BANQUO’S GHOST

Robert Goddard felt at peace with himself and the world as he strolled down Pennsylvania Avenue on his way to the Capitol the next morning. He had spent most of the night explaining to Secretary Stanton the lay of the land in and about Winchester. Having been on many scouting parties under General Torbet, he was well acquainted with the Shenandoah Valley, that “Garden of Virginia,” as it was called.

The Avenue was alive with people, and the army uniform predominated, although numerous congressmen hurried by, intent on dodging the mud holes which dotted the streets, so that they might reach the Capitol with fairly clean boots and trousers.

Goddard stopped before the Kirkwood House to watch with much amusement the efforts of several negroes to drag a one-horse hack out of the mud into which it had sunk up to its hubs. Suddenly the occupant of the carriage opened the door and beckoned to him. Recognizing Mrs. Bennett, Goddard, with a rueful glance at his immaculate boots, floundered through the mud to the side of the carriage.

“Good morning, Major.” Mrs. Bennett held forth a slender hand in greeting. “This is a nice predicament; and I have an important engagement at eleven o’clock.”

“It is too bad,” sympathized Goddard. “Still, the condition of the Avenue is due to a patriotic cause; the passing back and forth of heavy artillery and cavalry all these years has made it like a ploughed field.”

“Mud is not confined to this Avenue,” sighed Mrs. Bennett. “Last Sunday my carriage stuck in the middle of H Street right in front of St. John’s Church, and my husband had to carry me to the sidewalk.”

“May I do the same now?” inquired Goddard quickly.

Mrs. Bennett hesitated; Goddard’s fine physique looked quite equal to the strain of carrying her slight form, but she was not at all certain her husband would approve.

“You are very kind, Major, but ” she began dubiously. “Oh, here is Colonel Bennett.” A tall soldierly man of middle age strode up to the carriage. “My dear, you have arrived just in time to rescue poor me. Major Goddard, my husband. The major has just volunteered to carry me through the mud, Charles.”

“Much obliged to you, sir,” exclaimed Bennett heartily. “I was passing, and recognized my coachman, so concluded my wife was stuck again. Now, Cora, stand on the step, and I will carry you over to the hotel.” And in a few seconds, with Goddard’s assistance, Mrs. Bennett was safely deposited on the sidewalk.

“It was a shame, Major, that you had to leave Mrs. Warren’s so early in the evening.” Mrs. Bennett straightened her clothes as best she could, while she waited for her husband to return from giving directions to the driver of the stalled carriage. “I hope it was no bad news that took you away?”

“Oh, no; Captain Lloyd came to tell me that I was wanted at the department. I am afraid I must be running along, Mrs. Bennett. Will you excuse me?”

“Why, certainly, Major. Many thanks for offering to assist me. I hope you will come and see me before you leave.”

Thanking her for the invitation, Goddard bade Mrs. Bennett and her husband a hasty good-bye, and resumed his interrupted stroll down the Avenue. At the corner of John Marshall Place, he saw two ladies waiting by the curb. As the younger turned toward him, he recognized Nancy, and saw the inevitable Misery sitting close at her side. Quickening his steps, he hastened across the street and joined her.

“This is better luck than I hoped for,” he said, his eyes lightening with pleasure. “I planned to call at your house on my return from the Capitol, but now....”

“Aunt Metoaca,” Nancy smiled demurely as she extricated her hand from Goddard’s eager clasp, “may I present Major Goddard? The major has most kindly offered to escort me to Winchester, as I told you last night.”

Miss Metoaca Newton inspected Goddard keenly as she returned his low bow. First impressions counted with her. Goddard was also taking stock of Miss Metoaca. He decided in his own mind he had never seen a more angular frame, nor so large a nose as her physiognomy presented.

“I hope you have given your consent to Miss Newton’s trip?” he asked eagerly.

“Yes and no.” Miss Metoaca’s voice surprised him by its thin treble. It did not seem possible that so little sound could come out of so big a cavity. “I don’t hold with so much gadding about. ’Twasn’t so when I was a girl, fifty-odd years ago. The way women run hither and yon after Tom, Dick, and Harry is surprising. I declare I am the only virgin in Washington these days.” She stopped to search in her reticule for her handkerchief. “So I have just decided, as long as Nancy has set her heart on it, to go with her to Winchester. Besides which, I am anxious to see Lindsay Page.”

“That is splendid!” Goddard’s face lighted with pleasure, then fell. “How about your passes? Shall I ask Secretary Stanton for them?”

“Young man, when I want a thing, I go to headquarters for it; so I am on my way to see President Lincoln now. I reckon he will give them to me. Many thanks, all the same,” she wound up, conscious she had been abrupt in her refusal.

“May I walk up to the White House with you, then?”

“I will be glad of your company, but Nancy is not going with me.” Her eyes twinkled as she saw Goddard’s disappointment. “Secondly, I am not walking this morning. Nancy is just waiting to put me on that new Yankee contraption, the horse car.”

“Here comes one now.” Nancy pointed to that slow-moving vehicle as it toiled leisurely up the avenue.

“Of all the miserable inventions,” groaned Miss Metoaca, glancing with indignation at the ankle-deep mud that lay between her and the car track. “Why don’t they fix it so it can come over here and take in its passengers? What does anyone want with a stationary track way off yonder? Nancy, keep that dratted dog from under my skirts,” indignantly, as her hoop tilted at a dangerous angle. “Don’t you let him follow me; I won’t have mud splashed over my new dress.” Nancy clutched Misery’s collar obediently. “Well, here goes.”

Gathering her ample skirts about her, and with Goddard in close attendance rendering what assistance he could, the spinster plunged through the mud until she reached the car step, by the side of which hung two pictures of a woman, illustrating the proper and improper way to get on and off a car. Miss Metoaca paused to take breath and readjust her Fanchon bonnet. As she was about to enter the car, she noticed a grinning black boy standing with one foot on the step.

“Where’s that nigger going?” she demanded of the conductor.

“On top, ma’am,” he answered respectfully.

Her question was overheard by a man in clerical dress who sat next the door, and, as she took the seat opposite, he leaned across and addressed her.

“You evidently forget, madam,” he said severely, “that the blacks are the Lord’s people as well as we, and are entitled to go where we go, being good and free Americans.”

“If the good Lord intended those worthless niggers to be my equals, He’d have bleached them out,” retorted Miss Metoaca, the light of combat in her eyes. Goddard waited to hear no more, but bolted out of the door and across the Avenue to where Nancy stood waiting, and they walked slowly in the direction of Capitol Hill.

“I am a stranger within your gates,” quoted Goddard softly. “Take pity on me, and tell me something about the people I met last night at Mrs. Warren’s.”

“Let me see, whom did you meet? Oh, yes, Doctor John. He is the most cantankerous and the dearest man I ever met. His patients positively worship him, and yet he has many enemies who would gladly see him humiliated.”

“All strong characters are bound to make enemies, and I dare say Doctor Boyd has a caustic tongue,” laughed Goddard, helping Nancy around an extra deep mud hole. “Is Captain Gurley’s aunt good fun?”

“Mrs. Arnold?” Nancy dimpled with a merry smile. “She is our ’Mrs. Malaprop.’ Her husband secured a big contract to furnish clothing to the government at the breaking out of the war. Now he is very wealthy. Mrs. Arnold does not approve of me.”

Goddard colored hotly as he recalled the conversation of the night before. “Why not?” he demanded.

“Because she does not like my friendship with her nephew. When they first came to Washington, the Arnolds lived at the National Hotel, but last year Mr. Arnold bought a vacant lot on our street, and has built a large double house with a ballroom, if you please. I believe Mrs. Arnold is to give her house-warming some time soon. It was she who made the original remark about having a ‘spinal staircase in the back,’ and Doctor Boyd told her it was quite the proper place for it.”

“Is Mrs. Bennett a friend of yours?”

“Mrs. Bennett?” echoed Nancy. “She is Mrs. Arnold’s shadow. Aunt Metoaca sees more of her than I do. I somehow don’t believe Mrs. Bennett cares for me. She is quite literary in her tastes, and I hear is writing a book about Washington. It ought to prove interesting reading,” Nancy’s dimples appeared again, “as she imagines every man she meets is in love with her. Her husband, Colonel Bennett, is stationed in the quartermaster general’s office, and is just as nice as he can be, and perfectly wrapped up in his pretty wife. They were married about two years ago. Little is known here of Mrs. Bennett’s antecedents.”

“Which way are you going, Miss Newton?” asked Goddard, as they crossed the street and walked through the Capitol grounds. He looked with admiration at the stately lines of the building which sheltered the law-makers, and bared his head to the Stars and Stripes floating lazily to and fro from the flag poles on each wing of the Capitol. “I can’t help it,” with a quick, boyish laugh. “I have seen too many die in defense of the flag not to salute it on all occasions.”

Nancy nodded comprehendingly. “It is everything to have an ideal,” she said softly. “I am going down A Street to see one of Doctor John’s charity patients.”

Absorbed in watching his companion, Goddard did not notice the direction they were walking until Nancy called his attention to an unpretentious, rambling building standing on the corner of First and A streets. “Old Capitol Prison,” she said, in explanation. “In 1800 it was a tavern; then after the burning of the Capitol by the British it was used by both houses of Congress, hence the name, ‘Old Capitol.’”

Goddard stopped and inspected the building with interest. As his eyes passed along the rows on rows of barred windows, he was attracted by the actions of one of the sentries. After watching him for a few seconds, he turned to Nancy.

“Something is wrong over there,” he said briefly. “If you will wait here, I will go over and investigate.” Without waiting for a reply, he crossed the street and accosted the sentry. “What’s the trouble here?”

The sentry wheeled about and swung his bayonet to the charge; then, recognizing the uniform and shoulder straps, he lowered his Springfield and saluted.

“It’s the prisoner there, Major,” pointing to a woman who was leaning as far out of an open window on the ground floor as the bars would permit. “I can’t make her go back.”

“Call the corporal of the guard.”

“I have, Major; but the devil a bit of good that did me. She wouldn’t pay any more attention to his orders than to mine.”

“Well, then, why not stop shouting at the woman, and leave her alone?”

“It’s against orders for any prisoner, man or woman, to approach near enough to touch the window sill or the bars. The corporal says I’m to shoot her unless she moves back, and the superintendent says the same. Damn it! Do they think I ’listed to shoot women?” He mopped his heated face. “Last week they court-martialed a guard for not obeying orders; so I must do it.” Then, in a loud, authoritative voice, he called, “For the last time, ma’am, get back from that window. I’ll count three; then I’ll fire. One ” His rifle jumped to his shoulder, and he took aim. The woman stood as if carved from stone, gazing steadily at the sentry, down whose white face beads of perspiration were trickling. “Two ”

“Wait,” whispered Goddard, then shouted: “Look out, madam; there’s a mouse!”

With a convulsive start, the woman sprang back from the window. The sentry dropped the butt of his gun on the sidewalk, and turned gratefully to Goddard.

“Thanks, Major. If that prisoner shows her face again, I’ll just start some real mice through the window.” And, saluting, he resumed his beat.

Nancy did not wait, but joined Goddard before he could recross the street.

“I go down this way,” she said, and Goddard, suiting his step to hers, strolled with her along A Street. “What train do you propose taking to Winchester, Major?”

“The nine o’clock, if that is convenient for you and your aunt.”

“Perfectly so.” She stopped before an unpretentious house. “Shall we meet at the depot to-morrow?”

“If you will let me, I will call for you and your aunt.”

“We shall be delighted.” The front door had been opened by a small boy in answer to Goddard’s imperative knock. Nancy turned and held out her hand. “Until then good-bye.” And the door slammed shut.

Turning on his heel, Goddard retraced his steps to the Capitol, but when he reached the building he concluded not to enter, so continued on his way to his boarding house opposite the Ebbitt. On leaving the Capitol grounds, his progress was blocked by a regiment of raw recruits on its way to the front, which halted and “marked time.” Their band struck up “Three Hundred Thousand More,” and the soldiers instantly sang the stirring words:

We are coming, Father Abra’am, three hundred thousand more,
From Mississippi’s winding stream and from New England’s shore;
We leave our ploughs and workshops, our wives and children dear,
With hearts too full for utterance, with but a silent tear;
We dare not look behind us, but steadfastly before:
We are coming, Father Abra’am, three hundred thousand more.

You have called us, and we’re coming, by Richmond’s bloody tide
To lay us down, for Freedom’s sake, our brothers’ bones beside;
Or from foul treason’s savage grasp to wrench the murderous blade,
And in the face of foreign foes its fragments to parade.
Six hundred thousand loyal men and true have gone before;
We are coming, Father Abra’am, three hundred thousand more.

Goddard promptly joined in the singing with others in the crowd which had collected. Suddenly a heavy hand fell on his shoulder, and facing about he found Lloyd standing behind him.

“Come out of this crowd,” said the latter, sternly. In silence the two men walked up the Avenue to Third Street, and Lloyd led his companion into that quieter thoroughfare. Looking to see that no one was near enough to hear what he said, he turned savagely on Goddard.

“I should arrest you at once.”

Goddard stared blankly at Lloyd, unable to believe his ears.

“On what charge?” he demanded, hotly.

“Aiding and abetting the enemy.”

Goddard’s face cleared. “You are crazy,” he remarked, tersely.

“Am I? We shall see. I warned you Nancy Newton was a spy.”

Goddard’s eyes snapped angrily, and his color rose.

“Suppose we leave Miss Newton’s name out of the discussion,” he said, haughtily; then, in a more friendly tone: “Here I am, happy and carefree, and you appear, like ‘Banquo’s ghost,’ and shout your silly theories, which you admit you can’t prove, into my ears.”

“My theories do hold water,” was the stern reply. “Better for you, you blockhead, if they didn’t.”

Goddard’s face went white. “By heavens! I allow no one to address me in that way. If it wasn’t for our long friendship....”; his clenched hands finished the sentence.

“It is owing to our old friendship that I haven’t had you arrested, Bob,” Lloyd spoke more quietly, realizing he had gone a step too far.

“Then explain what your insinuations mean.”

“I will. Half an hour ago you were in front of Old Capitol Prison” Goddard nodded assent “helping the sentry make that woman behave herself. Well, it was all a plant.”

“A plant?”

“Yes. While you and the sentry were engaged with that woman, Nancy Newton was signaling from an opposite doorway to another prisoner in the same row.”

Goddard gazed incredulously at Lloyd. “How do you know?”

“I was following you both down the street, and saw the whole affair. I was too far away to interfere, and by the time I had reached the prison you and your companion were a block away.” Goddard stood biting his lip, so Lloyd, after waiting for a reply, continued: “The comedy was well played. Your presence but added realism to it in case passers-by noticed the scene. In some way, she and the woman arranged to engage the sentry’s attention while she signaled to the other prisoner; and there you are.”

“What are you going to do about it?” asked Goddard; then added stubbornly: “Mind you, Lloyd, I am still convinced Miss Newton is innocent of the grave charge you bring against her. Many Washingtonians have been arrested for various offences and put in the Old Capitol; possibly one of them is a friend of Miss Newton’s, and, seeing her standing opposite the prison, seized the opportunity to wave to her.” But Lloyd remained obstinately silent, and Goddard repeated his first question, “What are you going to do about it?”

“Arrest her as a suspect. No, on second thoughts, I will leave her free, but watched. Take my word for it, Bob; if you give that clever girl rope enough she will hang herself.”