The Ghost Wore Gray by Bruce Coville

light, which seemed to penetrate right to its center.
    She looked at me in astonishment. “I think this thing is a ruby!”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN
    The Diary
    Chris and I sat side by side on my bed. The ruby was hidden in the bottom drawer of our dresser. As excited as we were about finding it, for the time being the book had all our attention.
    It was about an inch thick and bound in brown leather. The cover was blank. But when we opened it and saw the words, “The Diary of Captain Jonathan Gray” written on the first page, I felt a tingle skitter down my spine.
    I looked at Chris. “Now we’re getting somewhere,” she whispered. I nodded my head—and turned the page.
    I could tell you about what we read there. But I think it’s time to let Captain Gray speak for himself. So the rest of this chapter is in his words, just as we found them in his diary.
    A PRIL 21, 1863
    Today I was given a great responsibility. Some of the finest women of Charleston, knowing of our desperate need for weapons and supplies, have volunteered their gold and their jewelry for the good of the Confederate cause.
    The things we need can best be purchased in Canada. But the Canadians will not accept our currency. So it is necessary for someone to carry the actual treasure to Canada.
    I have been asked to do the job because of the years I spent at college in Massachusetts, which left me with the ability to imitate the way a Yankee speaks. It’s a skill I will need if I am to pass safely through Yankee territory.
    It is such a great honor to be entrusted with this treasure, which was wrung from the very hearts of the fairest women in Charleston. I hope that I will be worthy of it.
    I leave in the morning. I am to make contact with a Canadian courier in New York State three weeks from today. It will be a perilous journey. But I have a list of contacts in Maryland, Pennsylvania, and New York—friends sympathetic to the Confederate cause. They will shelter me and help speed me on my mission. It seems ironic that I will be traveling in much the same way as those slaves who escaped to the North on the infamous Underground Railroad.
    A PRIL 28, 1863
    The journey is taking longer than I expected. The effects of the war can be seen everywhere—in the scorched fields and the burned houses, and most of all in the haunted, weary eyes of the women and children who have lived too close to battle for too long.
    I begin to wonder if it is really worth it.
    A PRIL 30, 1863
    Yesterday I entered Maryland. Tomorrow a friend will take me by wagon to a train station. The next leg of my journey will be by a real railroad, rather than this “underground railroad” I have been using.
    This friend also offered me the use of his own trunk, which has a cleverly constructed false bottom. I can use this to hide the jewels, and travel with less fear of being robbed.
    M AY 9, 1863
    I reached New York a day and a half ago. Canada seems within striking distance! I am staying at a small inn called the Quackadoodle, where I am to wait for my Canadian contact. He should be here in three days.
    I have seen a great number of blacks since I entered the state. I cannot help but believe that many of them are escaped slaves. How it angers me to see the property of good Southern gentlemen being sheltered by these Northerners. It is theft, pure and simple.
    M AY 15, 1863
    I have been here six days now, and my contact has not yet appeared. I begin to wonder if something has happened to him.
    It would not bother me quite so much, save that another guest here at the inn has taken an unusual interest in me. I suspect he has noticed the occasional touch of Dixie in my speech, and wonders why I am here, what I am up to.
    M AY 17, 1863
    Last night, while I was at dinner, someone searched my room. Thanks to the secret compartment in my friend’s trunk, they did not find the treasure. I also keep this journal in that compartment, so that no one can learn