The Captain was certain that she carried dispatches on her person at that moment.

If he could
only induce her to drop them, the trick would be turned. He turned, retraced his steps,
overtook her and whispered as he passed
Your trusted messenger She paid no attention. There was not the slightest recognition no
surprise no inquiry. Her thin face was a mask of death. Was this man Kilpatricks scout Or
was he a Secret Services man on her trail The questions seethed through her excited soul. Her
life hung on the answer. It was a question of judgment of character and personality. The man
was a stranger. But the need was terrible. Should she take the chance She quickened her pace
and passed Dick. Again she heard him whisper Your messenger is here. I am going through
tonight.
In her hand clasped tight was her dispatch torn into strips and each strip rolled into a tiny ball.
Should she commence to drop them one by one Perplexed, she stopped and glanced back
suddenly into Dicks face. Her decision was instantaneous. The subtle sixth sense had
revealed in a flash of his eager eyes her mortal danger. She turned into a side street and
hurried home. The Captain was again baffled by a womans wit. His disappointment was
keen. He had hoped to prove his accusation to Jennie Barton before the sun set. She had
ceased to fight his suspicions of Socola. His name was not mentioned. She was watching her
lover with more desperate earnestness even than he.
The Captain had failed to entrap the wily little woman with her market basket, but through
her he struck the trail of the big quarry he had sought for two years. Socola was imperiled by
a womans sentimental whim this woman with nerves of steel and a heart whose very throb
she could control by an indomitable will. Heartsick over her failure to get through the lines
her warning to Kilpatrick, she had felt the responsibility of young Dahlgrens tragic death.
Womanlike 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 womans 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 crossroads
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 drd 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 Rowleys 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.