Blockade Runner (3 page)

“Jeff Majors.”

“Did you two quarrel?”

“Well … yes, we did,” Leah admitted reluctantly.

“Tell me about it.”

Suddenly Leah began to pour out her story. She had not been able to talk to Lucy because she secretly felt that Lucy admired Jeff.

But Belle Boyd seemed truly sympathetic. Her large eyes fixed firmly on Leah’s face, and the girl told the whole story.

To Leah’s horror she found that her own eyes were beginning to fill up with tears as she ended. “I—I don’t know what’s the matter with me. I’m getting to be a regular crybaby.” She searched in her pocket, came up with a handkerchief, and dabbed at her eyes. “I never used to cry when I was little. Now look at me—blubbering like anything!”

Belle leaned over and patted Leah’s arm. “How old are you, Leah?”

“Fourteen. Going on fifteen,” she amended quickly.

“Well, it’s not too strange that you would be easily disturbed.”

“But I never got disturbed when I was little. My parents always would say,’ Everybody else may get excited but not Leah—she’s steady as a rock.’”

“You were a little girl then, but something’s happening to you now, and you have to understand it.”

“What is it? What do you mean?” Leah asked, mystified.

“Well, you’re moving out of girlhood,” Belle said quietly, “and sometimes it’s hard to stop being a little girl. Being little is safe.”

Leah was fascinated. “What do you mean by that, Miss Belle?”

“I mean, when you’re a little girl and you have problems, you can take them to your parents to resolve. And your problems are usually pretty simple: will I get a new dress, will I get a new doll, can I go on the picnic? Things like that. But at your age, that’s changing.”

Leah knew Miss Boyd was young enough to remember clearly when she was Leah’s age, and now she told about how it had been. “When I was just your age, it was very hard for me. For one thing, I was changing physically—and that was
very
confusing.”

Leah understood.

“But what happens inside is even harder to understand.” She sighed and shrugged her trim shoulders. “It’s hard to stop being a little girl, Leah, but you have to become a woman. There’s no way around that.”

Leah twisted her handkerchief nervously. She
knew what Belle Boyd was trying to tell her. She had already thought of such things, and her mother had talked with her. But somehow Belle was able to make it all come clear.

The two talked for a long time. When they finally stood up, Belle put her arms around the girl, hugged her, and kissed her cheek. “You’re so pretty, Leah. You’re a beautiful young woman. It may be hard right now, but things will come out all right. Jeff’s just a little jealous.” She laughed and said, “I can tell you a few things about how to make men jealous—and how to get them over it.”

“I don’t think I want to know that—at least not how to make them jealous,” Leah said quickly, “but I would like to know how not to get into these things.”

“You probably will get into some more as you grow up. That’s part of being a woman.”

As Belle turned to go, Leah asked, “How long will you be here, Miss Belle?”

At once Belle Boyd looked a little uncomfortable. “Well, I’m not sure,” she said evasively. “I do have some things to do. But my plans aren’t complete yet.”

Belle left the room, and Leah thought,
I wonder why she was so secretive?
And then she thought instantly,
I bet she’s going on some kind of secret mission!

For the next two days, Leah stayed close to Belle. Several times she thought that she sensed an air of mystery around the Rebel Spy. Belle would start to say something, then break off abruptly and change the subject.

At dusk one afternoon, Leah went out into the rose garden. She seated herself on a low bench and
was watching the sun go down. The garden was thickly planted with rosebushes that had grown very high, and there were paths between them. And then she heard Mr. Pollard’s voice.

“We must be very careful, my dear. You know the dangers.”

“Of course, Mr. Pollard.” It was Belle Boyd speaking, and instantly Leah knew that they were discussing some sort of assignment.

The voices came closer.

Then Mr. Pollard said, “Have you told anyone about the journey?”

“No one knows except President Davis.”

“It’s a very dangerous thing, but I think it will be a worthy mission for you.”

“I’ll give you the particulars of the—” Suddenly Belle broke off, for they had turned the corner and saw Leah sitting on the bench. “Leah!” she exclaimed, “I didn’t know you were out here!”

“I just … came out to watch the sunset.” Leah stood to her feet.

Mr. Pollard was disturbed. “Did you hear what we were talking about, Leah?”

She saw that Belle was watching her carefully, though she said nothing.

Leah was a very truthful girl. “Yes, I did, Mr. Pollard—about Miss Belle going on a journey.”

Belle and Mr. Pollard exchanged glances.

Mr. Pollard said severely, “I wish you hadn’t heard us, Leah.”

“I wasn’t eavesdropping—really I wasn’t.”

Belle came over to her. She examined Leah’s face. She was unsmiling this time. “It will be very dangerous for me if anyone knew I was going on
this trip. If I were caught, I’d be sent back to prison—perhaps for life.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t like that at all—it would be terrible for you,” Leah said.

“I’ve got to get to England—on a very important mission.”

“Yes,” Mr. Pollard nodded. “It would be very bad for the Confederacy if she were captured.”

“You’re going to England?”

“Oh, you didn’t overhear all of the plan? Well, you might as well know,” Belle said. “I’m going to England to try to raise support for the Confederacy. If the Yankees knew I was on that blockade runner, they’d throw every ship they had into the area to try to capture it.”

Leah said quickly, “I won’t say a word—not to anyone in the whole world. I promise, Miss Belle.”

Belle looked at the girl and seemed to find what she was looking for. “I’m sure you won’t,” she said. She turned to Mr. Pollard, saying confidently, “It’ll be all right. Leah and I are good friends. She won’t say anything. We can trust Leah.”

Mr. Pollard seemed relieved. “That’s good. It will only be for a day or two, Leah.” He patted her on the shoulder and said, “I’m sorry you had to get involved in this, but just don’t say anything to anyone and it’ll be all right.”

After the two left, Leah walked slowly along the pathways. The scent of the roses filled the air, and the night air was still. Far off she heard someone singing a song in a plaintive voice. She thought,
I’m glad I don’t have to be a spy like Belle Boyd. It’d be exciting, but I wouldn’t like it!

J
eff, I don’t know what’s the matter with you!”

Captain Nelson Majors stared across the tent at his son. His skin was darkly tanned, and he had hazel eyes that seemed to penetrate whatever he looked at. He had a black mustache, and his eyebrows matched. He had been called one of the “Black Majorses” back in Kentucky where he grew up.

He stood tall now in his captain’s uniform with the Engineers insignia on his shoulder.

“You’ve been going around like a whipped puppy for a week. I know the army’s not doing very much right now, but these are the times we get ready for the battle that’s to come. Now what’s the matter with you, Jeff?”

“Well …” Jeff hated to admit that he had had another disagreement with Leah—the two had had arguments before, because both of them were very sensitive—but finally he could not bear the weight of his father’s glance. “Oh, Leah and I had a fight,” he finally admitted.

“Can’t you two ever get along? What is it this time?”

Jeff flushed. He refused to tell what had actually happened. He finally mumbled, “Oh, you know how girls are. A fellow can’t get along with them!”

“Well, I know how
you
are!” the captain said, glaring at his son. “You’re acting like a spoiled brat! I’m downright ashamed of the way you behave sometimes!”

Jeff was ready to end the conversation long before his father was. He loved his father dearly, and, since the loss of his mother, they had been especially close.

The two of them, along with Tom, Jeff’s nineteen-year-old brother, were in the Stonewall Brigade. This was not unusual, for brothers and fathers and sons often tried to stay in the same outfit. But now, with his father still berating him, Jeff wished he would finish.

In the middle of a sentence, a voice called out, “Captain Majors!”

The captain looked toward the tent flap, and a look of pleasure came over his face. “George Bier! What in the world are you doing in Richmond?”

The man who entered, Jeff had never seen before. He was short, had black hair, a short black beard, and a pair of direct gray eyes. He was wearing a naval uniform. He shook hands with Capt. Majors, then turned as the captain introduced his son.

“This is Jeff, my son,” Majors said. “I don’t think you’ve met him.”

“Glad to know you, Jeff.”

“Glad to know you, sir.”

“You’re in the Stonewall Brigade too?”

“Yes, sir. I’m a drummer boy.”

“Fine—fine! I was on Jackson’s staff myself, but now I’m just a humble sailor.”

“Captain Bier’s one of the blockade runners—the best of them, I think,” Jeff’s father explained. “Don’t
get him talking about his ship, the
Greyhound
. He’ll bore you to death!”

Bier laughed roughly. “A captain that’s not proud of his ship isn’t worth much,” he said. “Well, are you going to feed me or not?”

Entertaining Captain Bier turned out to be a pleasure for Jeff. He was one of Nelson Majors’s old friends. The two had been together at West Point, but both had chosen to fight for the South. Bier, indeed, had been a soldier for a brief time but was far more useful to the Confederacy in running the blockade.

Jeff had little to do, and Bier stayed overnight. After Captain Majors had gone to bed, Bier said, “I can’t sleep yet, Jeff. Show me around the camp.”

The two of them strolled through the encampment, then came back to the tent that Bier had been assigned. “Sit down and talk with me awhile.”

Jeff was glad enough to do so, for he was not sleepy either. “Where’s your ship?” he asked.

“In Wilmington.”

“Wilmington? That’s up by the Cape Fear River, isn’t it?”

“Well, you know your geography, I see. That’s the best harbor we’ve got now.”

“Wilmington is?”

“Why, yes. Look here, Jeff …” Captain Bier pulled out a sheet of paper and found a stub of pencil in his pocket. “Wilmington is seventeen miles up the Cape Fear River. See? And that river divides into two channels—both of them protected by the guns of Fort Fisher and Fort Caswell. That means that the Yankees have to use two blockading fleets to cover the coast—almost fifty ships. Well, we’ve got a shallow coast—lots of little islands to dodge
around—which makes it pretty nice for us who run the blockade.”

Jeff said, “That makes sense, all right. I sure wish I could go on a ship sometime.”

“Yes, it’s a fine life. Of course, we get criticized for making money.” A humorous light touched the captain’s eyes, and he added, “I really don’t think I’m all that greedy, but I admit there
is
a great deal of money to be made blockade running.”

“I didn’t know that, Captain. Just how much money is there in running the blockade?”

Captain Bier’s eyes glowed. “Why, Jeff, one blockade runner turned a profit of $425,000 on a single round trip between Wilmington and Nassau!”

“Wow! He must be rich!”

“He retired on that one trip.”

“That’s pretty nice.”

“Not bad for a simple captain.”

“How much do sailors make on blockade runners?”

“Captains can get as much as $5,000 in gold for a round trip to Nassau. My chief engineer gets $2,500, and every member of the crew gets $250.”

Jeff swallowed hard. “A private in the army gets only $14 a month.”

“I know—and it’s not right,” Bier answered. “But then I stand the chance of losing my ship—my life savings.”

“I can see that. And I know the Confederacy needs the powder and shot you bring back.”

“Not all ships bring back war supplies, I’m afraid,” the captain said. “The owner of the
Don
brought back one thousand pairs of corset stays.”

“What!”

“I thought it was wrong, but Captain Hampden likes money. He also brought back a patent medicine from England that was supposed to cure liver ailments. It didn’t, though. He sold the shipment in Nassau, or so I heard.”

“Why would they want so many liver pills in Nassau?”

“Jeff, that place is a madhouse! Packed with sailors on leave, confidence men, cardsharpers—all with lots of money! They’re a reckless lot, I tell you! Determined to eat, drink, and be merry with not a thought for anything else!”

The two talked far on into the night, and finally Captain Bier gave Jeff an odd look. “It’s too bad you’re in the army, in a way, Jeff.”

“Why is that, sir?”

“Because I’m in need of another hand on the
Greyhound
. I could take you with me.”

“But I’m not a sailor.”

“The hand I need is more of a cabin boy. I need somebody to take care of my personal effects—take care of me, really.”

“Why, I could do that!” Jeff exclaimed. The idea of going on a sea voyage suddenly struck him. “Say, I’d give anything if I could go with you—but it takes a long time to sail to England.”

“Oh, I’m not going to England.”

“You’re not?”

“No, I’m going to Bermuda. Very few of the blockade runners go to England. I’ll take a load of cotton to Bermuda and sell it to British brokers. Then I’ll buy war supplies, medicine, and food and bring them right back to Wilmington.” He gave Jeff another odd look, then said again, “Too bad you’re
in the army. It’d be an exciting trip for you—and it pays well.”

Finally Jeff said good night, but he could not sleep. He tossed on his bunk until Charlie Bowers, his fellow drummer, mumbled, “I wish you’d be still, Jeff! Nobody can sleep with you thrashing around like that.”