University of Virginia Library

35. CHAPTER XXXV.

When Dora returned to the hospital, she found her
brother impatiently awaiting her.

“Come into your own tent, Dora,” said he, in a low
voice. “I have something to tell you.”

“Go in and wait for me, Tom. I must just look
round the hospital first. I am glad you are so much
better to-day; but you must go to bed as soon as you
have done talking to me.”

“Make haste, Do. That's a good girl.”

In about half an hour, the vivandière, having finished
her rounds, entered her own quarters, where she found
her brother impatiently awaiting her.

“What a time you have been!” exclaimed he. “But
now sit down here and listen, for you've got to help me,
somehow or other.”

“Well, Tom, tell me how.”

“Why, I've just heard that a lot of us are to be sent
off to-morrow to Columbus to be put in jail, or sent to
some of those northern forts, and die of fever and
starving, like so many niggers in a slave-pen,” exclaimed
Tom, vehemently, although in a low voice.

“O, Tom! And you are one of them?”

“Yes. I'm well enough to be discharged from the
hospital, and prison 's the next thing for me. But, Dora,
I'll die first. Sooner than go to rot in one of those
northern jails, I'll shoot myself.”

“Don't, Tom, don't talk so.”

“I feel so, any way; but if I can escape, I shan't need
to do either.”

Dora said nothing, but looked very serious.

“Yes,” continued Tom, glancing keenly at her, “I
know it's bad for you in one way to help me off; but
in another way it's your duty. You was my sister long
enough before either of us even heard of rebels or Union
men. You wouldn't sacrifice your own flesh and blood
to a notion — would you, Dora?”

“O, Tom, don't call it a notion. Yes, I would willingly
give my own life to do good to the Union side;
but to give yours —”

“Yes, that's just it,” broke in Tom, eagerly. “If
you don't help me off, it's just the same as if you gave
up my life; for I swear I'll kill myself sooner than go
to jail.”

“Tom, you are very wicked to say so.”

“You'll find I'll be wicked enough to do it, as well as
say it,” retorted her brother, doggedly.

“But, Tom, I am trusted with everything. They all
know that I am as loyal as a true-born Northerner, and I

am never watched nor questioned. How can I be so
mean as to betray such trust?”

“That's the very thing that makes it easy for you.
You could help me off, and never be suspected. Now, I
dare say you know the pass-word for to-night — don't
you?”

“Yes; and I would no more make a bad use of it
than I would kill myself.”

“Or me?”

“Tom, don't try me so!”

“Remember, Dora, that mother told you never to forget
that you and I were all she had, and to hold together
through life, whatever happened.”

“But, Tom, mother was no rebel, nor she didn't want
you to be.”

“And if she was here to-night, would she tell you to
kill me because I have been one?” asked Tom, bitterly.

“If she were here! O, mother, if only you were
here!” moaned Dora, sinking on her knees beside the
bed, and hiding her face.

“But she isn't; and I have neither mother nor sister to
save me from destruction. Well, it will be over soon.”

And Tom was moodily leaving the tent, when Dora
called him back.

“Wait, Tom, wait. I can't tell yet; but you mustn't
leave me so. Tell me, if you go, will you join the rebel
army again?”

“Yes, I suppose so,” said the lad, sullenly.

“Then I have no right, if you were twice my brother,
to set you free. But, Tom, if you will promise me sacredly,
if you will call mother to listen to your promise,
never to fight against the Union, but to go North, and find
some quiet work, and wait there till I come, or if you
will enter our army —”

“That I won't do!” hastily interposed Tom. “I'm
no turncoat, and ain't going to sell one kind of liberty to
get another.”

“Well, will you do the first, if I will help you off?”

“Will you help me off, if I will?”

“Yes, Tom, I will,” said Dora, in a very low voice.

“All right. I'll agree; and no one need ever know
that you had any hand in the matter.”

“I will see to myself, Tom. You needn't think again
about that,” said his sister, sadly. “Now tell me what
your plan is.”

“Why, it was just to get out of this camp, and then to
strike for Monterey, or Camp Baldwin. But you say
I'm to go North.”

“Yes, you've got to promise that.”

“Well, then, you must settle where I'm to head for.
I don't know anything about it.”

Dora remained a few minutes buried in gloomy reflection.

“O, Tom,” said she, at length, “you have need to

make good use of your life after this, for I am giving my
own for it.”

“How! What do you mean, Do?”

“No matter. I don't want to make much of it, only
to make you feel that you ought to do right after you get
your liberty.”

“I will, Dora. I promise to do just as you'd like to
have me,” said Tom, earnestly.

“Then wait here while I go and see some one. Be
patient; I will come as soon as I can.”

“All right. I'll wait.”

Softly leaving the tent, Dora entered the hospital, and
silently moved through the ranks of sleeping men, until
she reached Captain Karl's bed, placed by itself at the
upper end. As she had expected, he was awake, waiting
for her to bid him good night.

“Captain Karl,” said Dora, sitting down close to his
pillow, “you said that you would be my brother if I
came to live with you.”

“So I did, darling. What then?”

“That shows that you are willing to do a great deal
for me.”

“And so I am — a great deal.”

“Well, then, what I am going to ask is, will you do it
in another way?”

“Do it? Do what, you little Sphinx?”

“Show that you love me as well as if you were my
brother.”

“Explain, Dora. I don't know what you are driving
at,” demanded Captain Karl, uneasily.

“I am going to ask a very, very great favor of you;
and if you will grant it, instead of all you offered me just
now, I will be so grateful!”

“Speak out, mouse. It'll have to be a hard matter
that I won't undertake to please you.”

“It is a hard matter — a very hard matter. Captain
Karl, my brother Tom is a prisoner here, you know.”

“Yes.”

“And they are going to send him away with some
others, to-morrow, to be put in prison.”

“I know, Dora. I'm real sorry for you —”

“Wait a minute, please. Tom hates to go so, you
can't think; he says he'll die first, and I know he'll
do what he says. He must escape, and you must help
him.”

“I help him! I'll be hanged if I do!” exclaimed the
captain, indignantly.

“I didn't mean actually help him to escape, but help
him after he gets North,” said Dora, timidly.

“North! What's he going North for?”

“I told him, if I helped him off, he must promise never
to fight against the Union any more, but to stay at the
North and work there until I came. But he doesn't know
where to go, or what to do; he has no friends, and no
money, and I have none to give him; but I thought perhaps

you would help him for my sake, and instead of
helping me.”

“I wasn't proposing to help you, as you call it, out of
benevolence, but because I want you, for my own sake, to
live in my home,” said the captain, in rather an annoyed
tone.

“But if you care so much as that for me, you ought
to care a little for my only brother,” said Dora,
naively.

“Especially since he introduced himself to me so
amiably the other day,” suggested the captain. “However,
that's neither here nor there. I bear no malice,
and hope he don't; and as for helping him with money,
he's as welcome to what I can spare as he is to the free
air of the North. But I can't do anything more, Dora,
I am really afraid. And as for your changing your plan
of coming home with me, I won't listen to it. Your proposed
bargain is a very comical one, to say the least.
You ask me to turn traitor to my country by helping
off a prisoner of war, and, as a reward, you promise to
deprive me of the one thing I'm determined not to do
without.”

“But money is not enough, Captain Karl,” persisted
Dora. “You must tell him where to go, and give him
a letter to some one who will set him to work. I don't
want him idling round, and getting into mischief.”

“You wise little woman! You're fifty if you're a

day. If this precious brother had half your sense, he
wouldn't be where he is to-day.”

“Will you, Captain Karl?”

“Will I what, fair Pertinacity, as Sir Percie Shafton
would style you?”

“Will you give him a letter to some friend of yours,
and tell him where to go?”

“Why, Do, that's aiding and abetting his escape. I
can't, child, with any show of honor.”

“Dear, dear, what shall I do? No one will help me,
and I can't do it all alone!” exclaimed the poor girl,
hiding her face upon the pillow.

“Now, darling, don't speak that way, and don't, for
Heaven's sake, lose your courage and coolness. If you
do you will destroy my pet ideal.”

Dora raised her head.

“I don't know what you mean, Captain Karl; but
since you cannot help me, I won't disturb you any longer.
Good night, sir.”

“Good! Now we have Joan of Arc again. Stop a
minute. If I help you in this matter, will you promise,
sure and fast, to go with me next week?”

“No, Captain Karl.”

“No? Well, that's cool. But you don't say you
won't?”

“I don't say anything. It won't be for me to decide.”

“For whom then?”

“I'd rather not tell you.”

“Strange girl! Do you wish to go with me?”

“Very much. But perhaps I ought to go somewhere
else, and perhaps I shan't be allowed to do either.”

“Will you tell me what you mean?”

“Not now. Will you help my brother, or not?”

“O, you horrid little vampire! Won't you be easy
till you have dragged the confession from my soul that I
can deny you nothing?”

“Then you will help him?”

“I'll help you; and if that is the way you elect, why,
that is the way I must follow.”

“Captain Karl, I will never forget it — never.”

“Only mind this. I'll give you the money, and the
direction, and the letter to a friend of mine in Massachusetts,
who will place your brother in the way of taking
care of himself; but I won't see him, or have anything
more to do with him than just this. I'm a fool and a
rascal to do so much; but I do it for you, Dora, and I
couldn't help doing it, if it was worse, when you ask it
so earnestly.”

“If I could ever do anything for you, or some one
you love, you would find that I know how much this is,”
faltered Dora.

“Much or little, I'll do it for you, little girl.”

“But he must go to-night. They will be sent away
to-morrow,” said Dora, uneasily.

“To be sure. Well, here's my note-book. I will dictate,
and you may write a few lines to Mr. —. Then
I have money here. Now listen, and I will tell you
exactly the course he must take to get out of the lines,
and the route he had best travel afterward.”

Half an hour later Dora returned to her own quarters,
with a heart curiously divided between hope and regret,
shame and exultation.

She found Tom very uneasy at her prolonged absence,
and his joy at the success of her mission was proportionately
great. Kissing his sister affectionately, he lavished
praise and thanks upon her, and promised in the most
solemn manner to obey her wishes, and those of his
mother, to the very letter, in the conduct of his future
life.

“If you will only remember that, Tom, I shan't mind,”
said Dora, sadly.

“Shan't mind what, Do?”

“No matter now, Tom.”