My hand touching her own seemed to work a sudden transformation. She was instantly upon her feet facing me, drawing back a little against the grape arbor.
"Do not take my words so seriously," she exclaimed. "I am excited, almost hysterical to-night. To-morrow I shall regret much I have done and said. But you must go, Lieutenant; every moment of delay adds to your peril and mine. No; please do not touch me or speak to me again; only listen--there is a bridle path leading directly from the farther corner of the stable to the river; a gate will let you out of the orchard lot; now go!"
"You will not even shake hands?" "I--I--yes, of course, I will do that." Our fingers clasped, and we stood face to face, our eyes meeting through the darkness. The thrill of contact, the wild hope that this girl really cared unusually for me, became almost overpowering. I longed to crush her in my arms, to pour into her ears the passionate words that burned on my lips. I forgot everything except her presence, her nearness, the soft pressure of her hand.
"Billie! Billie!"
"No! No!" and she had instantly released herself. "You forget yourself; you forget my position. Now it is good-bye."
"You positively mean this?"
"I do. I am a soldier's daughter, Lieutenant Galesworth, and I am trusting you to act as a soldier and a gentleman."
Under the cloak of darkness my face burned, feeling the reproof of this appeal, realizing that I merited the sting. For the instant my actions, my presumption, seemed contemptible. I had taken advantage of her kindness, her sympathy, her trust, and openly misconstrued womanly friendliness into a stronger emotion. The rebuke was perfectly just; I could not even find words of apology, but turned away silently. And she made no effort to stay me, either by word or motion.
I had crept forward as far as the low fence before the numbness left me, before I came back to full comprehension of my situation, and the serious work confronting me. Then the soldier spirit reawoke into alert action, my thought intent upon escape, my nerves steadying down for the coming trial. I recall glancing back, imagining I saw the white glimmer of her dress against the dark shrubbery, and then I resolutely drove all memory of her from my mind, concentrating every instinct to the one immediate purpose of overcoming the stable guard. This was not altogether new work to one inured as a scout, but sufficiently serious to call forth every precaution. Cautiously I crept along the fence until I discovered an opening large enough to crawl through, scarcely rustling the concealing leaves, and resting flat on the opposite side while I surveyed the prospect. I was not far now from the south wall of the stable, which loomed black and shapeless against the sky. Not a movement revealed the whereabouts of the guard, and, with the girl's description to guide me, I concluded the fellow would be stationed at the other extremity of the building. Convinced as to this probability I dragged my body slowly forward until I could touch the log wall. I could see better now, being myself in the denser shadow, and knew the passage was clear to the corner.
Assured of this I rose to my feet, revolver in hand, and pressing close against the side of the building, advanced quickly and silently. At the corner I peered about, scarcely daring to breathe, but with heart pounding, as I caught sight of the fellow, not over three feet distant. He was seated on an overturned bucket, his back toward me, both hands clasping a musket, his head bent slightly forward. He seemed listening to some noise in the distance, totally unconscious of my approach. The man's fingers were nowhere near the trigger of his gun, and my straining eyes could perceive no sign of any other weapon. This had to be silent work--silent and swift. With one step forward I had my revolver pressed hard against his cheek, my other hand crushing his fingers to the musket.
"Keep quiet, man! Not a move! I'll blow your head off if you lift a hand!"
"Oh! Good God!"
He was but little more than a boy; I could see his face now under the slouch hat, and I had already frightened the life half out of him.
"Drop your gun! Now stand up!" He obeyed like an automaton, his brain seemingly paralyzed. There was nothing to fear from this fellow, yet I knew better than to become careless--terror has been known to drive men crazy. I caught him by the collar, whirling him about, my Colt still at his ear.
"Go straight to the stable door, son!"
"Who--who are you? W--what do you want?"
"Don't stop to ask questions--you trot, unless you want to get hurt. Do you hear me?--the stable door! That's it; now undo the button, open the door, and go inside."
I held him like a vice, assured his belt contained no weapons, and thrust him forward against the wall. He was so helpless in my grasp that it was like handling a child.
"Feel along there--higher up--and tell me what you find. Well, what is it?"
"A--a bridle," his voice barely audible.
"Halter strap on it?"
"Yes, sir."
"Take it off, and hand it back here. Now go on, and feel the next stake."
"There's a blanket, and--and a rope halter."
"Good! give me that; now, son, put both hands back here, cross the wrists. Come, stand up to it; this is better than getting killed, isn't it? Now here is a nice soft spot to lie on, and I guess you'll remain there for a while. Do you want me to gag you, or will you keep still?"
"I'll--I'll keep still!"
"Well, be sure you do; your life isn't worth a picayune if you raise any row."
I arose to my feet, confident the boy had been safely disposed of, and feeling blindly around in the darkness, seeking to locate the stalls. At that instant a horse neighed outside; then I heard the sound of hoofs pounding on soft soil. Whoever the fellow was, he was almost there--coming up at a trot, just back of the stables. My brain worked in a flash--there was but once chance to stave off discovery. With a bound I was beside the boy, and had jerked off his hat, jamming it down on my own head, as I muttered in his ear, "One word from you now, and you'll never speak again--don't take the chance!"
I leaped for the door, and grasped the musket, barely straightening up, as the oncoming horseman swung around the corner. It was a desperate chance, yet in this darkness he could scarcely distinguish color of uniform or shape of features. It might work; it was worth trying. I saw the dim outlines of horse and rider in a red glow, as though the latter held a cigar between his lips; then I swung forward my gun.
"Halt! who comes?"
Startled by the sudden challenge, the horse reared to the sharp jerk at the reins, the man uttering an oath as he struggled to control the beast.
"Hell! What's this?"
"A sentry post; answer up, or I'll call the guard--who are you?"
"An officer on special service." "Dismount, and give the word."
He swung reluctantly down, growling, yet with sufficient respect for my cocked musket to be fairly civil, and stepped up against the lowered barrel, his horse's rein in hand.
"Atlanta," he whispered.
My gun snapped back to a carry, my only thought an intense anxiety to have him off as quickly as possible.
"Pass officer on special service."
He paused, puffing at his cigar.
"What's the best way to the house, sentry?" he asked with apparent carelessness, "along the fence there?"
"The road runs this side, you can't miss it," I replied civilly enough, but stepping back so as to increase our distance.
"Ah, yes--thanks."
He flipped the ash from his cigar, drawing at the stub so fiercely the red glow reflected directly into my eyes. He stared a moment, then turned, and thrust a foot into the stirrup.
"I've seen you somewhere before, my man."
"I was at the gate when you came through just before dark."
"Oh, yes," he replied, apparently satisfied, and swung up lightly into the saddle. "So you recognize me, then?"
"Captain Le Gaire, is it not? The sergeant said so."
He believed he had me completely deceived, that I entertained no suspicion he had also recognized me, and that therefore he could play me a sharp trick. I was not sure, for the man acted his part rarely well, only that I knew it was not in Le Gaire's nature to be so excessively polite. What was his game, I wondered, gripping my musket with both hands, my eyes following his every motion. Would he venture an attack alone, or ride on and report me to the guard? I had little enough time in which to speculate. He gathered up the reins in one hand, his horse cavorting; he had probably found somewhere a fresh mount. I stepped aside, but the animal still faced me, and with high-flung head partially concealed his rider. Suddenly the latter dug in his spurs, and the beast leaped straight at me, front hoofs pawing the air. I escaped as by a hair's breadth, one iron shoe fairly grazing my shoulder, but, with the same movement, I swung the clubbed musket. He had no time to dodge; there was a thud as it struck, a smothered cry, and the saddle was empty, a revolver flipping into the air, as the man went plunging over. I sprang to the horse's bit, the frightened animal dragging me nearly to the fence before I conquered him. But I dare not let go--once free he would join the troop horses, his riderless saddle sure to alarm the guards. With lacerated hands, and shirt torn into shreds, I held on, jerked and bruised by the mad struggle, until the fellow stood trembling. Using the bridle rein for a halter strap I tied him to the fence, and, sore all over and breathing hard from exertion, went back to discover what had become of Le Gaire.
The excitement of encounter had, for the instant, banished all recollection of the young woman hidden beneath the shadow of the grape arbor. My entire mind had concentrated on the fight, which, even now, might not be ended. I knew I had struck the fellow hard with the full, wide swing of the musket stock; I had both felt and heard the blow, and the impact had hurled him clear from the horse. Beyond doubt he was helpless, badly hurt perhaps, and there suddenly came to me a fear lest I had actually killed him. I had struck fiercely, impelled by the instinct to save myself, but I had had no desire to take the man's life. I had no reason to like Le Gaire; I believed him a bully, a disagreeable, boasting cur, but he was something to Willifred Hardy, and I could not afford to have his blood on my hands. I thought of her then, casting a swift glance back toward the shadows beyond the fence, and then went straight toward where the fellow lay, afraid to learn the truth, yet even more intensely afraid to again meet her without knowing. He had evidently fallen upon his shoulder, and still lay in a huddled heap. I had to straighten out his form before I was able to decide whether he was living or dead. I bent down, undoing his jacket, and placed my ear to his heart. It beat plainly enough, almost regularly--the man was alive; I doubted if he were even seriously injured. This discovery was such a relief that I muttered a "Thank God," and began rubbing his chest as though in effort to restore the fellow to consciousness. Then my senses came back, my realization of the situation. Let Le Gaire lie where he was; others would take care of him soon enough. I must get away; I could use his horse, pretend to be him, if necessary, and before daylight be safely across the river. I sought along the ground until I found the dropped revolver, thrust it into my belt, and ran over to where the horse was tied.
I had loosened the rein, my hand on the pommel, when the thought came that I must tell her first before I rode away. Even though the delay was a risk to us both, yet she must understand the truth, be informed of Le Gaire's condition, and why I had attacked him. At the instant this last seemed more important than all else. It would require but a moment, and then I could go, confident the man's injury would be no additional barrier between us, would never cause her to suspect that I had attacked him wantonly, actuated by personal motives. He might try to make her think so, if he were the kind I believed, his mind already suspicious of her interest in me. Her very sympathy for his wounds would make her easily influenced; this natural sympathy must not be inflamed by doubt of my motives and the thought that I had deliberately sought the man's life. It may have been two rods between the fence and the grape arbor, and I called to her softly.
She came toward me swiftly, slipping through the night like a shadow, instantly recognizing my voice.
"You--you are not hurt, Lieutenant Galesworth?" she asked, her voice trembling.
"No; merely bruised, and shaken up--the horse did that."
"Oh; was it you who had that struggle with the horse? I--I thought he would surely kill the man."
"The poor fellow was frightened," and I stroked his neck softly, "and certainly gave me a hard tussle. But that's all over now. I want to explain what has happened before I leave."
"Yes."
"I owe you that, do I not, wearing your colors?"
I could not perceive the expression of her face, but the tone of her voice was not altogether encouraging.
"They were but expressive of my best wishes; of course I wished you to succeed."
"I wonder--will you continue your good wishes after hearing my story?"
"What do you mean? You have not killed any one?"
"No; but I have hurt one who seems to have some claim upon you."
She drew in her breath quickly, clasping her hands.
"Who?--tell me! Can you mean Captain Le Gaire?"
"I regret to say 'yes'; this was his horse. Now don't blame me until you hear the whole story. I will tell it all in very few words, and then go."
"But--but you are sure he is not seriously hurt?"
"He may have a rib or collar-bone broken, and is still unconscious; nothing that will keep him out of mischief long. I wanted to tell you all about the affair myself--I don't trust Le Gaire."
"Why say that to me?"
"Because I must. If I understand the man the very first thing he will do will be to poison your mind against me--"
"He? Why?"
"Miss Hardy," I said soberly, "what use is there for us to play at cross-purposes? You realize that Captain Le Gaire suspects that you have an interest in me, that you have helped in my escape. He doesn't like me any the better for that. Men will do strange things when they are in love--such men as Le Gaire. Do you suppose I intend permitting him to thus influence you against me, when I am where I cannot defend myself?"
"But he would never do that; I am sure, he never would."
"Possibly not, but I prefer you should have my version to compare with what he may say. We have met strangely, in a manner which could only happen in time of war, and one day and two nights of adventure together have already made us better acquainted than would a year of ordinary social intercourse. I value your good wishes, and feel more gratitude than words can express. I am not going away leaving you to think me unworthy. I will tell you this exactly as it occurred, and you are to believe me, no matter what is said later."
My earnestness made an impression and as I paused her lips parted.
"Yes--I am going to believe you."
"I felt sure you would. Now listen, for I must be away, and Le Gaire attended to."
I told it simply, clearly, making no attempt except to bring out the important facts, realizing that her own imagination would supply the details. She clung to the fence, our eyes meeting as I spoke swiftly, making no comment until I concluded.
"Could I have done otherwise?"
"No; you are not to be blamed, but I am so sorry it happened to be Captain Le Gaire."
"You mean because--"
"He has been much to me," she interrupted, "perhaps still is, although--" she paused suddenly, catching her breath,--"yet this can make no difference."
"But it does."
She remained silent, and, I thought, drew slightly back.
"You do not wonder?" I asked, unable to restrain myself, "you do not ask why? May I not tell you?"
"I prefer you should not," very quietly. "I am not foolish enough to pretend that I do not understand. We are going to part now, and you will forget."
"Is it then so easy for you?"
"I need not confess, only I see how utterly foolish all this is. The conditions bringing us together in a few hours of intimacy have been romantic, and, perhaps, it is not strange that you should feel an interest in me. I--I hope you do, for I shall certainly always feel most kindly toward you, Lieutenant Galesworth. We are going to part as friends, are we not? You will remember me as a little Rebel who served you once, even against her conscience, and I will continue to think of you as a brave soldier and courteous gentleman. Isn't that worth while? Isn't it even better than dreaming an impossible dream?"
"But why impossible?"
"Surely you know."
"You mean Le Gaire?"
"I mean everything. Captain Le Gaire may be partially responsible, but there is much besides. Need we discuss this further?"
I should have hesitated, but I simply could not consent to be dismissed thus completely. Through the obscuring mist of the night I saw her face dimly, and it fascinated me. Behind the quiet decision of her voice there was a tremulousness which yielded courage. I could not part with her like this.
"Billie," I said, and she started at the familiarity of the name, "I am going to risk even your good opinion rather than leave in doubt. Don't treat me like a boy." Her hand was upon the fence, and I placed both of my own upon it. "Be honest with me. Forget the uniform, this sectional war, and let us simply be man and woman--can you not?"
She did not answer, her hand yet held in mine, so startled by my sudden outburst as to be helpless.
"I must know," I went on heedlessly, the very touch of her flesh making me reckless. Our position, the danger of the night, all vanished, and I saw only the whiteness of her face. Perhaps, had I been able to read her eyes, their expression might have served to curb my tongue, but nothing else could have held me silent. "I am going away, going into the lines of a hostile army; I may not reach there alive, and, if I do, I may fall in the first battle. I must tell you the truth first--I must. Don't call it foolish, for it is not. Dear, I may be a Yankee, but I am also a man, and I--"
"Oh, stop! please stop!" her fingers clasping me, her form closer. "I can not--I will not permit you to say this. I have no right. You have made me disloyal to my country; you shall not make me disloyal to all else. If I should listen I would have no self-respect left. For my sake be still, and go."
"But I know you are not indifferent; you cannot conceal the truth."
"Then be content, be satisfied, be generous."
"If you will only say one thing."
"What?"
"That I may come to you--after the war."
She stood a moment motionless, and then withdrew her hand.
"That would be equivalent to a hope which I cannot give," she returned soberly. "When the war ends I shall probably no longer be Willifred Hardy." My heart beat like a trip-hammer; I could hear it in the silence.
"The man yonder?"
She bent her head.
"You will not," my voice firm with swift conviction. "If that is all, I am not afraid. If you loved him would you be standing here even to say a word of farewell? Whatever pledge may be between you, on your part it is not love. You cannot deny this--not to me! Yes, and you are already beginning to know him. Remember, I have had to listen to some conversation between you--I know his style. Ah, yes, I will go, because I dare not keep you out here longer, but, if God lets me live, I am going to find you again. Yes, I am; don't doubt that, little girl. I could stand back for a real man, but not for Le Gaire; that's not in human nature. See, I have your ribbon yet, and am going to wear it."
"Without my permission?"
I reached out my arm and drew her gently against the fence barrier, so close I could look down into her eyes, gazing up into mine startled by the sudden movement.
"Lip permission, yes--I prefer to read consent elsewhere."
"And do you?"
"I shall believe I do. See, here is the ribbon; will you take it?"
"Of course not. Why should I care if you have that? It has no value to me. But I will not stay and talk longer. Let me go, Lieutenant! yes, you must. What shall I do to help--to help Gerald?"
"Go straight into the house, and report to the guard. You were walking in the garden for a breath of air, and overheard the struggle. They will find him. Good-bye, Billie."
I held out my hand, and she extended her own without a moment's hesitation.
"Good-bye," she said. "Shall I not wait here a few moments until you are across the road?"
I touched my lips to her fingers.
"What, with Gerald lying there!" happily. "Oh, Billie, are you so anxious as that for me to get safely away?"
"I--I am certainly not anxious to have you caught --not now. But you are almost impertinent; indeed you are. I cannot say a word you do not misinterpret. Please do not attempt to tease me; let us part friends."
The tone in which she said this meant far more than the mere words; I had ventured enough, and recognized the limitation to her patience. However strong her interest in me might already be, no acknowledgment was probable under present circumstances. I would but waste time, perhaps seriously injure my standing with her, were I to continue. The future must be left to work out its own miracle--to reveal her heart, and to prove the worthlessness of Le Gaire. For me to linger longer, holding her there in constant peril of discovery, would be simply madness.
I led the horse back, past where the disabled Confederate lay, pausing an instant to look down on the dim figure. He groaned, and turned partially over on one side, evidence that consciousness was returning. The man was not badly hurt, and I felt no deep regret at his condition. I could distinguish the narrow bridle path by my feet, and knew I would be less conspicuous out of the saddle. However, nothing opposed our progress, and we even succeeded in crossing the road without being observed. Here a long slope, rutted, and partially covered with low bushes, led directly down to the river, and we pushed through the tangle, keeping well hidden. Once on the bank of the stream all above was concealed from view, but I listened in vain for any sound indicative of pursuit. The night was mysteriously still, unbroken, even the air motionless. Obsessed now by the one controlling impulse to get away safely, I drove the horse into the water, and as he reached swimming depth, grasped a stirrup leather, and compelled him to strike out for the opposite shore. It was not a hard struggle, nor were we long at it, although the current was swift enough to bear us down a hundred feet, or more, before we struck bottom, wading out at the mouth of a small creek, the low banks offering some slight concealment. I looked back through the darkness, across the dim water, and up the shrouded hill on the opposite side. Lights were winking here and there like fire-flies. I stared at them, light-hearted, confident I had every advantage; then I patted the horse, and adjusted the stirrups.
"She waited until we were safe across, old fellow," I said, too pleased to remain still. "Now we'll ride for it."
He turned his head, and rubbed his nose along my arm. The next moment I was in the saddle, spurring him up the bank.
In this narrative of adventure it would but waste the reader's time to indulge in any extended description of military movements. The interest of my story centres around individuals rather than the great events of history, and I will touch these but briefly, so as to make the surrounding conditions sufficiently clear. It was noon the following day when I reached headquarters with my report, only to find that rumors of the combined movements of Johnston's and Beauregard's forces had already penetrated our lines. I could merely add details to the information previously received. The result was the immediate strengthening of our position to repel any possible attack. None occurred however, except desultory skirmishing. Later we learned the reason to be the failure of Chambers to appear, his march having been retarded by heavy rains.
At the end of this period of waiting our army was well prepared for action, the troops eager to test the strength of the enemy. Impatient of delay, and suspecting the probable cause of the Confederate quietness, we finally took the aggressive, determined to regain our former position south of the river. An. early morning attack won us the bridge and the town beyond, while heavy forces rushed the available fords, and after some severe fighting, obtained foothold on the opposite bank. Hastily throwing up intrenchments these advance troops succeeded in repulsing two charges before nightfall. This brought an end to hostilities. During the hours of darkness reinforcements were hurried across the stream. By dawn the opposing forces were about evenly mated, and every man in either line knew a battle was imminent.
In this emergency the need of every soldier was felt, and I was returned to my regiment for duty. We were the first to trot over the recaptured bridge, and through the deserted streets of the village. Impelled by a curiosity which could not be resisted I wheeled my horse and rode up the gravelled driveway to Judge Moran's door, but to my vigorous knocking there was no response. The shades were drawn at the windows, the house silent, and yet I felt convinced the old partisan was within, watching from some point of vantage. Yet if I believed this, the same silence and refusal to respond also served to convince me that Miss Hardy was no longer there. She was a vastly different type, and would exhibit interest even in the coming of the enemy. Ay! and she would have seen me, and not for one moment could I be made to believe that she would treat me with contempt.
I rode back slowly to rejoin the column of horsemen, glancing over my shoulder at the house, my mind busily occupied with the stirring events which had transpired there. She had gone with the Confederate troops, and had probably already been safely returned to her own home. Moran might have departed also, but more likely he remained to look after his property. I wondered who was her escort for the long ride--would it be Captain Le Gaire, sufficiently recovered from his injuries for this service, yet scarcely capable of active military duty? If so, he was with her still, a guest at "The Gables," sufficiently an invalid to be interesting, and to require attention, but with tongue in good repair. I was glad I had told my story first; the gentleman would experience some difficulty in changing Miss Willifred's opinion of the affair.
The gray dust cloud hung about us, almost obscuring the files of plodding troopers; to right and left the flankers showed dark against the green of the fields, and far in front an occasional carbine barked as some suspicious scout fired at a skulking figure. Once this would have been full of interest, but now it was mere routine, the sturdy veterans of the Ninth riding soberly forward, choked with dust, their hats drawn low over their eyes, wearied by a long night in the saddle. I glanced proudly down those ranks of fighting men, glad to be with them once again, but my thought drifted back to Billie, for this was the road we had travelled together. It seemed a long while ago, and much might happen before we should meet again, if ever we did. I might be killed in battle, or Le Gaire might insist upon an immediate marriage. This last was what I most feared, for I believed that if this could only be sufficiently delayed, she would learn to know the man better, and refuse to be sacrificed. The engagement rather mystified me, for it was clear enough no blind love on her part was responsible for its existence; at least she had begun to perceive his shallowness, and resented his attempt at bullying. I even began to believe that some one else had now come into her life, whose memory would serve to increase the feeling of dissatisfaction. Le Gaire was not the kind that wears well--he could not improve upon acquaintance; and, while I was no connoisseur of women, yet I could not persuade myself that her nature was patient enough not to revolt against his pretensions. I was no egotist, no lady-killer, but I recognized now that I loved this girl, and had read in her eyes the message of hope. Mine was, at least, a fighting chance, and fighting was my trade. I liked it better so, finding the lady more alluring because of the barrier between us, the zest of combat quickening my desire. Already I began to plan meeting her again, now that the campaign had turned our faces southward. Back beyond those wooded hills some freak of fate must lead me right, some swirl of fortune afford me opportunity. I was of the school of Hope, and Love yielded courage.
I looked back down the long hill, so silent and deserted that gray morning when we were driving together, but now dark with the solid masses of marching troops. It was a stirring scene to soldier eyes, knowing these men were pressing sternly on to battle. They seemed like a confused, disorganized mob, filling the narrow road, and streaming out through the fields; yet I could read the meaning of each detached movement, as cavalry, artillery, infantry, staff and wagon trains, met and separated, swinging into assigned positions, or making swift detour. Hoarse voices shouted; bugles pealed; there was the rumble of wheels, the pounding of hoofs, the tramp of feet, and over all the cloud of dust, through which the sun shone redly. The intense vividness of the picture gave me a new memory of war. Suddenly a battery of artillery, out of sight on the distant crest, opened fire, the shrieking shells plunging down into the ploughed field at our left, and casting the soft dirt high in air. Our advance spread wide into skirmish line, the black dots representing men flitting up the steep side of the hill, white spirals of smoke evidencing their musket fire. Behind them was a grim mass of infantry, silent and ominous, swinging forward like a huge snake. The men of the Ninth straightened up, their eyes glowing, but it was soon over with--the snake uncoiled, flinging a tail gleaming with steel over the ridge, and the troopers sank back wearily into their saddles.
As I turned again to glance over my shoulder I noticed a man riding at the right of the second file. His face was new to me, and so peculiar was it that I continued to stare, unable to determine whether the fellow was white or colored. He was in private's uniform, but carried no arms, and for head covering, instead of the hat worn by the Ninth, had an infantry cap perched jauntily on his curly black hair. But his face was clear, and his cheeks rosy, and he sat straight as an arrow in the saddle. I drew back my horse and ranged up beside him, inspired by curiosity. The eyes turned toward me undoubtedly betrayed negro blood.
"I do not remember seeing you before," I said, wiping the dust from my lips. "Are you a new recruit?"
"I'se Col'nel Cochran's man," he answered, without salute, but with the accent of education oddly mixed with dialect.
"Oh, I see--what has become of Sam?"
"He done took sick, an' de col'nel wanted a man right away, so he picked me."
"Did you belong around here?"
"Well, no, not exactly belong round yere, but I'se travelled dese parts some considerable. I was born down in Louisiana, sah."
"Not so very long ago either," I ventured, feeling a peculiar interest in the fellow. "Were you a slave?"
His rather thin lips closed over his white teeth, and his fingers gripped the saddle pommel.
"Yes,"--the word snapped out. "I'se nineteen, sah, an' my mother was a slave. I reckon my father was white 'nough, but that don't count fo' much--I'se a nigger just de same. Dat's bad 'nough, let me tell yo', but it's worse to be yo' own father's nigger."
I had nothing to say to this outburst, feeling that back of it were facts into which I had no right to probe, and we rode along quietly. Then he spoke, glancing aside at me:
"Dey won't be no 'portant fightin' long yere, sah, not fo' 'bout ten miles."
"How do you figure that out?"
"'Cause de lay ob de groun' ain't right, fo' one thing, an' 'cause all de Confed intrenchments was back yander."
"Yonder--where?"
"In behind de log church at de Three Corners--done know dat country mighty well."
I turned and faced him, instantly suspicious.
"Now see here; you do know that country, and a bit too well for a man riding in the ranks. Where did you come from? Were you in the Confederate service? Let's have this straight."
"Suah," with frankness. "I done tol' de col'nel all how it was. I was wid my Massa from Louisiana, an' he was a captain, sah! 'Bout two weeks ago he lef' me down yander on de pike wid orders fo' to stay dere till he done come back. But it wa'n't no job fo' me, sah, an' so I skipped out de first night, an' joined up wid de Yanks. I reckon I knows 'bout whar I belongs in dis yere fightin', an' I ain't nobody's slave no mor'."
The lad's earnestness impressed me, and beneath his words was evident a deep smouldering resentment, not so much against slavery as against the individual who had owned him.
"What is your name, my boy?"
"Charles Le Gaire, sah."
The family name was an uncommon one, and, coupled as it was with "Louisiana," and the title "Captain," could refer only to Gerald Le Gaire. I wanted to question, the lad, but refrained, spurring my horse ahead so as to remove the temptation. Even the little already said plainly revealed that he resented bitterly his position in life, and determined to remain no longer in slavery to his own father. His father! That would be Le Gaire! The thought added fuel to the flame of dislike which I already cherished against the man. Of course legally this former relationship between master and slave meant nothing; it would be considered no bar to legitimate marriage; perhaps to one brought up in the environment of slavery it would possess no moral turpitude even, yet to me it seemed a foul, disgraceful thing. Whether it would so appear to Miss Willifred I could not even conjecture; she was of the South, with, all the prejudice and peculiarity of thought characteristic of her section. Pure-hearted, womanly, as I believed her to be, this earlier alliance still might not seem to her particularly reprehensible. Certainly it was not my part to bring it to her attention, or to utilize my knowledge of the situation to advance my cause, or injure Le Gaire. Nor would I question the ex-slave further; I already knew enough, too much possibly, although curiosity was not dormant, and I wondered what had become of the mother, and from what special cause had arisen the intense hatred in the heart of the son.
We rode steadily forward all day, under fire twice, and once charging a battery. All that opposed our advance however was a thin fringe of troops, intent merely upon causing delay, and making a brief stand, only to fall back promptly as soon as we flung forward any considerable body of men. By night-fall we had attained a position well within the bend of the river, the centre and left wing had achieved a crossing, and our entire line had closed up so as to display a solid front. The Ninth bivouacked in the hills, our rest undisturbed, except for the occasional firing of the pickets. With dawn we were under arms, feeling our way forward, and, an hour later, the two armies were face to face. Nearly evenly mated, fighting across a rough country, neither side could claim victory at the end of the day. While we on the right forced our line forward for nearly five miles, leaving behind us a carpet of dead, the left and centre met with such desperate resistance as to barely retain their earlier position. It required an hour of night fighting to close up the gap, and we slept on our arms, expecting an early morning assault. Instead of attempting this the enemy fell back to their second line of intrenchments, and, after waiting a day to determine their movements and strengthen our own line, we again advanced, feeling our way slowly in, but finally meeting with a resistance which compelled a halt.
The details of this battle belong to history, not to these pages. The Ninth bore no conspicuous part, hovering on the extreme right flank, engaged in continuous skirmishing, and scouting along miles of front. The morning of the third day found the armies fronting each other, defiant yet equally afraid to join battle, both commanders seeking for some point of strategy which would yield advantage--we of the North fearful of advancing against intrenchments, and those of the South not daring to come forth into the open. For the moment it was a truce between us--the truce of two exhausted bull-dogs, lying face to face with gleaming teeth, ready to spring at the first opening.
We of the Ninth were at the edge of an opening in the woods, with low hills on either hand, our pickets within easy musket-shot of the gray-clad videttes beyond the fringe of trees. Knowing our own success we could not comprehend this inaction, or the desperate fighting which held back the troops to the east, and we were impatient to go in. I was lying on my back in the shelter of a slight hollow, wondering at the surrounding stillness, wishing for anything to occur which would give action, when the major rode up, accompanied by another officer in an artillery uniform. I was on my feet in an instant saluting.
"Lieutenant Galesworth, this is Captain Kent, an aide on General Sheridan's staff. He desires you to accompany him to headquarters."
My heart bounding with anticipation, within five minutes I was riding beside him, back to the river road, and along the rear of our extended line. He was a pleasant, genial fellow, but knew nothing of why I had been summoned, his orders being simply to bring me at once. Two hours of hard riding, and we came to a double log cabin, with a squad of horsemen in front, and a considerable infantry guard near by. A sentry paced back and forth in front of the steps, and several officers were sitting on the porch. Dismounting, my companion handed the reins of both horses to a trooper, and led the way in. A word to the sentinel, and we faced the group above. One, a sharp-featured man, with very dark complexion, rose to his feet.
"What is it, Kent?"
"This is Lieutenant Galesworth, of the Ninth Illinois Cavalry. The general will wish to see him at once."
The dark-featured man glanced at me, and turned back into the house, and Kent introduced me to the others, none of whom I recognized. This was not Sheridan's staff, but before I could question any of them, the messenger returned, and motioned for me to follow. It was a large room, low-ceilinged, with three windows, the walls of bare logs whitewashed, the floor freshly swept, the only furniture a table and a few chairs. But two men were present, although a sentinel stood motionless at the door,--a broad-shouldered colonel of engineers, with gray moustache and wearing glasses, sitting at a table littered with papers, and a short stocky man, attired in a simple blue blouse, with no insignia of rank visible, his back toward me, gazing out of a window. I took a single step within, and halted. The short man wheeled about at the slight sound, his eyes on my face; I recognized instantly the closely trimmed beard, the inevitable cigar between the lips, and, with a leap of the heart, my hand rose to the salute.
"Lieutenant Galesworth?"
"Yes, General."
"Very well; you may retire, Colonel Trout, and, sentry, close the door."
His keen gray eyes scrutinized my face, betraying no emotion, but he advanced closer, one hand upon the table.
"General Sheridan informs me he has found you a valuable scout, always ready for any service, however dangerous."
"I have endeavored to carry out my orders, General," I answered quietly.
"So I am told," in the same even voice. "The army is full of good men, brave men, but not all possess sufficient intelligence and willingness to carry out an independent enterprise. Just now I require such a man, and Sheridan recommends you. How old are you?"
I answered, and barely waiting the sound of my voice, he went on:
"You have scouted over this country?"
"I have, sir."
"How far to the south?"
"About five miles beyond the Three Corners."
"Not far enough, is it, Parker?" turning to the officer at the table.
"The house is below," was the response, "but perhaps I had better explain the entire matter to Lieutenant Galesworth, and let him decide for himself whether he cares to make the attempt."
The general nodded approval, and walked back to the window, his hands clasped behind his back. Parker spread out a map.
"Just step over here, Lieutenant. This is our present position, represented by the irregular blue line; those red squares show the enemy's forces as far as we understand them. The crosses represent batteries, and the important intrenchments are shown by the double lines. Of course this is imperfect, largely drawn from the reports of scouts. Their line is slightly shorter than our own, our right overlapping, but they have a stronger reserve force protecting the centre. Now notice the situation here," and he traced it with his pencil. "Your regiment is practically to the rear of their main line of defence, but the nature of the ground renders them safe. There is a, deep ravine here, trending to the southeast, and easily defended. Now note, ten miles, almost directly south of Three Corners, on the open pike, the first building on the right-hand side beyond a log church, stands an old plantation house. It is a large building, painted white, in the midst of a grove of trees, and in the rear is a commodious stable and a dozen negro cabins. The map shows this house to be somewhat to the right of the Confederate centre, and about five miles to the rear of their first line."
I bent over, intent on the map, endeavoring to fix each point clearly in my mind. Parker paused in his speech, and the general turned about, his eyes fastened upon us.
"I understand," I said finally.
"Very well. Deserters informed us last night that Johnston had taken this house for his headquarters. This morning one of our most reliable scouts confirms the report, and says the place can be easily approached by a small party using the ravine for concealment, coming in past the negro cabins at the rear."
My eyes brightened, as I straightened up, instantly comprehending the plan.
"What guard have they?"
"A few sentinels at the house, and a squad of cavalry in the stable. Naturally they feel perfectly safe so far to the rear of their own lines. It is the very audacity of such an attempt which makes success possible."
The general stepped forward.
"Don't take this as an order, Lieutenant," he said bluntly. "It will mean a desperate risk, and if you go, you must comprehend thoroughly the peril involved. You were recommended as the best man to lead such a party, but we supposed you already knew that country."
"I can place my hand on a man who does know every inch of it," I replied, my mind clear, and my decision reached. "I thank you for the privilege."
"Good; when?"
"To-night, of course; there is ample time to prepare."
"How many men will you require?"
I hesitated, but for barely an instant.
"Not to exceed ten, General--a small party will accomplish as much as a larger one, and be less liable to attract attention. All I need will volunteer from my own company."
Apparently his own thought coincided with mine, for he merely looked at me a moment with those searching gray eyes, and then turned to the map, beckoning me to join him.
"Familiarize yourself with every detail of the topography of the region," he said, his finger on the paper. "Colonel Parker will explain anything you may need to know." He straightened up, and extended his hand, the cigar still crushed between his teeth. "I believe you are the right stuff, Lieutenant; young enough to be reckless, old enough to know the value of patience. Are you married?"
I shook my head, with a smile, yet conscious my cheeks were flushed.
"Then I am going to say to you--go, and do the best you can. Parker will give you any other instructions you desire. Good-bye, my lad, and good luck."
He turned and left the room, my eyes following him until the door closed.