Part 40 (1/2)

The air was cold and frosty, and riding all night in a stagecoach, which was far from being weather-proof, Webster was chilled through when the stage stopped before the comfortable inn of John Moore. Very soon, however, a jug of steaming punch, and the genial warmth from a fire of crackling logs in the large open fire-place, were instrumental in loosening the stiffened joints of my tired operative, and contributing materially to his comfort.

”Well, John,” said Webster at length, ”what is the prospect for crossing the river to-night?”

”We can't cross here at all any more, Webster,” replied Moore, with an oath; ”the d.a.m.ned Yankees are too sharp for us.”

”Is there no way of getting over about here at all?” asked Webster, somewhat troubled at the unexpected information.

”There's a way for some people,” replied Moore with a laugh, and a significant wink, ”and I guess you are included in the number.”

”All right,” said Webster, immeasurably relieved, ”but how do we manage it?”

”Well,” replied Moore, ”you will have to go up to Cob Neck, and then I will see that you are taken care of.”

Cob Neck is a point of land extending out from the main sh.o.r.e, about fourteen miles distant from Leonardstown, and was very well adapted for the purpose in view. On each side of the point, or neck, there was a wide bay or inlet where a boat could put out, and the ground, which was soft and marshy, was completely covered with a growth of pine thickets and underbrush, which prevented the placing of vigilant pickets at this point. Being perfectly acquainted with the locality named, Webster had no fears of being able to get safely across the Potomac into Virginia, and then continuing his way to the rebel capital.

”By the way,” said Moore, ”I have a favor to ask of you, Webster.”

”Well,” replied Webster, ”anything I can do will be cheerfully done for you, Moore.”

”I know that, Webster,” said Moore, heartily, ”and there is no one in the world I would rather oblige than you. The fact is, I have got two ladies here, who are wives of army officers, now stationed in Richmond, they have been living North for some time, and are anxious to get to their husbands; they have three children with them, and I want you to take charge of the party, and see them safely on their way.”

”I'll do that with pleasure,” replied Webster, ”and I'll take good care of them, too.”

That night, about nine o'clock, a close-covered carriage was driven away from the hotel, in the direction of Cob Neck. John Moore and Timothy Webster sat on the driver's seat, while within were the families of the rebel officers, who had been placed in my operative's charge. Reaching their destination in safety, the party alighted, and walking out to the end of the point, Moore uttered a shrill whistle, which was immediately answered in the same manner. Soon they heard the splas.h.i.+ng of oars, and in a few minutes a boat was discernable through the darkness, and the voice of a man called out:

”Here I am, Cap'n! on time, as ye see.”

”All right, Tom,” replied Moore, ”I've got a party here that you must take good care of.”

”Very well, Cap'n, I'll do the best I can, but I'm afraid the wind ain't right for landin' on t'other side.”

”Well,” said Moore, ”you must do your best, and I guess you will get over all right.”

The night was dark and cold, the wind was blowing sharp and chill, and heavy clouds were s.h.i.+fting overhead. The river was running swiftly, and was of that inky blackness that invariably presages a storm. The wind through the low pines was sighing like a human being in distress, and the ladies gazed fearfully and shudderingly at the dark waters and the frail craft which was to carry them to the opposite sh.o.r.e. Webster uttered words of courage and a.s.surance to the shrinking ladies, and a.s.sisted in comfortably bestowing them in the boat, and then, with a parting salutation to John Moore, the boat pushed off from the sh.o.r.e.

After getting clear of the land they hoisted sail, and were soon flying rapidly over the water, before the driving wind. As the wind was against them, they were obliged to make short and frequent tacks, and thus their approach to the opposite sh.o.r.e was accomplished by slow and labored degrees. The ladies were huddled together in the stern, clasping their frightened children nervously in their arms, while Webster, active and alert, rendered such a.s.sistance in managing the boat as was in his power.

”The storm's coming!” shouted the boatman, after a long silence, ”and the women had better cover up.”

The storm came, sure enough. A blinding rain, icy cold, which beat pitilessly down upon the unprotected voyagers, while the little vessel rocked to and fro at the mercy of the das.h.i.+ng waves. The wind suddenly changed, the frail yacht gave a sudden lurch, and in a twinkling the keel of the boat was heard sc.r.a.ping upon the bottom of the river, and they were aground. They had been blown out of their course, and had drifted into the shallow water, a mile below their landing place, and within a hundred feet of the sh.o.r.e.

Without a moment's hesitation, Webster bade the boatman lower his sail, and then, jumping into the water, which was waist deep, and as cold as ice, he took two of the children in his strong arms, and carried them safely to the river-bank. Returning again, he a.s.sisted in carrying the ladies and the remaining child ash.o.r.e, although he was so chilled that his lips were blue and his knees knocked together with the cold. The nearest place of shelter was a mile away, but unmindful of the cold and the pelting storm, Webster cheered his companions by his hearty words, and bidding the boatman take care of one of the children, he picked up another, and the weary party set out to walk through the icy rain to the little hut, whose welcome light was gleaming in the distance.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ”_Webster took two of the children in his strong arms, and carried them safely to the bank._” P. 474]

Thanks to a flask of good brandy, which Webster fortunately had with him, the ladies were strengthened and sustained sufficiently to make the journey; and when they arrived at last at the comfortable cabin, their words of grat.i.tude to Webster were heartily and unstintingly uttered.

After warming themselves before the fire, and drying their drenched and dripping garments as far as practicable, the ladies retired to another room, leaving Webster, who, overcome with fatigue, was obliged to sleep in his wet clothing in the room to which they were first admitted.

Unmindful of himself, however, his only solicitude was for the ladies who had been placed in his charge, and after they had been comfortably disposed of, he prepared to take his own much-needed rest.