The Long Roll
gone." He took a turn across the roses upon the carpet. "A man that's
been in politics knows there are so many dodges. Our spies say that
General Jackson is very acute. I got to thinking--" He came back to the
red-covered table. "Did you talk of the military situation coming
along?"
"Very little, sir."
"He wasn't inquisitive? Didn't criticise, or draw you on to talk--didn't
ask about my troops and my movements?"
"He did not, sir."
The general sighed. "It's all right, of course. You see, he seemed an
intelligent man, and we got to talking. I wrote my answer to General
Kelly. He has it now, is to start to Romney with it at dawn. Then I
asked some questions, and we got to talking. It's all straight, of
course, but on looking back I find that I said some things. He seemed an
intelligent man, and in his general's confidence. Well, I dismissed him
at last, and he saluted and went off to get some rest before starting.
And then, somehow, I got to thinking. I have never been South, and all
these places are only names to me, but--" He unrolled upon the table a
map of large dimensions. "Look here a moment, captain! This is a map the
department furnishes us. It's black, you see, for the utterly disloyal
sections, shaded for the doubtful, and white where there are Unionists.
All Virginia's black except this northwest section, and that's largely
shaded."
"What," asked Marchmont, "is this long black patch in the midst of the
shading?"
"That's the valley of the South Branch of the Potomac--see, it's marked!
Now, this man's from that locality."
"H--m! Dark as Erebus, apparently, along the South Branch!"
"Just so." General Banks paced again the roses. "Pshaw! It's all right.
I never saw a straighter looking fellow. I just thought I would ask you
the nature of his talk along the road--"
"It was hardly of military matters, sir. But if you wish to detain
him--"
"General Kelly must have my letter. I'm not to move, and it's important
that he should know it."
"Why not question him again?"
The general came back to the big chair beside the table. "I have no
doubt he's as honest as I am." He looked at the clock. "After
midnight!--and I've been reviewing troops all day. Do you think it's
worth while, captain?"
"In war very little things are worth while, sir."
"But you were with him all afternoon, and he seemed perfectly all
right--"
"Yes, sir, I liked him very well." He pulled at his long yellow
moustache. "There was only one little circumstance.... If you are
doubtful, sir--The papers, of course, might be forged."
The late Governor of Massachusetts rested irresolute. "Except that he
was born in Virginia there isn't a reason for suspecting him. And it's
our policy to conciliate all this shaded corner up here." The clock
struck the half-hour. General Banks looked longingly toward his bedroom.
"I've been through the mill to-day. It's pretty hard on a man, this
working over time.--Where's he lodging?"
"McNeill, sir? He said he would find quarters with some connection or
other--a Catholic priest--"
"A Catholic--There again!" The general looked perturbed. Rising, he took
from a desk two or three pages of blue official paper, covered with
writing. "I got that from Washington to-day, from the Secret Service
Department. Read it."
Captain Marchmont read: "'Distrust without exception the Catholic
priests in Frederick City. There is reason to believe that the Catholics
throughout Maryland are Secessionists. Distrust all Maryland, in fact.
The Jesuits have a house at Frederick City. They are suspected of
furnishing information. Keep them under such surveillance as your
judgment shall indicate.'--Humph!"
General Banks sighed, poured out something from a decanter, and drank
it. "I guess, captain, you had better go and bring that man from the
South Branch back here. Take a few men and do it quietly. He seems a
gentleman, and there may be absolutely nothing wrong. Tell him I've
something to add to General Kelly's letter. Here's a list of the priests
in Frederick. Father Tierney seems the most looked up to, and I gave him
a subscription yesterday for his orphan asylum."
Half an hour later Marchmont and two men found themselves before a
small, square stone house, standing apart from its neighbours in a
small, square yard. From without the moonbeams flooded it, from within
came no pinpoint of light. It was past the middle of the night, and
almost all the town lay still and dark. Marchmont lifted the brass
knocker and let it fall. The sound, deep and reverberant, should have
reached every ear within, however inattentive. He waited, but there came
no answering footfall. He knocked again--no light nor sound; again--only
interstellar quiet. He shook the door. "Go around to the back, Roberts,
and see if you can get in." Roberts departed. Marchmont picked up some
pieces of gravel from the path and threw them against the window panes,
to no effect. Roberts came back. "That's an awful heavy door, sir,
heavier than this. And the windows are high up."
"Very good," said the captain. "This one looks stronger than it really
is. Stand back, you two."
He put his shoulder to the door--"Wait a minute, sir! Somebody's lit a
candle upstairs."
The candle passed leisurely from window to window, was lost for a
minute, and then, through a small fan-light above the door, was observed
descending the stairs. A bolt creaked, then another. The door opened,
and Father Tierney, hastily gowned and blinking, stood before the
invaders. He shaded his candle with his hand, and the light struck back,
showing a strong and rosy and likable face. "Faith!" he said, "an' I
thought I was after hearin' a noise. Good-evenin', gentlemen--or rather
good-morning, for it must be toward cockcrow. What--"
"It's not so late as that," interrupted Marchmont. "I wish I had your
recipe for sleeping, father. It would be invaluable when a man didn't
want to be waked up. However, my business is not with you, but--"
"Holy powers!" said Father Tierney, "did ye not know that I live here by
myself? Father Lavalle is at the other end of town, and Father O'Hara
lives by the Noviciate. Sure, and any one could have told you--"
"Father Lavalle and Father O'Hara," said the aide, "are nothing to the
question. You have a guest with you--"
Father Tierney looked enlightened. "Oh! Av coorse! There's always
business on hand between soldiers. Was it Lieutenant McNeill you'll be
looking after?"
Marchmont nodded. "There are some instructions that General Banks
neglected to give him. It is late, but the general wishes to get it all
straight before he sleeps. I am sorry to disturb Lieutenant McNeill, for
he must be fatigued. But orders are orders, you know--"
"Av coorse, av coorse!" agreed Father Tierney. "'A man having
authority,' 'I say unto this man, Go, and he goeth; and to another,
Come, and he cometh--'"
"So, father, if you'll be good enough to explain to Lieutenant
McNeill--or if you'll tell me which is his room--"
The light of the candle showed a faint trouble in Father Tierney's face.
"Sure, it's too bad! Do you think, my son, the matter is of importance?
'T would be after being just a little left-over of directions?"
"Perhaps," said Marchmont. "But orders are orders, father, and I must
awaken Lieutenant McNeill. Indeed, it's hard to think that he's
asleep--"
"He isn't aslape."
"Then will you be so good as to tell him--"
"Indeed, and I wish I could do that same thing, my son, but it isn't in
nature--"
General Banks's aide made a gesture of impatience. "I can't dawdle here
any longer! Either you or I, father." He pushed into the hall. "Where is
his room?"
"Holy Virgin!" exclaimed Father Tierney. "It's vexed he'll be when he
learns that the general wasn't done with him! There's the room, captain
darlint, but--"
Marchmont's eyes followed the pointing of the candlestick. "There!" he
exclaimed. The door was immediately upon the left, not five feet from
the portal he had lately belaboured. "Then 't was against his window
that I flung the gravel!"
With an oath he crossed the hall and struck his hand against the panel
indicated. No answer. He knocked again with peremptoriness, then tried
the door. It was unlocked, and opened quietly to his touch. All beyond
was silent and dark. "Father Tierney, I'll thank you for that candle!"
The priest gave it, and the aide held it up, displaying a chill and
vacant chamber, furnished with monastic spareness. There was a narrow
couch that had been slept in. Marchmont crossed the bare floor, bent,
and felt the bedclothing. "Quite cold. You've been gone some time, my
friend. H--m! things look rather black for you!"
Father Tierney spoke from the middle of the room. "It's sorry the
lieutenant will be! Sure, and he thought he had the general's last word!
'Slape until you wake, my son,' says I. 'Judy will give us breakfast at
eight.' 'No, no, father,' says he. 'General Kelly is wearying for this
letter from General Banks. If I get it through prompt it will be
remembered for me,' he says. ''T will be a point toward promotion,' he
says. 'My horse has had a couple of hours' rest, and he's a Trojan
beside,' he says. 'I'll sleep an hour myself, and then I'll be taking
the road back to Romney. Ashby's over on the other side,' he says, 'and
the sooner I get Ashby off my mind, the better pleased I'll be,' he
says. And thereupon he slept for an hour--"
Marchmont still regarded the bed. "I'll be damned if I know, my friend,
whether you're blue or grey! How long has he been gone?"
Father Tierney pondered the question. "By the seven holy candles, my
son, I was that deep asleep when you knocked that I don't rightly know
the time of night! Maybe he has been gone an hour, maybe more--"
"And how did he know the countersign?"
"Faith, and I understood that the general himself gave him the word--"
"H--m!" said Marchmont, and tugged at his moustache. He stood in silence
for a moment, then turned sharply. "Blue or grey, which? I'll be damned
if I don't find out! Your horse may be a Trojan, my friend, but by this
time he's a tired Trojan! Roberts!"
"Yes, sir."
"You two go at once to headquarters' stables. Saddle my horse--not the
black I rode yesterday--the fresh one, Caliph. Get your own horses.
Double-quick now! Ten minutes is all I give you."
The men departed. Marchmont stalked out of the chamber and to the open
front door. Father Tierney, repossessed of the candle, followed him.
"Sure, and the night's amazing chill! By good luck, I've a fine old
bottle or two--one of the brigadiers, that's a good son of the church,
having sent me a present. Whist, captain! a little glass to cheer the
heart av ye--"
"I'll not stop now, father," said the aide dryly. "Perhaps, upon my
return to Frederick I may call upon you."
"Do so, do so, my son," said Father Tierney. "And ye're going to
overtake the lieutenant with the general's last words?--Faith, and while
I think of it--he let drop that he'd be after not going by the pike. The
old road by the forge, that goes south, and then turns. It's a dirt
road, and easier on his horse, the poor crathur--"
"Thanks. I'll try the pike," said Marchmont, from the doorstep. "Bah!
it's turning cold! Had you noticed, father, what exceedingly thin ice
you have around this house?"
"By all the powers, my son!" answered Father Tierney. "The moonlight's
desaving you! That isn't water--that's firm ground. Look out for the
flagstaff at the gate, and presint my respects to the general. Sure, 't
was a fine donation for the orphans he donated!"
It was two o'clock of a moonlight night when Captain Marchmont and his
troopers took the road to Williamsport. They passed through the silent
camp, gave the word to the last sentry, and emerged upon the quiet