Daily Kennebec journal. [microfilm reel] (Augusta, Me.) 1870-1975, 1876-12-22
Tales aud Sketehes.
HOW TIE WIDOW CROSSED THE LINES.
lcoNTINtED FROM YEsTERDAY.1

Now, for Major Pomeroy to see the
provost-marshal was to run his head
straight into the lions Jaws.
go to that man Rouse Nothing of
the kind !" cried Mrs Potter. You shall
not risk your whole future for her or her
child" thinking how John always had
been a fool where a woman was con-
cerned, no matter how old or ugly she
was.
Put on your bonnet, madame said
the little man quickly. my buggy is at
the door. In few minutes they were
driving to the prison.
This said Dick Rouse had been bar
tender in Cleveland until six months ago,
and, as far as Pomeroy knew, was mere
whisky-soaked brute. He prowled about
the town, dogging silly schools girls
who vented their Southern ardor by sing
ing my Maryland" or by pinning tiny
Confederate flags to their petticoats out of
sight. These foes did Rouse arrest every
day and march down the street to take the
test oath. with every mark of opporbrium
and contempt.
The major remembered these things
with bitterness of soul as he whipped up
his horse. They entered the old theatre
unchallenged by the guards, who were
doing on their benches as usual To his
astonishment, Margaret hurried on before
him. He followed her to large apart
ment used as prison, the windows thick
with dust, rows of wretched pallets on
| either side, and soldiers and prisoners
gathered in mob about the woman, who
had just told the story to Rouse and given
him the picture.
Dick beckoned man aside, who, in
answer to his question. said, That is
Red-hared Bob beyond doubt. But he
had no child"
The man has left you then ?" cried
the Major.
"Oh, that's you, is it, Pomeroy ?" called
out Rouse. I've got a rod in pickle for
you some day. Never mind now. If
Bob had the child, he's killed it, and l
haven't the courage to tell that poor crit
ter that, sir. Jist look at her. Nary
woman comes here but is skeert with the
looks OF some of my men. But she don't
see nothin' but her boy"
"lts not at all likely he killed the child"
said Pomeroy.
Nothing short of murder would satisfy
Rouse's excited sympathes: II tell YOU
Mr.. Pomeroy, there's hankern' for blood
in that class that we cant understand.
HE'D think no more of plantin' that little
one six feet deep than I'd think of smokin'
killkinick"
"Bob told me one night he had boy,"
said one of the men-"a very fine ladn
"Hillo! Where did he keep him /? Why
the devil didn't you ask him ?"
because he told me-said he'd took II
to Christiansburg, to an aunt or grand
mother, and cleared the lines coming
back. l couldn't understand why he came
back"
Because he was an Internal rebel spy"
roared Rouse. 81 had him in irons, but
he got off to join Jim Brady on the Kama
wha Salnes."
The little majors eye twinkled at the
mention OF jim Brady, devil-may-care
lrishman who had elected himself colonel
of rebel gang that haunted the shores of
the Ohio. with as much fun as ferocity in
their mad raids.
'She can't reach Christiansburg with
out pass" said Rouse anxiously.
Passes by Fortress Monroe was cheap
enough month ago, but now it's impos-
sible." He scribbled something on piece
OF paper which he held against the stove
and turned to the major who was looking
at him as he might at wild beast that
had suddenly revealed members of hu-
man body: "See here, Pomeroy! You
Southern sympathizers," winking signifi-
cantly, "has a way of running an under
ground railroad through the lines. Now,
this woman's excited sort of interest in
me. | ask no questions. If she kin get
through without trouble from your side,
this scratch of writin' will ensure her agin'
interference from mine"
The major nodded gravely. Rouse,
who had looked for gratitude and applause
slapped him with his dirty diamonded
paw: "Say, Pomeroy! That don't mean
that I've let up on you, my man. You
walk devilishly straight, or I'll slip Peter
Brodie's irons on you" He grinned as
the little major shook him off contemptu-
ously and left the room with Margaret
i've got them highfyers well under my
thumb. But hope he'll put the woman
through It's cursed pity of her.
When Mrs. Potter heard the majors re-
port, she smiled scornfully; "It is all
ruse OF that man Rouse to tempt you to
run the blockade. The first step YOU make
they will shoot you down like dog"
My duty is plain, Elinor. must run
the blockade at once, TO help both my State
| and this woman"
Estate. indeed What has the State done
for you that you should put your neck In
halter for itP Have you ever been elected
to single office that you wanted As for
the woman-go in Margaret; tea is ready
I'll find her child for her. wish you
would appeal to logic on this subject.
John, and you will think as do. Read the
Impending Crisis or the Tribune, and you
| would see that the abolionists-"
Logic From woman ?" jumping in
| to the buggy. "And there comes the Wild
ow Van Pelt This is too much. l shall
call tonight and tell my arrangements"
| Now, Mrs. Van Pelt was one of those
human pudding-stones, remarkable only
as accretions of queer little particles,
common in our Western and Southern
towns, where idiosyncrasies. small as vel,
as great, develop unchecked by strict So
cial limitations. She was enormously fat,
ruddy, and from head to foot an airy hut-
ter of lace. ribbons and glttering Turkish
iewelry. Brisk little Mrs. Potter greeted
her as "Euphemia, my dear child" /"
seated her and dealt with her ON the