyes. He was wait.
ing, not very patiently, for the production o'
the letters.

When Adam Badeau thought that he had
punished the boy sufficiently, for that occa-

sion, he concluded that he must make use a

of some other means to overcome his obsti+ |
nacy. Accordingly, he ordered him to P
on his coat, and retire to his own room.
“ May I go with him ?” feebly asked Ma
Badeau, who had risen, weak and teat
from the grass...
“Yes; if you will leave

 
  
 
 

your tears and

 

  
 
  
   
  
 
 

ae

 
compassion behind, and will treat him as he
deserves to be treated.”

“TJ will endeavor to-do so, sir.”

“Come, Mr. Dabney ; suppose we have a
glass of wine.”

Paul, supported by his mother, went up
stairs, and the two men returned to the hall,
where a bottle of wine and some glasses
were brought to them. Dabney, although
a “minister of the gospill,” did not hesitate
to partake of the wine quite freely, and he
soon became loquacious, while his host was
averse to conversation, seeming moody, as if
he was not entirely satisfied with what he
had done.

“T hope you will take my advice, my
dear friend,” said Dabney, after speaking for
some time on various topics. “I hope you
will take my advice, and will submit to the
new order of things as easily and as speedi-
ly as you can. It is the only thing to do,
_ as the success of the Confederacy is now
rendered certain.”

“T will think of it,” abstractedly answered
Badeau. .

“You had better think quickly, and act
without hesitation. I have no doubt that
you will be all right after awhile, and if
you should, in the mean time, find yourself
in trouble on the score of your politics, re-
member that you have a friend in me, and
that I will exert myself to the utmost to aid
you.”

“Thank you; I will think of it. Can
there be any doubt that my son brought
some letters from town 2”

“ Not the least possibility of a doubt, sir.
- I saw them so plainly, that I noticed the
_ marks of the dog’s teeth in one of them.”

“What sort of a letter. was it ?”.

_ Aldarge letter,in a yellow envelope. The
_- others were smaller.”
* “Jt is strange. TI can not understand
"ty he should be so obstinate. I have

never before known him to’ tell me a willful
lic, and would not have supposed it possi-
ple that he could be guilty of such a thing.”
ae “Perhaps, sir,’ suggested Dabney, “if
you were to speak to him now, quite kind-
ly, like a Christian and a father, he might

» be found willing to confess and produce the
+ letters.” ;

- “No, sir; his mother is with him at pre-

sent, and I do not wish to disturb her.

Besides, I have a plan for bending his stub-
n will, which I am not yet ready to put
execution.”

When Martin Dabney perceived that his

Ness r ¥

 
 

   

   

 

 
   
  
      

 

THE LETTERS PRODUCED.

 

15.

prospect of seeing the coveted letters ap-
peared to be as distant as ever, he took
leave of his host, with many expressions
of friendship and sympathy, accepted
another glass of wine, and removed himself
and his ominous shadow from the planta-
tion.

Adam Badeau, with bent brow and per-
plexed countenance, paced the hall for some:
time, and then walked quietly up-stairs to
visit his son.

CHAPTER IY.
The Letters at Last.

Pau was lying on his bed, and his mo- -
ther was bending over him, mingling her
tears with the embrocation that she was ap-
plying to his hurts, when the door softly
opened, and Adam Badeau entered. Both
started, and the mother nearly dropped the
bottle that she held in her hand.

“T see,” said Badeau, “you are crying
and sympathizing, as usual, and are. acting
as if the boy was an injured angel, instead
of a properly-punished wrong-doer. You
promised me that you would endeavor to
treat him as he deserved.”

“TJ am sure that I have done go, sir.”

“What does that mean ?”

“TJ hope you will soon know, sir.”

“You speak in riddles, and riddles do not
please me. Paul, are you ready to confess
your fault ?”

“las that man gone—has Mr. Dabney
gone, sir ?”

“What concern is that of yours ?
he is gone, if that will please you.”
“Then, father, I am ready to confess.”

“T knew it !” triumphantly exclaimed the
planter. “I knew that he had brought the
letters, and that some foolish spite against
Mr. Dabney caused him to tell that abomi-
nable falsehood. Still, I would not have
expe¢ted him to show such wonderful ob-
stinacy. Now, Paul, make a full confession,
and I will punish you no more.”

“ Mother,” said the boy, “please bring
me those letters that Lasked you to take care
ot?)

“What! Is this a conspiracy? Are you
also in league with the boy, Charlotte re

“When you see the letters, perhaps you

Yes;

| will not need to ask,” answered Mrs. Badeau,

as she glided out of the room.
As Adam Badeau looked at the swollen

 
 

 

 

16 TRUE

face and bruised back of his boy, the mus-
cles of his severe but fine face twitched in-
voluntarily, and a keen pang shot through
his heart, for he began to doubt whether he
had really acted wisely and well—whether
the obstinacy of the boy might not have
proceeded from a sense of right. But he
said nothing until his wife returned and
placed the letters in his hands.

“Here is a letter for you, Charlotte,” he
said, “from your brother; ‘and here is one
for Mary; I think I can guess who it is
from. But what is this large letter to me ?
It must be the one Dabney spoke of. Yes,
there are the marks of the dog’s teeth in the
corner. What sharp eyes that man must
have! There is something strange about
this ; none of the letters have passed through
the post-office, and how did these two from
the North reach here? Dabney was right,
but there is a mystery about it.”

“ Father,” said Paul, “may I speak a few
words to you, before you open any of those
letters ?”

“ Certainly, my son.
needed.”

“T told you the truth, father, when I said
that I brought no letters home from town,
and that I had none with me; but I did
not tell you the whole truth. There was
nothing for us at the post-oflice, but I met a
man outside of town, who asked me if I
was the son' of Adam Badeau. I told him
that I was; and then he gave me those let-
ters, directing me to take particular care of
them, especially the large one, to let nobody
see them, and to deliver them to no one
but yourself. As I was running along in
the road, playing with Nero, Mr. Dabney
met me, and I suppose he saw the letters.
After talking awhile, and telling what he
meant to do with tories, he asked me to
show him the letters. I refused to do go,
and he started to take them from me, but
he was scared, I think, by Nero and by my
pistol. ‘Then he laughed, and tried to turn
it off as a joke; but I knew that he meant
to get the letters, if he could, and Nero
knew it, too. I might have been mistaken,
but Nero could not. A dog like him never
mistakes an enemy, father. When I reached
home, I thought I might get a chance to
give you the letters privately, but I could
not, as Mr. Dabney kept too close to me.
When you asked me if I had brought any

An explanation is

letters, I hardly knew what to ‘say, for I}

was sure that one of the letters, at least, was
such as he ought not to see, and I did not

i

 

BLUE.

dare to give them to you while he was here.
I told you that I did not bring any letters,
and you would haye believed me, and all
would have been well, if he had not inter-
fered. I think I would have died, rather
than show those letters to his greedy eyes !”

“Ts this entirely true, Paul ?” asked Adam
Badeau, as the tears started in his large,
dark eyes.

“Tt is true, father, and Nero would proye |

it, if he could speak. Are you willing to
oblige me by opening that letter, and telling
me whether it is really as important as I
supposed it to be ?”

“ Certainly,” answered ‘Adam Badeau, as
he carefully cut the seal of the envelope, and
drew out the inclosure.

“My God!” he exclaimed, when he had
hastily glanced over the papers. “ Paul,
you have saved my life! TI would not, for
the world, that Martin Dabney, or any of
his political stripe, should have even a sus-
picion of the contents ofthis envelope. My
poor boy! My noble, brave, true-hearted,
persecuted boy ! ¢How shall I atone to you
for this ?”

The strong man, suddenly weakened, fell
upon his knees by the bedside, and kissed
the bruises of the boy, and bathed them
with his tears. Adam Badeau was not a
cruel or hard-hearted man; he was only
strict; he was the autocrat of his own fami-
ly ; he regarded a lie as near the hight of
infamy. When the revulsion of feeling came,
it quite unmanned him.

“No, no, father,” protested Paul. “Don’t

do that. It hurts me more than the whip-
ping, to see you take it so hard.” <E

“To think,” sobbed Adam Badeau, “ that
I should have sacrificed my own son for my

 
 
  

own sake, and that he should haye borne it |

so patiently, when a single word would —
have saved him so much pain! I could:

cut ot the hand that struck those cruel —

blows.’ if
“Don’t speak so, father,” entreated the |
boy. “T am well pafd for the hurt, pe IS
think you will never distrust me again.’

“Distrust you, my boy! You have saved
my life, and I would ttust you with ita
thousand times.”

“And now,” continued Paul, “as this
matter seems to be set right, may sis
Mary come down? She will be glad.
this.”

A hearty assent was given, and the | ddan
tiful girl was soon mingling her tears of joy
with those of her mother and brother. —

 
 
 

 
 

   
   
 
  
   

CABALISTIC CHARACTERS. 17

Paul then asked for Nero. The order
was given, and in a few minutes the great
dog came bounding up the stairs, to the
room he knew so well. He eyed Mr. Ba-
deau rather suspiciously when he entered,
but his ill-feeling was quickly changed to
joy, as he leaped up on the bed, and licked
his young master’s face and hands.

“Poor Nero!” said Paul. “I told you,
this morning, that they would be so glad to
see us, when we came home and brought
the letters, and that they would give you
plenty of cold meat and bones. You haven't
had any yet, but you shall have your dinner
now; shan’t he, father ?”

“ He shall have the best meat in the house,
my son, and it shail be served up to him
here, in your own room.”

When the excitement of the family had
subsided, and while Nero, with his shaggy
tail wagging vigorously, and his intelligent
eyes glistening, was bolting his dainties, the
others commenced the important, business of
opening the letters for which poor Paul had
paid so dearly.

Mrs. Badeau’s letter was from her brother
at the North. It stated that he had an op-
portunity of writing, which might be the
last, for a long time; that the loyal States
were determined to wipe out the insult to
the old flag, and to restore the Union; that
it might take a long time, but the North
was fully able and willing to do the work;
that serious reverses, arising from over-con-
fidence, might be at first met with, but they
would only cause the loyal people to appre-
ciate the task before them, and rise to the
hight of their responsibility. Thete was

-.much more to the same effect, coupled with

many words of loye and an affectionate fare-

well.
j Mary’s letter brought smiles and tears in-

to her face, but she did not choose to read it
aloud. She only condescended to say that
e young gentleman who had written it
ad accepted a commission jin the Union
rmy, that he had no misgiving or fear of
_ reverses, and that he expected soon to pay

~ them a visit, and dazzle Mary's eyes with |

his uniform.
“ Ag for my letter,” said Adam Badeau,

“it is not worth while, and, perhaps, might

‘not be safe, to tell you who or where it jg
m, but I may say that it is not from the
rth. he writer tells me of the disaster
e Union army at Manassas Plains,

which, he says, was not near as bad as it is |
ae here. He says there is no

4
ate

 

cause for discouragement, but every reason
to hope, for this reverse will rouse the men
of the North, and set them at work in earn-
est. He also says, that the people of these
States, who desire to remain loyal to the
Union, must lose no time in perfecting their
organizations, for mutual counsel and assist-
ance, if not for mutual protection. He gives
me authority to establish a Zrue Blue, or
Union camp, and has set down on this
paper, in cipher, the names of the officers
and the location of the camps already es-
tablished in this State, with other necessary
information.”

Adam Badeau exhibited to his auditory
a sheet of foolscap, covered with cabalistic
characters, which they could not pretend to
understand.

“Do you really belong to such an organ-
ization ?” asked his wife.

“Ido; I joined in Wilmington. It is
known that there is such a league, and now
I know what Dabney meant to do, for he
has suspected me of being a Zrue Blue.
He would have ‘taken these letters from
Paul, if he had dared to do so; but, failing
in that, he came here, thinking that he
would be able to see them, and to get some
eyidence against me. He permitted, and
even abetted, the punishment of Paul, be-
cause he thought it would aid him in his
plan. I thought that he was disinterested,
and was speaking in the cause of truth, but
I now see that he suspected some of those
letters to be what he calls treasonable, and
wished to make sure of the fact.”

“He is as mean as a man can be,” said
Paul. “Nero always growls when he sees
him, and Nero never gtowls at a ‘good
man.”

“T am inclined to believe you and Nero,
and I promise you, my boy, that that man
shall suffer for what he has made me do
this day. For every blow that has fallen
upon your back, he shall pay tenfold.”

_ “* Vengeance is mine, and I will repay,
saith the Lord, ” interrupted the mild voice
of Mrs. Badeau.

“ Certainly ; but I expect to be, as Dabney
would say, an humble instrument in the
hands of the Lord.” f

“ There is no danger that we ‘will forget
him, is there, Nero ?” said Paul, patting the
head of the intelligent dog, who responded
by a menacing growl, as if he had under-
stood every word that had beén said.

“And now,” said Adam Badeau, “for
fear of accidents, I will commit my friend’s

:
 

 

18 ; TRUE

letter to the flames, if one of you will sup-
ply me with a match. As’ for what is
written in cipher, that J must keep, but this
shall ae be brought up in evidence against
any one.”

A match being given to. him, he lit it,
and applied it to the paper, which was

quickly reduced to. cinders on the hearth.

He then went down-stairs with his wife
and daughter, and they were soon followed
by Paul, who found kisses, praise and con-
solation—to say nothing of the expected
good dinner—enough to fully make up for
what he had been deprived of in the morn-
ing. In the kisses and praise, as well as

. the dinner, Nero shared liberally.

CHAPTER V.
What Came Neat.

“Tree is one thing,” said Adam Ba-
deau, when dinner was over, and the family
were seated in the cool and airy hall, “ con-
cerning which Martin Dabney spoke the
truth, I believe. He said that, if we had a
Union flag about the premises, we had bet-
ter destroy it, or make way with it. I
think you told him, Charlotte, that there
was nothing of the kind in the house.”

“T did, sir, and I told him the truth; for
it was not in the house. That was as much
truth as ought to be thrown away on such
aman. I know where it is, however, and
know that is safe, for the present, at least.
It is concealed in Aunt Pheebe’s cabin, in
the negro-quarters.”

“T wish you would bring it here, Char-
lotte, if you can do so with safety. We
will have one good look at it, and will then
consider what it is best to do with it.”

Mrs. Badeau left the house, and soon re-
turned with a roll, wrapped up in linen cloth.
Then the family, after placing a negro on
guard, to warn them of the approach of
strangers, retired to the parlor, the doors of
which were locked on the inside.

Mrs. Badeau, with careful hands, and in
a reverent manner, proceeded to take off
the linen wrapper, and soon disclosed the
flag to the admiring eyes of her husband,
daughter and son. It was about the size
of a regimental battle-flag, with not a star
blotted out—not a stripe erased. It had
done service on several Fourth of Julys,
and on many other holiday occasions, but
had been carefully preserved, and was. in
good condition.

 

BLUE.

Mrs. Badeau held up the flag, and all
looked at‘it lovingly, and kissed it with be
coming reverence. The planter regarded it
seriously and mournfully.

“T fear it will be a long time,” said he,
“before such a flag can be openly displayed
in this part of the country. I hardly know
what to say or do about this one. It seems
necessary to destroy it, if we are to consult
our own safety, and, I suppose, the only
effectual way of destroying it will be to
burn it.”

“Burn it! Adam, do you know what
you are saying ?”

“Burn it! I would sooner kill Paul’s
dog!”

“Burn the American flag! Impossi-
ble!”

Such were the exclamations with which
Adam Badeau’s wife, daughter and son
greeted his proposition to destroy the em-
blem of the Union.’ He seemed astonished,
and his face flushed, as if from a feeling of
shame.

“T hope that none of you consider me a
coward,” he said. “ You must remember
that I have a responsibility, as the head of
the family, that does not rest upon you.
My life is valuable to me, only so far as it
is useful to you; but I am not foolish
enough to throw it away for such an un-
substantial thing as a piece of bunting. The °
flag is useless to us because we do not dare
to display it, and, if it should be found in
our possession, it might cause the loss of
our property, and the lives of one or more
of us.”

“That is true, father,’ said Paul;
I can not bear to think of burning it.” Py

“Perhaps I can settle the matter,” said
Mrs. Badeau. “ We can conceal it, so that,
even if it should be found, the discover
would not compromise us. If you will
permit me, I will take it back to Aunt
Pheebe’s cabin, and will leave it in her
care. They would hardly think of lookin
there for it, and, if it should chance to be
discovered, she would invent an excuse for —
having it in her possession. They would
not harm an old negro woman, and we
would not be implicated. Iam sure,how- .—
ever, that Phoebe would take such good
care of it, that no one who was not entitled —
to it would ever get possession of it.” e

This proposition, after a little consulta-
tion, was agreed to, and the matron car
fully rolled up the flag, and carried iy + back
to the negro-quarters.

“but

 
  

 
 
   
   

   
 

 

 
 

 

THE ARREST.

It was now nearly dark, and Adam Ba-
deau, with his wife, Paul and Nero, ad-
journed to another room, for the purpose
of writing letters, and consulting about the
management of the estate, in view of the
unfortunate complications occasioned by the
war. Mary retired to her room, to read
her letter again and again.

While they were thus engaged, a rebel
captain, with about a dozen files of men,
marched up from the road, and quietly sur-
rounded the house. Then the officer, with
a few of his men, entered the hall, and in-
quired for Mr. Badeau.

The planter came out to meet them, ex-
pressed his surprise at seeing them. there,
and inquired their business.

“Ts your name Adam Badeau ?” asked
the captain.

‘TG 367

“TJ am an officer in the Confederate ser-
vice, sir, and have come here for the purpose
of arresting you.”

“On what charge? By what authority ?”

“ On the charge of treason, and by author-

‘ity of the Confederate States of America.”

“ Have you any warrant ?”

“ T have the order of Colonel Gartney.”

“That is no lawful authority.”

“Tt is sufficient for the purpose.
you ready to go ?”

“T suppose I must submit, as resistance
would be useless, Will you allow me to
change my clothes, and to pack up a few
necessaries |”

“Certainly, sir, as soon as we search
you.”

“ Search me ?” exclaimed the planter, as

his cheeks turned pale. “Have you orders
to commit such an indignity 2”
_ He suddenly remembered that he had for-
rotten to put away the paper in cipher,
, containing the names of officers and the
cation of True Blue camps in the State,
and that it was still in his coat-pocket. He
tterly upbraided himself for his careless-
‘ness, and tried to think of some means of
destroying the paper; but, before he could
form any plan, he was seized and searched,
and the important document was discovered.
“ Here we have it !” exclaimed the officer,
as he hastily examined the prize. “ Weare
in luck to-night. We have caught our man,

d have found the evidence on him. Now,

r. Badeau, you may go and change your

lothes, and may pack up what you wish
‘to, but you must be accompanied by a

” mel

Are

   
  

  
  

 

 

.

19

Adam Badeau said nothing more, but
walked up-stairs with two of the soldiers.
He soon came down, went into his library,
wrote a few business directions, which he
handed to his wife, and told the officer that
he was ready.

“Where is he to go to? asked Mrs.
Badeau, after the planter had taken leave
of his family.

“T don’t know, ma’am. That will be de-
cided by my superior officer.” ‘

“Will his family be permitted to visit
him ?”

“T can’t tell.”

“ You can at least tell me your name ?”

“Certainly, ma’am ; I am Captain Charles
Sawpill, of the First North Carolina Reserves,
serving under Colonel Gartney, at present,
as a police force.”

As entreaties and remonstrances were
alike useless, Mrs. Badeau and her children
were compelled to look on in silence, and
see their husband and father carried off as
prisoner, without being able even to form a
conjecture whither, or to what fate, he was
going. In order to spare his feelings, they
controlled their emotions as much as possible,
and did not give vent to their tears and
lamentations, until the soldiers were out of
sight.

Paul was the first to regain his composure
and in some degree, his cheerful spirits, and
he endeavored to induce his mother and
sister to take a brighter view of the trouble.

“Tt will all be well, dear mother,” he
said. “J have no fears for father, and have
no doubt that we shall see him home again
before long. They can prove nothing against
him, unless by the paper which was found
in his coat, and it can not be possible that
they have a key to that cipher. Besides,
he whispered to me as he went out, and told
me not to fear for him.”

But the stricken wife was not to be com-
forted, and that was the dreariest, longest
night that had ever been known in Adam
Badeau’s house. The family did not go te
bed until very late, and then sleep was slow
to close their tearful eyes. When they
awoke in the morning, it was only to ex-
perience a renewal of their sorrow, to feel
the full weight of the trouble that bad so
suddenly settled dowh upon them. Black
and white, bond and free, all felt this terrible
bereavement, which was rendered still more:
terrible by the uncertainty that existed with
regard to the possible fate of the head of the
family. ©

 
 

ih

 

20 iil ‘TRUE

Was there no hope for them, in their
time of trouble? Was there no kind hand

to offer the cup of consolation, at that trying.

hour?

Yes—Martin Dabney had assured the
planter that he might rely upon the friend-
ship of that exemplary “minister of the
gospill,” if he got into trouble on the. score
of his political opinions, and Martin Dabney
was not slow to prove the sincerity of his
professions.

When the family rose from an almost
untasted breakfast, their unwelcome visitor
of the day before entered the house. He
was in a state of great excitement and pro-
fuse perspiration. He was vigorously mop-
ping his face and forehead with his large
red handkerchief, and it was some time be-
fore he could calm himself down sufficiently
to speak the words that were on his tongue,
if not in his heart.

“My dear madam,” said he, with a rather
overdone expression of sympathy, “ is it
true, this unpleasant news that I have
heard? Is it really a fact that my good
friend and neighbor, Adam .Badeau, has
been arrested by the military authorities ?”

“ My husband was taken away as a pris-
oner last evening, slr, and we have no

knowledge of his whereabouts,” answered
the lady.
“Indeed! There ean be no doubt, then,

of the mournful fact. I feared that some-
thing of this kind would happen, and it was
only yesterday that I warned him to pre-
pare for the coming storm, and to get inside
of the Confederate harbor as soon as possi-
ble. It seems that my warning came too
late, although I had not the least reason
to suspect that such a blow as this was
to fall. But I assured your excellent hus-
band, Madame Badeau, that if any such
emergency should arise—if he should be
molested on the score of his political
opinions—he might rely upon it that I
would befriend him to the best of my abili-
ties, and I flatter myself that I stand well
with the State authorities. I shall make
my assurance good, and shall use my best
endeavors to return him to the bosom of his
fumily. You say that ydu do not know
whither he has been taken ?”

“The officer was unable to inform us.”

“Do you know by whose order he was
arrested ?”

“ By the order of Colonel Gartney.”

“Did you learn the name of the officer
who made the arrest?”

 

.

BLUE.

“JT did; it was Captain Charles Sawpill,
of the First North Carolina Reserves.”

Dabney took a note-book from his pocket,
in which he made some memoranda with a
pencil, looking, all the time, very wise and
very benevolent.

“JT am acquainted with Colonel Gart-
ney,” said he, and will hasten to call upon
him, to learn what I can concerning this
matter, and to endeavor to effect the re-
lease of my excellent friend, Adam Badeau.
In the first place, I must. ascertain the cause
of his arrest, the place of his confinement,
and the manner in which he will be tried.
This I can easily do, and can obtain per-
mission for his family to visit him, but it
may be a long time time before I can pro-
cure his discharge. I heard an unpleasant
report, however, my dear madam, to the
effect that a paper had been found in his
possession, which is considered to be of a
treasonable character, implicating him in
what is called the True Blue club, a tory
society.”

“The officer searched him, and took a
paper from his pocket,” guardedly answered
the matron, “ but he did not show it to me.”

“Ah! Itmust have been something im-
portant. But I suppose you can guess at
its character. Perhaps it was one of those
letters that your son brought from town.”

“TY did not see the paper, sir. The offi-
cer kept it.”

“Tt is my duty to tell you, my dear
madam, that ifa document of that character
has been found upon the person of your
husband, it may complicate the matter, and
may cause great trouble. I will omit no
exertion to aid him, however, and you may
rest assured that I will use my influence to
the best advantage. By the way, did they
search the house? I hope they did not fin
your Yankee flag.” ;

“They made no search, sir, and I tol }

 
 
 

you raneniag that there was no flag in o- ;

house.”

“J remember. It had been destroyed, I

suppose, as I atlvised 2” *

There was no reply to this insinuation,
and Dabney turned, as if he had then noticed
him for the first time, to Paul, who appeared

to be trying to frown more severely than

Nero.

“ Good-morning, my young friend,” sa‘
he, with a smile of extra-clerical unctio
“ T was so absorbed in this unpleasant event,
that I did not perceive you. I hope you

 
  

‘| have no hard feelings toward me, with regaré

 
 

DABNEY IN HIS BEST.

to what occurred yesterday. Your! father
was greatly excited; and I was unable to
dissuade him. from his purpose.’ I hope it
may teach you that’ the truth ‘should be
spoken at all timesy::T was truly grieved
that what was intended fora harmless pleas-
antry should have resulted so painfully. ;: but,
when I was called upon, inthe interest’ of
truth; ‘to declare’ what ‘I ‘knew, it! was: im:
possible to refuse.” }

“That matter is: settled,” sdid: Mrs. Ba-
deau.

“T am happy to hear it. He confessed
his fault, I suppose, and gave’ up the let-
ters ?” :

“Tt was ‘settled. to \'the’ satisfaction of
Mr. Badeau. JI never question my husband’s
decisions.” i 4

“Yes; my excellent friend is rather strict
in-his family management.: But Dam owast-
ing time, my dear lady, when I should: be
at work. | I will investigate this: matter im+
mediately, arid will bring you information,
as soon as I can learn any thing definite.
In the mean time, may the Lord have you
in His holy keeping, and may: He soon ‘re-
turn the master of this fine plantation to his
family and his numerpus servants !)) Good-
morning, my dear lady. Good-morning, my
young friend.”

“ Good-morning, sir.”

‘When Dabney had gone, Mrs. Badeau
sunk into a chair, and seemed buried in
thought. }

Mother,” said Paul, “I cam guess: what
you are thinking of. You are wondering
whether Martin Dabney is an honest: man or
a scoundrel—whether he means well, or is

only trying to do more harm.”

“You are right, Paul that is precisely
what Twas’ thinking of:

- “Tt seems beyond a doubt to me; mother,
that he is a scoundrel of the meanest kind.”
“believe you are right} still, it! is:pos-
sible that his intentions may be good, and
e will give him the benefit of the doubt.”

 

  

  

 

 

 

CHAPTER VI.
The Benefit of the Doubt.

~ Arrrr Martin Dabney left, there was |
little done in the way of’ business at) Adam
aw’s house, and nothing in the way of
ment, The family’ were too com
ly overwhelmed by their troubles to at- |

   
  

 

 

21

agement of the household and the plante-
tion was left tothe negro servants, who did
their duty as wellas they knew how to, for
they had a good: master and) a: kind mis-
tress. “They had, also, an indistinet idea
that their master had been taken away be-
cause he was suspected of loving the Union,
and the Union was associated in their minds
with Abe Lincoln, and they had; begun to
believe that Abe Lincoln meant Freedom.

Therefore, they sympathized deeply with

the distress of the family, and did their best
to keep every thing in the usual channel.

Paul, although his back was still sore,
sallied out for the purpose of learning where
Colonel Gartney, who seemed to have the
lives, liberty and property: of the people of
that neighborhood at his disposal, kept his
head-quarters. He found the place, but was
unable to gain access to the important’ indi-
vidual, as he was extremely busy, (playing
euchre and drinking. apple-brandy,) and. it
was impossible to tell when’ he would be
disengaged.. Paul mentioned hisname and
his business, which caused him to be sum-
marily sent away from the ‘head-quarters,”
with directions, not to “stand upon: the
order of his going, but go at once.” He
was informed that his father was a political
prisoner, that he liad been arrested, om the
grave charge of treason, that neither ‘his
family nor any other sympathizers with
treason ‘would: be allowed to.communicate
with him, that the place of his confinement
would be made known in due time, before
he was hung, perhaps, and» that he, Paul,
had better leave there, before getting him-
self into trouble. f :

The boy went home witha heavy heart,
unable to conceal his dejection; aad his ac-
count. of his experience did not tend to
lessen the anxiety or quiet the apprehen-
sions of his mother and sister. The cloud
that had settled upon the house grew thicker
and. darker, and there was! no ‘¢ye: strong
enough to pierce through the gloom.

In the evening:the comforter came—not
the Spirit of Truth, spoken of in the New
Testament, but, Martin Dabney.

That minister of the gospel according to
Jeff. Davis had got himself. up, for. this
occasion, in what he considered. his best
style. He was dressed in hig finest suit, his
hair was: carefully combed-and. perfumed,
his face had been smoothly shaved, he wore
a cravat of irreproachable whiteness, and
his expression was one. of tender solicitude,
and’ profound sympathy, strangely mingled
 

 

 

 

22 d “TRUE

with a self-satisfied smirk. He produced
upon Mrs, Badeau the impression that he
had been more occupied in attending to his

personal adornment, thun in looking after |

the interests of her husband. He was in-
vited into the sitting-room, and the family
seated themselves to listen to what he had
to say.

“Tam! sorry to inform you, my dear
madam,” he commenced, industriously mop-
ping his brown face with his red. handker-
chief; “that although ‘my inquiries have
elicited allothe information that can be had,
on the subject of your husband’s arrest, yet
that information is far from satisfactory. I
supposed that you would wish!me to report
the facts to: you as soon as possible, whether
the ‘report should be favorable or unfavor-
able ; therefore, I have! come up ‘here this
evening, at the risk of increasing your pain
and anxiety, for the purpose of telling you
the real state of the case.”

“Tf you wish to oblige mie,” said Mrs.
Badeau; “you will say what you have to
say in as few words as possible. 1 desire

_to know the worst, for any thing is better

than this ‘suspense: Have you learned
where my husband is confined ?”

* He is in prison in Wilmington, my dear
lady, and the charge against him is‘a very
serious one. Iam told thatit is ascertained,
beyond a doubt, that: he is a member ‘of a

“treasonable organization, known as a Zrue

Blue club; that he is one of the leaders of
that tory conspiracy. Iam) told that, the
paper, that was found upon his: person. was
written in cipher, and is supposed to con+
tain important information relative! to ‘the
proceedings of the tories. I need hardly
inform | you, that) papers written in cipher
are, in these times, strong, presumptive evi-
dence of treasonable or of other guilty inten-
tions. The authorities have not, as yet, the
key to this cipher, but are certain that they
will find it, and, if the contents of the paper
are such as they are surmised to be, I fear
that the consequences can not be otherwise
than serious. Now, if you could prove that
the document had been received by your
husband through mistake, or that) it had
been accompanied bya note from some
other person who might be apprehended,
or if your son could point out the man from
whom he received the letter, I am sure that
such evidence would have great weight with
the authorities, and. might procure the re-
lease of Mr. Badeau.”...

Martin’ Dabney’s guesses were very

OTR RTT with

 

BLUE.’

shrewd, and the bait he offered was a
tempting one, but the matron and the boy”
were not disposed to bite at it.

“T could prove nothing of the kind,” said
Mrs. Badeau, for I know littie about. hus-
band's private business, and seldom see ‘his
letters.”

“J would do-any thing in» the world to
help. father,” said Paul,; “but I can, not
swear to something I know nothing about.”

“Tt is a hard case,” said. Dabney, as he
turned his eyes up toward the ceiling, “cand
I must adniit that the prospect looks blue.”

“Can I have an. opportunity of :seeing
my husband ?” asked Mrs. Badeau.

»“T fear that itis impossible, my dear lady.
At. present, I know) that it lis impossible.
There are so many tories in the State, and’
the ‘secret. order.of which Iyhaye. spoken is
so troublesome, andscomposed of such ‘des:
perate men; that the authorities: are: com:
pelied to be on their guard and to suffer
him to hold, communication with no one
except’ persons who are known to be loyal
to the existing government. ;'I.am sorry to
say that his family are included among’ the
suspected persons, and are as such, debarred
access to him.”

Mrs. Badeau turned. pale; re seemed
ready to faint. This interview had really
exhausted her strength.

Iam revolving a plan in, my. mind,”
continued Dabney, “ which may benefit us
in this matter.” (The benevolent gentleman
now spoke of himself as if, he, was fully
identified with the family.) It. will probably
be attended with considerable sacrifice, if
not risk, to myself, but Ijshall be happy.to
forego all personal, considerations, if I can F
assist. you in this.emergency. If you and
Miss Mary will grant me some; private ¢ of
versation, I will unfold my, plan... I wo
include my: young friend Paul, but youth is
naturally heedless, and he might be) indis-
creet.”

“ Paul,” said Mrs,
take Nero out to ae house.
when I want you.”

The boy and the dog left the room, and -
Dabney, who had. broken, out in a fresh
perspiration, assiduously applied his red
handkerchief to his shining face, settled him
self in his chair, cleared jhis throat, and LF
menced to“ unfold his plan.’

“J must not disguise from you, my
lady,” said he, “that, the situation of

  

Badeau, “you m
I will éall you.

 

-husband. is, to say) the least, extr vemely crit-

ical. The inquiries that I haye made leave

 

.

ve

 
 

COMING TO

no doubt on my mind that he can be con-
victed on the charges that have been made
against him. If so, the’ penalty is death.
But that is not all; a conviction for treason
involves the forfeiture of the property of the
traitor. It would be very hard, if this fam-
ily should lose its head and the: property
which has hitherto supported them in afflu-
ence.”

As the ladies were silent, Dabney had the
floor to himself.

“I believe that I, and I only, can prevent
this terrible disaster, and I am ready to take
the risk and’ undergo the sacrifice of doing
so—on one condition. I hardly know how
to state my proposition, and may as: well
come bluntly to the point, as becomes a frank
and honest man. I have long looked with
eyes of admiration upon your lovely daughter
and have regarded her with a spiritual af-
fection, not unmixed with earthly feelings.
My character, as you: know, is undoubted,
and I ani now a man of position and in-
fluence. I will undertake to save the: life
of Adam Badeau, and to preserve his prop-
erty to his family, if you will bestow: Miss)
Mary upon me as my wife, or will: permit
and aid my addresses to her, with that end
in view.”

The faces of the two ladies were flushed
with indignation; as Dabney concluded. his
proposition. It was evident that a storm
was rising in the breast. of Mary, that was
ready to burst out violently, but she was
restrained by her mother, who laid her hand
upon the girl’s arm.

“J am sorry to inform you, sir,” said Mrs.
 Badeau, “that such an arrangement is im-
- jpossible. Ifyou can not aid us, except, upon

that condition, we shall be obliged to decline
‘your assistance. & could not control my
daughter's inclinatibns, if I desired to do
”
_ “My age may be an objection,” persisted
abney, “ but such service as Iam able to
render ought, at Jeast, to entitle my claims
to respectful consideration.”

“Tt is out of the question, Mr. Dabney.
My daughter is already engaged?

“Yes; to that Yankee, I suppose; but
she will have to givehim up. ‘I will engage

- ‘to procure the consent of her father.”
© You might as easily induce him to order
er to cut her throat: Besides, I fully be-
e, Mr; Dabney, that the arrest of my
husband has been-made at your suggestion
“and with your connivance. I. believe that
lave pretended to be a friend to him

    
  
 
 
 
   
   

 

. %

THE POINT 28
and his family, and have acted the part of a
base traitor, forsome, vile purpose of your
own. Believingyas I do, I can place no
confidence in what you say, and wish to
hold no more communication with you.”

Dabney’s face turned purple, and he threw
off his mask in an instant. He fairly trem-
bled with passion, as he shook his clenched
fist and showed his wolfish teeth. It was
well for him that Nero was not in the room,
for the honest dog would surely have flown
at his throat.

“Aha!” he exclaimed, “is that the way
you talk? I understand you now, and you
shall understand me as plainly. You shall
be brought down from your high horse, my
fine lady, and shall bitterly repent this morn- ;
ing’s work. I offered. you. peace, but you
have declared for warj'and you shall have
war. I tell you, there is no power on earth
that can save Adam Badeau from death—
from death on the gallows. As for bis
property, that is already forfeited, and I shall
take possession of it to-morrow, under an
order from the proper authority. I warn
you, therefore, to get ready to leave. You
may take with you your personal property,
but nothing belonging to your husband must
be touched. J will teach you that Martin
Dabney is not to be treated with contempt.”

Mrs. Badeau made no answer to this
tirade, but pulled the bell-cord, and her
summons was answered by a negro boy.

“ Show this gentleman the door.”

“T.can find my way out,” hissed Dabney,
as he left the room, “ and can find: my way
in as'well. When I come again, you go!”

When the friend of the family” had left
the house, Mrs. Badeau, unable any longer
to bear the strain upon her nerves, fell on
the floor in’ a faint.. Mary rushed to her
assistance, and summoned Paul and. the ser-
vants.  Restoratives were applied, and she
soon revived, but it was some time before
she gained strength enough to converse,

“ You were right; Paul,” she said at last ;
“that man, has had the benefit of the doubt,
and, has proved himself an unmitigated
scoundrel. We must prepare to leaye. this
place.” |

“Do you really think,” asked Mary, “ that
he will carry his threat into execution? Do
you think he has the power to do so ?”

“T believe that he can and will turn us
out of our home... It is possible that it may
be otherwise, but we had better prepare for
the worst. Weare unable to resist. him.”

Martin Dabney was as good as his word,
 

 

 

road, toward their home.

94 TRUE

He came, the next morning, with a posse
of soldiers, and armed with! an order from
his useful friend, Colonel Gartney, and took
possession of Adam Badeau’s house, planta-
tion'‘and servants. Mrs. Badeau was allowed
to take her personal. property’ and: that of
her children, which included a carriage and
horses and a few servants.. She had her mpy-
ables packed in a wagon in the morning,
and left’ the place’ as soon as Dabney, ac-
companied by the soldiers, had shown ‘his

“authority.

A terrible change—almost a crushing
change—had come upon that happy family,
since that bright morning when Paul and
Nero had so merrily bounded along the sandy
The head of the
family was a captive, in danger of death,
and his wife and children’ were exiles :from
the old homestead that had sheltered them
during so many years. Was wrong always
to triumph, and were truth and Sasiccane to
be forever cast down?

CHAPTER VIL
What a Dog Smelt.

Mrs. BADEAU was not altogether desolate,
nor altogether destitute. Her husband had
been taken from her, but her children re-
mained ; shé had been driven from her old

_ home, but she possessed, in her own right, a

small house, with a few ‘acres of ground
attached, in the neighborhood of Kinston,
about eighty miles from her former residence.
To this place'she retired, and, as she was

“ well supplied with money, was soon able to

put the property in such condition that the
family would be in no danger of suffering
for the necessaries of life. Several of Adam
Badeau’s negroes deserted the old place, and
came to her, and more would have come, if
she had been able and willing to accommo-
date'them. Martin Dabney made no attempt
to recover them, perhaps because he was
not altogether certain of ‘the tenure under
which he held the property, perhaps because
his jurisdiction and that of Colonel Gartney
did not extend so far to the northward.
While attending to the present and future
wants of her family, Charlotte Badeaw did
not forget her husband, whom she loved as
well and and truly as any man ought to be
loved.’ There was, to be sure, a ‘little fear
mingled with her love, *but that did» not |’
diminish its intensity i in the least. Mv

 

BLUE.

As soon as possible, she went. to Wil-
mington, and- made such inquiries, as she
could. She ascertained that Adam Badeau
was not Confined in any prison in that city,
and that none of the authorities there knew
any thing about him; at least they denied
any such knowledge...: She had no. influen-
tial friends who would haye dared to aid her,
if they had been willing to do so, for her
mere statement of the. manner and reason
of her husband’s arrest caused her to be
looked upon with suspicion... Those in
whom she could best; confide told her that
she could do nothing but abide the: course
of events, and she could not help coming to
the same conclusion, although she was. re-
solved to lose no opportunity of investigat-
ing the matter further.

Thus affairs went on for two months. Mrs.
Badeauw learned, at intervals, through the
negroes, how matters stood at the plantation.
They said tliat Dabney treated.them like
brutes, and had set a new and cruel oyer-
seer over them; that the garden and grounds
were néglected and Jaid waste; that the
“minister of the gospill” had entirely laid
aside his clerical character, and was always

‘ready to drink and play cards. with his

guests; and that the quiet old home was
often filled with people, of both sexes, of
the most disreputable character.

Charlotte Badeau listened to these state-
ments With a sigh, but was not. deeply af-
fected’ by them. She only thought of her
husband, of his sufferings, and of his dan-
ger.

During those two months, Paul had been

taken sick with a fever; but he had. recoy-

ered, and was sitting on the little lawn,
with his mother, to enjoy the evening air,
when Nero growled, ag a negro. boy came
inside the gate from tlie road: The dog
was quieted, andthe boy stepped up to’ the
group, and handed a letter to Mrs. Badeau,
She ‘started, and nearly fell, as) she récog-

  
  
  
  

nized the anne ies of her husband on ~

the enyelope.

“Where did this. come from?
did you get it 2” she asked.

“ Don’t know nufliin’ about it,” answered
the boy, as he hastily shuffled away.

Where

Mrs. Badeau tore open the envelope, and F

read to Paul, as fast as jer tear-dimm:
sight would permit, the following note:
4 “In prison, at Raleigh, ) —

“ Oct. 21st, 1861....-|
“My Drar ‘Wirm AND Custis
lave a chance to send you a line by a faithful

  

alert

*

 
 

A LETTER. | 25

messenger. Do not undertake to an-
swer it, as it would not be safe, and as I
shall surely escape from this place to-night.
Thave had a hard time, but am ‘well and
strong. My friends have not forgotten me,
and I wi.l soon be free, but can not return
to you. I «now all that has happened, and
am thankful it is no worse. ‘ Only one
thing troubles me: the paper in cipher,
that was found when they searched me. It
might compromise many good men. Iam
convinced that they have not yet found a
clue to the cipher. They are trying to
make it out, and I believe it is in the pos-
session of Dabney. Could you not see
Cantrell, our old overseer, and hint some-
thing about the matter to him? If Dabney
has the paper in the house, it’s possible that
Cantrell might find it. It is worth trying,
as a great deal depends on that document.
If you can get the paper, or any informa-
tion, you may send it—by none but a trust-
worthy messenger—to me, at Patrick Ri-
ley's, in Caldwell county, near the mount-
ains—you know the place. I can only
send my love. I want nothing. Burn'this
immediately. ALB

Here was news, at last—news as good
as it was unexpected—and Mary was quick-
ly summoned to hear it. Then the family
wept and smiled, alternately, as. they read
and re-read the note, and kissed it again
again. Paul and his mother carefully’ im-
pressed upon their memories the direction

_of “Patrick Riley, in Caldwell county, near

the mountains,” after which the precious
paper was burned, and its contents were
discussed in a practical point, of ‘view.

Tt was agreed that the friends of whom
Adam Badeau had spoken, as not haying
forgotten him, must be’ members of the
secret organization to which the paper in
cipher referred, and no doubts were enter-

tained that he would be, or had been, able
) effect his escape by their aid. It was
also plain that Dabney had not told the
{ uth, when he had said that the: prisoner
vas confined at Wilmington. Had he lied
willfully, or was he really ignorant of the
place of Adam Badeau’s imprisonment ?
Paul was of opinion that he had lied
_ knowingly, and for the purpose of throw-
> ete off the track; but that was not a

   
 
   
 

lestion of importance at that time. . The

thing to be done was to recover, if

Pa ible, the important document in cipher.

‘They had previously leamed, from the

na that Cantrell, Mr. Badeau’s over-
§ \

3

 

 

 

*

seer, had left the old place, after he had
been discharged by Dabney, and that it was
not known whither he had gone. This was
an untoward cirgumstance, and much de-
bate ensued, concerning what it was best to
do under the circumstances,

The question was finally settled by Paul,
who asked permission of his mother. to pay
a visit to their former homestead, express-
ing the hope that he might be able to learn
something from the negroes, and, perhaps,
induce some of them to undertake |the en-
terprise of recovering the: paper. It was
with difficulty that Mrs. Badeau could be
brought to give her consent to this, expedi-
tion,as she feared that some difficulty might
arise with the present. occupant of the
house; but Paul assured her that there was
no danger of his coming in, contact with
Dabney, and, if he should, that. individual
would not be likely to molest him.

The consent was given, at last, and the
boy had a long private interview, that
night, with his sister. Marly the next morn-
ing, carrying a large bundle, he was driven
to the nearest railroad station, where he
took the cars for. the south. Leaying the
train, at a station some. distance. above Wil-
mington, he peocured a. horse, and rode
across the country to his old home, coming
in sight of the house on the afternoon of
the day after he had started.

Perceiving a negro, one of his father’s old
hands, at work in a field, about half .a mile
from the house, he stopped his horse, and
called him to the fence, When the old
man recognized his young master, the tears
ran down his sooty face, as he tried to ex-
press his joy. Paul waited until he had
got over his transport, and then asked him
if his horse could be put up at any place
where Dabney or his overseer would not be
likely to see him., The negro acted as
guide to a deserted cabin, near by, where
the horse was stabled, with an abundance
of forage.

Paul then learned from. this man. that
the overseer had gone to town, and would
probably come home drunk; that Dabney
seldom went to the negro-quarters, and that
he might yenture to visit the old depend
ents of his father, without fear of being
molested, Acting on this information, he
proceeded at once to the familiar quarters,
left his bundle in charge of old Aunt Pebe,
and leisurely sauntered around to prosecute
his inquiries.

-He found the negroes overjoyed at seeing
 

 

 

26 :

him, and soon became convinced that, so
great was their: detestation of Dabney, he
need have no fear that his presence on the
plantation would be betrayed by any of
them. He was not able to learn any thing
that couid aid him in his quest, except some
particulars concerning the habits of Dabney,
his overseer, and his occasional guests, all
of which he treasured up carefully, as they
might yet be tiseful. Paul had always been
a remarkably discreet, cautious and clear-
headed'boy, and he had grown old rapidly,
since the morning when: he met Martin
Dabney in ‘the sandy road.

He remained at the negro-quarters until
it was night, when he took leave of his
black frienfs, and apparently left the pre-
mises.

‘ But he did not go far. He made a cir-
cuit, and came in through the garden, at
the rear of the house, approaching the
building silently and cautiously, entering
his lawful heritage like a vagabond, or a
thief. He had no definite purpose in prowl-
ing about there, but he had ascertained that
Dabney had taken for his private room
Adam Badeau’s: library, which was on the
ground floor, in the rear, and he thought it
possible that"he might see or hear some-
thing that might be of importance. Nero,
also, appeared to appreciate the necessity
of silence and caution, for he walked
quietly by the side of his young master,
looking as solemn as if he was responsible
for the morals of the whole race of dogs,
and did not even give the slightest joyful
bark when he espied his own kennel.

Paul could see that there was a light
burning in the library, although the blinds
“were closed, and he concluded that Dabney
was in that room. Accordingly, he crept
carefully up to the house, with the view of
seeing and hearing what could be scen
and heard, until he stood under the win-
. dow.

A segment of a moon was shining through
the scattered clouds, which enabled him to
discern the surrounding objects with tole-
rable distinctness. A number of torn pieces
of paper were scattered about on the
ground, near the window, and among these
Nero, wide awake and inquisitive as ever,
commenced to smell and snuff, while Paul
endeavored to peep through the closed
blind. Soon the dog ‘appeared to find
something that particularly attracted ‘his
attention, for he uttered a low whine, ran
to his master, and rubbed his nose against

 

: TRUE BLUE. on

the boy’s hand, until he attracted his atten-—
tion, and then trotted back. 5
“Nero,” whispered Paul, and the dog
came to him, and answered his. inquiring
glance by a look of intelligence, *
“Have you found something, Nero ?”
The dog wagged his tail, and walked

‘back to the place at. which he had been.

smelling. Paul followed him and found
under his nose a bit of yellow paper, which
he picked up and examined. Jt was.the
corner of an enyelope, and in it were two
holes, as if made by the teeth of, some
animal. Paul recognized it, instantane-
ously.

“Of all the dogs—”. he half exclaimed.
“Do you know this, old boy ?”

The dog wagged his tail vigorously, and
looked very wise. ;

“That is part of the envelope,” thought
Paul. “I know that father did not leave
it here, for he cut open, the envelope, care-
fully, without tearing, it at all. ,Dabney,.
must have torn up the envelope, and it is
likely that he has the letter, and; that, he
has it in that room. But how is it to be
got at ?—that’s the question.”

The boy silently stole around the corner
of the house, to. the east window of the
library. To his great joy, he found the
window . raised, and the blinds partially
open. Looking in through the slats, he
saw Martin Dabney seated at,a table, in
company with a man whom he did not re-
member to have seen before. Dabney, had
his coat and crayat off, his collar was unbut-
toned, his hair was awry, he seemed more
than ever troubled with perspiration, and ~
paid particular attention, to,a bottle and a
glass that stood on the table. by his,side,
Paul could hear distinctly every word ina
was said in the room, ‘

“T tell you, Dabney,” said the stranger,
“it will take time. fo read this cipher. I,
have been studying it for three hours, and
have only made. out. three. letters. in ia
time. It is the toughest thing of the kind —
Tever saw. If there were regular.senten-
ces, or a number of consecutive words, it
would be an easier matter; but it seems, to
be made up of detached names, and it is —
likely that many of them are abbreviated; ¢
I can do it in time, but—” |

“Well, never mind it now,” said Dab:
“We will let it pass for the present. _
you will come here, Mr.,Asshe, say on
Friday, we will work atit together, Tt will
keep until that time, and there is no danger

 
 

 
 

PAUL IN DISGUISE.

that any of the birds will get out of the
trap.”

He then emptied his glass, rose from ‘his
seat, took a folded paper from the table, and
placed it in a private drawer of Adam Ba-
deau’s writing-desk.

“You had better go to bed now, Mr.
Asshe,” said he, “if you want to ride over
with me in the morning, for I shall start
early. I have some particular business, that
will keep me about three days. I must tell
these niggers here that I will return right
away, or they would be raising particular
thundcr in my absence. Wait a moment,
though; I must look around the house, to
see that all is right, as that confounded over-
seer hasn’t got back yet.”

Paul very naturally took this as an inti-
mation that he had better leaye; so he hur-
ried away with Nero, as stealthily as he had
come.

. When he had got out of sight of the house,
he paused to reflect, to consider whether he
had better go back and endeavor to force an
entrance into the library.

“No,” he concluded; “the first thought
was the best. Besides, I know how strong
those fastenings are, and the attempt might
be dangerous. TI shall not give Martin Dab-
ney any chance to lay hold of me.”

Having thus resolved, he hastened to Aunt
Pheebe’s cabin, which was isolated from the
other negro-quarters, roused up thé old wo-
man, and was joyfully ‘admitted by her,
though she wondered at seeing him in such
a state of excitement.

“What's de matter, Massa Paul?’ she

asked. “De boy looks’ an’ feels jést'as if
he got a fever. Aunty’s "fraid he’s gwine
to be sick.”

k “ Never mind, aunty, There is nothing
e matter with me. I only want to’ lie
‘down lire to-night, -and want you to wake
me before anybody is’ up in the’ morning.
“Will you do it”
 -“Sartin, honey; and now, you jest lay
down an’ git some sleep. ‘Pears , like, you's
tired out.” Te
The old Woman improvised a shake-down,
on which the boy stretched himself, and was
soon sleeping the sound sleep that is grant-
ed to youth, health, and a clear conscience,

2

 

mo
3 / _

fia

 

CHAPTER VIII. -
A Boy's Strategy.

Aunt PuasE kept her word, like the
faithful and loving old servant that she was,
and aroused her young guest as soon as the
darkness of the night had begun to give
place to the gray light of dawn. It was
hard for her to wake the boy, when he was
sleeping so sweetly, but she had promised,
and she felt that something depended upon
her.

“Come, come, Massa Paul,” she’ said, as
she shook him; “it’s purty near daylight
now, and you must be gittin’ up.”

“Mother,” muttered the boy, turning on
his arm, “ did Nero sleep out last night ?”

“Bress his darlin’ heart! he’s dreamin’
he’s home, wid his own mammy.”

Nero, always wide awake, had heard his
name spoken, and he came up to the couch,
and rubbed his cold nose ‘against his mas-
ter’s face. This had more effect than Aunt
Pheebe’s shaking, for Paul opened his’ eyes,
and started up.

“ Thank ‘you, Aunt Phobe. I ‘was
dreaming such a ‘pleasant dream, and had
forgotten about every thing. Give me some
water, as quick as you can. Good-morning,
Nero. Sorry to tell you that you must be
tied up to-day, old boy.”

The old woman brought a basin of wa-
ter, in which the boy washed himself, and
then he opened ‘the door of ‘the cabin; and
looked out. It was not’ yet daylight, anda
cloudy morning.

“ Now, aunty,” said he,.‘ I must trouble
you some more. I want you to walk out
to the old cabin, where I left my horse, and
wait for me. J will soon meet you there.”

“Whar you gwine, Massa Paul’? \ What
you gwine fur to do ?”

“T am going to the stable, aunty, to get a
side-saddle. I know how to get in, ‘and
know just where to find what I want, and I
will beat the old cabin nearly as Soon as
you will.”

“ What, in de name ob glory, does de boy
want ob a side-saddle? Dar ain't notgals
*bout here.”

“ Never mind, aunty, but step along, if
you want to do me a favor, and to’do your
old ‘mars’r a’ favor! » And, here—you may
carry my bundle with you, if you will. Come,
Nero.”

Placing the bundle in her anil and leay-
ing her staring in astonishment, the boy

‘stepped quickly out of the anne followed.
 
  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

     
   
 
   
  
   
   
   
 
   
   
  
  
   
   
   
 

  
   
  
  
   
   
  
 

ee

Hi
Hi

 

==.
i

a

es

28 TRUE

 

   

by his dog. , Knowing well, every foot of
the ground about his old home, he went di-
rectly to the stable, and tried the door.
Luckily, it was open; but, if it had not been,
he was confident,.of being able to effect an
entrance, . Once. inside, he soon. found one
of his sister’s side-saddles, which it had not
been thought, worth while to take away... He
put the saddle.on his. back, ‘closed the door,
and hastened, across the fields, getting well
away fromthe premises before any one was
stirring.

» The saddle was a. heayy load for the boy,
and he walked rapidly, so that he was quite
exhausted when he reached. the deserted
eabin, where, he found, Aunt, Phebe, await-
ing him,

“ Why,.you poor chile!” said the old wo-
man. “How quick. you’s come, and wid
sech a heavy load.as dat! It’s. enough to
strike you right, down dead, fur shu’.”

“I willbe all right in a few minutes,
aunty... While I am.resting; you may, open
that, bundle.”

Aunt Phebe did as she was requested,
anxious to satisfy her own curiosity, and was
astonished..to. discoyer,in. the mysterious

‘package, a dark-colored riding-habit, a

jockey-hat, a pair.of gaiter-boots, and. seve-
ral other articles of female attire, including
some false curls that; Mrs.. Badeau had
worn whensuch ornaments were fashionable.

“In de name, ob. glory !’ she, exclaimed,
“what is all dese.?, If dat ain’t, Miss, Ma-
mie’s ridin’ hat, may. dis ole nigger nebber
see her sweet face ag’in !”

“Never mind, aunty, but, come and help
me dress.”

With. the. assistance, of the old woman,
Paul was.soon transformed, from.a handsome
boy, into’ a blooming and really beautiful
young lady. The riding-habit fitted him as
if it had been. made for. him; the, gaiter-
boots, though rather.small, were . safely
squeezed on; the curls, dangled gracefully
from, under the jockey-hat; and the collar
and cuffs, and such odds and ends, were all
becomingly arranged.

“ How, do I look, aunty 2” asked the boy,
as he deftly held up the habit, shook his
curls, and switched his. dress with a light

riding-whip.

“De Lord lub you, chile, you looks jest

"ag purty as a pictur’, and de mammy what

borned you wouldn’t know her boy at. dis
mainnit.”

Paul then concealed his.own clothes.and
saddle, tied up Nero, led his horse out of

‘attained his.majority,

 

  
  

BLUE

the cabin, and, with the. assistance of Aunt
Phebe, placed the side-saddle on his back,
and mounted,

“ You may go now, aunty,” said he; “and
take this to. buy you some tea and some
good tobacco. | I must ride around a little,
tos giye my, horse some water, and to get
used to this style of getting over the ground. ¢

“ Whar’ you gwine to, Massa Paul? What
you gwine fur to do?”

“T have business to, do, aunty—business
for your, old master. Martin Dabney won't
stay on. that plantation always.”

So saying,:the boy gayly cantered away,
The old; woman, watched him until he was
out of sight, and then hobbled back to. the
negro-quarters.

Paul went to a brook that he well knew,
where he watered his horse, and then rode
about at. random, until he had become. ac-
customed to his new riding-gear. ‘Growing
tired of this amusement, and wishing to as-
certain whether his disguise was perfect, he
stopped at a, farm-house, and asked if he
could get some breakfast,. Being answered
in the affirmative,.he dismounted, as cleverly
as any,“ other” lady. could have done, and
made a hearty meal, in the course of which it
amused him to-perceive that he was an ob-
ject of unfeigned admiration in the eyes of the
planter’s son, a young man who had about
He satisfied the curi-
osity of the inmates of the house, by inform-
ing them that he was.yisiting at a plantation
in the neighborhood, that, he had taken a
morning ride, and had gone further than he
had intended. _They were so prepossessed
by the good looks and agreeable manners of’
the strange young “lady,” that they refused
to accept any pay for her breakfast. The
young man ardently hoped that they might
have, the pleasure of seeing her again, and
was rendered supremely happy by being a
lowed. the priyilege of holding her little fo
while she mounted her horse. ep

It was, now nearly nine o’clock, and Paul ©
was. sure that a Dabney had left the
house before that time. Even if he had not —
left, the boy was not afraid of meeting him,
although -he preferred to haye no such en-
counter.

Accordingly, he rode slowly to ‘tis old
home, and stopped at the great gate. Seeing a
a negro boy sunning himself on the grass,
he called to him. ie

“Here, boy! Come and hold my horse.”

The boy shuffled to the gate, and held the
bridle, while the rider dismounted.

   
 

  

 
“Ig Mr, Dabney at home?” asked Paul,
“No, missy; he’s done been gone away
dese two hours.”

“ Well, he will be back soon, I suppose.
Take my horse to the stable,.and rub him
down well, and give him some feed. Leave
the saddle on, and have him,ready when I
want him.”

So saying, and gathering, up his, riding-
skirt..with, the ease, and; grace of an accom
plished, horsewoman, the boy walked up
the grayeled road to: the house. He. was
greatly, excited, and his heart beat rapidly,
but he managed to become calm before. he
reached the. front, door, at which he, rung
vigorously.

The bell was: answered by a negro man,
who was certainly not one of their old house
servants, and was probably Mr. Dabney’s
private property.

“Ts your master at home?” asked Paul.

“No, missy ; Massa Dabney done gone
away in de carriage, more’n two hours ago.”

“When will:he return 2”

“ He said he'd be-back some time to-day,
and dat’s all I know ’bout. it.”

“Well, I must. say. that. he is a queer
customer. I promised to meet him hereto-
day. Was it to-day ?—yes, this is the day.
If he doesn’t keep his appointments better
than this, I shall haye nothing more to do
with him. But be will soon return, I sup-
pose. Show mein somewhere, where I
can get some;rest, and I will wait for him
awhile. Are there any ladies in this house ?”

“ No, missy ; not now; but dey comes
here sometimes,” answered the negro, with
a grin, as he.led the way to the -parlor.

He left Paul; in that familiar room, telling
Bn to ring the bell if he wanted any thing.
_ The sight of the parlor, in which he had
spent so many; happy hours, almost brought

rs to, the eyes of the boy, but he con-
Wolled his emotion, and tried to think only
of the duty before him... He was pleased
to notice’ that.the old parlor had suffered
_ scarcely any change, that it seemed to have
Deen neglected by Dabney and his friends,

and was..in nearly the same condition as

when the family had left the house.
; He seated himself on a sofa, and waited
a reasonable time, as he thought, and then
ng the bell... The negro man again made
his appearance and asked what was wanted.
-“ Bring me a glass of wine,”
“Dar ain't, none in de house, missy.
Massa Dabney and de gentlemen done drank
ital a i

THE PRIZE GAINED.

 

“Well, I declare, thig is. too, bad. I
promised to, meet your master here this

}morning, and I have come, afier nearly
tiring myself to death with riding, and ) find

him, gone, and not a.drop.of, wine in; the
house. If he treats his friends in this way,
I shall cut his acquaintance. Show me to
his, room.”

“ Do you mean de library, missy ?”

“Yes; the, room. where. he. keeps his
writing materials; I, want. to leave a note
for him.”

The man led the way, to.- the library,
where Paul had peeped in at Dabney. the;
night before, and where, the. desired docu-
ment was secreted. He placed paper, pens
and ink on. the; table, and asked. whether
any \thing else was wanted.

“No,” answered, the boy; ‘ you ,may,
take yourself. off, for I Soph write. any
thing while I am bothered,’

The negro left: the room, closing the door
behind him, and Paul quietly turned the
key in the lock; and stepped to. the writing
desk. The outer door of the. desk: -was
open, but the private door was. locked.
This obstacle was easily overcome. by the
use of a. small chisel that he took from the
pocket, of his dress, and. with which he
forced the slight lock.

The drawer was» open before him, and
there, in plain, view, on top of a mass of
other papers, lay the coveted and important,
document! He glanced. at it, to be sure
that it was the same that he was in search
of, and then concealed it, as.a lady ought.to
do, in the bosom of. his riding-dress.

Having .sueceeded .so well: thus far, he
thought that, he might safely penetrate fur-
ther into the mysteries of the drawer. He
hastily looked over the. letters, memoranda,
and other papers, occasionally expressing
exclamations of surprise, contempt, and in-
dignation, and selected four.of them, which
he placed in the same receptacle to which
he had consigned, the document in cipher,
Then he took a slip of paper, and: wrote on
it, in a bold hand :

“ Adam Badeau Claims his Own !”

This he laid on, the top; of the. other
papers, and carefully closed the drawer and
the, door, of the. writing-case.. The next
thing on the programme was to seal an_.en-
velope, which he. directed to,Marjin Dab-
ney, imitating a female hand as well. as he
could, and laid it on the table ;, after which
he opened the door, and passed out. into
the hall. nm

  

 
   
       

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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i
Ra
i
i
t

eee emplacement

 

 

 

      
 

 

 

 

 

   

30° : 7 APRUE!

He went into the parlor, and rung the
bell, which was again answered tf Dab-
ney’s negro man.

aT say; uncle,” said the pretended girl,
“is it a fact that! you haven’t any wine in
the house, or are you stingy people out
here ?”

“Mighty sorry, missy, but dar’ ain’t a
drop ob any thin’ ob dé kind in de house.”

“ The sooner I Jeave this place, then, the
better. Tell the boy to bring my horse to
the door right away.”

The fact is, that’ Paul thought he had
been very indiscreet in sending his horse to
the stable, where the side-saddle might be
recognized, and he! was, as the phrase goes,
on tenter-hooks, until the animal was
brought up. He noticed no word or look
of suspicion, however, and concluded that
the saddle had been so long unused that’ it
was not remembered.

“Tell your master,” said he to the negro
man, “that Maggie St. Clair called ‘to see
ten as she promised to do, but she éouldn’t
afford to wait for him: He ‘will be sorry
enough when he learns thet he has missed
seeing meé to-day, but he couldn’t expect
me to wait for him in'a house where there
ig not even a drop of wine. Tell him that
I left a note for him on his table. If he
wants to see me, hereafter, he must come to
mé, for I shall not' trouble myself to travel
out to this lonesome place again. “Help me
on my horse, one of you.”

The man held the dainty gaiter-boot in
his hand, and assisted’ the indignant visitor
to mount. The boy opened the ‘gate, and
Paul cantered bravely away from the house
that had once’ been his home, glad” and
thankful that le had succeeded ‘so well, that
he had not only secured the document in
cipher, but had also gained ‘some informa-

‘ tion’ that might be of great’ value ‘to his

father and to the cause of the True Blues.

He’ rode ‘direct to ‘the deserted” cabin,
where he! dismounted, and untied Nero, who
greeted him with the greatest canine enthu-
siasm. He then changed his clothes, wrap-
ping up his female apparel in a bundle as he
had brought it, left the side‘saddle in the
cabin, to be appropriated by the first:comer,
and rode off with his ‘bundle and’ his pre-
cious papers.

He reached’ the railroad’ station, and

. Adlivered thé horse ‘to ‘its owner, just in

time''to catch the’‘train ‘for the north—
which he considered another piece of! very
good fortune—and he was soon moving

 

BLUE.

along, at a fair rate of speed, toward his
home.

Just before he reached - the station at
which he was to take a conveyance for his
mother’s house, a down-+train passed the
train on which’ he was riding. Paul! was
looking out at the window, and he started
as he perceived, in one of the passing cars,
aman whom he immediately recognized as
Martin Dabney. He'‘noticed that the ex-
minister looked particularly well-pleased,
and wondered what had brought him in-
to that part of the State, and why he was
in stich apparent good-humor. His curiosity
was not satisfied untilhe reached his home,
to which place he hastened as rapidly as’ a
good horse could draw him in a light buggy.

CHAPTER IX.
The True and the False.

Arrer driving his friend, Mr. Asshe, to
town, Martin Dabney went by river to Wil-
mington, where, after transacting some busi-
ness, he took the cars. for the north.

He had prepared himself for this expedi-
tion with‘unusual care, andthe barber and
the tailor had done their best to enhance
his adornment. ‘His face glistened as glos-
sily as his new hat and his new: coat, but
his nose, sad to relate! outshone them all.
That organ had always been inclined to be
bulbous and ‘rubicund, but it had now be-
come absolutely purple and plotchy, owing
to the rich wines and ‘brandies that’ its
owner had' found in the cellar of Adam Bat
déau, and’ that he had not left there. re
shone witha lurid, threatening light, and

seemed to give a keener sparkle and a
sharper snap to-his'little black. eyes. Never:
theless, Martin Dabney thought that his
personal ‘attractions were by no means

be ‘sneezed at, and believed that he ought
to ‘find favor'in the eyes of any reasor
able young lady.

When he left the cars, he again paid a
tention’ to his’ outward appearance, re-
freshed himself internally with something —
to eat and to drink, which imparted a _
deeper glow to his Tuddy nose—and drove —
out into the country in a buggy, stopping a
Mrs, Badeau’s humble’ dwelling. The ne-
groes saw him coming, and hastened to | in-
form their mistress of the’ ‘new arrival, ‘and
to take themselves out of the way, for they
feared that Dabney had come to claim -

 
 
  

 

 

 

 
 

 

 
 

 

THE PROPOSAL RENEWED. . BL

them, and to’carry them back to the planta-
tion.

Dabney tied his horse to the fence, walked
to the house, and knocked at the door,
which was opened by, Mrs. Badeau _lierself.
As she seemed to be in no hurry ‘to in-
vite him to enter, he stepped inside, with
his best bow and his most unctuous smile.

“ You do not seem disposed to give me
a very cordial reception, my dear lady,”
said he. ‘Perhaps you may feel yourself
justified, but’ I am sure that you will be
ready to treat me with more courtesy, when
Tinform you that Ihave news for you—that
I have brought a letter from ‘your —
band.”

Mrs. Badeau was astonished, as she wel
might be. She could ‘not conceive how it
was possible that this man, known by ‘her
husband. to be his enemy, could haye
brought a letter from him, so ‘soon, too,
after.she had received the note in which he
spoke of the certainty of his escape. Her
natural curiosity, if she had had no stronger
feeling, would have prompted her to seek
to learn what this meant. Accordingly,
she concealed her surprise as well as she
could, and invited Dabney into her parlor.

“ Where is my husband?” she asked.

“In prison. at Wilmington, my dear
lady, as I informed you on a previous occa-
sion.” ;

“Indeed! I made the closest inquiries
at Wilmington, and’ was told that he was
not confined there, ‘and that the authorities
knew, nothing about, him.”

Nea likely, my dear madam. — State
pian of such importance are kept very

cretly. Even Ihave found it very diffi-

 
  
 

ave fallen under Suspicion because of the
nterest I have taken in him.” ~

_“T understood yon to say that ‘you had
a letter from him.” .

__“Thavye; but, before: handing it to you,
& is necessary to make a brief explanation.
hen I last saw you, I had the honor of
x making a proposition, to you, concerning a
matrimonial arrangement; to which it is not
necessary to allude moré particularly at
present. You rejected that proposition,

Me undue harshness, as it’ seemed to me, :

E I was also somewhat excited and rude.
u did not then appreciate the advantages
of that arrangement, and Iwas too hasty
and too blunt in speaking of ‘it. I hope
i vs can now, both of us, look iat the

rin a practical and yationa point ef.

 

‘cult to obtain access to your husband, and |

 

view. JI desire to renew that proposition,
and to assure you that Ido so with. the as-
sent of your husband, as his letter will in-
form you. He fully appreciates the danger
of his position, and knows that he must
suffer death, unless powerful interposition is
made in his behalf. He knows that I can
mike that interposition, and consents to the
terms on which I propose to make. it,
namely, the condition that I mentioned to
you ona previous occasion. As soon as
the marriage is solemnized, your husband
will be released, and ‘his property will be
restored to him. Here. is the Jetter,; my
dear lady. “You will perceive that it fully
bears me out in the statements I have
made.”

“What an excellent imitation!” thought
Mrs. Badeau, as she examined the direction
on the eudelepel

The letter purported to be written by

her husband, in’ prison'at Wilmington. It

stated that he was well in body, but greatly
troubled in mind; that’ he had ‘been tried
by a court-martial ‘and fully convicted ‘on
the charges that had been made against
him; that he would surely be hung, unless
something could be done to save him ;, that
he did not value his life. for its own sake,
but for the sake of his family; that he was
satisfied that ‘his friend, Martin: Dabney,
who had been faithful to him in his time
of trouble, could save’ his’ life and: property,
and would do so''on one econdition—mar-
riage With his daughter Mary ; and that he
could see no objection. to such a marriage,
but, on the contrary, great advantages to be
derived from it.: In ‘conclusion, the. letter
stated that the writer’ consented to and
urged Mary’s union with Dabney, for: his

own sake, and for the sake ‘of the family, '

anid hoped that he would ‘soon: receive the
assent of his wife and daughter to the pro-
posed arrangement.

Mrs. Badeau was somewhat puzzled. If
this letter was forged, it had been forged by
a skillful ‘hand, for it seemed to bean ex-
act imitation of her husband’s ‘writing. . If

“she had not already received a letter of an

entirely different tenor, she would not liave
doubted that this was genuine. One of the
lettérs. must have been forged, and: the’ fact
that ‘this one was brought by Dabney, and
that he had a motive in’ bringing it, was
strong - presumptive evidence against it.
Still, there was ‘a doubt, and she concluded
that she must await: the return of! Paul, be-
fore deciding that point definitively: In

i sean sitet

eee insivl =

seats

i
‘

 

eae at eee EN ie

 
 

82 TRUE BLUE, t

the’ tnean time, however, she could; apply:a
test, which would enable her, without com-
promising ' herself, to learn which was the
true letter, and which, was the false one.

She seated herself) at a,.writing-desk, and
wrote’-the following. sentence on a. half-
sheet of note paper:

“T hereby consent to the, marriage of my
daughter, Mary Badeau; with Martin ._Dab-
ney.”

“ This intelligence was quite unexpected,”
said shes “I ‘reaHy had not. thought, I
must admit, that my dear; husband was ;in
such igreat danger.,,.1jhope;,you may, be
able to assist) him, and’ am, anxious, for my
part, to do-any thing,in the world.to secure
his safety. -I haye no doubt. that his
daughter will be equally willing to aid him,

' Yow are probably-aware that the, written

consent of the father, when he; isnot: per-
sonally present, is needed, to render a mar-
riage legal. , If you will procure. the signa-
ture of my husband to this paper, and will
also bring me/his written;assurance: that. he
will be released, and) restored to, his. rights,
as soon as the marriage: is;solemnized, I
will, in the mean, time, speak to my daugh-
ter, and prepare her to, receive, you: as her
affianced husband.”

“My dear lady, you,have made. me the
happiest man in the world!” exclaimed Dab-
ney, looking as if a weight had, been lifted
from his mind. | “Iwill hasten to do, as
you request, and will bring you, the formal
consent, and. the written assurance, within
five days, at, furthest. I thought that a lady
of your strength) of mind. would view the
matter in a sensible light.; Cam I, enjoy
the pleasure:of a brief interview with Miss
Mary ?”

“Not at ‘present, sir, . It would. not be
for the best:..As ‘I told,you, I must first
speak with her, and prepare-her mind. . I
would prefer to have you. zeturn. immedi-
ately.ito Wilmington, and attend to this busi-
néss;as'I am» impatient to-see my husband.” |

“JT will do so, my-dear lady. Invill start
this instant,”

“Please say to’ Mr. Badeau,” she contin-
ued, “that I am too much agitated to write
to him at present; but we ave all well, and
send our love. And I will, thank you, to
ask him, Mr:,Dabney, whether he. left, his
seal-ting in thé red-moroceo.case. Do not
forget this, for the ring is of importance as
‘evidence'in a lawsuit that,is pending.”

“Twill be sure to Big hime. Berd: -by, || th

‘my dear lady ”

 

“ Good-by, sir. , Do not fail to ask about
the ring.”

As soon as Dabney had. gone, Mary Ba-
deau, who had casually heard a portion of
the conversation, and who had been. in-
duced, by motives of self-interest, to listen
to the, rest, rushed, in to her mother, with
flashing eyes, and with. her face glowi ing
with excitement.

“What does this mean?’..she asked.
“Do you really wish me to be that man’s
wife? Is it really necessary, for father’s
sake and for yours? . You know that I had
rathar die.” ;

‘‘Do, not, excite yourself unnecessarily,
my dear. I will do nothing that is wrong,
Here is the Jetter that was written, as he
says, by your father; you may read it, and
form. your, own. conclusion. I, have no
opinion to express until I see Paul. What
sort of a scoundrel is this Martin Dabney ?
How, did he get his power? Is it possible
that he can haye exercised such an influ-
ence over your, father, as, to induce him to
write that letter ?”

Dabney had been gone but a few hours,
when Paul came driying up. to the gate,
with his horse. in a reek of sweat. He
hardly stopped, to call a negro boy to take
care of the horse,-but- ran, to the house, and
dashed in, almost breathless with excitement.

“Has Martin Dabney been here, mother?”
he hurriedly asked,

“He has, my son; but you had _ better
sit. down and. get.cool. You must have
been driving very, fast, for even Nero looks
tired out,..,Did you gain any information ?”

“ Yes, mother, plenty of it; but’ I want
to hear about, Martin Dabney. What did
he..want here? What did he say and do
Tell me that, or you shan’t hear a word of
my adventures.”

Mrs. Badeau then related to her son, ith
great particularity, the circumstances c
nected with Dabney’s visit, and the conyer-
sation she had had with him. She als
showed him the letter that purported ute
from Adam Badeau, which made the bo;
open; his eyes very widely.

“TI was not quite prepared to decide,”
said she, “whether this letter is a forgery —
or. not, though the presumption is strong
against it. Either this, or the note that, the
boy brought, is a forgery, and I did not
haye the note, to compare with thi x I
arranged a. test, however, that will settle
the . question beyond: a doubt, J asked
Dabney to get your father’s formal written

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

THE DOCUMENT MISSING. b8

consent to the marriage, together with his
own assurance that he would be released as
soon as it’was solemnized. T also told him,
particularly, to ask Mr. Badeau whether he
left his seal-ring in the red-morocco. case.”

“What was! the ‘test, mother? I don’t
understand you.”

“Your father and I were married many
years ago, Paul; but he has never, to my
knowledge, been the owner of a seal-ring.
If this letter is \a forgery, Dabney will be
sure to give us some sort of information
concerning a ring that does not exist.”

“T'see.| How ‘thoughtful you are, ‘mo-
ther! But you may be certain that. the
note brought by the boy was written by
father, and that he has escaped, and is in
safety. They can not have tried and con-
victed him, because they have not yet been
able to make out the meaning of the paper
in cipher. You remember that father said
they had not got the key to’the cipher: I
have that paper, here in my ‘pocket; ‘and
some other papers and letters that will be
very useful to father, I'am sure.”

Paul then recounted the adventures. of
himselfand) Nero, in and @&bout: the old
homestead, and produced the document in
‘cipher, and the other papers that he ‘had
abstracted from the private drawer. in ‘the
library. Mrs. Badeau ‘was’astonished, as
well as overjoyed. Since the affair of ‘the
letters, she had given her ‘son credit for
judgment and discretion beyond ‘his years,
but ‘this: development: exceeded ‘any: thing
that she had thought possible. ‘She would
not have believed that -he possessed such
foresight and acuteness. He: was over-
cut with kisses’and praises, aid Nero,

vhose nose had rendered such good service, |!

" came in for his due share of ¢redit.

“And now, mother,” ‘said the’ boy, “I
at something to eat.”

This eminently’ practical wish was'imme-
diately attended to, and the béy and the dog
were amply provisioned for another cam-

paign. Paul was anxious to: commence
_ that other campaign’ without delay, arguing
~ that it; was absoltitely necessary ‘for’ his
father to be placed in possession of the!docu-
»ment in cipher, and the other papers, as soon
- as possible, and that no more trustivortliy
‘messenger than himself could be found! “His
mother was reluctant to give him permission
to undertake the expedition, fearing“‘that he
might run into danger, but she'at Jast yield-
ed to his importunities, and it was arranged
that he should set out the next day.

 

Here, with the kind reader's: permission,
we will pick up the threads of our tale,
prior to a long pause in’ the narration.

Martin Dabney received. a dispatch, on
his arrival ‘at’ Wilmington, informing him
that Adam Badeau had escaped from prison
at’ Raleigh, and that’ it ‘was not known
whither he had-gone.. As this put an ent
tirely different face upon affairs; he judged
it best to postpone his matrimonial project,
and did not carry any formal consent to Mrs.
Badeau, nor give her any information’ con-
cerning the mythical seal-ring:

When he returned to the plantation; he
was not long in discovering that the! docu
ment in cipher had been taken’ from the
private drawer, and a paper left in its stead,
which bore the unwelcome. inscription :

“Adam Badeau Claims his Own.”

He was terribly indignant, and’ threatened
the servants with extermination, unless they
made known the offender ; but it was’ evi-
dent that they had nothing to do with the
affair, and’ he could only vent his abuse

upon the unknown’ female who had called .

herself Maggie St. Clair, and. who had left
a bogus note. on his table.

Paul Badeaw made the journey to’ Cald-
well county in safety; and ‘delivered ‘his
papers to his father, whom he found at the
appointed place, in good health and spirits.
He ‘then returned to his’ mother’s’ house,
bearing many messages of love, together
with an injunction from: his’ father, not to
undertake to visit him again, unless he should
be sent for.

CHAPTER X.
The Trail of the Viper.

Two years and more had passed. over
the country, since ‘the events ‘narrated in
the last chapter! The war was raging with
immensely increased fury, and ‘its’ fortunes
wavered, now this way, now that. The
armies and fleets of the Union had, it is true,
gained great successes, and obtained impor-
tant advantages, but the tide of victory, run-
ning thick with blood, had often been check-
ed by defeats and failures, and the “Con-
federacy ” was still a compact and formida-
ble institution.” There were sonfe far-sight-
ed ones who could descry the light of the
glorious end shining through the gloom of

‘the present, but it required’ a large: amount

of faith and hope to preyent the lyal people

a

cananocuie aieaene Tat ete

SAN ERAS I ME ELC AEST RS SIRE

 
   

 

 

 

who were left in the rebellious States, from
growing, utterly despondent.,, Conscriptions
and impressments were enforced more vigor-
ously than ever, to fill up the depleted armies
of the “Confederacy,” and supply them with
food, and many in North Carolina had fled
to the mountains, where | they organized
themselves. into bands, and set the conscrip-
tion officers at defiance. Wilmington was
the:great harbor for blockade runners, and
the business transacted at that port was im-
mense, That business.enriched the city and
the country, andit was not safe for a man
in that, neighborhood to be even) suspected
of Unionism.

Two years\and more had passed over the
heads, of the’ Badeaus—mother, daughter,
and. son—and had not, produced any notice-
able change in them, except such) as was
consequent upon the addition of so many
months to their lives. .They still lived in
their humble dwelling, far from the old
homestead, and were comfortably situated,
wanting for none of the necessaries. of life,
although they were far, lower, in. wordly
circumstances, | than they had. been’ before
the commencement of the war. They were
still bereft, of their lusband and father, upon
whose head a price had been set by the
rebel, authorities; but he had visited them
three or four times, in disguise, and. his
visits had cheered ‘them up and incited them
to ‘hope for the best—to hope that the dark
cloud. that encompassed them would, ere
long, upturn a silver lining.

Two years and more had passed over
the head of Martin Dabney and had increas-
ed the number of his gray hairs, and deep-
ened the purple tint of his nose. He had
grown rich, and was a great man in that
country, for he was in high favor with the
powers that then were, and profited, indi-
rectly, by the lucrative blockade running
business. Besides, he was the possessor of
a fine plantation, which was yielding im-
mense, crops and paying largely, for he gaye
no-attention to repairs, took no pains to keep
up the adornment of the place, and squeezed
all, that he possibly could out of the sweat
of his slaves. All the negroes that. were
not absolutely necessary to work the planta-
tion, he shad .sent. further, south and. sold,
taking advantage of the high prices for such
chattels, and had thus also put. money—
Confederate money—in his purse, Martin

Dabney seemed to be on the high road to
fortune, and) it. was. no wonder that he grew
pursy and apoplectic.

' TRUE BLUE.

' Two years and more had passed over the
head of Adam; Badeau, and had Jeft him an
outlaw, proscribed and hunted, with a re-
ward offered for his capture, dead or alive,
During those two years and upward, the
once wealthy, planter had been ‘a fugitive
among the mountains in ‘the western part
of North Carolina, and a price had been set
upon his head, because ‘he was the leader
of a}band that the rebel journals’ were
pleased to style ‘‘a gang of} deserters, rob-
bers and murderers.” Perhaps the reader
may be able to judge whether they deserved
to be thus stigmatized ;\/but, it is-sufficient
to; say} here that ‘they, called) themselves
Union refugees—that. they neither robbed
nor murdered, but protected the Union citi-
zens, as well jas they ,could; against the
rebel. despotism, and sometimes exacted
full measure of vengeance for outrages that
had been committed upon théir friends.

Through that wild and broken country,
bordering on. the Blue Ridge, a boy, who
might have been: called a young man, was
riding slowly, toward the close of a winter
day. Both the rider and. his horse seemed
weak and exM&usted, the rider hardly able
to sit on the animal, and the animal hardly
able to drag. his weary limbs over. the
ground,

The boy was Paul, Badeau, though it
hardly seemed possible ‘that it could ‘be

he, for no large Newfoundland: dog fol-

lowed the horse,’ The truth is, that-he had
set out from home to make a long and dif-
ficult journey, and had thought it best to
leave Nero behind.

As he entered a defile of the hills, his
strength seemed to revive, his eyes bright
ened, and he spoke cheeringly to his horse.

“Come, old boy, stir ‘your stumps, and -

get over, the ground, for we are almost
there. Keep it up alittle longer, and you
shall have food and rest.”

Just then he espied a mounted man
proaching. him, whom he seemed to. re
nize, and accosted him as he drew near. "

ff Is that you, Mr. Riley ?” F

“My name is Riley,” was the answer.

“JT thought so. Have you’ forgotten

me? Iam Paul Badeau, son of Adam Ba~

deau.” f
“ T declare, young gentleman, I shoul
haye known you.. What has brough’ .
into t's country ? Have you come to see

your Pap ?” f
| “Yes; and I am nearly tired bial and so

 

is my horse: -I.don’t think either of us can

 

SSS

 

 

 
 

 

 

A TRUE BLUE

.

hold out much longer. Do you know where
I can find, my father ?”

“Yes, sir; he is not more, than half a
mile from here.’ Go. straight ahead, until
you come to a pine tree, on the right, that
has been struck by lightning, Turn square
into, the woods bythe pine, and strike a bee-
line, until. you reach a log-house inja smal]
clearing. You will. find. Captain Badeaw
there, with Reames, and Johnson, and Rock-
afellow, and Rowan, and Heyman; and lots
more of em. Take,care how you go to the
house, for they have’ sentinels out, and you
might get shot.”

“Thank you, fet Riley ; I will be care-
ful.”

The boy urged eed his wearied horse,
reached the blasted pine, struck into the for-
est, and soon came to the) log-house in the
clearing, where he was challenged by a sen-
tinel. | Having satisfied the man as to who
and what he was, he. was admitted within
the building, where he saw his father; and
a number of other men, sitting and standing
in a scantily-furnished, room, most of them
engaged in consuming a very frugal meal.

Adam Badeau, with an, expression. of

surprise, stepped forward ito meet his son.
. “What has brought you here, Paul?” he
asked, ‘It. is wrong for you to. cross; the
country alone, at this time... It is a .won-
der that; some conscripting officer has, not
picked you up. Did I not, tell you not
to. venture here, again, unless I sent. for
you?”

“ Yes, sir,” faintly replied Paul; “but. I
had some very important news for you, and
mother and Mary thought, it best, for me to
come.” »

_ “ What is your news, my son ?”
» “Will you first ask some one to look
¥ my horse, sir? He is nearly worn out.
ind, may I have a chair? , I can hardly
stand up.”
_ “Certainly, my poor boy... Mr. Ramsey,
ail you look’ after the horse? .Here is;a
chair, Paul. Swallow some of this: apple-

brandy ;, it may revive you.”

The boy drank a portion of the strong
liquid, and it appeared to brace him up... He

_ took,a small bundle of papers from his pock-
et, and handed. them to his. father, who

opened them, read them carefully, and pass-
ed them to his companions, who also read
them in silence.

» “This is, indeed, important intelligence,”
said Adam Badeau, when. he. had finished.
the package-— very important, if it. is all

 

RENDEZVOUS. 85

true, But, I do not understand it, Paul.
These letters and. memoranda are in your
handwriting. How did you get them, and
where are the originals?”

“The owner, Martin Dabney, has the ori-
ginals,. They were brought, to me. by one
of our negro boys on the plantation, who
could, ,read writing, . You, remember little
Pete, as you called him, and may remember
that I taught him, to,read and write... I had
told him to keep his eye; on the papers in
the. library, which Dabney uses for his pri-
vate room, and he came.across these. He
could spell them, out well enough .to know
that they would be very important to you,
and, as, Iyhappened. to be in that neighbor-
hood, he gaye them to me... I. thought it
would not do for Dabney to miss them, as
he would know that his plans had been
discovered; so I made. copies of them, and
told the boy to put the originals back as he
had, found them. I then; went, home, and
told mother and Mary what I had found
out, and we agreed that, I had better bring
the news to you.”

“You did right, my son, perfectly right.
Paul, you are.a model of discretion and. good
judgment. If I eyer get my rights agai, I
think I, must. employ you to manage the
estate.; . Take another swallow of the bran-
dy, for you must keep up.a little while longer,
and then you shall haye,a good sleep, if we
all have to lie on the floor.”

The boy drank some more of the liquor,
as he, really needed some... stimulus, and
Adam Badeau addressed himself to his com-
panions:

“You see, those papers, my friends, and
you, have heard, the statement. of my son,
That man, Dabney, is the same fellow who
caused my arrest in 1861, and who has-been
living on my property since that time. You
may remember that.he had nearly. discoyer-
ed some of our most important secrets,
through a paper in cipher which was found
on, me at the time of my arrest, and which
was. recoyered hy ‘my son. .The boy also
brought us some other papers, which showed
the intention of this man to cause the arrest
and. conyiction of some of, our . leaders.
Through the possession. of those papers, we
were enabled to frustrate his plans, but he

has. commenced his intrigues again, on an *

entirely different basis. , This circumstance
proves that. we can not. be too careful in ad-
mitting members, for I had heard that this

Dempsey, as he calls himself, had: been pro-

posed, and that no objection had heen made

es

eta MERE SNE TS

 
 

 

 
    

86 TRUE
to him, but he had been highly vouched for.
If we had not learned the existence and na-
ture of the plot, we would have had an unt
scrupulous spy among us, and many of the
best men inthe State would have been com-
pelléd to stretch hemp. Are you satisfied
that this is so?”

“Tt seems very plain,” answered one ‘of
the gentlemen. ‘The only question is,
what is the best thing to do about it ?”

“Ts nét that, also, plain? Can there be
any question of our duty?  Self-preserya-
tion is the first law of nature, and we have
only to act on the defensive. This man is
dangerous. If he is foiled in his present
plan, he will try ‘another. We must
consult our own safety, and we know that
our safety and aie existence are incompati-
ple.”

a tiHltedmanitly your meaning,” interrupted
the gentleman who had previously spoken,
“but how do you propose to ‘settle the mat-
ter ?” 1

“Tn the simplest and most effectual man-

‘ner. This Dempsey, as he calls himself, is

to be presented for admission at our meet-
ing in Wilimington, on the fourth’ of next
mbnth, He must be admitted; he must be
allowed full liberty: to forswear himself; he
must be given rupe enough to hang himself
with. His guilt and its discovery must be
made plain to him, and—the consequences’
must follow. I will be at the meeting in
Wilmington on the fourth, and you will be
there, I suppose, Mr. Johnson, and you, Mr.
Rowan, and we will warn our friends, and
will take such measures as may be requisite.
I will accompany my son part of ‘the way
to his honie, arid will meet you at the usual
place, on the third or fourth. I declare—
thé boy is sound asleep! Let us make him
as easy a couch as we can} gentlemen, for
this is the second time he has saved our
lives.” }
Adam Badeat and his friends, like’ true
gentlemen ‘and True Blues as they were,
prepared a comfortable bed on the floor, on
which they laid, without waking him, the
thoroughly- -éxausted boy. ‘Then, while
he slept, as only youth and innocence can
sleep, they knelt upon the bare floor, while
one of ‘their number offered up a fervent
and touching prayer, fur themselves, for’ their
absent wives and children, and, above all,
for the restoration of the holy and glorious
Union, and for the return of peate to the
afflicted land. shectebaptnh Ahir
Yet those men were iiginatibaet by tt thie

BLUE. ;

rebel] atithorities and by the rebel journals,
as outlaws,-robbers and murderers !

In the morning Paul Badeaw felt strong
again, for youth atid a ‘good constitution had
asserted themselves, and he had been ‘refresh-
ed by a sound sleep and invigorated by food
that was ‘substantial, though’ far from) deli-
cate. “It was not long before he set ‘out on
his homeward journey, accompanied by his
father, who was dressed inthe uniform of a
rebel officer, and so completely disguised,
that his own son did not recognize him uw
til he spoke.

CHAPTER XI.
A Dead Dog and a Live Brute.

WueEn Martin Dabney postponed his mat
rimonial project forthe time being, on learn-
ing’ the escape of Adam Badesii; | he had no
idea of giving it up altogether. Far from
it; he was really infatuated, almost “ clean
daft,” as the Scotch say, on the subject of
Mary Badeau, arid he had no intention’ of
losing her, if he could gain her by any means,
honorable or otherwise.

He knew that it would be necessary for
him to get control of the father, if he wish-
ed to sécure tlie daughter; he knew that
he must really have the power of life or
death over Adam Badeau, before’ he could
expect Mar y even listen to his suit. There+
fore, his first endéavors werd directed to the
recapture of her father. In those endea-
vors, however, he sigually failed. He learned
that. Badeau had fled to the mountains, and
was at the head of a band of refugées, but
the military forces that could be spared
the purpose’ were table to track them int
their coverts and mountain fastnesses, and
effect their capture.

By the use of tistdvesresenthtion, and tebe
timony manufactured for the occasion; ‘be —
had induéed the rebel authorities to believe
that Adam Badeau was guilty of some
those “robberies and murders”.which h
been so freely charged upon the mountain.
refugees, and had caused them? to proclaim
him-an outlaw, and to offer a’reward for his
arrest. Thus lie was'sure of the quiet pos-_

session of the plantation’ and the other.
property, 40 long, at least, a8 the rebellion
lasted. A
Still, if the fugitive should’ be taken, it
would be necessary to bring him to trial, if
| only before a‘couft-martial—for there was

 

that remnant or semblance of law left—

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

  

  

 

 

and there was no positive evidence against
him that would secure a conviction. Badeau
was suspected of belonging to the “ treason-
able” organization that was dimly known
as the Zrue Blues, but the document that
might, when deciphered, have proved that

fact, had been abstracted from Dabney’s
desk, together with some other papers, that
gave information of his plans to sap the
foundations of the society.

' Dabney was not disposed to let the affair
drop in that way. He applied himself,
more assiduously. than eyer, to the accumu-
lation of evidence against Badeau, and to
the task of prying into the mysteries of the
True Blues. We found this to be hard and
slow work, as the “conspirators” were so
guarded in all respects, and so very cautious
concerning those whom they admitted: to
their confidence, that it was extremely
difficult to get any hold upon them. He
was morally certain that a number of peo-
ple whom he could name were guilty of the
“crime” of belonging to the organization,
but he had not the proof. He was occu-
pied, also, with schemes of personal aggran-
dizement, and could not give the subject that
attention that he would otherwise have be-
stowed on it. It was not until after the lapse
of more than two years, that his plans were
fur enough advanced to: enable him to count
with certainty on being able to penetrate
the secrets and secure the leaders of thea
association of Union men.

This method of procedure, howeyer, was
too slow for Martin Dabney. It promised
to gain him the evidence that he desired,

_ but there was no absolute certainty of cap-
_ turing the man he wanted. Besides, if he
got him, there would be the delay of a
i and then a course of negotiation, be-
fore Mary, who was then of age, could be
induced to save her father's life by sacri-
ficing her own happiness. The ex-minister,
like Jeshurun in Scripture, had “ waxed fat
and kicked.” He had grown wealthy, and
had. become a power in the land. He pos-
sessed authority; and had held it so long,
_ that he had begtn to believe that no one
would dare to dispute his will. Besides, it
was a lawless age, in a lawless land, In-
fluence with the powers that were, and the
‘right of the strong arm generally prevailed,
his undisturbed occupation of Adam Ba-
aes 8 plantation and personal property
abundantly proved. Why should he not
make a sure thing of it, and end the matter
speedily, by cutting the Gordian-kmot, and

nis) "95 3 yee 7

 

 

" DABNEY’S NEW SCHEME, an

simply taking the girl, and leaving other
matters for future adjustment ?.

The more he reflected, upon this plan,
the more favorably he was impressed) with
it, and he resolved to put it in execution.
To be. sure, his jurisdiction did not extend
to the part of the State in which Mrs. Ba-
deau and her children then resided, and his
name was not feared in that region as it,
was in some other localities, but the strong
arm was powerful there, as well as in Bla-
den county.

He procured from his complaisant and
useful friend Colonel Gartney, whom he had
kept. liberally supplied with liquor and with
money for gambling purposes, a squad of
twelve cavalrymen, under: command of a
lieutenant, for whose transportation, forage
and provisions, he agreed to pay, and who
were to, be subject. to his orders until he
should see fit to return them to their com-
mander.

Accompanied by these satellites, he went
to Wilmington, and took the cars for the
north, as he had done on a previous occa-
sion, when he was more peacefully, but not
less ‘wickedly, inclined.

Stopping at the . station nearest to the
place that he intended to visit, he mounted
his men, and rode at a slow trot, until he
reached Mrs. Badeau’s quiet home. There
he stationed some of his soldiers around the
house, to prevent any ingress or egress, and
placed others,at the door, to be ready to
answer his call. The house was in the
country, with no other inhabited dwelling
within a quarter of a mile of it, and was,
therefore, in an ea situation for his
purpose.

When he had duitattly arranged matters
outside, he entered the house, without
knocking, and found Mrs. Badeat and her
daughter in their neat sitting-room, sewing
and conversing. It was quite late at night,
but they had not retired to bed, because
their hearts were heavy, and thoughts of
their absent ones made them wakeful,
Paul was away; he had gone on a long
journey, to visit his father, and it was of
him and his perilous undertaking that they
were principally speaking. There was
something said, too, about.a certain Harry,
who was supposed to be in the Union
army, and the mention of whose name
brought blushes and occasional tears into

the cheeks and eyes of the young lady with

the black hair and ruby lips. #
Tt hag been said that, the lapse of two

 

ates

sae Te ny

4]
'

 

erates

ARORA SO OE BS AE ts oe sie

i a

 

 
   
 

    
  
  
   
   

years and upward had made no noticeable
“change in Mrs. Badeau and her daughter.
There were threads of gray, however, in the
matron’s hair, and sorrow and care had
written a few wrinkles on her fine face,
Mary, on the contrary, had only matured,
and was more resplendently beautiful than
ever, her form being more perfectly devel-
oped, her cheeks fuller, her lips more rosy,
and her dark eyes more expressive. As
Martin Dabney’s glance fell upon her, when
he first entered the room, he felt that she was
a prize that must be secured at any cost, and
became more firmly fixed in his resolve.
The ladies were astonished, if not frighten-
ed, at the appearance of this unwelcome
uest, and Mrs. Badeau, rising from her seat,
aughtily demanded the reason of his intru-
sion, at that hdur of the night.
“ You do not appear to have expected me,
my dear ladies,” said Dabney, with a wicked
rin, “ although 7% seem to be sitting up
or some one. trust, however, that you
will give an old friend a courteous recep-
tion. It is a long time since I have seen
you, and the last time I had the honor of
calling upon you, you may remember that a
little plan of mine accidentally fell through,
because of the escape from prison of an ex-
cellent friend of ours. You need not hope
that he will be at large much longer, for he
is proscribed as an outlaw, with a price set
on his head, and will soon be in custody again,
with proof enough to hang him twice over.”

“We have no desire to listen to such talk,”

said Mrs. Badeau.. “It is neither profitable
nor pleasant. ‘State your business immedi-
ately, or leave the house.”

Pill state my business, my dear lady,
and will leave the house when I am ready to
do so. When I leave, I will not go alone;
so you had better not hurry me off. I have
not come, this time, as an humble suppliant,
begging you to allow me to pay my ad-
dresses to your daughter, nor have I come
armed with her father’s consent, to negotiate
a matrimonial arrangement; but I have
come, as our beloved Scripture says, like an
army with banners, clothed with the power
and authority of the Confederate States of
America, to do as I please, and to take whom
I please.”

“What do you mean, sit? Haye you been
drinking? This insolence is unbearable.”

“ Still, it must be borne, and I advise you
to reconcile yourself to it as easily as possi-
ble. I have not been drinking, my dear
lady—that is, not more than usual, for I ad-
mit that your daughter’s treatment of me
had a tendency to unsettle my mind, and
caused me to seek consolation in stimulating
fluids, of which I found a good supply in the
cellar of your excellent husband, the outlaw.
My exact meaning is, that Iam_ here for the
purpose of arresting that young lady, on the
charge of treason, After I have arrested
her, and thus done all that my duty to the
te an requires, I propose to make her

rs. Dabney, with her kind consent, if she
will give it, without it, if she is so obstinate
as to refuse her consent.”

 

 

TRUE BLUE.

The brutality, malice, and ineffable mean-
ness of the man were fully displayed, as he
showed his wolfish teeth and snapped his
twinkling eyes, and they excited in the two
ladies a feeling of horror and utter disgust.

“Tmpossible!” exclaimed Mrs. Badeau.
“Such things can not be. This is too mon-
strous.” :

“That is a matter of opinion, my dear
lady. For my part, I think it is just about
monstrous enough. A great many things that
are called monstrous are done at the present
time. Might makes right, at this place and
hour. The race is to the swift, and the bat-
tle to the strong.”

“You haye been drinking, sir, and you
are insolent. Leave the house, or I will call
the servants to put you out.”
> “They could hardly do it, madam, as I
have a dozen stout soldiers at the door. Will
the young lady go quietly, or shall I be com-
pelled to use force ?” ,

He advanced to Mary, and laid his hands
upon her, to drag her from the room. Aid-
ed by her mother, she resisted stubbornly,
and Dabney was fain to summon. the men
at the door to his assistance, comnianding
them to. tie the elder lady to a chair.

“T don’t half. like this business, Mr. Dab-
ney,” said the lieutenant, as be reluctantly
eee the order, ‘and I wish I was out
of it.

“ All you have to Wo is to follow my direc-
tions and hold your tongue,” churlishly an-
swered Dabney. “I alone am responsible for
what you do.”

He forced Mary, in a half-fainting condi-
tion, to the front door, where he was com-
pelled to resign her to the care of a soldier,
in order to defend himself against his old
enemy, Paul’s dog.

Nero, who had been tied up in the yard,
had. well known that. something wrong was

oing on, and had made frantic efforts to get
oose. He at last succeeded in breaking his
rope, and came in sight of the door as the
ex-minister made his appearance, there.

Without, taking time for canine considera-—

tion, he rushed forward, and sprung at the
man’s throat. But Dabney had drawn a
pistol, and although his face was blanched
and his hand trembled, his unsteady aim
was successful, the bullet hitting the noble
dog in the center of the forehead. It did not
stop the force of his leap, however, for he

nearly knocked Dabney down as he struck

against him, and then fell on the floor, where,
after a few convulsions, he lay dead. ‘

“That dog will never show his. teeth at

me again,” said Dabney, with a wolfish
grin.

A negro man was captured, who was
made to saddle Mary’s horse, and bring it to
the house. As she was forced to mount, she
seemed to have recovered her composure, a
well as her strength, and to be determine
to meet her fate, or to resist it, as circum-
stances would permit. ;

“Tt won't do to take the cars to go back,
lieutenant,” said Dabney. ‘‘ I don’t want to
travel in that direction at all, as we would

  
 

4

 

 

  
 

 

 

 

 

aa

ae

 

 

 

A CIRCUMBENDIBUS. | en 89

°

meet too many inquisitive eyes and tongues.
We will) go by way of Trenton, and may
strike over to the railroad from there.”

“Very well, sir; you say that I have
nothing to.do but to obey orders.”

The negro who had been captured was
pressed into the service as a guide, as none
of the party were acquainted with the roads
in that neighborhood, and Dabney and his
satellites started off with their fair captive.

The night was very dark, and they were
compelled to trust entirely to the guide.
Dabney rode in front with the negro, and,
for his own satisfaction, forced the young
lady to ide near him. Having fully re-
covered her presence of mind, she was not
displeased with this arrangement, as it af-
forded her an opportunity, when Dabney’s
face was turned, to whisper to her mother’s
servant.

“For God’s sake, Jeff, lead them the
wrong way—anywhere but toward the
south !”

“YT will, missy, if I die for it,” was the
answer of the man with a black, face and a
true heart.

On they pressed, slowly and tediously,
‘through the pitchy darkness of the night,
necessarily trusting only to the guidance of
the negro. Dabney endeayored to talk to
Mary Badeau, but, as she answered him never
a word, he soon abandoned the profitless
labor.

Still they pressed on, until day began to
break, and Mary saw, through the trees, the
quiet water of ariver. Then she knew that
the faitful negro had performed his promise.
Dabney also saw the water, and he opened
his eyes in astonishment.

“What river is that?’ he angrily de-
manded.

“T¢lar’ to glory, massa, I don’t know.”

“You don’t know! What do you mean?
Have you been leading us astray? If you
haye played false with us, I will send a bul-
let. through your head.”

“Flain’t played nuffin’, massa, De fac’ is,
de night was so ebberlastin’ dark, and I was
so kinder scar’d an’ muxed up, dat I done

lost de way. But it’s gittin’ daylight now,
an’ I ken look around a bit, an’ find out
whar’ we is.”

“Do it, then. Lieutenant, send a couple
of men with that fellow,”

“Very well, sir. In the mean time, we
had better stop and eat some lunch.”

 

CHAPTER XII.
Lhe Viper Gnaws a File,

Times were dull at Newbern. Plenty of
Federal soldiers were there, and a goodly
_ number of vessels, but the men had little to
‘do, and were disgusted with the tiresome
monotony of camp-life. They patronized
the sutlers’ stores to the extent of their
means, got up, occasional dances, concerts,

or amateur theatricals, laughed at the con-

trabands, turned out to hear patriotic ad-

 

dresses from distinguished individuals, who
stopped to look in at them, serenaded their
officers, and the wives of their’ officers, and
varied these important occupations by mak-
ing infrequent raids into the interior, for the
purpose of securing forage, or of destroying
property that might be of use to the enemy.

Among those to whom this inactive garri-
son life was particularly distasteful, was a
good-looking, dashing, sanguine young gen-
tleman, named Harry Maddox, who chafed
and fretted until he became quite a nuisance
to his comrades. He had gone into the war,
as he did eyery thing else, “with a rush,”
and with the determination of performing
his part of the contract for crushing the re-
bellion, in the shortest possible time. At
first, he had ample scope for his belligerent
proclivities, and fuund the excitement suffi-
cient to satisfy him, He had distinguished
himself in several actions, had twice been
wounded, and had been promoted, until the
gilt leaves that denote the rank of major
shone on his shoulder-straps. But he was
then quietly laid away at Newbern, and it
seemed that he was destined to remain there
during the war, with no chance to alter the
fashion of the gilt leaves on his shoulder, or
to exchange them for the silver eagles of a
colonel.

Harry Maddox was not a man to endure
such a position patiently. He considered
that he had. been badly treated, and that a
personal injury had been done him. He en-
deayored to get exchanged into some regi-
ment in more active service, but was unable
to gain his desire. His restlessness and am-
bition then strove to fin@ such vent as was
possible in that quiet locality, and oozed out
in scouting-parties, forays, and expeditions
up the river and into the country, in which
he did as good service as could be done,
but gained no special distinction.

He had learned, through his scouts, that -

there was a large amount of corn stored in
a barn, some twenty miles up the river, and
that a guerrilla camp was located in the
neighborhood. After he received this infor-
mation, he could think of nothing except
capturing that corn, and breaking up that
camp, and he importuned and annoyed the
commanding General, until the officer was
glad to get rid of him, by giving him autho-
rity to do as he wished. ‘The little gunboat,
Linden, and two companies of his own regi-
ment, were placed, at his disposal, together
with a small transport, to bring back the
grain and carry the troops.

His “fleet” was slowly steaming up the
rather sinuous channel of the Neuse, one
cool evening, and Harry Maddox was seated
on what was supposed to be the quarter-deck
of the Linden, with the commander of that
formidable vessel of war. Both were smok-
ing brierwood pipes, and both looked as wise
and valiant as the officers in charge of an
expedition that represented the army and
the navy ought tolook, >
._ “Glad we are off at last, Pratt,” said Harty
Maddox. “TI tell you, Ihad hard enou
work to persuade Old Sobersides to let us do

 

st AO oo

sl AOR ca

—

© Sayer rere co mE

ses Reo

 
 
  

 

 

meritorious young officers, like you and me,
Pratt. But I stuck to him like a leech, and
bothered him until he was compelled to give
in. Ithink it won’t be long before he will
indorse my application for a transfer, just
to get rid of me, for he hates to be annoyed.”

“This is much better than nothing, Harry,”
answered his friend ; “ but I am afraid it will
not amount to much. We may find the
corn, but I don’t believe we have any chance
for a brush.” ’

“Perhaps not; but we will trust to luck,
and hope for the best. There is no telling
how fortune may fayor us. Perhaps we may
meet a big band of guerrillas, and the Lin-

‘den may get a chance to scale her howitzers,

and have some shell-practice.”

“J hope so, forl am getting tired of this
sort of life. LI-wish the war was over, and
I was back in the merchant service,” _

“So do I wish the war was over; but, if
it was, I should be in no hurry to leave
North Carolina, for there is a young lady in
this State in whom I am particularly inter-
ested. I was engaged to be married to her
when the war commenced.”

“T think I haye heard you spéak of her.”

“Very likely, for she is seldom out of my
thoughts, She was beautiful when I saw her
last, though she was scarcely seyenteen, and
now she must be perfectly splendid. Her
father was one of the richest planters on the
Cape Fear River, and I suppose he has
turned rebel, like the rest of the wealthy
slaveholders. Mary, perhaps, has married
some handsome rebel officer, with a pound
of gold lace on his coat, and a feather as
large as the hand of Providence. But no—
that is impossible; she couldn’t forget me as
easily as that. Well, Pratt, I do wish this
war was over, for, whenever I think of her,
T am so anxious and impatient that I want to
hurt somebody.”

_ “Wishing may do very well to pass away
the time, but it is not a-profitable business,
my boy. In the mean time, as the war is
not yet over, we had better attend to what
we have on hand, for it would never do to
go back empty, especially as we have a

newspaper correspondent on board, who is |:

anxious to give usa puff. You had better
bring one of your scouts up here, that he
may show us just where to stop for the
corn.”

In due course of time, the “ fleet” arrived
at its destination, and the transport was made
fast to the bank, while the Linden lay off in

_ the stream, and pointed her howitzers to-

ward the shore, to be ready to meet any
hostile demonstration. Major Maddox dis-
embarked his men, and marched them wp to
the barn, Where he “gobbled up” the ne-
groes who had been left there to guard the
roperty. They submitted to be captured
vy the Yankees with a fortitude and a resig-

nation that were eminently praiseworthy ; in
fact, they did not attempt to escape, and’
none of them shed a tear when they were
taken. hy Sante ch eet mh

The soldiers and the negroes were then set

 

TRUE BLUE.

this thing. He has no idea of encouraging} at work to carry the corn to the boat, and

were soon trooping merrily, with their sacks,
between the transport and the barn. The
quantity of forage was fully as large as the
scouts had represented it to be, and the mili-
tary and naval commanders of the expedi-
tion felt that they could give a good account
of themselves to “ Old Sobersides,” especially
as they were able to bring in some of his pet
contrabands.

But their work was not yet finished. Ma-
jor Maddox had no ‘idea of returning to

ewbern until he had broken up the guer-
rilla camp of which he had been informed.
He made inquiries among the negroes, and
was assured by them that there was such a
camp, a few miles further up the river, and
that they could guide him to it. Accord-
ingly, the two vessels were again put in mo-
tion, and slowly steamed up the Neuse, until
they reached a point indicated by the ne-
groes, when the transport landed at the bank,
and the Linden again lay off in the stream,
with her guns pointed toward the shore.

Maddox formed his men, leaving a guard
on the boat, and marched across the fields,
under the guidance of the negroes. He
reached the place where the camp was said
to be, but found no guerrillas.

“Spect dey’s done gone away, massa,”
said one of the negroes. “De soger men
was here last night, for shuah, ’cause mean’
dese odder cullud gen’lemen see’d. ’em, an’
dere was a heap ob ’em, too.”

On investigation, Major Maddox found
traces of fires and other debris of a camp,
and concluded to move further on, in the
hope that some of the guerrillas might be
lurking in the neighborhood. The night
had been very dark, but day was breaking,
and he knew that it would not be safe to
remain in that locality, with his small force,
much longer. He sent scouts ahead, with
directions to fall back to the main body, if
they saw any signs of an enemy, and pushed
on, quite rapidly, toward a belt of timber.

His scouts had hardly entered the timber, |
when they came back, and reported that a —
small party of rebels was bivouacking there,
dea below an abrupt bdnd in the river,
Maddox immediately sent word to the com-
mander of the Linden, directing him to .
up in’the bend, in order to cut off the retreat
of the rebels, and sent a party to the left, with —
the same object.

When the boat and the detachment had —
had time to get in position, he again moyed _
his men forward, and soon came in sight of —
the party, who appeared to be taking their
breakfast. There was a lady among ther,
who, as soon as she caught sight of the blue
uniforms, started up, and waved her hand-
kerchief to them. The others noticed the
action, immediately perceived its cause, and —
commenced to get into their saddles as fast
as they could. "Phey were not quick enough,
however, for the boys in blue rushed a
through the timber, and captured the preat
portion of them, including the young lady,
who had shown no disposition to mount her
horse. 1 Bp F

 

 

 

 

4

 

,

ii

J

 
 

 

 

 

Among those who escaped was a rather
stout and elderly gentleman, well dressed,
and riding a fine horse, who, when he thought
he was at a safe distance, turned, and shook
his clenched fist, with an impotent threat, at
the “invaders;” but a shell from the howit-
zer of the Linden, and some shots from the
detachment that had come in on the left,
caused him to put spurs to his horse, and get
away as fast as he could.

Harry Maddox, cap in hand, stepped up
to the lady, and was about to display his gal-
lantry, when he stopped and started back
with an expression of astonishment.

“Good God! is it possible?” he exclaimed.
“Tt can not be; but what a wonderful like-

_ ness !”

hart: oh, Harry! Have you forgotten
me

It was evident that Harry had not, for the
greeting that followed was such asa novelist
would be justified in calling an embrace.
They had met—Harry Maddox, and Mary
Badeau—the Northern boy and the Southern
girl—after a long and painful separation, and
it was but natural that they should forget, in
their joy, the presence of others.

When the greeting was over, explanations
ensued, accompanied by expressions of sur-
ee indignation and sympathy, from Harry,

‘he negro man Jeff., who had been captured,
together with two soldiers, by the detach-
ment on the left, was brought in, and Mary
directed him to hurry back to the house,
to inform her mother of what had happened,
and to tell her, as soon as Paul returned, to
make her way, as well as she could, to New-
bern, with the negroes.

The Union troops then marched back to
the boat with their prisoners, and found the
Linden awaiting them in the stream. As
soon as Maddox reached the bank, he hailed
the gunboat at the top of his voice :

“Captain Pratt! Captain Pratt! Send a
boat asho-o-re! I’ve captured the best prize
of the war!”

_ Ina short time the “ fleet,” with its valu-
‘able captures, animate and inanimate, was
steaming down the river toward Newbern,
while Jeff., mounted on Mary’s horse, was
hastening back to tell the glad tidings to his
‘Tnistress. ,

CHAPTER XIII.
The Last Squirm.

ApamM Baprav and Paul accomplished
their journey in safety, and without meetin
any interruption. he father represente

himself as a Confederate officer, and the son
as a recruit whom he was taking to his regi-
ment. This precaution was necessary, as the
boy, although not yet of the age that would
render him liable to Conscription, looked old
enough to be held to military duty, and might
haye been troubled by detention.

When they reached the Weldon neti
Mr. Badeau stopped at the first station,
the purpose of taking the cars for Wilming-

~

 

/made to Paul’s

HARRY CAPTURES A PRIZE. ~ AL

ton, and sent Paul home to his mother, after
giving him instructions for the future.

“J will meet you,” said he, “ at eight o’clock
on the evening of the 4th, in front of the
Town Hall, You must be walking on the
sidewalk there, at that time, and, if any one
asks you to tell him where the Custom House
is, you must show him the way. Hasten
home to your mother, my boy, and carry my
love to her and Mary, and don’t forget eight
o'clock on the evening of the 4th, in front of
the Town Hall.” ,

Paul did not need to be told to hasten
home to his mother, for he was very anxious
to see her, and he reached the house about
noon of the day after his sister had been kid-
napped by Dabney.

The first thing that attracted his attention,
was the dead body of Nero, which lay near
the front steps, having been left there until
the dog’s master should return and designate
a place for its burial. The blood mounted
up in the boy’s cheeks, and the tears started
in his eyes, as he gazed on the stiffened
corpse of his faithful friend and dear com-
panion. Then he hastily entered the house,
and met his mother, who was calm and com-
posed as ever, although it was plain to be
seen that she had recently undergone severe
sufferings.

She had been released from her bons, by
the negroes, as soon as Dabney and his band
had left the place, and had been in a state
bordering on distraction, until Jeff. returned,
with the welcome intelligence that Mary had
been rescued from the kidnapper by her af-
fianced husband, Harry Maddox, and taken
to Newbern.

Paul listened to the narrative with feclings
of intense indignation, which changed. to joy
when the consummation was reached.

“T see light ahead, mother,” said he. “God
is surely on our side now. That wretch has
been foiled, and it is all for the best. But he
meant to do harm—that is certain—and he
has Nero’s blood on his hands. One minute
of that dog’s life was worth Martin Dabney’s
whole existence.” \

“that I must try to make my way to New-
bern, where we can be safe, as soon\as you
should arrive.”

“Very well, mother; I suppose it is the
best' thing to be done; but you had better
wait until I return from Wilmington. I
must go there to-morrow.”

“Indeed! You speak, my son, as if you
were your own master and the head of the
family. You must have grown very rapidly
of late. , Who has given you permission to
go to Wilmington ?”

“TI suppose it is my duty to obey my
father,” quietly answered the boy,

to Wilmington ?”
“Yes, mother, I hope that I can tell you
more about it when I return.”
As the will of Adam Badeau ‘was still the
law to his ae no further opposition was
eparture. He buried Nero,

 

shedding bitter tears over the grave of the

a litt

fee ters 5

“Mary sent me word,” said Mrs. Badeau,.

aie father! Has he directed you to go

orto = sme necy ite

ss tee tite es

 
 

 

     

42 ¢ . TRUE

noble animal, refreshed himself with a good
sleep, and started for Wilmington the next

morning, arriving in that city on the afternoon |

of the 4th.
He went to a hotel, where he got his sup-
er, after which he strolled out in town, and
found himself, at about eight o'clock, in front
of the Town Hall.

As he was walking slowly down the side-
walk, he was accosted by an old man, who
was hobbling waoelly along, supported by a
cane, and who asked the boy if he could di-
rect him to the Custom House.

“TY hardly think I could direct you, so that
you would find it,” answered Paul; “but I
will take great pleasure in showing you the
way, if you will allow me to do so.”

“Thank yon, my young friend. This is
more kindness than I had hoped to meet with,
I shall be greatly obliged to you for the favor.
I must beg you not to walk fast, and, as I um
very weak, will you have the kindness to
give me your arm ?”

Paul offered his arm to the old man, and
the two walked slowly across town, to the
street bordering on the river, where they
turned to the right. They soon reached a
brick building, a short distance below the
Custom House, where the old man stopped.

“ T think this is the place I am looking for,”
said he. ‘“ Follow me, if you please.”

The old man then led the way up.an alley,
opened a gate by which a yard was entered,
gave a peculiar knock at a door in the rear
of the building, whispered a word, and was
adinitted with his companion, ;

They then proceeded up-stairs, and encoun-
tered another door, at which another peculiar
knock was given, and another word was
whispered, and they were admitted toa large
room, which occupied nearly the entire length
of the building. This room was lighted, but
the blinds were tightly closed, and the win-
dows, within, were covered ‘with dark and
heavy curtains, which effectually prevented
the least gleam of light from being seen on
the outside. The floor was covered with
heavy grass matting, thickly underlaid with
straw, so as to effectually deaden the sound
of footsteps.. There was no furniture in the
room, except some benches and chairs, and
two tables at the upper end of the room, one
in the middle, and the other at itsright. _Be-
hind the principal table an American flag
was hung a, ‘ainst. the wall, over which was
a blue shield with a white eagle painted on
it, and the inscription: “TRUE BLUE.”
There seemed to be about a hundred men in
the room, who rose to their feet as the old
man entered.

That individual laid aside his hat and cane,
took off a gray wig and a heavy gray beard,
straightened himself up, and disclosed to Paul
the fine features and manly form of his
father !

The boy was not allowed time to express
his astonishment, for he was taken by the
hand, and led to the upper end of the room,
where he was seated on a benclt, while Adam
Badeau took his place behind the Bingdnl

fy the

‘table, and another gentleman, apparen

 

‘

BLUE.

Secretary of this assemblage of ‘“ Conspira-
tors,” sat at the other table, ;

The meeting was called to order by asign,
and the Secretary stood up and read some
papers, but Paul was unable, owing to the pe-
culiar language in which they were couched,
to understand their meaning. Other business
followed, and there was considerable reading
and speaking, all in a low tone, and all
equally incomprehensible, or nearly so, to
Paul, as it seemed to be a mixture of nonsense,
and to refer to yery insignificant matters. He
couli not conceive, for instance, why these
gentlemen should debate so earnestly whether
a certain number of barrels of apples ought
to be carried to John Smith's farm, or
whether another messenger ought to be sent
to inquire into the condition of a poor family
by the seaside. However, the gentlemen
seemed to understand the matter, and Paul
did not trouble his brains about it.

At last, Adam Badeau, who: appeared to
be the chairman of the meeting, announced
that the regular business was finished, and
asked whether there were any candidates for
admission.

“There is one,” answered the Secretary.

“Is he vouched for ?”

“Duly vouched for, and approved by the
committee.”

“Let him be admitted.”

Two men went into an anteroom, at the
lower end of the hall, and soon returned with
a well-dressed and rather portly gentleman,
whose hair and beard were quite red, and
whose nose was still redder. He was blind-
folded, and his hands were tied behind his
back. All present rose as he entered, and he
was led, in solemn silence, to the table of the
chairman, in front of which he was left
standing alone.

Adam Badeau then ‘proceeded to question
him, and the candidate started at the first
sound of his voice, but, he answered the in-
terrogations firmly and plainly. The princi-
pal points of his answers were, that hisname
was Michael Dempsey ; that he was an Ivish-'
man by descent, although born in the city 0
New York ; that he had emigrated to Charles-
ton some ten years previous, and had been
working in machine shops there; that he
had lately escaped from that city, and had
endeavored to make his way to the North,
but had been unable to proceed any further,
for lack of means; that he had always been
a Union man, and was willing to risk his
life for the Union cause. ‘

The chairman then explained to him the
objects of the association, which, as may be
supposed, were such as were considered ul-
tra-treasonable by the rebel authorities, and
the candidate declared that he was entirely
satisfied with the explanation, and willingly
subscribed to the doctrines that had been
laid down. f

“ Ifyou believe in the objects of this order,”
said the chairman, “are you Willing to take
an oath to support those objects, to be true to
the order, and to assist the members thereof
in the prosecution of those objects?”

“Tam.

¢

 

 

Fe

 
 

nti cnet

qq
4

 

 

  

 

 

DABNEY TURNS BLUE. ' AB

“Tt is necessary, then, that you take the
oath with a halter around your neck, as a
symbol of the danger in which the members
of this order continually live, and as a sym-
pol of the fate that you would meet, if you
should prove false.”

“Ts that absolutely necessary ?” asked the
candidate, with a perceptible tremulousness.

“Tt is.”

“Then, sir—really—[ had not expected
this—I was not prepared for it—if that is the
case—l believe I had rather withdraw.”

“Ttistoolatenow. Whether youare faint-
hearted or false-hearted, you can not go back
without taking the oath, Place the candidate
in position.”

rope, with a noose in it, was let down
from a beam, and the noose was, placed
around the man’s neck. The chairman then
administered to him a solemn and awful
oath, to which he duly assented, and he gave
a sigh of relief when it was finished, while the
perspiration stood in great beads on his brow,

“Remove the bandage from his eyes,” said
the chairman, “ that he may see the brothers
to whom he has sworn. to be true!”

The bandage was removed, and at the
same time a red wig and a pair of heavy red
whiskers were torn from the head and face
of the candidate, disclosing the black hair,
twinkling eyes, and brown, shayen face of
Martin Dabney!

The wretch seemed terror-stricken, and
ready to sink to the floor, when Adam Ba-
deau addressed him in tones that were terri-
bly stern :

“Martin Dabney, you are your own accu-
ser. There is no more proof needed, to con-
vict you of being a perjurer, a spy, and a
traitor of the worst stamp, Receive the fate
which you invoked upon your head, if you
should be false to your oath !”

“Mercy! mercy!” gasped Dabney —he
could say no more.

“Such mercy will be shown to you as you
would have shown to me—suchas you would
have shown to some of the best and noblest
gentlemen in the State, here present. Martin

abney, you have your reward |”

As the last word was spoken, a black cap
was thrown over the face of the spy, a

ortion of the floor suddenly opened beneath

im, and he fell a distance of five or six feet,
the rope straightening up with a jerk that
fairly shook the room. After a few convul-
sions, he hung there motionless.
_. Paul had covered his face with his hands,

and did not look up until he heard his fath-
er’s voice.

“Tt was just,” said Adam Badeau.

“Tt was just,” repeated the members of the
order.
“Jt was necessary,” said Adam Badeau.
“Tt was necessary,” repeated the others,
One of the gentlemen, who appeared to be
asurgeon, examined the body, and announced
that life was extinct. It was then let down
to the next room, and was buried under the
lower floor of the building, where its remains
still are. =: é

The assemblage then mysteriously dispers-

rt
'

 

ed, Adam Badeau and his son being among
the last to leave the room.

“You may tell your mother,” said the for-
mer, “that Martin Dabney has received his
deserts, but you need tell her nothing further.”

 

CHAPTER XIV.
Dark shall be Light.

Wuen Paul Badeau took the train for the
north, on his return to his, mother’s house,
he was accompanied by a negro man, who,
as his servant, “took a back seat” among
the soldiers and other “chivalry,” with which
the cars were filled.

When he got off at the station nearest to
his home, he found the carriage waiting for
him, and he showed so much consideration
for this body-servant, that he allowed him to
sit beside himself, while the negro who had
brought the carriage sat on the front seat and
drove.

When he reached the house, he was most :

enthusiastically welcomed by his mother,
who was sitting up for him (for it was night),
and who seemed as glad to see him as if she
had expected never to meet him again.

“Did you see your father, Paul?” she ea-
ce “ Did you hear any thing from
rim ? :

“T saw him, mother, and have reason to™

believe that you will see him before long.
But I was about to tell you a piece of news:
Martin Dabney has met his deserts.”
“What do you mean, my son?
dead? What has happened to him?”
“T can tell you nothing more at present,
mother. You may be assured that he has
met his deserts. Come, now; let us make
haste and pack up what we can, and get on
our way to Newbern. My new man, Pomp.,
will be of great help to us. The negroes, if
they wish to, must follow us as well as they
can.
“Where did you get that man, Paul? I
do not recognize him as one of our negroes.”
“Father sent him, and he is a good man;
that is all I know about him.”

Is he

Mrs. Badeau and her son, together with |

Pomp. and the other negroes, then packed up,
as fast as possible, their clothes and the most
necessary articles of furniture, and placed
them on two wagons, which were sent-off,
long before day, on the road to Newbern, in
charge of their most trusted servants, the
women and children being allowed to ride.

The house was then placed in charge of
Jeff., who begged to be permitted to remain
and take care of the property as long as he
could, and Mrs. Badeau and her son entered
the carriage, with Pomp. and the driver on
the front seat, and bade a long farewell to
the humble home that had sheltered them
during more than two eventful years.

They passed the wagons, telling the negroes
to follow on as fast as they could, and, in
due course.of time, and without special mo-
Jestation, arrived at Newbern, where the
were joyfully received by Harry Maddox

 

i
‘
{

gta...

;
7
4
7
4

 
  

 

 

 

and Mary, and were placed in comfortable
quarters that had been prepared for them.

While Mrs. Badeau was sitting by a fire,
resting from the excitement and fatigue of
her journey, the negro named Pomp. entered
the room, and asked for some water and soap,
to wash with.

“ Go out doors, and help yourself,” was the
rather sharp answer,

The man did as he‘was ordered to, but, in
a few minutes a negro girl came in, and Mrs.
Badeau was again. disturbed.

“ Please, missy,” said the girl, “dat dar’
Pomp. says he wants to see you.”

The lady flounced out of the room, indig-
nant at such impudence, and saw Pomp., wit
his back turned toward her, washing his face
and hands in a basin. that stood on a bench.

“What do you want, now ?” she demanded.

“A towel.”

“Polly, bring that fellow a towel, and be
quick about it. Are all niggers go impudent
as soon as they get their freedom ?”

The girl brought a towel, and the man, re-
maining in the same pusition, deliberately
wiped his face aud hands. ,

“Now listen to me, Pomp.,” said the lady,
who had been nursing her wrath until it was
ready to explode. “ ‘What do you mean by
coming to me to ask for water to wash with,

 

 

TRUE, BLUE.

and Py calling me out here to bring you a
towel? Don’t you know your place better
than that ?”

“T didn’t mean any harm,” said the man,
as he turned around, and disclosed-the smiling
face of Adam Badeau!

Over the scene that followed, the curtain
may be allowed to drop.

 

Adam Badeau and his family remained at
Newhern, living quietly under the protecting
folds of the flag of the Union, until Wilming-
ton. was captured. Before that. time, howey-
er, Harry Maddox and Mary Badeau had
been made man and wife. As: soon as they
could do so with safety, the Badeaus returned
to their plantation on the Cape Fear. They
found it sadly dilapidated and run to- waste,
but the buildings and the land were left, and
Adam Badeau immediately set at work to
restore it to something like its former condi-
tion of cultivation and beauty, employing as
many of his former slaves as were willing to
remain with him, and he has no doubt that,
with the assistance of his son and his son-in-
law, he will make it more yaluable; under
the new system, than it ever was before. It
may also be said, that he has neyer had cause
to regret that he remained loyal to the Union,
and enrolled himselfas a TRuE BLuE.

‘

\

 
 
 

 

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