The Victim: A romance of the Real Jefferson Davis Part 35

Jennie paid no attention to the people about her. Her eyes were fixed on those tongues of flame that circled Sumter.

Anderson was firing now, his big guns flas.h.i.+ng their defiant answer to Beauregard's batteries. Jennie watched the lurid track of his sh.e.l.ls with sickening dread.

A man standing beside her in the gray dawn spoke.

"A waste of ammunition!"

The cannon boomed now with the regular throb of a great human pulse. The sobs and excited cries and prayers of women had become a part of the weird scene.

A young mother stood beside Jennie with a baby boy in her arms. He was delighted with the splendid display and the roar of the guns.

He pointed his fingers to the circling sh.e.l.ls and cried:

"'Ook, mamma, 'ook!"

The mother made no answer. Only with her hungry eyes did she follow their track to the sh.o.r.e. Her mate was there.

The baby clapped his hands and caught the rhythm of the throb and roar of the cannon in his little voice:

"Boom!--Boom!"

The sun rose from the sea, a ball of dull red fire glowing ominously through the haze of smoke that hung in the sky.

Hour after hour the guns pealed, the windows rattled and the earth trembled.

Couriers were das.h.i.+ng into the city with reports from the batteries.

Soldiers were marching through the streets. It was reported that the men from the fleet would attempt a landing.

The women rushed to the little iron balcony and watched the troops marching to repel them.

In the first line Jennie saw the tall figure of d.i.c.k Welford. He glanced upward, lifted his cap and held it steadily in his hand for four blocks until they turned and swept out of sight.

Jennie was leaning on the rail with tear-dimmed eyes.

"I wonder why that soldier took his hat off?" her aunt asked.

"Yes--I wonder!" was the soft answer.

By three o'clock it was known that not a man had been killed at either of the sh.o.r.e batteries and women began to smile and breathe once more.

The newsboys were screaming an extra.

Jennie hurried into the street and bought one.

In big black headlines she read:

RICHMOND AND WAs.h.i.+NGTON ABLAZE WITH EXCITEMENT!

THE NORTH WILD WITH RAGE

VIRGINIA AND NORTH CAROLINA ARMING TO COME TO OUR RESCUE!

She walked rapidly to the water's edge to get the latest news from the front. A tiny rowboat was deliberately pulling through the harbor squarely under the guns of Sumter. She watched it with amazement, looking each moment to see it disappear beneath the waves. It was probably her foolish father.

With steady, even stroke the boatman pulled for the sh.o.r.e as unconcerned as if he were listening to the rattle of firecrackers on the fourth of July.

To her surprise it proved to be a negro. He tied his boat and deliberately unloaded his supply of vegetables. His stolid, sphinx-like face showed neither fear nor interest.

"Weren't you afraid of Anderson's cannon, uncle?" Jennie asked.

"n.o.b.u.m--n.o.b.u.m--"

"You might have been blown to pieces--"

"n.o.b.u.m--Ma.r.s.e Anderson daresn't hit me!"

"Why not?"

"He knows my marster don't 'low nuttin like dat--I'se too val'eble er n.i.g.g.e.r. n.o.b.u.m, dey ain't none ob 'em gwine ter pester me, an' I ain't gwine ter meddle wid dem--dey kin des fight hit out twixt 'em--"

Through the long night the steady boom of cannon, and the scream of sh.e.l.ls from the sh.o.r.e.

At one o'clock next day the flagstaff was cut down by a solid shot, and Sumter was silent.

At three o'clock a mob surged up the street following Senator Barton, who had just come from the harbor. He was on his way to Beauregard's headquarters.

Anderson had surrendered.

A strange quiet held the city. There was no jubilation, no bonfires, no illuminations to celebrate the victory. A sigh of relief for deliverance from a great danger that had threatened their life--that was all.

The Southern flag was flying now from the battered walls, and the people were content. They were glad that Beauregard had given old Bob Anderson the privilege of saluting his flag and marching out with the honors of war. All they asked was to be let alone.

And they were doubly grateful for the strange Providence that had saved every soldier's life while the walls of the Fort had been hammered into a shapeless ma.s.s. No blood had yet been spilled on either side. The President of the Confederacy caught the wonderful news from the wires with a cry of joy.

"Peace may yet be possible!" he exclaimed excitedly. "No blood has been spilled in actual conflict--"

His joy was short lived. A rude awakening was in store.

d.i.c.k Welford strolled along the brilliantly lighted "Battery" that night with Jennie's little hand resting on his arm.

"I tell you, Jennie, I was scared!" he was saying with boyish earnestness. "You see a fellow never knows how he's going to come out of a close place like that till he tries it. I had a fine uniform and I'd learned the drill and all that--but I had not smelled brimstone at short range. I didn't know how I'd do under fire. Now I know I'm a worthy descendant of my old Scotch-Irish ancestor who held a British officer before him for a s.h.i.+eld and gracefully backed out of danger."

They stopped and gazed over the lazy, s.h.i.+mmering waters of the harbor.

Jennie looked up into his manly face with a glow of pride.

"You're splendid, d.i.c.k,--I'm proud of you!"

"Are you?" he asked eagerly.