IT was well into the third day when we came down into the fertile valley of the Cowskin. It had proven an uneventful ride thus far, for we had met with no adventures and had observed little worthy of consideration from a military standpoint. We had travelled slowly, carefully watchful of our horses, not only because we felt they might be greatly needed farther on, but owing to the impoverished and almost deserted country through which we rode. Abandoned houses, many of them devastated by fire, deserted negro quarters, and uncultivated fields greeted our eyes constantly, and told us we were in the track of armies. Forage there was absolutely none, while even the pasture-land gave small return. The men had done well, however, and were stiffening nicely into field soldiers, while my Teutonic second in command had sufficiently recovered from his wounds to sit his saddle with some elephantine grace. He early proved himself a good soldier, and I learned he had seen considerable active service in Europe.
While constantly observant of those points regarding which I had been despatched, my one overmastering thought during all those hours was the possibility of again meeting with Edith Brennan and proving of some assistance to her. Her greeting of me in the Federal hospital had been so sweetly gracious, so marked with tender sympathy, while the memory of her words, and even more of the look which accompanied them, had so remained with me in encouragement that I longed to encounter her again. God knows what I hoped for, for I knew well it must all inevitably end in despair, yet like the moth I must continue to singe my wings until the flame devoured me. Now, however, as we actually drew near to where I supposed she might be, I felt my earlier courage fast deserting me. Nor was I furnished with even the slightest excuse for pressing on; my orders did not positively compel me to proceed, and nothing appeared along the way to lead me to suppose that harm of any kind threatened that peaceful valley. Everything meeting my eyes evidenced that here, at least, war with its attendant horrors had not come. Totally without the beaten track of those great armies which had battled so fiercely for the Shenandoah, it had been traversed only by a few scouting and foraging parties, and so short had been their stay that even the rail fences remained undisturbed to guard the fields, and nowhere did I note outward signs of devastation. It was Virginia as I recalled it in those old days of peace and plenty, before civil strife had sown the land with dead.
What possible excuse, then, had I for going there? In my own heart I knew I had none, or one so poor and selfish I scarcely durst whisper it even to myself; yet I rode steadily on. Impelled by my own weakness, or drawn irresistibly by fate,—whichever the real cause I know not,—I would at least look upon those walls that had once sheltered her, would learn if possible if she was yet there. Then—well, in the bondage of my passion I hoped for what might happen, as every lover does.
It must have been two o'clock; we had baited our horses, I remember, an hour previous; and the Sergeant had enjoyed his noonday siesta beneath the shade of a great bush bearing purple blossoms. The road we had been travelling since early morning wound in and out among great trees, and crossed and recrossed the little stream called the Cowskin until I almost thought we had lost our way. We met with no one in all the long day's riding, not even a stray negro, and indeed it was some hours since we had passed a house of any kind. Leaving the brook behind us we toiled slowly up a long hill, and at the top Bungay, riding beside me, pointed to the westward.
“Cap,” he said, “thar is ther Minor place.”
The very sight of it in the distance was a thrill—a great white house placed well back from the road and almost hidden from sight by fine, large trees; an old-fashioned, big-roomed house it looked to be, built after the colonial type, a wide veranda upon three sides, with fluted columns to support the overhanging roof.
“Hain't no signs es fer es I kin see of any trouble havin' 'curred thar,” Jed said slowly, his shrewd gray eyes roaming over the peaceful scene. “Somebody ter hum tew, fer ther chimley is a smokin'.”
Of course, now I was there, the only sensible thing for me to do would have been to ride openly to the front door, and thus learn all I desired. But what man who loves, who is continually swayed by hopes and fears, by strength and weakness, ever does the sensible thing? I had certainly intended doing so at the start, but now my nerve failed me. She was the wife of another. I could not confess I had ventured to come to her in love, nor could I look into those clear, honest, questioning eyes and lie.
“Halt!” I ordered. “Sergeant!”
“I am here, Captain.”
“Take your men down into that hollow yonder, and remain there until I return. Better post a sentry on the hill here.”
“It vill be done, Captain.”
“I shall not, probably, be absent more than an hour, so don't permit the men to stray.”
“Dot is it, Captain. I vill be mit dem all over.”
I rode down alone into the thick woods at the foot of the hill, and dismounting, tied my horse to a sapling. Then on foot I struck across the fields, my intention being to come in by way of the negro quarters at the rear, in hope of meeting some one from whom I might inquire relative to the great house and its inmates.
It was a slight upward trend of land I had to traverse, and although the house was a most sightly object and stood upon the very summit of the elevation, yet so surrounded was it with trees, both fruit and ornamental, I was enabled to make but little of its situation until I approached the out-buildings. I met with no one, nor could I perceive any negroes about the slave quarters. Yet the place did not bear the appearance of desertion. There were horses in the stable, a cat was curled up on one of the cabin doorsteps, and smoke continued to pour in a dull yellow cloud from the kitchen chimney. Altogether there was much in the situation to puzzle over, and I no longer regretted that I had exercised some caution in my approach.
The orchard, with the remains of a garden, lay between the house and the stable, protected by a low fence of whitened pickets. So far as I could observe, it contained no occupant, and I pushed open the gate and started down a narrow cinder-path which led between two rows of low bushes. To right of me was an extensive grape-arbor completely covered with vines, the fresh green leaves forming a delightful contrast to the deep blue sky beyond. As I came opposite an opening leading into this arbor I suddenly caught the flutter of drapery and stopped instantly, my heart throbbing like a frightened girl's. It was quite dark beneath the vine shadow, and I could make out no more than that a woman stood there; her back toward me, busied at some task. Possibly she felt my presence, for all at once she glanced around, and upon perceiving me gave vent to a quick exclamation of terror.
“Pardon me,” I said hastily, and removing my hat, “but you have nothing to fear.”
There was a moment's hesitancy on her part, and I knew I was being scrutinized by a pair of bright eyes.
“Surely,” said a familiar voice, “I cannot be mistaken—you are Captain Wayne.”
Before I could even answer she stepped forth from her partial concealment and advanced toward me with cordially extended hands. It was Celia Minor.
“Well, of all men!” she cried gayly, her dark eyes smiling a most kindly welcome. “And Edith and I were speaking about you only yesterday. That is, I was, for really I do not recall now that Edith made any remark apropos of the subject. You have no idea, Captain Wayne, what a hero I have made you out to be. It would make you positively vain if I should confess; why, Arthur has actually become so jealous that he has almost forbidden me even to mention your name in his presence. So when I want to talk about you I am compelled to go to Edith. She hasn't power to stop me, you know, but I'm sure I must bore her awfully. And then to think that when you stood there just now, and I saw your gray uniform, I actually thought the guerillas had come. My heart beats so now I can hardly talk. But how pale and haggard you look—is it that horrible wound which troubles you still?”
“I have been discharged from the hospital only a short time,” I answered, as she paused to take breath. “Indeed, this is my first military service for several months, yet I am feeling quite strong again. Mrs. Brennan, then, is still with you?”
“Oh, yes; we have been here all winter long. It has been so dull, for really nothing has happened, and the valley is quite devoid of inhabitants—even the negroes have gone hunting freedom. But Major Brennan and Arthur are to be here this afternoon, and sometime to-night we are all of us going away together. How glad I am you arrived before we left! I wouldn't have missed meeting you for worlds. Do you know, it is so hard for me not to call you Colonel Curran, but Edith always insists on my saying Captain Wayne, so that it comes more natural now. Really, sometimes I actually believe she has corrected me a dozen times a day, for you know we have so little to talk about here that we are always drifting back to what occurred to us while we were with the army. I often wonder Edith can be contented here at all, but she really seems to regret that we must leave. I'm sure I don't, even if I was born here; it's an awful poky old place.”
I gave heed to but little of her good-humored chatter after the first sentence. Eager as I was to meet Brennan, I had no desire that we should meet in the presence of his wife. Better, far better, would it be for me to leave at once and without even seeing her.
“You say you are about to depart?” I asked, determined to learn all possible regarding their plans. “Do you go North?”
“Yes, to Baltimore and Washington. The guerillas are becoming so desperate in this neighborhood that we are actually afraid to remain here longer. They attacked the Cuyler plantation, only ten miles from here, two weeks ago, killed old Mr. Cuyler, turned his wife out partially dressed in the middle of the night, looted the house of everything it contained of value, and then set it on fire. You see we have no men folks here, except two negroes, who have clung to us because they were so aged they were afraid to leave—just mamma, Edith, my old nurse, and myself. It seems so lonely, and Major Brennan and Arthur both insist it is no longer safe. So they are coming with a cavalry escort to take us all North. I am sure we shall have a splendid time.”
“You have experienced no trouble, then, thus far?”
“Oh, none at all—we have not even been bothered by scouting parties. Oh, I do not mean you; you are no bother. But yesterday there was a horrible man here; he came to the kitchen door, and asked all sorts of impudent questions. Mrs. Bungay actually had to threaten him with a gun before he would leave.”
“Is Maria Bungay here, then?”
“Why, certainly; do you know her? Isn't she a delightful old dear,—just as good as a man?”
“Her husband is with my party.”
“Jed—really? Why, do you know, Maria has got it into her head that he had run away from her. I should so love to witness their meeting; it would be most interesting. But you must come into the house, Captain Wayne; Edith will be overjoyed to see you again, although you know she is never demonstrative, as I am. It must be awfully nice to be always cool and calm, don't you think?”
Determined that I would not be tempted, I yet hesitated, and my vivacious companion took everything for granted at once.
“Oh, before we go in, won't you do me a favor?” she asked. “But of course you will. I was trying to tie this grapevine into place when you surprised me, but I could not hold on with one hand and tie with the other. See what I mean?” And placing one slender foot upon a slat of the trellis she lifted herself up until she could barely reach the refractory branch. “Now,” she said, smiling down upon me, “please just hold me here for a moment until I secure this end.”
My hand was scarcely upon her in support when the slender slat snapped beneath her weight. As she fell I caught her with both arms. For a moment she lay, panting and startled, on my breast; then, as with a little laugh she disengaged herself from my embrace, we stood there hand in hand and face to face with Edith Brennan.
Shall I ever forget the look within her eyes? How plainly I saw it, although she stood half hidden beneath the shadow of the vines. Amazement, incredulity, scorn were expressed there, yet even as I marked them all became merged into proud unconsciousness. She would have turned away without a word, but my companion stopped her.
“Edith,” she cried eagerly, “do you not see? This is Captain Wayne.”
She turned toward me and slightly inclined her head.
“I recognized Captain Wayne,” was her calm answer, “and regret greatly having intruded upon him. It was entirely unintentional, and I have no desire to remain.”
I could not have spoken at that moment to save my life. It fairly stunned me to realize the construction she so plainly placed upon the scene just enacted. Not so the girl at my side. Her cheeks flushed with indignation, and her audacity gave her speech which made matters even worse than before.
“You are exceedingly free with your criticisms, Edith,” she exclaimed sharply, as the latter turned her back upon us. “Perhaps it would be as well for you first to ascertain the truth.”
“You wholly mistake,” was the calm reply. “I have not presumed to criticise. Why should I? It is not a matter which interests me in the least. I presume you have no further objection to my returning to the house?”
She did not so much as deign to look again at either of us, but as she moved slowly out of sight Miss Minor turned and looked into my face with questioning eyes. What she may have read there I know not, but she sank back upon a bench and burst into a merry peal of laughter.
“Isn't it perfectly ridiculous!” she cried, as soon as she was able to speak. “Only I do hope she won't tell Arthur.”
THE girl's light burst of laughter aroused me thoroughly to a sense of our situation. “You seem to derive much amusement from a condition of affairs almost intolerable to me,” I said bitterly. “I have always valued most highly the friendship of Mrs. Brennan, but this unfortunate occurrence will doubtless end it.”
She glanced up at me, her long lashes wet, but her dark eyes sparkling with mischief.
“Oh, she won't care so far as you are concerned,” she exclaimed indifferently. “But I suppose she will think I am perfectly horrid. Well, I don't care if she does; she might have waited and learned the truth first. Wasn't her face a study? And how shall I ever explain to Arthur so that he will understand? I'm sure I have got the worst of it. Oh, Captain Wayne, is my hair all ruffled up? I know I look like a fright. You must come in now, and we will explain to Mrs. Brennan the whole matter. She cannot help believing us both, while I know she would be so cold and proud with me alone.”
I shook my head decisively. Perhaps it was better ended so; at least I possessed no courage just then to face her indignation. She might but deem we had concocted our explanation, and would very likely receive it with all the scorn she felt it deserved. Besides, it was clear there was nothing I could do to aid them. I should be now merely an unwelcome intruder. An escort was to be there shortly to convoy them northward, and for me to be found in their company by Brennan would only inflame him and add greatly to the embarrassment of his wife's position. Much as I might long for immediate vindication in her sight, the plain duty of true love was to depart at once, and permit time to straighten out the tangle.
“You must pardon me,” I hastened to say, standing hat in hand before her, “but it would not be best for me to intrude upon Mrs. Brennan after her late reception. I merely halted here in order to assure myself of your presence and safety. My men are even now waiting for me a few hundred yards away.”
“But I wish you to meet Arthur.”
“Oh, I think not, Miss Minor. I feel warm friendship for Lieutenant Caton, but we wear different uniforms, serve under different flags, and a meeting here, both with armed forces behind us, would naturally have to be a hostile one. However the Lieutenant and I might consent to a temporary truce, his superior officer, Major Brennan, would not likely prove of the same mind.”
“Then you really must go?”
“Unless you specially desire to witness a cavalry skirmish in your front dooryard, I certainly consider it best,” and I held out my hand. “Surely we part as friends, and I may hope that you will intercede in my behalf with Mrs. Brennan?”
She rose up impulsively.
“How ridiculous; how supremely ridiculous! Why, of course I will, though I don't suppose Edith really cares very much, but she believed it would be highly proper to be shocked. I don't think she likes you so very well anyway, Captain Wayne, for she never will talk about you.”
With these cheering words ringing in my ears, and feeling thoroughly defeated in every cherished hope, I strode savagely down the long hill and mounted my horse. How roughly fortune had buffeted me, to be sure, and how extremely small the inspiration left. Well, perhaps I deserved it for ever permitting myself to love one whom I knew to be the wife of another. Doubtless she had seized upon this slight pretext to be rid of me, and was already rejoicing over its easy accomplishment.
In my agitation I forgot entirely the presence of Maria Bungay at the house, and ordering my men into saddle prepared for departure without giving a thought to the little fellow and his domestic troubles. I chose the road leading toward the northwest, for although I had not asked the question I conceived it highly probable that Brennan and his party would ride from the Federal cavalry quarters at Colter's Church, and I had no desire to meet them. They were upon an errand of mercy of far greater importance than my revenge.
As we swung along through the heavily timbered land fringing our road, Bungay pressed his mule into a trot and finally succeeded in ranging up at my side. Even in my disturbed mental condition I was amused at his unique style of riding, although I would not wound him by laughing.
“I say, Cap,” he said, jerking the words out to the mule's hard trot, and grasping his saddle pommel desperately, “I sorter reckon as how ther'll be some fun back thar afore long, 'less all signs fail.”
“Why?” I stared at him, now thoroughly aroused to the thought that he had important news to communicate.
“Wal,” he explained slowly, “whin ye wint off, I sorter tuk a notion ter look 'bout a bit. Used ter be an ol' stompin' ground o' mine. So Dutchy an' me clumb thet big hill back o' whar we halted, an' by gum, down thar in ther gully on t' other side thar's a durned big camp o' fellers.”
I reined up short, and with uplifted hand signalled the men behind to halt.
“Why didn't you tell me this before?” I questioned sternly. “How many were there? and what did they look like?”
He scratched the back of his head thoughtfully, and answered with careful deliberation. “Durn it, I didn't jine ye till after ye'd started, an' I reckon as how it took me all o' tew mile ter git this yere blame muel up ter whar I cud talk. Thar's quite a smart bunch, but they hed some pickets out, an' I cudn't git close 'nough ter tell zackly. Dutchy thought thar wus nigh onter two hunderd o' 'em, but I jist don't know. They wusn't dressed like sojers o' either army, an' I reckon they're out o' ther hills.”
I glanced at my little handful of men, scarcely knowing what decision it might be wise to make. Undoubtedly they would fight if occasion arose, but the odds were terribly heavy; besides, if Brennan came, and his party got away that same evening, as was planned for them to do, then it might not be necessary for us to strike a blow. I was certainly in no mood to expose my small command merely to save the empty house from destruction.
“Ebers,” I said, turning toward the Sergeant, who sat his horse with expressionless face, “you were with the guide when he discovered this camp. How many do you think it contained? and who were they?”
“Vel, dere vos more as two gompanies, Captain, und dere vos some horses, but dey vos dressed—vot you calls it?—all ober not der same.”
“Not in uniform?”
“Dot vos it.”
“Have any of the rest of you seen anything that looked suspicious?” I asked, glancing around into the different faces.
“Maybe I did,” answered one of the troopers named Earl. “As we rode up the first hill after leaving the house my horse picked up a stone, and I had to stop and get it out. I reckon I fell behind a quarter of a mile or more, and just as I started I looked back, and a party of ten or twelve fellows was just riding in through them big gates onto the front lawn. But them fellows was soldiers for sure; they rode regular like, and all of them wore caps. It was so far off I couldn't tell the color of their clothes, but them caps made me think they was Feds.”
I chose my course at once. This undoubtedly must have been Brennan's party.
“Thank you, my man; it would have been better if you had reported that to me at once,” I said. “However, I understand the situation much better now. Sergeant, we will go into camp here. Post pickets in both directions, but put your most careful men on that hill yonder. Let them report promptly any signs of fire to the southeast, or any sound of guns.”
We completed all our cooking before dark, and when the night finally closed down about us it proved to be an exceedingly black one, although the skies were clear. Sleep was an impossibility for me, as my mind was in constant turmoil. I felt hampered, prisoned, shut in, unable to do what I most desired. I wondered where she was—probably riding northward beside her husband, and I bit my lip savagely at thought of it; possibly she was even then laughing merrily in memory of my unfortunate predicament in the garden. So she cared nothing for me, exhibited her indifference clearly in presence of others, disliked even to hear my name mentioned. Very well, I would take exceeding good care never again to intrude myself upon her. Then my thoughts swerved to the big house out yonder in the darkness. If signs of attack came to us, what should I do? The question truly puzzled me, for I was unwilling to expose the lives of my men merely to save property—Confederate soldiers were far too valuable at that stage of the war. If I only knew positively that the women were safely away, I would tarry no longer in the neighborhood. But I did not know; I merely hoped.
Ebers was lying next me upon the grass, solemnly puffing at his huge pipe, and I held my watch to the glow in its bowl in order to see the time. It was nearly midnight.
“Those fellows ought to be at it before this,” I said to him, “if they intend to accomplish anything to-night.”
“I dink so too,” he answered slowly. “I vill see dot der guard is all right, an' den vill get some sleep, for I am pretty moch done op already.”
He arose ponderously to his feet, and stretched out his short arms in a prodigious yawn. As he stood there, his pudgy figure outlined against the sky, there was borne to our ears the sound of a furious struggle on the hilltop to the south—a shout, blows, a volley of cursing, then silence. An instant later we were both running through the darkness toward the scene of trouble.
“What is it, Sands?” I questioned breathlessly, as I came suddenly upon the little group.
“A fellar on hossback,” was the answer. “He come up on us like a streak out o' thet black hollor, an' he'd a sure got away of Mason hed n't clubbed him with his gun. I've got the cuss safe collared now.”
“Who are you?” I asked sternly, striving in vain to see something of him through the darkness. “Where were you riding?”
He maintained a sullen silence, and Sands kicked him.
“None of that,” I commanded. “Ebers, strike a match, will you, and let me see this chap.”
I had scarcely spoken when our prisoner thrust Sands roughly aside and took one hasty step toward me.
“My God, Wayne! Is it possible this is you?” he cried excitedly.
“Caton?” I exclaimed, as surprised as himself. “Caton? What is it? What is wrong?”
“Am I to do dot?” asked the Sergeant, anxiously.
“No,” I answered. “I know this man, and we shall need no fire. Caton, are you from the Minor house? Has it been attacked?”
“Yes,” he answered, panting yet from his exertion and excitement. “We were to start North with the ladies at nine o'clock, but the house was surrounded as soon as it became dark. Those devils supposed it to be unguarded, and advanced without precautions. We fired and drove them back. We had repulsed three attacks when I left at eleven, but three of our men were already hit.”
“You were after aid?”
“I was striving to reach our advance pickets at McMillan. It seemed the only possible chance, and none of the men would volunteer to make the ride. One was killed trying it before I started. God knows how I hated to leave them, but it had to be done. How many have you?”
“Only twenty; but if we could once get inside along with your fellows, we might hold the house until reinforcements came.”
“Thank God! I knew you would!” he cried joyfully, grasping me again fervently by the hand. “You are not one to hesitate over the color of a uniform at such a time as this. I have been proud all through this war to feel that we on both sides were of the same blood, and have felt like cheering your gray lines more than once. Only, Wayne,” and he hesitated an instant, “it is right I should tell you that Brennan is there, and in command.”
“I know it, but those women must be saved nevertheless,” I answered firmly, my mind settled. “This is no time for personal quarrelling, and whatever color of cloth we wear those outlaws are our common enemies, to be hunted down like wild beasts. I have seen specimens of their fiendish cruelty that make my blood run cold to remember. The very thought of those who are now exposed falling into such hands is enough to craze one; death would be preferable a thousand times. How many fighting men have you?”
“Seven fit for duty.”
“Will you ride forward, or go back with us?”
“We must send word,”—and the gallant fellow's voice shook,—“but God knows, Wayne, I want to go back. If we both live I am to marry Celia Minor.”
“I understand,” I said gravely. “Ebers, who is your best rider?”
“It vos dot funny leetle vellow Glen, Captain.”
“Glen, come here.”
The trooper, a mere boy, with freckled face and great honest gray eyes, but wiry and tough as steel, pushed his way through the group and faced me.
“Glen,” I said, “your Sergeant tells me you are the best rider in the troop. I am going to intrust you with the most important duty of all. The lives of every one of us and of four helpless women depend entirely upon your riding. You will take two horses, kill both if necessary, but stop for nothing until your duty is done. You are to carry a note from me, and another from this gentleman, who is an officer in the Federal army, and deliver them both to the commandant of the first military post you find. Insist upon reaching him in person. It makes no difference which army the post belongs to, for this is a matter of humanity. The Federal outpost at McMillan is the nearest to us; make for there. You understand?”
The boy saluted gravely, all mischief gone from his face.
“I do, sir,” he said. “But I'd a darn sight rather stay here and fight.”
“You will be back in plenty of time to take a hand, my lad. Now, men,”—and I turned to the dark, expectant ring about me,—“this is no ordinary duty of your enlistment, and I wish no one to accompany me to-night who does not volunteer for the service. Seven Federal soldiers and four women, three of them Virginians, are attacked at the house we have just left by a large party of bushwhacking guerillas, the offscourings of hell. Every one of you knows what that means. Will you go with me to their rescue?”
No one seemed anxious to be first to speak. I could see them look aside uneasily at one another.
“Bungay,” I said, “I feel sure you will go, for your wife is there.”
“Mariar?”
“Yes; Miss Minor told me this afternoon, but I had forgotten to mention it.”
The little man sprang into the air and came down with a whoop.
“The bloody devils!” he cried excitedly. “Ye bet I'll go.”
“Come, Sergeant, speak up; what do you men say?”
“I like not to fight mit der Yankees,” he admitted candidly, “but der vomens, py Chiminy, dot vos anoder ting. I vill go, Captain; mein Gott, yaw.”
“We 're with you, sir,” spoke voice after voice gravely around the dark circle, and then Sands added: “We'll show them thar Yanks how the Johnny Rebs kin fight, sir.”
Ten minutes later Glen, bearing his two messages to the Blue and Gray, was speeding recklessly through the black night northward, while my little squad was moving cautiously back over the road we had so lately traversed.
AS we picked our way slowly forward through the gloom I gleaned from Caton all he knew regarding the situation before us. My own knowledge of the environments of the Minor house helped me greatly to appreciate the difficulties to be surmounted. He had succeeded in his escape by dodging among the negro cabins where the attacking line appeared weakest, but expressed the conviction that even this slight gap would be securely closed long before we reached there.
“Have they sufficient men, then, to cover thoroughly all four sides?” I asked.
“To the best of my judgment there must be fully two hundred and fifty in the gang, and apparently they operate under strict military discipline. It is a revelation to me, Wayne, of the growing power of these desperate fellows. I knew they were becoming numerous and bold, but this surpasses anything I could imagine. More, they are being constantly recruited by new arrivals. A party of at least a dozen came in while I was hiding behind the stables. I heard them asking for the leader.”
“What did they call him?”
“Lory, or Laurie, something like that. They claimed to be deserters from Lee's army, but two or three of them wore our uniforms.”
“It's Red Lowrie,” I said gravely, more impressed than ever with the seriousness of the situation. “I heard of him two years ago—he killed a man in the Sixth North Carolina, and took to the hills. Since then he has developed into quite a leader for such scum, and has proven himself a merciless monster. You have no suggestion to offer as to how we had better attempt to get in?”
He shook his head despondingly.
“What station does Brennan defend?” I asked.
“The front of the house; the main point of attack has been there.”
We could distinguish the sound of firing by this time, and its continuous volume convinced me that Caton's estimate of the number engaged was not greatly overdrawn. As we topped the summit of the hill a great burst of red fire leaped suddenly high into the sky.
“Great God, Wayne! we are too late!” he cried wildly. “Those devils have fired the house.”
With fiercely throbbing heart I gazed down at the flames far below in the black valley.
“No,” I said with eager relief. “It is the stable which is ablaze. See, the light falls full upon the white sides of the house. Thank Heaven, we are not too late.”
As I sat my horse there, gazing down upon that scene of black rapine, unwilling to venture into its midst until I could formulate some definite plan of action, fully a dozen wild schemes thronged into my brain, only to be cast aside, one after another, as thoroughly impracticable.
“We shall have to make a dash for it, and trust in God,” said Caton, guessing at my dilemma.
“No,” I answered firmly, “there would be no possibility of success in such a course. Those fellows are old hands, and have pickets out. See, Caton, that is certainly a picket-fire yonder where the road dips. Every man of us would be shot down before we penetrated those guard lines and attained the house. We have got to reach their inner line someway through strategy, and even then must risk being fired upon by our own people before we get within cover.”
Even as I was speaking I evolved a plan of action—desperate it certainly was, yet nothing better occurred to me, and time was golden.
“Ebers,” I said, “didn't I see an extra jacket strapped back of your saddle?”
“It is no good,” he protested vehemently. “It vos for der rain come.”
“All right; hand it over to the Lieutenant here. Caton, throw that uniform coat of yours into the ditch, and don honest gray for once. Sands, come here. Take your knife and cut away every symbol of rank on my jacket; tear it off, any way you can.”
In another moment these necessary changes had been accomplished.
“Now,” I ordered, “pile your sabres there with mine beside the road; then hobble your horses, all but the mule; I shall want him.”
“Does we go der rest of der vay on foot?” questioned the Sergeant, anxiously.
“Certainly; and I desire you to remember one important thing: let me do the talking, but if any of you are asked questions, we are deserters from Hills's corps, tired of the war.”
“Mein Gott!” muttered the German, disconsolately. “I hope it vos not long off, Captain; I am no good on foot in der dark, by Chiminy.”
“You had better manage to keep up to-night, unless you are seeking to commit suicide. Now, men, mark me carefully! Load your carbines. Are you all ready? Sergeant, see that each man has his gun properly charged and capped. You are to carry your arms as thoroughly concealed as possible; keep close to me always; obey my orders instantly, and to the letter. We are but twenty men pitted against over two hundred, remember, and when we strike, it must be both quick and hard.”
I mounted the mule, counted the dim figures in the darkness, and then gave the order to march. As we moved slowly down the hill I was aware that Caton walked upon one side of me, while Bungay plodded along upon the other; but my mind was so filled with the excitement of our adventure and all that depended upon its successful culmination, as scarcely to realize anything other than the part I must personally play. Good fortune and audacity alone could combine to win the game we were now engaged upon.
A tall, heavily bearded mountaineer stood squarely in the middle of the road to the north of the picket-fire. I could make but little of him as the light shone, excepting that he wore a high coonskin cap and bore a long rifle.
“Stop right thar!” he called out hoarsely, upon hearing us. “Who are you uns?”
As he challenged, a dozen others sprang up from about the flame and, guns in hand, came toward us on a run.
“We uns are doggoned tired o' soldierin', an' a gittin' nuthin' fer it,” I said in the slow Southern drawl, “an' wanter jine yer gang, pervidin' thar's any show fer it.”
“How many are ye?” asked one of the newcomers, striding forward between us and the sentry.
“A right smart heap o' a bunch; bin a pickin' o' 'em up ever since we left Charlotte,” I returned evasively.
“They be dandies ter fight, an' I reckon as how ye kin use 'em, can't ye?”
“Maybe; who did ye want ter see?”
“Wal, they sed as how a feller named Lowrie wus a runnin' this yere gang, an' if thet 's ther way o' it, I reckon as how it's Lowrie we 're after. Be you Lowrie?”
“Naw.”
The answer was so gruff and short, and the fellow hesitated so long in adding anything to it, I began to think it was all off.
“Wal,” he consented to say at last, ungraciously, “thar 's a blame pile o' ye kim in lately, an' I calcalate we got 'bout 'nough fer our business, but I reckon as how Red will use ye somewhar. Anyhow you uns kin come 'long with me an' find out, but ye'll diskiver him 'bout ther ornerest man jist now ever ye run up agin. He 's plum mad, Red is, fer sartain.”
He turned and strode off, without so much as giving us a backward glance, and, with a hearty congratulatory kick to the mule, I and my company followed him. A hundred yards further in we passed through the fringe of trees and emerged into an open space from whence we could see plainly the great white house still illumined by the flames which continued to consume the stables. Shots were flashing like fireflies out of the darkness on every side of us, the smell of burning powder scented the air, and I could distinguish the black forms of men lying prone on the grass in something resembling a skirmish line.
“Makin' a fight o' it, ain't they?” I asked of our taciturn guide, as we picked our way carefully among the recumbent forms.
“Damn 'em, yes; a hell o' a fight,” he admitted bitterly. “Reckoned we hed a soft job yere, an' lots o' ther stuff fer ther boys. They've got some Yanks in thar with repeatin' rifles, but I reckon as whin Red once gits hold on 'em, they'll dance ter another tune.”
“Ye mean ter stick it out, then?”
“Stick it out? I reckon ye don't know Red, er ye wouldn't be askin' sich a fule question. He'll hev them Yanks now, if it wur ter cost every man he's got. He ain't no quitter, Red ain't.”
Just beyond musket-shot from the house, and nearly opposite the front entrance, quite a group of men were standing beneath the black shadows of a grove of trees. In spite of the gleam from the fire I could make little of them, but as we approached from the direction of the rear, one of them exclaimed suddenly:
“Who comes thar? What body o' men is thet?”
“It's 'nother party o' deserters, as wants ter jine us,” said the guide, sourly. “They's Johnnies from Lee's army.”
“Oh, they dew, dew they? Hain't got 'nough o' fightin' yit, I reckon,” and the speaker strode forward, with a rough, mirthless laugh. “Wal, damn 'em, they will yere 'fore I 'm done. We 're a goin' ter rush thet thar house 'fore long, an' hang 'bout a dozen Yanks, an' these yere lads will come in right handy ter go in first. If you uns like fightin' so durn well we'll give ye your bellies full. Who's ther boss o' this yere crowd?”
I swung down from my seat on the mule's back, and stood facing him.
“We uns hain't got no boss,” I answered, “but they sorter fell in ahind o' me 'cause I wus astraddle o' this muel. Be you named Lowrie?”
“I reckon; I'm Red Lowrie,” proudly. “'Spect, maybe, ye've heerd tell o' me, an' if ye hev, ye know ye 've got ter step damn lively whin I howl. Whut wus ye in ther army?”
“Corporal.”
The flames of the burning barn leaped suddenly upward, as if fed by some fresh combustion, and flung a brighter glare over the rough faces clustered about us. I saw Red Lowrie plainly enough now, as he peered eagerly forward to scan my face, a heavy-set, coarse-featured man, with prominent nose, and thick, matted red beard. He wore a wide-brimmed soft army hat, under which his eyes shone maliciously, and he grasped a long rifle in one big, hairy hand. As I gazed at him curiously, some one hastily pushed a way through the group at his back, and the next instant a tall figure stood at his side. I recognized the newcomer at a single glance, and for the moment my heart fairly choked me—it was Craig.
“Lowrie,” he said, pointing straight at me, “thar's somethin' wrong yere. That feller thar is Captain Wayne, o' my ol' reg'ment.”
All that occurred next was but the impulse of a second. I stood with hand resting lightly upon the mule's neck, his long head drooping sleepily beside my shoulder. I saw Red Lowrie throw up his gun, all his evil nature written in his face, his cruel eyes instantly aflame with anger, and, inspired by the desperation of our case, I stooped suddenly, and blew with all my force into that long, pendant ear. Beelzebub gave vent to one snort of mingled rage and terror, and then let drive, backing into that cluster of choice rascals like a very thunderbolt of wrath, cleaving his way by every lightning blow of those nimble legs, and tumbling men to right and left.
There was a yell of fright, a wild scramble for safety, a perfect volley of cursing—I saw Red Lowrie go tumbling backward, a heel planted fairly in the pit of his stomach, and the next instant Craig, swearing like a pirate, was jammed down on top of him, a red gash across his forehead. It was all accomplished so speedily, that it seemed but a medley of heels, of wildly cavorting mule, of scrambling, falling men.
“Fire!” I cried excitedly. “Sock it into them, lads, and follow me!”
There was a quick outburst of flame, a thunderous report, and, without waiting to see or hear more, I sprang forward through the dense smoke, and raced madly toward the front door. Caton panted at my side, and I could hear the heavy feet of a score of men pounding the turf behind us. The rush was so rapid, the noise so great and confusing, I could not distinguish whether we were even fired upon from the rear, but I marked a red flash at one of the windows in our front, and heard behind me a sharp wail of agony.
“If any man drops, pick him up!” I called, and at that moment we sprang up the steps, and began pounding loudly against the door.
“Open up!” shouted the Lieutenant, anxiously. “Brennan, open up, quick! It's Caton with help.”
I thought it never would open. A volley crashed into us, and Sands pitched down upon his face, clutching at the man next him as he fell. I glanced back anxiously—a dark, confused mass of men, without military formation, were running across the open space toward us.
“'Bout face!” I shouted. “Load at will—fire!”
We poured one scattering volley into them. It halted their movement for a moment, and then the door opened a scant crack.
“Is this you, Caton?”
“Yes; for God's sake, open up!”
The heavy door swung slowly inward, and with a wild rush to be first, we surged headlong into the hall.