5. CHAPTER V.
WIRY WILLY'S PLEDGE.
Mary Penford used her utmost endeavors to prevent her
grandfather from repairing to his office as usual that morning.
The claim of Mr. Grubb, a most respectable and
worthy iron-master of the preceding century, which he was
resurrecting, was deemed of vital importance, not only to
the cause of justice and patriotism, but to his own fame as
an officer of the government. In vain, therefore, were the
exertions of Mary; and so, when the omnibus came, she
resolved to accompany her aged relative to the post of
danger.
“Everything is in its place!” exclaimed the old man,
when they had ascended to his narrow and dingy office in
the Department. “Not a paper has been molested,” he
continued, unlocking the case and surveying with delight
the formidable array of paper-stuffed pigeon-holes.
“And, grandpa,” said Mary, brushing away the dust
with her handkerchief, “if an enemy of the government
should determine to destroy these precious papers, how
could you prevent it?”
“Prevent it? I would die at my post in defence of the
charge committed to my custody!”
“You might die, grandpa; but would that save the
papers? Oh, mercy!” she cried, seizing the old man's
hand, as the discharge of firearms was heard.
“It is nothing, child,” said the old man, intently perusing
a letter which a messenger had placed on his table.
“Nothing, grandpa! It is a battle!”
“Impossible! A battle in the Capital of the Federal
Union! Don't interrupt me, child—this letter concerns
you—and, indeed, he seems to think a disturbance is
probable—”
“Oh, grandpa!” ejaculated Mary.
The sound of cannon now shook the building to its
foundations, and yet old John Penford paid not the slightest
heed to it. The voices of men, the rattle of iron ramrods,
and the tramp of horses in the immediate vicinity, did not
seem to attract his attention.
“Mary, my child, we will determine about this letter
when we get home,” said the old man, folding it and
placing it in his pocket. “You shall now witness the consummation
of my labors in the Grubb case. The remaining
voucher, the copy of the receipt given for the cannon,
completes the establishment of the claim.”
“Oh, grandpa!” cried Mary, convulsively clinging to his
hand, as the stunning discharges of artillery assailed the
ear in rapid succession. “Do not go in front of that window,
dear grandpa! It is a dreadful battle.”
“It is impossible, child! They are merely practising.
It is the flying artillery. Tut, Mary! do you suppose they
would dare to fire balls at the War Department? They
would be cashiered, every one of them.”
“Don't you hear the crash among the trees and fences?”
“No, no! Release my hand, and let me get the voucher.”
Mary struggled to prevent him, and her guardian angel
assisted. For, a moment after, a cannon ball shattered the
window and buried itself in the opposite wall. The concussion
prostrated them both.
Col. Carleton succeeded in silencing the small battery
which had thrown so many balls into the city, but without
capturing the guns. General Crook, who had certainly
conducted the assault with skill and bravery, but had been
met with equal address and by superior numbers, superintended
the retreat. his men retired in pretty good order
towards the steamer; and more than one well directed
shower of grape made frightful chasms in the ranks of Col.
Carleton's pursuing dragoons. It was during this pursuit
Wiry Willy was despatched with a message to General
Valiant, who remained in the city, and was to dine by invitation,
with the President; so confidently and correctly had
the result been calculated.
Wiry Willy dashed into the Avenue, at its extremity near
the foot of Capitol Hill, and glided along with wonderful
swiftness on his black pony, whilst his long white skirts
streamed out behind on the wind. And now, for the first
time, he beheld the scene of death wrought by the President's
cannon. More than three hundred of the assailants
had been swept down in the broad street leading to the
executive mansion. The screams and groans of the
wounded assailed his ears as he sped past, and many a cold
corpse was spurned by the feet of his pony.
Willy, on reaching the White House, delayed not a moment
in delivering his note, for the doorkeeper had orders
to admit him at all times.
“Sit down and lunch with us,” said the President. “The
day's work is finished, Willy, and I desire to make known
your meritorious conduct to this company. He certainly
saved me from being taken prisoner by that audacious General
Crook. I was completely surrounded, and somewhat
pressed, for a moment, by three or four of the enemy, when
Willy cried out, `Here's the President!' and pointed towards
the garden. Crook sprang in that direction, not
recognising me in my uniform, and the next moment my
ambushed guards were with me, and then the odds were
on my side. You saw what followed from the church,
Alice.”
Alice cast a grateful look at Willy's modest face, and
pointed to a chair beside her own. But Willy begged to
be excused, and was permitted to retire.
He hastened away towards the War Department; and
his heart palpitated painfully when, on casting his eyes in
the direction of old John Penford's office, he beheld the
condition of the window. He rushed up the deserted stairway
and entered the office just as Mary was recovering
animation. Her first movement was to throw her arms
around the neck of her aged grandfather, who sat amidst
fragments of glass, bricks, lime and papers, staring as if
suddenly awakened from sleep.
“Oh, grandpa!” exclaimed Mary, “God saved us, when
one step more would have brought us directly before the
cannon ball!”
“Before what?” asked he.
“A cannon ball,” said Wiry Willy, who stepped forward
for the purpose of assisting him to rise.
“Impossible!” was the emphatic denial. “Don't tell me
they would dare to fire at the War Department.”
“But they did, sir!” said Mary. “Rise and see for
yourself.”
“Im—” The word was suppressed by a gasp of agony,
when the old man, on turning his eyes towards the wall
that had been perforated, beheld the scene of destruction.
He sprang to his feet, and with both hands raised, stared
in silence at the pulverized debris of his dear papers.
“Impossible!” he uttered at length, unconsciously. “My
vouchers, my duplicate receipt, my all, in the claim of
Grubb for cannon, swept away by a cannon ball!”
The ball had first passed through the papers on the table,
and then demolished the pigeon-hole containing the copy
of the receipt referred to so often by the faithful old clerk.
“Perhaps, sir,” said Willy, “they may be found uninjured.”
“William Wire,” said the old man, “you will bear witness
that it was no act of mine: that it was not for lack of
fidelity on my part, that this destruction occurred.”
“Very freely, sir,” said Willy; “if necessary I will testify
on oath to it. But if you had taken my advice this
morning—”
“Reproach him not, Willy!” said Mary, interposing;
“the past cannot be recalled, and sufficient for the present
is his misery.”
“Pardon, Mary,” said Willy, rebuked; “and believe me
that rather than inflict an additional pang, I would cheerfully,
if possible, bear all his sufferings.”
During these remarks the old man continued to stare at
the demolished pigeon-hole.
“Grandpa!” said Mary, endeavoring to divert him from
the grievous contemplation, “let us leave this place.” Not
replying to the request, the poor girl took his hand, and
gently led him away from the scene of his sorrow. “You
know, grandpa,” she continued, “you have not told me the
contents of the letter, which you said had something concerning
me.”
“True, child,” said he, with unwonted animation. “I
forgot it. Yes, that is of most importance. And here is
William Wire to take you to his mother's house.”
“His mother's house?” asked Mary, astonished.
“He meant my grandmother's,” said Willy, delighted at
the suggestion.
“True—his grandmother's,” said the old man. “The
letter was written by General Ruffleton —”
“Ah!” gasped Willy, and his head sank dejectedly on
his breast.
“What means that?” asked the old man. “He says
there may be danger here, and that Grandma Wire's
farm-house would be a place of safety. Is that not considerate?”
“It is cool impudence, sir,” said Willy.
“Do not fret him, Willy,” whispered Mary.
“What have you to say against it, William Wire?” pursued
the old man. “Will your grandmother, think you,
decline receiving the granddaughter of her own blood relation?”
“No, sir, no!” said Willy. “And if you desire it, I will
conduct Mary thither this night, for I shall return home
immediately. I have been too long away, and—”
“I cannot go,” said Mary.
“Why not?” asked the old man.
“I will not leave you.”
“And I hardly know what I should do without my
Mary,” said he.
“Then,” said Willy, “I propose that you both accompany
me.”
“Impossible!” said the old man. “The General says
that he will soon be in Washington, and will desire to have
the benefit of my experience in certain matters connected
with this department.”
“The villain!” said Willy, in a low tone, which, however,
reached the ear of Mary; but she made no remark upon it.
She merely exerted her ingenuity to convince her aged
relative that it would be utterly impossible for him to dwell
in Georgetown without his granddaughter, and succeeded.
Willy accompanied them home, and, on the way thither,
riveted the attention of the faithful old public servant by a
recital of the thrilling incidents of the day. And John
Penford, when listening to the details of the battle, was
forced to admit that such a thing as an assault on the Federal
authorities was by no means “impossible.”
And during the brief hours before Willy bade them adieu
that day, not knowing when, if ever, they would meet
again, it was not strange that he should repeat his warning
to Mary to beware of the insidious wiles of General Ruffleton.
When Willy returned to the President's mansion, he
was met near the entrance by the Blounts, who had just
taken leave of their friends within, and were on the eve of
departure for the sunny South.
“Come here, Willy,” said Henry; “I have heard your
history, and shall remember your meritorious conduct to-day.
Here is something which may be of service to you
in the scenes that will probably occur hereafter.”
“Money, sir?” asked Willy, somewhat haughtily.
“No, Willy. But if that were needed, my purse would
be at your service,” said Henry, folding a piece of paper on
which he had written a few lines with his pencil. “Take
this, and keep it, till you hear of me again, and then you
may know its value.”
“Sir,” said Willy, “if you should lead a Southern army
against the President—”
“Think not of that, Willy,” said Henry; “my object is
to serve you, even if we should be enemies. And now I
would request a favor. It may not be in your power to
serve me, in the matter I refer to, but if it should be, I
think you would not hesitate to perform the generous
office.”
“Name it,” said Willy.
“Edith!”
“God bless her!” said Willy, clasping Henry's extended
hand. “She has been Mary's friend. Rely on me! Farewell.”
Henry wrung his hand, and hastened to overtake
his father.
