The Last Penny and Other Stories

"I have been told," said the visitor, the colour deepening in her face, "that you are in want of a bearer of despatches to General Sumter."

"I am," replied the general. "But I find no one courageous enough to undertake the perilous mission."

"Send me," said the maiden. And she drew her slight form upward proudly.

"Send you!" exclaimed the general, taken by surprise. "You? Oh no, child! I could not do that. It is a journey from which brave men hold back."

"I am not a brave man. I am only a woman. But I will go."

"Touched by such an unlooked-for incident, General Greene, after pausing for some moments, said—

"Will you go on this journey alone?"

"Give me a fleet horse, and I will bear your message safely."

"Alone?"

"Alone."

GENERAL GREENE AND MISS GEIGER.

"What is your name?" inquired the officer, after another thoughtful pause.

"Emily Geiger."

"Is your father living?"

"Yes."

"Have you his consent?"

"He knows nothing of my intention. But he loves his country, and, but for ill health, would be now bearing arms against their enemies. His heart is with the good cause, though his arm is powerless. His head must approve the act, though his heart might fail him were I to ask his consent. But it is not for you, general, to hesitate. Heaven has sent you a messenger, and you dare not refuse to accept the proffered service when so much is at stake."

"Noble girl!" said the general, with emotion, "you shall go. And may God speed you and protect you on your journey."

"He will!" murmured the intrepid girl, in a low voice.

"Order a swift, but well-trained and gentle horse to be saddled immediately," said Greene to the officer who had conducted the maiden into his presence.

The officer retired, and Emily seated herself while the general wrote a hasty despatch for Sumter. This, after it was completed, he read over to her twice, in order that, if compelled to destroy it, she might yet deliver the message verbally, and then asked her to repeat to him its contents. She did so accurately. He then gave her minute directions with regard to the journey, with instructions how to act in case she was intercepted by the soldiers of Lord Rawdon, to all of which she listened with deep attention.

"And now, my good girl," said the general, with an emotion that he could not conceal, as he handed her the despatch, "I commit to your care this important message. Every thing depends on its safe delivery. Here is money for your expenses on the journey," and he reached her a purse. But Emily drew back, saying—

"I have money in my pocket. Keep what you have. You will need it, and more, for your country."

At this point, the officer re-entered the tent, and announced that the horse was ready.

"And so am I," said Emily, as she stepped out into the open air. Already a whisper of what was going on in the general's quarters had passed through the camp, and many officers and men had gathered before his tent to see the noble-minded girl as she came forth to start upon her dangerous journey.

There was no sign of fear about the fair young maiden, as she placed her foot in the hand of an officer and sprang upon the saddle. Her face was calm, her eyes slightly elevated, and her lips gently compressed with resolution. General Greene stood near her. He extended his hand as soon as she had firmly seated herself and grasped the reins of the noble animal upon which she was mounted.

"God speed you on your journey, and may heaven and your country reward you," said he, as he held her hand tightly. Then, as if impelled by a sudden emotion, he pressed the fair hand to his lips, and turning away sought the seclusion of his tent, deeply moved by so unexpected and touching an instance of heroism in one who was little more than a child. As he did so, the officer, who had until now held the horse by the bridle, released his grasp, and Emily, touching her rein, spoke to the animal upon which she was mounted. Obeying the word instantly he sprang away, bearing the fair young courier from the camp, and moved rapidly in a south-westerly direction. Officers and men gazed after her, but no wild shout of admiration went up to the skies. On some minds pressed, painfully, thoughts of the peril that lay in the path of the brave girl; others, rebuked by her noble self-devotion, retired to their tents and refrained from communion with their fellows on the subject that engrossed every thought; while others lost all present enthusiasm in their anxiety for the success of the mission.

About five miles from the encampment of General Greene, lived one of the most active and bitter tories in all South Carolina. His name was Loire. He was ever on the alert for information, and had risked much in his efforts to give intelligence to the enemy. Two of his sons were under arms at Ninety-Six, on the British side, and he had himself served against his country at Camden. Since the encampment of General Greene in his neighbourhood, Loire had been daily in communication with spies who were kept hovering in his vicinity, in order to pick up information that might be of importance to the British.

Some four hours after Emily Geiger had started on her journey, one of Loire's spies reached the house of his employer.

"What news?" asked the tory, who saw, by the man's countenance, that he had something of importance to communicate.

"The rebel Greene has found a messenger to carry his despatch to Sumter."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes; and she has been on her journey some four or five hours."

"She?"

"Yes. That girl of Geiger's went to the camp this morning and volunteered for the service."

"The –!" But we will not stain our pages with a record of the profane and brutal words that fell from the lips of the tory.

"She has the swiftest horse in the camp," said the man, "and unless instant pursuit is given, she will soon be out of our reach."

With a bitter oath, Loire swore that she should never reach the camp of Sumter.

"Take Vulcan," said he in a quick, energetic voice, "and kill him but what you overtake the huzzy, between this and Morgan's Range."

"She has nearly five hours' start," replied the man.

"But you must make two miles to her one."

"Even then she will be most likely ahead of the Range ere I can reach there."

"Very well. In that case you must start Bill Mink after her, with a fresh horse. I will give you a letter, which you will place in his hands should you fail to overtake the girl."

With these instructions, the man started in pursuit. He was mounted on a large, strong horse, who bore his rider as lightly as if he had been a child.

In the mean time, Emily, who had received minute information in regard to her journey, and who was, moreover, no stranger to the way, having been twice to Camden, struck boldly into the dense forest through which she was to pass, and moved along a bridle track at as swift a pace as the animal she rode could bear without too great fatigue. The importance of the work upon which she had entered, and the enthusiasm with which it inspired her, kept her heart above the influence of fear. No event of moment happened to her during the first day of her journey. In passing a small settlement known as Morgan's Range, which she did at about four o'clock in the afternoon, she took the precaution to sweep around it in a wide circle, as some of the most active and evil-minded tories in the state resided in that neighbourhood. Successful in making this circuit, she resumed the road upon which her course lay, still urging forward her faithful animal, which, though much fatigued by the rapidity of his journey, obeyed the word of his rider, as if he comprehended the importance of the message she bore.

Gradually, now, the day declined, and, as the deep shadows mingled more and more with each other, a feeling of loneliness, not before experienced, came over the mind of Emily, and her eyes were cast about more warily, as if she feared the approach of danger. The house at which she had proposed to spend the night was still ten miles, if not more, in advance, and as the shades of evening began to gather around, the hope of reaching this resting-place was abandoned; for there being no moon, there was danger of her losing her way in the darkness. This conviction was so strong, that Emily turned her horse's head in the direction of the first farmyard that came in view after the sun had fallen below the horizon. As she rode up to the door, she was met by a man, who, accosting her kindly, asked where she was from and how far she was going.

"I hoped to reach Elwood's to-night," replied Emily. "How far away is it?"

"Over ten miles—and the road is bad and lonely," said the man, whose wife had by this time joined him. "You had better get down and stay with us 'till morning."

"If you will give me that privilege," returned the maiden, "I shall feel greatly obliged."

The man promptly offered his hand to assist Emily to dismount, and while he led her tired horse away, his wife invited her to enter the house.