The Prisoner of the Mill; or, Captain Hayward's Body Guard
Harry Hazelton
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Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
THE PRISONER OF THE MILL;
Or,
Captain Hayward’S “Body Guard.”
by
LIEUTENANT-COLONEL HAZELTINE.
Author of “The Border Spy.”
New York:The American News Co., Publishers’ Agent,No. 121 Nassau Street.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1864,by Sinclair Tousey, Publishers’ Agent, in theClerk’s Office of the District Court of the UnitedStates for the Southern District of New York.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE
PRISONER OF THE MILL.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CHAPTER I.
_Brother and Sister—Forebodings—Nettleton._
WAR! Oh! how much of misery is expressed in that one word! It tells itsown tale of woe, of blood, of broken hearts and desolated homes, ofhopes blighted, of poverty and crime, of plunder, peculation andofficial tyranny, of murder and sudden death. In short, it develops allthe baser passions of the human heart, changing a peaceful world to aworld of woe, over which the destroying angel well might weep.
Come, oh, thou angel, PEACE!
The “Army of the Mississippi,” as it was termed, had been unsuccessfulin their pursuit of the rebel General Price. A portion of it, or ratherthe division commanded by General Sigel, had advanced from Springfield,Missouri, upon the Wilson creek road, as far as the famous battle-groundrendered immortal by the death of General Lyon, but finding no enemy, ithad encamped upon Grand Prairie, a few miles to the west of the bloodyfield. All in camp was upon the “tip-toe of expectation.” The lovelyscene spread out before the view, was sufficient to inspire the heart ofman to great and glorious deeds. The broad, rolling prairie lay there,like heaven’s great carpet. The long grass waved in the breeze,presenting the appearance of a deep-green sea, undulating in low swellsas if Queen Mab’s wand were wafting over it; the autumn’s frost hadchanged thousands of the delicate emerald blades to purple, yellow, andscarlet, while, intermixed with these, was the white prairie flower,lending to the scene an almost fairy-like aspect. The large “Fremont”tents were arranged in rows, in a tasty manner; flags were flying; bandswere discoursing sweet strains which echoed far and wide; squads ofsoldiers in vari-colored uniforms were lounging lazily on the grass,while those detailed for mess or guard duty, were busily prosecutingtheir assigned tasks. To the east of the camp appeared a wall offorest-kings, their verdure, also, touched by the frost, presenting avariety of colors, and glistening in the sunlight.
Few in that small army had witnessed the horrors of the battle-field;but, like all “green” troops, conceiving that there was much of romanceconnected with the deadly field, and that heroes were created by asingle brave deed, the mass of Sigel’s men were eager to meet the foe.It had been given out that the entire army was to join this division onthe prairies, and that an advance was to be made at once against Price,who was then at Cassville, some forty miles distant, to the southward.
“I think we can safely count upon a desperate battle by the day afterto-morrow,” exclaimed one of a party of five, seated within a captain’stent—four of whom were at a table, with cups and wine before them. Thefifth person was making himself generally useful, acting in the capacityof a servant.
“You have fleshed your maiden sword at Springfield, and I did notsuppose you would be anxious for another fight. I confess I can not gazeupon such scenes without a shudder, and, if duty would permit, I wouldwillingly sheathe my sword forever.”
“Captain Hayward, you are low-spirited to-day,” answered the firstspeaker.
“I am, indeed, Lieutenant Wells. And can you wonder? My sister is here!”
“I only wish mine was!”
“That is a rash wish, my friend. She would be exposed to much danger,and I never want mine to gaze upon a battle-field. No! where _men_ cuteach other’s throats, delicate, sensitive women should not be near!”
“Could you find no way in which to send her from Springfield to St.Louis?” asked Wells.
“I could have done so by the mail coach but, you know, the entiredistance of one hundred and thirty miles, from Springfield to Rolla, orto Tipton upon the other route, is infested with guerrillas, and Ifeared to send her. I preferred she should brave the dangers of the campor even the battle-field with me.”
Captain Hayward bent his head upon his hands and was silent. It was somemoments before any one ventured to speak. All appeared to be oppressedwith a strange sadness. At length one of the party, Captain Gilbert,slapping him familiarly upon the shoulder, and endeavoring to speakgayly, said:
“Come, come, Harry, this won’t do! you must shake off every vestige ofblues. You are suffering still from the wound you received in the Warsawskirmish, and it makes you low-spirited. No doubt your sister will beperfectly safe, and I know she had much rather be with you, to assistyou should you need her aid, than to be safe in St. Louis, enduring thetortures of suspense.”
Hayward made no reply. At this moment, a female, delicate and fair, cametripping lightly into the tent, her face wreathed in smiles, and hereyes sparkling with delight; but, as she caught sight of Hayward, shepaused, and gazed upon him for a moment, exhibiting the most intenseinterest; then advancing, and placing her hand upon his shoulder, shespoke:
“Brother!”
Hayward started, and clasping her in his arms, he pressed her close tohis heart for a moment. But, gazing into his eyes, she asked:
“What is the matter, dear Harry, you appear ill?”
The countenance of Hayward underwent an instant change, as he replied:
“Not ill, but somewhat depressed in spirits, perhaps, in view of what aday may bring forth.”
“Oh! Harry,” she said, “I hear there is going to be another fight. Will_you_ have to go into it and leave me?”
“Should there be a battle, I shall endeavor to protect you, dearsister.”
“But, you will be in danger; perhaps wounded—perhaps killed! Oh! what_would_ I do, then? Don’t go, Harry!” and the gentle girl threw her armsaround her brother’s neck and wept. After a moment, he raised her, andpressing his lips to her forehead, said:
“I wish to speak with these gentlemen a moment. Go to your friendAlibamo’s tent. I will come for you, soon!” The sister cast back a lookof fond solicitude, and left the tent.
Hayward gazed after her a moment, muttering audibly:
“Poor child, what _would_ you do if I should fall. You would indeed bealone!”
“Now, captain, I don’t think that’s half fair,” exclaimed the one spokenof as being the servant. “Do you think I am such a darn skunk as to—ifyou was killed—the darn—not to fight for my capt’n’s sister—theskunk—no, I mean, if you die—if she—darn me, if I don’t—I—I—” and thespeaker, as if unable to express what he _did_ mean, suddenly left thetent. All present smiled broadly, and good-humor was thus, for themoment, infused in all hearts.
“Nettleton had a sudden call!” said one.
“He has gone to
the sutler for a dictionary!” added another.
“His heart is in the right place,” remarked Hayward.
“That’s so!” responded all, with emphasis.
“You are safe, with such a ‘darn skunk’ for your body-guard, CaptainHayward,” Gilbert declared, with comic seriousness.
William Nettleton was in height about six feet. His general appearancewas very singular. His hair was nearly white—naturally so; his eyes of alight green and large; his carriage very loose—indeed, when he walked,one would almost expect to see him fall in pieces. His feet were huge indimensions. He had the appearance of a half-witted, illy-formed person;but he was, withal, neither one nor the other. Having been detached fromthe company to which he belonged, to act as servant to Captain Hayward,he soon became so greatly attached and devoted to the captain, as to bestyled his “body-guard.” This attachment was not fictitious, nor did itproceed from a spirit of military sycophancy or subserviency; it wasfelt. Nettleton had evinced more than ordinary courage on severaloccasions, and had, also, displayed so much judgment with hisintrepidity, that he had received offers of advancement; but these hedeclined, preferring, as he expressed himself, “to stay with my capt’n,the first what promoted me.”
It will also be well to explain the presence of ladies in the camp. MissMamie Hayward was the sister of Captain Hayward, who, having receivedintelligence that her brother was wounded, had visited Springfield forthe purpose of ministering to his wants. At the time of her arrivalFremont’s “Army of the Mississippi” was marching upon that place, andthe journey from Rolla or Tipton was safe. But soon, those roads wereinfested with guerrillas, and, as they were poorly guarded, it was notthought prudent that the ladies who had reached Springfield shouldattempt a return. Miss Hayward, therefore, remained with her brother.This same reason will apply to all the ladies in camp, of which therewere several—conspicuous among whom was the wife of Adjutant Hinton, oneof the officers of the well-known “Benton Cadets.” She was usuallyaddressed as “Alibamo”—her name when a captive in Price’s hands. She wasvery beautiful, and of that daring, determined nature which hasimmortalized so many women of the West. In company with Alibamo, was ayoung lady who acted in the capacity of waiting-maid, but who reallyappeared more like a companion. This female possessed the notparticularly euphonious name of Sally Long.
“I must join with Nettleton in my reproaches, Captain Hayward,” answeredLieutenant Wells, in a subdued tone. “You forget my conversation withyou last night!”
“No, Wells. You informed me of your affection for my sister, but youhave never addressed her as a lover. How do you know that she willreturn your love? If she could return it, I confess, lieutenant, I donot know any one to whom I would more willingly see her united; but, ifshe can not, how could you assume to become her protector?”
“If such should be the case, and the fortunes of war should deprive herof a brother, rest assured that, not only myself, but every man in campwould willingly shed his blood in her defense, and care for her as asister!”
“Thank you. I _do_ feel a foreboding of evil. I believe I shall bekilled in the coming battle. If this should be the case, I commend herto your care. But, my nerves are excited. I will walk into the open air.No! I would be alone!” he added, as one of the officers arose as if toaccompany him.
As he left the tent one of the party, a Captain Walker, exclaimed:
“Well, I hope things are all right, but I have my doubts!”
“Your doubts of what?” asked Wells.
“Humph! well, no matter. _You_ are too directly interested to listen tothe explanation. But, perhaps you will find out some day.”
“Do you intend, sir, to cast any slur upon Captain Hayward?”
Captain Walker did not reply, but left the tent. An hour or more hadpassed, and Hayward did not return. It was now quite dark, when suddenlythe assembly was sounded, and, all anxious, the troops fell in. Theorder was read:
“Pack knapsacks, and have every thing in readiness for a move atdaylight.”
All was excitement, and every preparation was made for a forwardmovement. But soon it began to be whispered that the orders were toreturn. In a short time it was officially announced that the movementwas, in reality, _back to Springfield_, and from thence to Rolla and St.Louis. Many were the expressions of disappointment and regret, and someeven ventured to denounce the policy. Fremont had been superseded in thefield, and General Hunter, his successor, had abandoned the campaign,then on the very eve of its final consummation.
