she determined, at the risk of her life and the life
of every man she knew, to send the body of this boy back to his father
in the North.

In vain Socola pleaded against this mad undertaking.

The woman's soul had been roused by the pathetic figure of the daring
young raider whose crutches were found strapped to his saddle. He had
lost a leg but a few months before.

He had been buried at the cross-roads where he fell--the roads from
Stevensville and Mantua Ferry. In pity for the sorrow of his
distinguished father Davis had ordered the body disinterred and brought
into Richmond. It was buried at night in a spot unknown to anyone save
the Confederate authorities. Feeling had run so high on the discovery of
the purpose of the raiders to burn the city that the Confederate
President feared some shocking indignity might be offered the body.

The night Miss Van Lew selected for her enterprise was cold and dark and
the rain fell in dismal, continuous drizzle. The grave had been
discovered by a negro who saw the soldiers bury the body. It was
identified by the missing right leg.

The work was done without interruption or discovery.

Socola placed the body in Rowley's wagon which was filled with young
peach trees concealing the casket. The pickets would be deceived by the
simple device. Should one of them thrust his bayonet into the depths of
those young trees more than one neck would pay the penalty. But they
wouldn't. He was sure of it.

At the picket post Rowley sat in stolid indifference while he heard the
order to search his wagon. He engaged the guard in conversation. Wagons
entered and passed and still he talked lazily to his chosen friend.

The Lieutenant looked from his tent and yelled at last:

"What 'ell's the matter with you--search that man and let him go--"

"It would be a pity to tear up all those fruit trees!" the guard said
with a yawn.

"I didn't think you'd bother 'em," Rowley answered indifferently, "but I
know a soldier's duty--"

Another wagon dashed up in a hurry. The guard examined him and he passed
on.

Again the Lieutenant called:

"Search that man and let him go!"

Rowley's face was a mask of lazy indifference.

The guard glanced at him and spoke in low tones:

"Your face is guarantee enough, partner--go on--"

Socola flanked the picket and joined Rowley. Near Hungary, on the farm
of Orrick the German, a grave was hurriedly dug and the casket placed in
it. The women helped to he