This sentence was a heavy blow to the two prisoners; and from the character of the men by whom they were surrounded, they felt that hope was useless. The spirit of animosity manifested toward them by the court, the indecent haste with which their trial had been conducted, and the rapidity with which their sentence had followed their conviction, gave them no reasons for hoping for clemency, or that they would be able to escape the dreadful fate which now was impending over them.

The conduct of the various members of the Morton family in betraying my operatives to the authorities, and in appearing as accusing witnesses against them, in face of their promises, long ago made, to befriend them if possible, was an act which did not reflect very favorably upon their regard for truth, or their appreciation of delicate treatment when they themselves were suspected of treachery.

Lewis and Scully had never seen each other from the time when the latter was removed from the cell a few days after their first imprisonment, and each was unconscious of the other's fate or of the state of their feelings under the fatal sentence which hung over them both.

After their conviction they had both been sent to a prison called Castle G.o.dwin, and had been placed in irons, and in separate cells. During the first two days that elapsed after their conviction, they were visited by Judge Crump, who conducted the trial, and by several members of General Winder's staff, all of whom endeavored to obtain some admissions from the two prisoners which would justify their action in condemning them to death. All with no avail, however; the two men stoutly insisted upon their original story, except so far as to admit that they had searched the premises of Mrs. Morton, but each man was firm in stating that he had become disgusted with the service, and had left it very soon after that act had been committed.

On the day after their sentence had been communicated to them, a letter was brought to Lewis, from the commandant of the post, stating that Scully was suffering with a serious illness, and having requested that Lewis be allowed to visit him, the privilege had been granted. On entering the cell where Scully was confined, Lewis found his fellow-prisoner in a very depressed condition of mind, although his physical infirmities had been a.s.sumed in order to secure an interview with his partner in misfortune.

After discussing their situation as philosophically as possible under the circ.u.mstances, seeking for some ray of hope and finding none, they were at last compelled to the belief that their doom was sealed, and that their only plan was to bear up manfully to the end.

Scully, who was a Roman Catholic, desired the services of a priestly comforter, to whom he could make such statements as would relieve his mind in the coming trial, and made known this wish to Lewis.

"You will not tell him what you know of Webster, and his connection with this matter, will you?" said Lewis, fearful that Webster might be betrayed.

"I don't know what I will tell him," answered Scully; "I have not decided what to say, nor do I know what I will be commanded to relate."

"For G.o.d's sake, Scully, don't say anything about Webster; we can meet our fate like men, but to mention his name now, would be wrong indeed."

"I tell you," said Scully, "I don't know what I am going to say. I don't want to do wrong, but I cannot tell what I may have to do yet."

Lewis argued with his companion long and earnestly upon this matter, and when at last the priest arrived, and Scully followed him to another cell, the warning admonitions of his fellow-prisoner were ringing in his ears.

What transpired during that secret meeting between the condemned spy and his father-confessor, Lewis did not know, but when he was conducted to his own cell, late that night, he saw a man and woman closely guarded, in the lower hall, and his heart grew heavy and cold as his imagination conjured up the direful fate which a confession from his imprisoned comrade would bring to the faithful patriot Webster, who lay suffering and anxious upon his bed of pain.

After a long and restless night, in which he tossed uneasily upon his hard prison bed, vainly attempting to court the rest-giving slumber of which he stood so much in need, Lewis arose from his couch, feverish and unrefreshed, as the first faint rays of the morning sun penetrated his damp and dingy cell.

His mind was in a state of confusion, and his heart was filled with fear. What had been done he knew not, and yet those guarded figures of the night before were ever in his mind. Could it be that they were Webster and his faithful attendant Mrs. Lawton? He shrank involuntarily from this thought; and yet, strive as he would, it recurred to him, with increased force, and with more convincing power, after each attempt to drive it from him.

In a little while, the prison was astir. The guards were making their accustomed rounds, breakfast was served, and another day, with all its solemn activity, and its bustle so death-like and subdued, had begun.

Unable to partake of the scanty meal that was set before him, Lewis impatiently awaited the hour when he would be permitted to visit his fellow-prisoner whom he had left upon the eve of consulting with his spiritual adviser, and, if possible, learn the result of his interview with the priest.

About ten o'clock the turnkey appeared, and he was conducted to Scully's cell. As he entered the dimly-lighted room, he noticed that the face of the man whom he had left the night before, had undergone a wonderful change. His cheeks were sunken and pale; his eyes had a strange, wild expression, and the shadows under the lids were dark and heavy. His hair was unkempt, and his lips trembled with the emotions which he was struggling to repress. Whatever events had transpired since he had seen him last, it was evident that their effect upon Scully had been terrible and agonizing. He had been unable to sleep, and the tortures of his mind had been almost unbearable. His greeting to Lewis showed a degree of restraint which had been unknown before, and for a moment he seemed unable to speak.

At length he grew calmer, and related to his friend the events of the preceding night, and the influences that had been brought to bear upon him. The promise of freedom; his loving family at home; the certainty of an ign.o.ble death if he refused; the degradation of the impending scaffold; and the promise that his admissions should result in injury to no one, all combined against his weak condition of both mind and body, and at last, yielding to the influences which he could not control, he had told his story, and had given a truthful account of all his movements.

Who can blame this man? Who, that has stood before the frowning scaffold, and with a free world before him, can utter words of censure?

Only those who have suffered as he did, prostrated as he was, can know the terrible agony through which he pa.s.sed ere the fatal words were forced from his trembling lips. For myself, I have no judgment to utter. Now, as when the news was first communicated to me, I cannot express an unjust sentence. John Scully and his companion were not heroic martyrs. What then? They were simply men who, after having performed many brave acts of loyalty and duty to their country, failed in a moment of grand and great self-sacrifice. I cannot apologize for them--I cannot judge them. Their trial was a severe one, and they were in sore distress. If they succ.u.mbed to a controlling emergency, it was because of a lack of the heroic elements of humanity; and who, in our day, can claim their possession in the very face of death and dishonor?

Let us hasten over these unpleasant and disastrous events. Finding that the worst had occurred, and that further concealment was of no avail, Lewis, too, opened his mouth. He was again visited by the rebel authorities, and at last he, too, added his voice to that of Scully, and made a revelation of his true character, and of the nature of his mission to Richmond. The next day they were respited. They had escaped an ignominious death, but, perhaps, in their lonely cells they suffered a death in life, beside which an actual demise might have seemed a blessing. Leaving them to their reflections, we turn again to Timothy Webster.

CHAPTER x.x.xVI.

_Webster Arrested as a Spy.--A Woman's Devotion and a Patriot's Heroism.--Webster is Convicted.--The Execution.--A Martyr's Grave._

After the departure of Lewis and Scully from Webster's room, where they were so closely followed by the Confederate detective and Chase Morton, my trusty operative heard nothing of them for some time. Fearing to make inquiries concerning them, lest he should compromise them still further, as well as bring himself under the suspicion of the rebel authorities, he maintained a strict silence with regard to the movements of his companions. Several days of anxious suspense followed, which, to one in Webster's critical condition, were fraught with agonizing doubts and heartfelt fears for the ultimate safety of himself and his friends.

Resolving, however, to utter no word which would compromise them, he bore the solicitude with unmurmuring firmness. Only to the heroic woman, who so faithfully nursed him, did he unburden his mind of the weight of care which oppressed him, and her words of womanly friendship and encouragement were the only influences which supported him through the trying ordeal.

One day, Mrs. Lawton came into his room--as was her custom--but this time there was a gravity about her manner, which, to Webster's quick perceptions, boded no good. Finding him receiving some friendly visitors, the lady withdrew, and repressing his impatience as well as he was able to do, Webster dispatched his friends as quickly as politeness, and a due consideration for their kindly regard, would permit. When they had disappeared, Mrs. Lawton again entered the room.

"You have news for me," said Webster, impatiently; "what is it?"

"Be calm, my dear friend," said the devoted little woman; "what I have to tell, calls for the utmost calmness."

"Tell me what it is," said Webster; "I will be as calm as you could wish, but do not, I pray you, keep me in suspense."

"Well," replied Mrs. Lawton, "I learned this morning that Lewis and Scully have been arrested and taken to Henrico Jail."

"When did this occur?" asked the invalid, a great weight pressing upon his heart.

"The very day they were here last," answered the woman.

"Then all is lost," exclaimed the sick man. "I feared as much; and now the time has come I will meet it manfully; however," he continued, "it will be only a short time before I will share the same fate."

"Why do you think so?" anxiously inquired Mrs. Lawton. "Surely they cannot connect you with these men."

"I do not know why I think so, but I am as confident that I will be brought into this matter as though the officers were already here to arrest me."

While he yet spoke, there came a knock at the chamber door, which, on being opened, revealed the form of Captain McCubbin.

As he entered the room he gazed furtively around, and his salutation to Webster was very different from the cordiality which had marked his previous visits.

"Good morning, Webster," said he, as he took the offered chair, and for the first time since they had known each other neglecting to shake the invalid by the hand. "This is bad news about Lewis and Scully, isn't it?"

"What is it?" inquired Webster, apparently receiving the information for the first time.

"They have been arrested as spies, are confined in prison, and General Winder wants that letter which they brought to you from the North."

There was something so cold and imperious in the officer's tones, which confirmed Webster's fears for his own safety; but without evincing the slightest alarm, he cheerfully made reply:

"I am sorry to hear this news, and trust that they will be able to exonerate themselves from the charge. Anything, however, that General Winder wants from me will be cheerfully given. Mrs. Lawton, will you get the letter, and hand it to Captain McCubbin."

There was no tremor of the voice, and the watchful Confederate looked in vain for any evidence of fear in the face of the man, who, stricken by disease as he was, still showed the bravery of a lion, and gazed unflinchingly at him. Though the hand of fate was upon him, Webster never lost his heroic courage, and bore the scrutiny of the officer without the quiver of a muscle.

Captain McCubbin received the letter, and almost immediately withdrew.

As he closed the door behind him, Webster turned to his faithful companion, and, in a low, solemn voice, said: "That letter has sealed my fate!"

From this point, Webster's physical condition seemed to improve, and although depressed with fears for the fate of his companions, he gradually became stronger, and was at length able to leave his bed and move about his room.

The visits of his numerous friends had now almost ceased. From General Winder's officers, with whom he had previously been so intimate, he heard nothing, nor did they make inquiries about his health, as had been their custom. Of the many friends in private life, who had surrounded him, only two remained. These were Mr. Pierce and Mr. Campbell, with whom Webster had traveled for some time, and his family. This dropping away of old friends, and the breaking up of old a.s.sociations, was significant to Webster of impending danger. It must be that he, too, was suspected, and that the favor of the rebel authorities had been withdrawn.

Day by day, during his convalescence, did the brave little woman who had nursed him back to life, endeavor to encourage him to a hopeful view of his situation, and to impress him with her own sanguine trust for a favorable outcome from this present dilemma. Webster listened to the bright promises of his devoted companion, but he was too profoundly aware of the danger that threatened him to permit himself to hope that the result to him would be a beneficial one.