The two companies were in such positions that Captain Artie's command would be the first to receive the charge of the Confederates, who were coming on yelling like demons. The enemy felt that the chances of escape were slim, and came on in sheer desperation; and a crowd of desperate men can accomplish a good deal at times.
But Artie, youthful as he was, did not quail. As rapidly as it could be accomplished, he wheeled to one side and shouted to his first line to "Take aim—fire!" And the blaze of the carbines caused a temporary check.
As the Confederates came on again, the second line emptied their weapons. Again there was a halt, and the enemy's line split, as though the men had thought better of it and were desirous of running around the Union soldiers.
Artie saw the movement and turned to CaptainRichland. "I can take care of the crowd on the right," he said.
"All right; I'll take that on the left," was the quick reply, and the third company of the first battalion opened fire, while Artie's command double-quicked to the new position indicated.
Again came a charge against the fourth company. But the force of the Confederates now numbered but eighteen, and with two men shot down they retreated as quickly as they had charged, and sought shelter behind the cotton mill. Here the first company dislodged them, and then they threw down their arms.
The other wing, led by the impetuous captain, hurled itself against Captain Richland's company. The Confederate leader was supported by half a dozen "fire-eaters," and about two score men; and although the charge was not entirely successful, yet in the general mêlée resulting, the captain and about half of those behind him managed to escape. The others were either shot down or added to the prisoners previously taken.
The mill was now burning furiously at oneend, making one of the hottest fires the Lyon boys had ever witnessed. In it were stored hundreds of bales of cotton which the owners had been trying to work off in one way or another for months, but without success, for the cotton trade of the Southern states was glutted, the blockade runners from Europe carrying away only a small portion of the product.
"That building is doomed," observed Deck to Artie, who had come up, breathing heavily after his hard work in disarming a burly ruffian who had tried to cut him down from behind. "We may as well move on with our prisoners."
Deck had scarcely spoken, when a cry rent the air. The cry came in a man's voice, and was full of agony and terror.
"Help! help! help!"
"The cry comes from the other end of the mill," exclaimed Artie. "Come on around and see what is up," and he ran off; for he was on foot, as was also the major.
The end to which the captain had referred was not yet in a blaze, but the smoke was curlingfrom every opening, showing that the fire was making rapid headway in that direction. Presently came a change in the wind, causing the smoke to veer around.
"It's a man—in that upper window!" ejaculated Artie, pointing with his hand. "Why don't you jump down?" he yelled.
"I can't!" came in a painful gasp. "My leg is caught fast in some machinery and I can't loosen it. Save me, for the love of Heaven! Don't let me die like this—even if I am a Confederate!"
"Caught fast!" echoed Deck. "Can't you break away at all?"
"No! no! Reckon my leg is broken!" The unfortunate one gave a moan of pain. "Won't you do something for me?"
"I will—if it can be done," answered Deck. He turned to the cavalrymen standing near. "Boys, have any of you seen a ladder about?"
One and another shook their heads. "There's a box," said one, "but it's not over three feet high, and the window is twenty feet up."
"The box won't do. How about a rope?"
"Here's a stout cord," said another.
"Not heavy enough."
"Help me—quick! The fire is coming this way!" shrieked the imperilled Confederate. "Save me, and I'll give you all I'm worth!"
"I'm coming!" answered Deck. "I wonder where the stairs are," he half muttered, as he turned toward one of the entrances to the mill.
"For gracious' sake, Deck, what are you going to do?" cried Artie.
"Going to that fellow's aid."
"But it's not safe to enter the building. The fire is working this way just as hard as it can."
"I'll risk it, Artie; I don't want to see that poor fellow die like a rat in a trap."
"Yes, but—but—"
"There is no time to waste, Artie," answered Deck, and breaking away from the hold the captain had taken, he leaped for the wide-open door of the mill.
"If he goes, I'll go too," cried Artie, and started to follow the major; but strong hands held him back.
"One is enough," said Captain Abbey. "I trust he is successful."
Captain Richland shook his head seriously."The fire is sweeping to this quarter of the building with great swiftness," he remarked.
Into the building rushed Deck, to find himself at once in an atmosphere charged with smoke, yet not so heavily but that he could see about him. To his left was a rough wooden stairway with an iron rod for a hand-rail. Leaping for this, he began to mount the stairs three steps at a time.
The higher up he went, the thicker became the smoke, and on the upper flooring he could scarcely breathe. Bending low, to get the benefit of any air which might be circulating, he crept along in the direction of the Confederate sufferer. He had gone but a dozen steps when he halted. Before him was what appeared to be a solid wooden partition.
"Hi! where are you?" he called out; but the fire had now crept so close that the crackling of the flames drowned out every other sound. Feeling that it would be a waste of precious time to remain where he was, he ran along the wooden barrier from one end to the other. A door at last was found, but it was tightly closed and refused to budge.
Taking his sabre, Deck attempted to get it in the crack between the door and its frame. The point only could be introduced, and not caring to break this off, he withdrew the blade. By this time the smoke was making him dizzy, and he flew for a window to get some air.
"Help!" he heard the Confederate cry again, and now made a discovery he fancied would be of advantage to him in his endeavor to assist the unfortunate man. The window to which he had made his way was within two feet of the wooden partition, while the window at which the Confederate was calling from was an equal distance from the partition, on the other side. The two windows, therefore, were but four feet apart.
As has been mentioned, it was twenty feet to the ground, a distance great enough to cause serious results should the major take a tumble. But Deck did not count the consequences. He was going to help the rebel if he could.
Crawling forth, he turned on the window-sill and stood upright. The framing was not over six inches in depth and was plain, affording but a scant hold. He had hardly appeared when a shout went up from below. "There is the major now!"
"Major, look out there, or you'll break your neck!"
These and other remarks were made, but Deck paid no attention further than to "look out," whatever that might mean. In reality his gaze was fastened on the window next to him, and now he leaned over and caught hold of the edging. But at this distance the hold was too uncertain to be depended upon, and he drew back.
The question of what was to be done next was a serious one. The wind had shifted again, giving a temporary check to the fire in that direction; but it would shift back, and then Deck felt the end of the mill would be close at hand. He looked at the next window again.
A large nail caught his eye, fastened at the top of the frame. He felt that this would hold, if only he could reach it. He took off his sabre belt and examined it.
The belt was strong and so was the buckle, and leaning over he threw one end of the belt out, not once, but several times. At last a portion of the buckle caught over the nail. He pulled on the leather to make sure it would bear his weight, then swung to the sill of the next window with ease.
"Thank Heaven!" he heard the Confederate ejaculate. The man had been holding himself up as far as possible, but had now dropped flat on his back.
Despite the smoke, the major soon took in the situation. The Confederate had stepped upon the lever of a compressor; the jaw of the machine had opened, and his leg had been caught and held. Whether the limb was broken or not, the major could not tell; but it was certain the unfortunate one was suffering intense pain, and this, added to his fright because of the fire, made him truly an object of compassion.
"Can you—you—release me?" he groaned, and he seemed to be on the point of fainting.
For reply Deck grasped the lever and attempted to force it back. It was stuck, and he had to exert all his strength to move it even an inch. Seeing an iron rod handy, he used it as another kind of lever, and with a click the jaws of the machine opened, and the Confederate was free.
"What shall I do?" he asked, in a whisper. "I—I can't walk."
"I will carry you," answered Deck. "Wait just a second."
He bounded along the wooden partition to where the door was situated. The air was tremendously hot, and the wind was shifting back. As he gained the door there was a dull booming, as a portion of the flooring in another department of the mill gave way, and the whole structure began to shake.
The door was merely latched and he flung it wide open. But this created a draught, and he closed it again; then ran back for the Confederate. The poor fellow had fainted.
The load was a heavy one, but in the excitement Deck could have carried twice the weight. Flinging his burden over his right shoulder, he staggered through the smoke. The room was now ablaze overhead, and the sparks fell thickly upon his unprotected head and neck.
"God see us both through this in safety!" was the silent prayer which came from his heart, and now the door was reached again. In a moment more he stood in the apartment he had first entered. A look of consternation spread over his pale, set face.
The fire had been at work overhead, running from end to end of the mill roof. Now it had worked its way downward, and that part of the ceiling above the stairway was a seething and roaring mass of flames and smoke. It looked as if at any instant a portion of the roof might cave in, burying the whole stairway beneath it.
Should he risk a descent? Deck's heart almost stood still as he asked himself the question. He was brave, even to rashness; but this was very much like courting death. For the moment he thought of home, his mother, and of sweet Kate Belthorpe. Should he risk being torn from all that was dear to him?
Another booming decided him. The fire had come down behind him, cutting off his retreat. He must go forward or give up the struggle. With another silent prayer that Heaven might guide and protect him, he grasped his burden closer and advanced to the top of the stairs. Soon he was hurrying downward as rapidly as the weight on his shoulder would permit. Five steps were passed and he paused.
A blazing board had come down directly in front of him. As he stood still, another camedown, striking him on the unoccupied shoulder. He waited no longer, but, calculating as well as he could, made a clean leap to the bottom.
Luckily he landed squarely, and, though his burden made him stagger, he did not fall. As he started for the open doorway, there was a crash, and the stairway became a thing of the past. The young major had missed death by less than five seconds.
How he gained the open air, Deck could not tell afterward. The smoke was so thick he could not see, and breathing was out of the question. "Out there—help me!" he yelled, when he saw the light, and then Artie and several others ran to his aid. Two cavalrymen took the unconscious Confederate and laid him on the grass.
"Deck, are you hurt?" asked the young captain, anxiously, seeing how pale the young officer was. The major could not stand upright.
"Hurt? No—I'm—I'm—all right," was the answer; and then the gallant youth fainted dead away.
With the wounded, he was carried on astretcher to the nearest ambulance. Artie was permitted to go along, and Captain Abbey took command of the battalion. The Confederate was placed among the wounded of his own company.
Colonel Lyon was not near the mill, and it was not until night that he heard Deck was sick. The major did not recover consciousness for an hour, and then it was found he had a fever. That night was an anxious one for both the colonel and the young captain, and the morning brought small comfort. Deck was out of his mind, and the doctor was afraid he had inhaled too much smoke, and possibly some of the flames.
"The boy meant well, but he overdid the matter," said Colonel Lyon, sadly. "I warned him over and over again to be more careful; but he was too anxious to make a record for himself to listen to me. If anything happens to him, what will his mother and the others say?"
General Bragg, the Confederate commander, had established his headquarters at Tullahoma, but his troops lay some twenty or thirty miles to the north of that town, in a grand semicircle extending from Wartrace on the east, through Shelbyville to Columbia on the west. The troops numbered about forty thousand, of all sorts, according to the commander's own report, and a larger portion of them were sheltered behind hastily constructed intrenchments.
Although Bragg occupied this advanced position, General Rosecrans was certain that should the Confederate be unable to hold Shelbyville and the surrounding territory, he would retreat to his stronger intrenchments at Tullahoma. This town, situated on the rocky bank of Duck River and surrounded by mountainous passes, was an ideal stronghold. Once the Southern forces should retreat to it, to follow them would be extremelyhazardous, for the Confederates could easily command the river and every defile, and pour in a hot fire without permitting the Union troops to get a shot in return.
Under these circumstances, General Rosecrans determined, if possible, to cut off the Confederate's chances of retreating to Tullahoma, or, at least, of retreating by the direct way. To do this, he determined to turn the enemy's right, and then make a dash for the railroad bridge at Elk River. Once he had turned the enemy's right and gained the bridge, Bragg, if he retreated, would have to go to Tullahoma by side roads, where both armies would have an equal chance in fighting, so far as the lay of the land was concerned.
In all military operations, one of the main elements of success lies in the fact of keeping the other fellow guessing what you are going to do until you do it; and, in order to blind General Bragg as to his real intention, General Rosecrans started in by making an attack on the Confederate centre, as though he intended to push through at that point if he could. While this was going on he hurried his main divisions around to the enemy's right.
The army numbered many thousands of infantry, cavalry, and artillery; the battle-ground extended over many miles of territory; and to get every regiment in its proper place was no light task. Messages flew hither and thither, carried by telegraph and by horseback messengers, and many a detail was completed only to be totally altered at the last moment. And while this was going on, a close watch had to be kept on the enemy, for fear he would make some movement never dreamed of by our troops.
After months of preparation and numerous small conflicts, the army began to move on the 23d of June, 1863. It was divided into three corps, the right under McCook, the centre under Thomas, and the left under Crittenden. The weather was by no means favorable; and soon it was raining in torrents, rendering the roads a mass of liquid mud, and swelling even the smaller streams to such an extent that they could scarcely be forded. In a campaign lasting nine days, General Rosecrans declares that their advance was delayed ninety hours by the elements.
After their work along the railroad in the vicinity of McMinnville, the Riverlawns wereordered to Triune, where they went into camp just outside of the town, on the bank of a little creek backed up by a hemp field. Their hospital tent was located in the midst of this field, and here, on a cot, lay Deck, suffering in a manner that was new to the doctors caring for him. At times the major was out of his mind, then he would be rational, but so weak he could scarcely talk.
"It's awful—simply awful," said Artie, to his Cousin Sandy one day. "It's the worst case I ever heard of."
"It is too bad," replied the second lieutenant, of Captain Gadbury's command. "I wish I could do something for him, I really do."
There was a great change in Sandy Lyon. He was no longer the wild fellow he had been. Army discipline had made a man of him, and he was a first-class soldier in every sense of the word. Only one thing he regretted, that being that he had not become attached to the Engineering Corps. He declared that as soon as the war was over he was going to study hard and become an architect and builder.
The change in Titus Lyon was also great. Hehad kept the pledge, and his brother Noah could not have had a more useful adjutant. The brothers were real brothers once more, much to the satisfaction of Titus's wife and daughters, as well as the other members of the Lyon family at large.
At last Colonel Lyon began to think of sending Deck home, although he hated the thought of having the youth where he could not see him constantly. Moreover, Mrs. Lyon had not been informed of how much Deck was suffering, and the truth might give her a shock.
It was three weeks previous to the movement of the army upon the Confederate forces that the major began to mend. At first the change was gradual, but inside of ten days he was up on his feet. His appetite now came back, and he began to walk around, declaring that he would soon be as well as ever.
"Deck, you must take no more such risks—I positively forbid it," said Colonel Lyon, when calling on his son one evening.
"All right, father, I'll try to be more careful," answered Deck, with a faint smile. "To tell the truth, I didn't realize what a risk itwas until it was too late to turn back. On that account, I don't think I am half the hero the boys are making me out to be."
"I have a letter for you," continued the colonel, producing the communication. "It will certainly interest you, for it is from the Confederate soldier you rescued from the mill."
"Is that so? How is he doing?"
"He is doing too much—he got so well that he ran away yesterday."
"Ran away!"
"Exactly; and left that letter behind. Read it," and Deck did so. The communication ran as follows:—
"Major Dexter Lyon:—"My Dear Sir:I am on the point of trying to make my escape from the sick camp in which I have been placed by your Union hospital surgeons. It is a rather shabby way to act after such kindness, but I have no hankering after a life in a Northern prison pen."Before I leave, and knowing well I shall run the risk of being shot down, I wish to thank you for your goodness in rescuing me from the burning cotton mill. You did more for me than I think I should have done for any Northern man—you risked your life to save mine. Major Lyon, I thank you from the bottom of my heart, and if it ever comesin my power to do you a good turn I shall do it—no matter what it may cost me. I thank you again.
"Major Dexter Lyon:—
"My Dear Sir:I am on the point of trying to make my escape from the sick camp in which I have been placed by your Union hospital surgeons. It is a rather shabby way to act after such kindness, but I have no hankering after a life in a Northern prison pen.
"Before I leave, and knowing well I shall run the risk of being shot down, I wish to thank you for your goodness in rescuing me from the burning cotton mill. You did more for me than I think I should have done for any Northern man—you risked your life to save mine. Major Lyon, I thank you from the bottom of my heart, and if it ever comesin my power to do you a good turn I shall do it—no matter what it may cost me. I thank you again.
"Yours respectfully,"Thomas Derwiddie,"Tennessee Volunteers."
"Yours respectfully,
"Thomas Derwiddie,
"Tennessee Volunteers."
"Did they follow Thomas Derwiddie up?" asked Deck, as he folded the letter. It was written on a scrap of very old and dirty newspaper, in pencil.
"They tried to; but they could not catch him. I reckon by this time he is well within the Southern lines."
"He is certainly very thankful," mused the major. "Come what may, it would seem that I have one friend in the South—although it is likely I shall never see or hear of him again."
"That is true, Deck; yet it must make you feel glad to know the fellow appreciates your kindness."
"It does, father; I shall prize the letter very highly," and Deck placed it in an inner pocket. When next he wrote to Kate Belthorpe he enclosed the communication with his own, and Kate thought almost as much of one letter as of the other.
The first cavalry division, under GeneralMitchell, was located near Triune, and this division now moved forward, on the Eagleville and Shelbyville turnpike, in the direction of the enemy's centre and left. Less than half an hour after came the order for the Riverlawns to move in a similar manner.
"Hurrah! we'll soon be in it again!" cried Captain Artie, rushing into his company street with the news. "Get to moving, boys; for there is no time to lose. We are going to smash the rebs this trip."
"Well, I hope so," said Black, his first lieutenant. "How about your brother, the major?"
"Deck is going along. My father doesn't like to hear of it; but the major says he is feeling all right again. I reckon he will take it a bit easy, though."
There was little time to say more, for the call to move made plenty of work for everybody. Every man was supplied with twelve days' rations of bread, coffee, sugar, and salt, and six days' rations of pork and bacon, while other meat was carried "on the hoof," as it was expressed, that is, alive, the animals beingdriven along in droves, or tied to the rear of the supply wagons.
"I'm glad we're going to move, but I'd just as lief have clear weather for it," observed Life Knox, as he came up, shaking the water from his military cape. "Captain Lyon, do you feel like taking a dash of some ten or twelve miles on horseback with me?"
"A dash—where to?" queried Artie, stopping in his operations of strapping his belongings together.
"The general wants to learn in what condition the side road to the southeast is in, and he has detailed me to make an investigation. I can take any one along whom I please, and I thought of you and Deck; but Deck is not fit to go, even though I have seen him around on his faithful old Ceph."
"The side roads are probably drowned out," laughed Artie. "But I'll go, with pleasure—scouting always did just hit me right," and without delay he turned over his command to Lieutenant Black.
Inside of a quarter of an hour, the two captains were off, each mounted on his favoritehorse, each fully armed, and each carrying his rations with him. The rain came down steadily, and the horses sent the water flying in all directions as they pushed their way along over a turnpike covered with pools.
"Does the general think of sending troops by that side road?" asked Artie, presently, as a turn hid them from their late companions, who had wondered where they were going.
"Nothing was said about that, and I didn't ask any questions," returned Life. "My private opinion is, he wants to make sure the road can be used in case the rebels try to break through our corps."
"They wouldn't dare to do that."
"They might dare anything, Artie. Bragg has some fine soldiers under him—not the least doubt of that. The more I see of this campaign, the more I am convinced that the war will not end until there has been an immense amount of blood shed. We began in a haphazard sort of way, but we are speedily getting down to business."
"I agree with you there, Life. Of course Bragg will drive us back to Kentucky, if he can;in fact, he'll drive us through Indiana into the Lakes, if we let him. But we are not going to let him," concluded the youthful captain of the fourth company.
They had been moving along a level road, but now a second turn took them up a gentle slope, from the top of which a bird's-eye view of a small stretch of country could be obtained. Behind them, to the right and the left, many companies of soldiers, afoot and on horseback, could be seen advancing southward.
"There is the road we are to investigate," said Life, pointing with his long forefinger. "By the lay of the land, I should say it doesn't amount to anything. The infantry and cavalry may get through, but never the artillery."
"Well, all we can do is to make an examination and report," answered Artie. "But see here, why isn't a detail of the Engineering Corps doing this work?"
"Every man is engaged elsewhere. Besides, we are to look for rebels while we are at it. The general is inclined to believe there are spies in this vicinity. If we run across any such cattle, we are to lasso them and bring them in."
After this, the two relapsed into silence, for the rain was driving into their faces, and it was difficult to talk while muffled up in their storm capes. They descended the slope on the other side, then turned into a small woods, where the tall trees afforded some shelter.
Two miles had been covered, and the horses were making good time on a rocky road-bed, when, looking ahead, they saw a split in the highway. One branch ran to the southward, the second, a few points to the eastward.
"Which is which?" asked Artie, as he drew rein.
"That's the riddle. One road looks as if it was travelled about as much as the second."
"And neither very much, Life."
"I think we had better try the one to the right."
"And I was going to suggest the one on the left."
"Well, they can't both be right."
"No, only one is right—the other is left," laughed the young captain.
"And you'll be left to take the left," said the tall Kentuckian. "But, seriously, which had we better follow?"
"I don't know—unless we toss up for it."
"There may be sign-boards about. Let us look."
They made a careful survey of all the trees and posts in the vicinity, but nothing like a guide-post came to light. If there had been signs, the enemy had removed them long before.
"I have a suggestion to make," said Artie, as the pair came together in the road again. "Let us each take to a road and ride, say, quarter of a mile. Then we can return and compare notes."
"That would certainly be better than halting in the rain, Artie. It's settled, and I'm off," and using his spurs, Life Knox dashed away down the road to the right. A few seconds later, Artie took the road to the left, little dreaming of the adventure that was in store for him.
Life Knox had been right; the road he had taken was the correct one, while that which Artie was pursuing was merely a side trail, joining the main road again about a half mile beyond. The side road led up to a plantation owned by Colonel Dick Bradner, one of the most zealous Confederates in the State of Tennessee.
Colonel Bradner was a military man, but he was not now in active service. In his younger days he had served in the Mexican War, and had gained, under General Taylor, a commission as first lieutenant in the volunteer army of that date. His military ardor had cost him his right arm and his left leg, and, being thus crippled, further service was out of the question.
Colonel Bradner had always been a fire eater, hot to the last degree; and if he had had his way, war between the North and the South would have broken out in '58 instead of '61. For atime he had drawn a pension from the government at Washington; but this was now cut off, and the loss made the military gentleman more bitter than ever, if such a thing were possible.
The plantation on the side road was one of good size. In days gone by it had flourished, and been a source of riches to the colonel and his wife, the only members of the household. The slaves had numbered sixty-five, all able-bodied, and all worth five hundred dollars each at the auction block in Memphis. Now all but six of the slaves had run away, the plantation was neglected, and what there had been of stores had been given to the Confederate forces, simply from the fact that, had they not been given up, friend or foe would have confiscated them as one of the necessities of the great conflict.
Unaware that he was wrong, and likewise unaware that he was "running his head into the lion's mouth," Artie galloped down the side trail, sending a shower of mud up against the trees as he passed them by. Not a soul was in sight, and it looked as if the neighborhood, for miles around, was deserted.
Presently he reached a negro hut—the firstbelonging to the Bradner plantation. The door stood wide open, the rain beating far in over the sill. A brief survey convinced the young captain that the abode was deserted.
"The negroes have grown scared, and run for it," he mused, as he continued on his way. "Hullo, there's another cabin, and another. I've struck some village, I reckon—or a plantation. If somebody would only appear—ah!"
Through the low-hanging trees he had caught sight of the mansion, standing between an avenue of pines. To the front was a path of sand, and to the rear a small brook. The fields were on the other side of the brook.
"That looks as deserted as were those cabins," thought Artie, when he saw a woman pass hastily by one of the parlor windows. Concluding that the men were off to the war, and that the lady was the only person left at home, he turned up the sandy path and rode to the front porch, where he dismounted, and used the heavy brass knocker attached to the oaken door.
His arrival had been noticed, yet it was several minutes before anybody answered his summons. In the meantime he heard a spiritedmurmur of voices, as though two persons in the hallway were discussing the situation.
It was Mrs. Dick Bradner who let him in,—a short, stout woman of fifty, with piercing black eyes and jet-black hair. Her skin was as dark as that of a mulatto, and her features were by no means prepossessing.
"Well?" she snapped, as she threw back the door.
"I stopped for a bit of information," replied Artie, as he bowed and came into the hallway, a wide affair, running directly through to the rear.
"What is it you wish to know?" was the short query, as snappy as her first greeting had been.
"I am a bit mixed on the roads. There is a split about an eighth of a mile above here, and I would like to know if this is the regular road, or if the other road is."
"You're a Yankee officer, I take it."
"I am, madam."
"What company do you belong to?"
"I am captain of the fourth company of the Riverlawn Cavalry, of Kentucky."
"The Riverlawns!" came in something like a gasp. "Well, I never! Dick! Dick!"
"Well, Martha, what?" growled the colonel, from an inner room. "Send him about his business."
"He belongs to the Riverlawns, Dick,—that cavalry—"
"Hush, Martha." There was the stumping of a wooden leg, and Colonel Bradner appeared. "So you belong to the Riverlawns, Captain? Come in, I would like to talk to you."
"I haven't much time to talk, sir," answered Artie. "I must be on my way. If you will tell me about the roads—"
"In a minute, Captain, in a minute. But I would like a little information myself—about the Riverlawns."
"Yes, we want to know all about them," put in Mrs. Bradner. "My brother—"
"Martha, do let me do the talking," interrupted the colonel, with a significant look behind Artie's back which the captain failed to catch. "Walk into the sitting room, where there is a small fire. I can't go without some fire on a damp day, even in June. Therheumatism is too bad in my poor stumps. Come in."
The colonel led the way, and Artie followed, although the delay was not to his taste. Yet he was curious to learn what his host wanted to know concerning the cavalry his father (so called) commanded. Perhaps the lady's brother belonged to one of the companies, despite the fact that she was a Tennesseean.
The sitting room was a cheerful place, and the fire felt decidedly comfortable, and Artie wished he was not in a hurry. Colonel Bradner shoved a cane rocker toward him, and sank down on a lounge. Feeling that his wet clothing would not hurt a cane rocker, Artie sat down.
"By the way, Martha, tell Joe and Sam to come in," said the colonel, in an off-handed way. "They must clean up that cellar before the rain ruins everything. Tell them to clean out that back pantry the first thing."
"But, Dick—"
"Never mind, my dear, tell them;" and the head of the house waved his wife off, winking at her when Artie was not looking. The wink satisfied the lady more than did herhusband's words, and she moved off in deep thought.
"So you belong to the Riverlawns, Captain. What company, if I may ask?"
"I am captain of the fourth company, Mr. ——"
"Excuse me, I should have introduced myself and my wife. Colonel Dick Bradner, at your service."
"You are not in active service, Colonel," and Artie smiled faintly.
"Do I look as if I was? But I have seen service, young man, having gone all through the Mexican War."
"Indeed! I am glad to meet you, sir. But about the Riverlawns and Mrs. Bradner's brother—"
"I'll get there in a moment, Captain. You see I am getting old and long-winded. I used to stump the State during election time, but I'm getting so tiresome now nobody will listen to me."
"I am listening, Colonel. But I have a duty to perform which must be accomplished as soon as possible."
"I reckon I need not ask what it is. It's none of my business, of course not."
"What were you going to ask me concerning our regiment?" asked Artie, half desperately, for he was afraid the crippled colonel would keep him there all day.
"I wanted to ask you if your command did not take part in an engagement at Greeger Lake, last fall?"
"We did."
"What was the result of that engagement?"
"We took about five hundred guerillas prisoners, and—"
"Guerillas! Do you dare to call our troops—Oh! pshaw, go on,—what did you do?"
"We took about five hundred guerillas prisoners, and to keep them from eating up our rations, marched them back into Tennessee, where they belonged."
"And confiscated their horses and their money?"
"No, we turned their horses loose; that was all. I never heard anything about any money," answered Artie, promptly.
He tried to appear at ease, but he was much worried. The veteran of the Mexican War was turning out to be a strong Southern sympathizer.It looked as if there might be trouble before he left the house.
"I understand some of the soldiers had their money taken from them. But that was to be expected of the Yankees—they don't know what honor is."
"Colonel Bradner, I did not come here to be insulted!" exclaimed Artie, leaping to his feet. "I have answered your questions, now I would like you to answer mine. What about this road in front of your house? Is it the main road, or is it not?"
"It is the main road—to my plantation."
"Then the other road is the main road?"
"Yes."
"That is all I wish to know, and I'll bid you good afternoon," replied the young captain, and backed toward the hallway door.
"You're not going just yet, are you?" asked Colonel Bradner, with a quizzical tone in his voice.
"I am," said Artie, and not liking that tone, he swung around, to find himself confronted by Mrs. Bradner and two burly negroes, each of the latter with a gun in his hands.
"Up with your hands, Captain, or Joe and Sam will blow off your head," commanded the cripple, and drew at the same time a pistol from his hip pocket. The pistol was pointed at Artie's breast, while each of the guns was aimed at the side of his head.
Artie was brave, and in some instances as rash as Deck; but there were times when he kept his head cool, and this was one of these times. He had both pistol and sabre in his belt, but he knew that the slightest movement to use either of the weapons would mean to him either serious injury or death. And he was just then of a mind to keep his skin whole.
"Do you surrender?" demanded Colonel Bradner, after a painful pause, during which Artie had been doing a powerful lot of thinking.
"I don't see what else I can do," was the cool reply, and as he spoke, Artie raised his hands. But he also walked to the window,—to find it locked, and another negro standing guard outside.
"There is where you show your sense, Captain. Joe, advance and receive the captain's sabre and his pistol."
"You spoke about what was done with the guerillas at Greeger Lake. Are you going to rob me of my weapons?"
"No, you shall have them back,—when the proper time comes. If I let you keep them, you might attempt to commit suicide when left alone."
"Which means that you are going to make a prisoner of me?"
"Which means exactly that, Captain. I trust you enjoy the prospect."
"I think it is a foolish movement on your part. Do you not know that this country is overrun with Union troops, some of which are bound to come to this place sooner or later?"
"Let them come; we do not care," burst out Mrs. Bradner. "My poor brother's loss shall be avenged!" she added tragically.
"Did your brother belong to those guerillas?" questioned Artie, a light breaking in on his mind.
"He was at the head of the command which participated in the unfortunate engagement at Greeger Lake," responded the woman, tartly. "He would have won had he not been outnumbered, four to one."
"Was your brother Major Gossley?" continued Artie.
"He was and is. His command is now with General Bragg—and will soon help to wipe out this horde of villanous mudsills, who have entered our State," resumed the lady of the house, grandiloquently. "Do you remember my brother in person?"
"I remember him very well. There was a miller at Greeger Lake named Price. He had hidden away his money, and your brother made him give it up by threatening to hang him. The man was dragged to a tree and a rope placed about his neck. When the Riverlawns captured the command, your brother was compelled to give Price back his money."
At these plain words, the lady of the house grew furious. "It is a falsehood—a base, malicious, Yankee falsehood!" she screamed. "Dick, why don't you bind him and give him—a—a—the lash?"
"I'll bind him fast enough," answered the colonel. "After that, we'll see what is best to be done. Joe, is there a rope handy?"
"Yes, Mars'r," answered the foremost of the negroes.
"Take it and bind the prisoner's hands behindhim. Sam, keep him well covered, and I will do the same. Between two fires, he will keep quiet enough, I'll warrant."
Without delay, the negro Joe procured the rope and walked up behind Artie. Resistance just then would have been foolish, and Artie's weapons were soon taken from him, after which he was made a close prisoner. The rope had scarcely been adjusted, when there came a loud knocking on the front door of the house.
"Who can that be?" asked the lady of the mansion, nervously, as the knock was repeated.
"I will go and see," answered Colonel Bradner. He turned to the two negroes. "See that he doesn't get away from you."
"He shan't git de chance, Mars'r," answered Joe, who had picked up his gun again.
Arising from his couch, where he had retained his seat while covering the young captain, the crippled advocate of the Southern cause stumped to the door, walked out of the room, and closed the barrier behind him. His wife accompanied him.
Artie strained his ears to catch what might be said. A hope had entered his mind that the newcomer might be Life Knox, who had grown impatient of waiting at the forks of the road and come in this direction to find him. He felt certain that if it was the tall Kentuckian, therewould presently be exceedingly "warm" times about the place.
But he was doomed to disappointment. The voice was that of a man, loud, rough, and savage, and the front door was closed with a bang. Then a long talk followed in the hallway, and the newcomer pushed his way into the sitting room.
"So we meet again," was the salutation Artie received, with a dark frown from a pair of wolf-like eyes. "Reckon you didn't expect to see me quite so soon, and under such circumstances."
"You are right,—I never expected to see you again, Major Gossley," replied Artie, for the newcomer was the noted leader of the guerillas encountered at Greeger Lake.
"How does it make you feel?"
"I haven't had time enough to consider that side of the question," Artie returned, trying to keep as calm as possible, although he realized that the coming of the guerilla leader was a bad thing for him.
"Reckon you will realize it before I have done with you," muttered Gossley. "Martha, has he been telling you anything about me?" he added, turning to his sister.