# The Fanatics/Chapter 12

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CHAPTER XII
A JOURNEY SOUTH
The condition of mind in which young Walter Stewart left Dorbury was not calculated to bring him back hastily for the reorganization of his old regiment. His thoughts were more of seeing his father alive, and of settling their differences, than of the righteousness of his cause. Indeed, as the train sped southward, his busy mind sometimes questioned if he had done right. If the North and South were one people as he claimed, would not neutrality have been the better course? Surely two brothers have the right to differ without the whole family's putting in. Is the love of country, which we call patriotism, a more commendable trait than filial affection and obedience, and can one deficient in the latter be fully capable of comprehending the former? Had he not by the very act of disobeying his father's wishes and refuting his wisdom in a case where right and wrong were so nearly related, demonstrated his inability for a high devotion and obedience ​to his country? Those, and like sophistries, raced through the young man's mind in the first heat of his remorse, and for the time, he forgot that his choice meant not less love for his father, but a broader devotion to his country. It was not for the sake of disobedience that he had cast his lot with the North, but in pursuance of an idea of a larger allegiance. But this he could not see, and as he worried and speculated, his distress grew.
When he reached Washington, he had anticipations of some difficulty in securing passage through the lines. There was every possibility of his being taken for a spy or an informer by one side or the other, and the fact that he was a lately mustered out soldier would make him an object of suspicion to both Unionist and Confederate. For the time being, his anxiety to be away, across the Potomac and into Virginia drove every other thought out of his head. Fortunately for him, he was known in Washington, and influential friends procured for him passes through the Union lines. His progress, after he reached the rebel outposts, was less speedy. But foreseeing this, he conceived that discretion. would be the better part of valor, and so waited for night, and then the laxity of the few pickets. scattered about helped him, and the stables of Falls Church were kind to him, and within an ​hour after darkness had fallen, he was galloping down the road towards Rockford. The night was dark and the road none too even, but he rode as speedily as caution would allow. The way was unfamiliar to him, but he followed the directions he had received, trusting somewhat to the instincts of his horse to keep the path. Now and then, as the animal's hoofs clattered over the wooden bridge of river or streamlet, he held his breath lest he should rouse some lurking foeman. Once as he sped along a road besides which the trees grew thickly, a voice called to him to halt, but he only dug his spurs into the mare's flank, and leaning low over her neck, urged her on. Two shots spit vainly in the darkness as the road fell away under his horse's feet.
"Suppose I should miss the path," he said to himself, "and daylight find me still upon the way? Well, it's only a thing to chance now, and I must see father before he dies. I must see him!" The cry died away between clinched teeth, and leap after leap, the blackness swallowed him, and vomited him forth again. The branches of the trees underneath which he passed, reached out and caught at him as if they would detain him from his errand. The wind and the cricket and all the voices of the night called to him. The horse stumbled and her rider lurched ​forward, but the good steed was up and on again with scarcely a break in her pace, as if she knew that the man upon her back was crying in an agony of fear, "Father, father, live till I come!"
As the distance lessened, Walter's mind was in a tumult of emotions. Again and again, the picture of his father already dead came before him. The white covering of the bed, the stark form and the weeping women all were vivid to him as actuality. He saw a light ahead of him, and checking the speed of his horse, he rode towards it. But he found that it came from a house up one of two roads which forked before him. He paused and looked helplessly at the diverging paths. He knew there was no time to be lost, and chafed at the delay. His indecision, however, did not last long. He turned the animal's head up the road on which the light was shining.
Proceeding cautiously, he found that the rays which had guided him came from the curtained, but unshuttered window of a little house standing back from the roadside, on a terrace. The place itself, did not look formidable, but there was no telling what elements of further delay were behind the closed door. Nevertheless, he reined in, and bringing his horse just inside the side gateway, hastened up the terrace and knocked at the door. There was the shuffling of feet ​within, and then the soft, swift scurrying as of some one hastening from the room. A moment later, the back door slammed, and a horse and rider clattered around the side of the house and out of the gate.
In spite of his haste and anxiety, Walter could but smile at the grim humor of the situation. That he, who stood there on the threshold, dreading what he should encounter beyond, should prove a source of terror to any one else, was but an illustration of the intermittent comedy which treads upon the heels of tragedy in the stern melodrama of war.
His reflections took but a moment; all that had passed, had hardly taken more time, but before the impressions were out of his mind, he found himself again knocking at the door.
"Who is there?" came a woman's voice.
"A stranger, but a friend."
"How do I know that you are a friend?"
"You need not know, you need not even open the door, only answer my question. I am hunting the house of Colonel Stewart, and am not sure that I am on the right road. Can you direct me?"
"You have missed your way," said the hidden woman in a voice that bespoke relief from some fear.
"You should have taken the road to the right at the forks. The house is about two miles ​beyond on the right side. You can tell it without trouble. It is a large house, and there will be lights about it, for the colonel is very sick."
Walter did not wait to hear the woman's closing words, but with a hearty word of thanks, hurried away towards the gate. He was almost blithe with the thought that his journey would soon be over, and hope rose again in his heart. His father might be alive. He would be alive. He must be. So he went from hope to certainty as he passed with flying steps across the lawn and terrace to the gate. There he stopped with a gasp of alarm. His horse was no longer there. Gone, and the distance between him and his father lessened by many minutes when every second counted.
It all came to him in a flash. The frightened rider who had dashed away from the house in a flash, fearing pursuit, had taken the horse with him, or the animal, itself, had become frightened and followed involuntarily.
Walter halted hardly a moment, but turned swiftly back to the house. To his knock, came the woman's voice again in question.
"Some one has taken my horse," he cried.
"It is not so far to walk from here to Colonel Stewart's," said the woman coldly.
"But I cannot walk, I am pressed for time."
"I do not know you," was the reply, "nor do ​I know your business, but I warn you that I am armed, and you had better go away."
"My God!" cried Walter, "I mean you no harm, but can't you help me to a horse, or must I take one wherever I can find it? I am Colonel Stewart's son, and my father is dying. I must see him." A dry sob broke in his throat.
An exclamation was uttered from within. Something that was very like the thud of a gun butt sounded on the carpeted floor. The bolts were shot and a woman stood in the flood of yellow light.
In the first instant, Walter saw the form of a tall young woman with fair hair, and behind her, the room disordered as by hasty movements. A gun stood against the wall. Further details he did not take note of.
"Come in for a moment," said the woman, "you need have no fear. I can help you to a horse." She was hastening into a wrap and hood as she spoke. "We already know of you, my brother and I; you are Colonel Stewart's Unionist son."
Walter flushed, but raised his head defiantly.
The young woman laughed as she hastened out of the room and came back with a lantern and key. "You need have no fear, there are no ambushes here. Come." She led the way around ​the house, where Walter could see the low outlines of the outbuildings.
"You gave us quite a fright; I may tell you, now that I know who you are. Brother is suspected of Unionist sentiments and has been looking to be arrested every moment. To-night, we took you for a Confederate officer, come to exercise that unpleasant commission, and it was he who must have frightened off your horse as he rode away. He's on Blue Grass, and if your horse keeps up with him, they're farther away now than you would care to follow."
During the last words she was unlocking the barn door. Then she handed the lantern to Walter, and called softly, "Come, Beth, come." A whinny answered her, and she went forward and quickly took the halter from a sleek brown mare. Walter started in to put the bridle on, but the girl waved her hand.
"No," she said, "I'll do it myself. Beth is my own particular pet, and is somewhat averse to strangers. You'll have to ride bareback too, as there isn't another man's saddle about. But she'll carry you safe when she's once on the road, and she'll turn in the right gate, for she knows the way."
The young man was stammering his thanks as the girl led the horse out. He would have walked with her back to the house, but upon an ​assurance that she was not afraid, he leaped to the mare's back and was off.
But it was not written that the object of his heart should be so easily obtained. He had scarcely gone half way to the crossroads, when the ominous word, "Halt!" sounded again in his ears, and several mounted men rose as from the road before him. Again, he gave spur to his horse, but this time, it was only for a moment that he moved, and then he came crash into another horseman, and felt the cold muzzle of a pistol pressed against his face, while a hand seized his bridle.
"Steady, my boy, steady, unless you want to get hurt. We don't want to do you any harm, but you mustn't move."
"Are you hurt, sergeant?" asked a voice from the darkness.
"No, cap'n, not particular. I may be a little strained, and this horse may be a little bruised up, but I was ready for the shock. I knew the youngster was game."
Just now the man addressed as captain rode up.
"Well, youngster," he said, " we've got a little business with you, and I reckon we're just in time."
Walter's head was whirling with the shock of his collision and he had a mean pain in the leg ​that had struck the other man's saddle. But he spoke up hotly.
"What's the meaning of this outrage?" he asked. Cannot a man and a Virginian at that, ride his own roads in safety by night and by day?"
"Hoity-toity, not so fast, my young Union peacock, not so fast. Any Virginian may go his way in Virginia until he becomes dangerous to Virginia's cause. Then he comes with us as you do."
"What right have you to take me in this high-handed way?"
"We needn't bandy words, but I can say that we have the right that any state has to arrest within its borders any citizen who is suspected of working or attempting to work against its interest and safety. We have been watching you for a long time, Etheridge, and we know what your plans are."
They had been standing for the few moments that they talked, but now the company started to move off.
"Stop," cried Walter, as the name was called, "whom do you take me for?"
"We know who you are," said the captain grimly.
"But my name is not Etheridge, you are mistaken."
​"What is this, sergeant?" asked the officer in charge of the party and who had done most of the talking.
"I know the horse, captain, it's his sister's."
"Come on, then, don't delay any further. It's no use denying your identity."
"But I can prove to you that I'm not the man you're seeking, nor is this horse mine. Having lost my own, I borrowed it at a house a little way up the road here."
"A very likely story."
"But if there is any one here who knows Etheridge, let him look at me and see." The sergeant leaned forward and striking a match looked into Walter's face.
"Whew, captain," he whistled, "it's true, we've caught the wrong bird. This is not Nelson Etheridge. He's a stranger."
"Well, who the devil are you?" asked the captain shortly. "Strangers without credentials are not very welcome about here these times."
"My name is Walter Stewart, and my father is Colonel Stewart who lives about two miles from here."
"Stewart—Walter Stewart, hurrah, boys!" cried the captain, "we've lost one good bird but caged another! This is Colonel Stewart's Yankee soldier son. You'll do, come on."
"But, captain, I'm not in the service now, and ​my father is dying. A few minutes' delay may keep me from ever seeing him alive."
"I am sorry," was the captain's reply, "but you have been a Union soldier. We take you leaving a suspected house, and find you as you tacitly admit within our lines and without credentials. It may be hard for you, but you are our prisoner."
"Very well, but cannot I be paroled at once? If necessary, send a soldier with me to my house, and keep me under guard."
The captain halted. "I know your father," he said coldly, "and he is a brave man and a Southern gentleman who has not forsaken the South. For his sake, I will do as you say, even though I exceed my authority. I will send two men with you. You will remain under guard until I secure your parole, if that may be done."
"I thank you," said Walter.
"Sergeant Davis!" The sergeant saluted. "You and Private Wilkins will take charge of the prisoner. When his parole has been secured, you will be relieved. Until then, the closest vigilance."
"I am a soldier and a gentleman," said Walter calmly.
The officer vouchsafed no answer, but with his remaining associates spurred on into the darkness, leaving the prisoner to ride away with his captors.