CHAPTER XIV. MRS. JUNIPER ENTERTAINS.
Mrs. Julia Juniper was a wealthy widow, of easy conscience and uncertain age. Courted and flattered alike for her charms and her wealth, for Mrs. Julia Juniper had both, she was the acknowledged belle of the country, the leader of the elite and the ruler of fashion. When Mrs. Julia Juniper gave a party it was sure to be successfully attended, and it needed only to be known that she was to be at a ball to ensure the presence of the very best society in the neighborhood.
The widow was a little above medium height, slender and graceful, with dark, sparkling eyes, clear white complexion, and black hair. She was vivacious as well as beautiful, and her sparkling wit was sufficient to enliven the dullest assemblage.
Mrs. Julia Juniper owned and possessed (as the lawyers say) a large plantation, and the granite mansion she had furnished with lavish elegance.
Two or three weeks have passed since the occurrences last recorded, and many startling events have taken place. Colonel Holdfast, with his force at the Junction, had joined McClellan, and fought gallantly at Phillippi, on the 3d of June. Abner Tompkins had been promoted to a captaincy, and Sergeant Swords and Corporal Grimm wore uniforms. Uncle Dan Martin accompanied the army as guide and scout, and was of invaluable service, as he knew every inch of the ground over which they had to pass. Colonel Scrabble had been compelled to fall back with his force about forty or fifty miles south, where a large force was assembling near Rich Mountain. The colonel's regiment had been recruited, refitted, and furnished with arms by the Confederate States, and the colonel himself now held a commission. Owing to the fact that Lieutenant Whimple had been disabled, perhaps for life, by his fall from his horse in the race from Uncle Dan's cabin, Oleah Tompkins had been promoted to first lieutenant.
The regiment was now encamped in the neighborhood of Mrs. Julia Juniper, and Mrs. Juniper, a Southern lady with all a Southern lady's prejudices and passions, and intense likes and dislikes, loved her sunny South, and loved every one who was engaged defending it against the cold-blooded Northern invader, and, desirous of doing all she could to cheer the brave hearts of her country's defenders, resolved to give a reception in honor of the regiment. It was at the same time a first meeting and a farewell, for the colonel hourly expected orders to march further east and join the troops massing in the valley of the Shenandoah under Johnston and Beauregard.
It was the evening of the 9th of July, 1861, and the grand mansion of Mrs. Julia Juniper was ablaze with light and splendor. The drawing-rooms, parlors, reception rooms, and the spacious dining hall were lighted early in the evening, festooned with flags, and lavishly adorned with flowers. The piazza, the lawn, the conservatory, and even the garden, on this evening, were filled with a gay, laughing throng. Mrs. Julia Juniper had ordered all form and ceremony to be laid aside, and desired that her guests should consider her house their home. She met officer and private, as they entered, clasping the hand of each with a fervent "God save our sunny South." More than one young soldier, looking on that lovely face, resolved to fight till death for a cause so dear to her. Corporal Diggs was present, and as Mrs. Julia Juniper's hand clasped his, and he heard her say: "God bless, you, my dear friend and make your arm strong to defend our beloved country!" He felt proud that he had not deserted, as he declared he should, after the retreat from Twin Mountain. Mrs. Juniper was everywhere, shedding on all the light of her countenance, enlivening all conversation with the rich, warm tones of her voice or her merry, musical laugh.
At least two hundred officers, commissioned and non-commissioned, fell in love with the widow, and twice as many privates were willing to lie down and have their heads amputated for her sake. Many of our Southern soldier friends were present, among them Howard Jones and Seth Williams, both sergeants now. Corporal Diggs was in ecstacies of delight, but the presence of his old tormentor, Seth Williams, was a slight drawback at times to his happiness. Mrs. Juniper had introduced the corporal and Seth Williams to two charming young ladies, Miss Ada Temple and Miss Nannie Noddington, both of them bright, lively girls, fond of sport. Miss Temple made herself particularly agreeable to the little apple-dumpling of a corporal.
Mr. Corporal Diggs had on a neat little suit of gray, without shoulder straps, but with yellow braid enough on his coat sleeves to indicate his office and rank. His thick hair was parted exactly in the middle, his burnside whiskers were neatly trimmed, and his glasses were on his nose. He tried to appear witty, making him appear silly enough to enlist the sympathy of any one except Seth Williams.
Seth was bent on fun and mischief, and in Miss Nannie Noddington he found an able accomplice and ally.
Corporal Diggs was making an extraordinary endeavor to make himself agreeable to Miss Temple, who laughed at his witticisms in a coquettish way that was wholly irresistible, and Corporal Diggs became brilliant, drawing continually on his immense fund of knowledge, talking science, physics, and metaphysics, history, literature, and art, at last touching on the theme, sacred to love and lovers, poetry.
"Hem, hem, hem! Miss Temple, I presume—hem—you are very fond of poetry," he said, leaning back in his chair, his soleful eyes gleaming through his glasses.
"I am passionately fond of poetry, corporal," said the blonde beauty, with a winning smile.
"I—hem, hem!—before I entered the army, used to be passionately fond of poetry, but the multifarious duties of an officer during these exciting times will allow no thought of polite accomplishments."
"He is inflating now," whispered Seth Williams to Miss Noddington. "He will explode soon in a burst of poetical eloquence."
Mr. Diggs, as we have seen, had a peculiar stoppage in his speech, occasioned more by habit than by any defect in the organs of articulation.
"Yes, Miss Temple, I—hem, hem, hem!—admire, or rather I adore poetry. The deep sublimity of thought—hem, hem, hem!—given forth in all of poetical expression and—hem, hem!—as the poet says 'the eye in fine frenzy rolling.'"
"That was in his 'Ode to an Expiring Calf,' was it not?" said Seth Williams, who was one of the group.
No one could repress a smile, and Miss Noddington was attacked by a convulsive cough.
"You always have a way of degrading the sublime to the ridiculous, Mr. Williams," said the little corporal, loftily.
"Who of the English poets do you like best, Corporal Diggs?" asked Miss Temple, pretending not to notice Williams' sally and the consequent discomfiture of her companion.
"I—hem, hem!" said the little fellow, leaning forward and locking his hands, with all the dignity that he assumed when about to give one of his opinions. "I—hem—am rather partial to Scott. I don't know why, unless his wild poems rather suit my warlike nature. I like to read of Marmion, the Lady of the Lake, and the Vision of Don—Don—hem—Don—"
"Quixote," put in Seth Williams.
The bright black eyes of Miss Noddington twinkled, but Miss Temple feigned sympathy with the corporal, whose memory was evidently bad.
"But—hem, hem!—Miss Temple," he went on, heroic to the last, "that is a sublime as well as a truthful thought of Scott, who says,—hem, hem!—how does it begin? Oh yes:
"Squeeze," put in Seth Williams, who was really boiling over with mischief.
Miss Temple looked shocked, but Miss Noddington only buried her blushing face in her handkerchief.
The discomforted Corporal Diggs cast a furious glance at Seth Williams, who sat with a face as solemn as any judge on the bench.
"Mr. Williams, such talk is very unbecoming any gentleman," said he, rising and looking as furious, to use Seth Williams own words, "as an enraged potato bug."
"I beg the pardon of all the company," said Seth, whose face was gravity itself. "I wanted to find some word that would rhyme with ease, and spoke the first that came to my mind."
"The word, sir, is 'please,'" said Corporal Diggs, re-seating himself after entreaty from the ladies, who assured him that it was only a lapsus linguæ on the part of Sergeant Williams.
"Now, corporal, do go on and repeat the entire verse, for I do so admire Sir Walter Scott," pleaded Miss Temple, whose roguish blue eyes were sparkling almost as brightly as those of her friend, Nannie Noddington.
"Yes, Corporal Diggs," said the beautiful Nannie, "do go on and give us the entire stanza."
"Yes, the entire canto," put in Seth.
There was no refusing the appeal from those blue eyes of Miss Temple or the sparkling black eyes of Miss Noddington, so, after a few "hems" and a moment spent in bringing the poem to his memory, the corporal began again:
This time both ladies laughed outright, and even Seth Williams could not restrain a smile, while the corporal wondered what in the world could be the matter with them.
"Your version is no better than mine," said Seth Williams.
"Oh! Corporal Diggs, you are too cute, you made that mistake on purpose," laughed Miss Temple.
The corporal, hearing his witty blunder praised on all sides, concluded to pretend it was an intentional joke, originating from his own fertile brain; Miss Temple smiled on him, Miss Noddington declared him charmingly cute, and the corporal felt himself quite a hero.
After further favoring the company with choice selections, he launched out on history, which he brought down to the present time by allusions to his adventures since he had been in the army.
"Have you ever been in any engagement, corporal?" asked sweet Miss Temple.
"Yes, Miss Temple, I have been where bullets flew thicker—hem, hem!—than hail stones; replied Corporal Diggs.
"Where was it?" asked the blonde.
"Once at Wolf Creek."
"Were you not frightened?"
"I was as cool as I ever was in my life," replied Corporal Diggs, leaning back in his chair, and looking very brave.
"That was because you were so deep down in mud and water under the drift-wood," put in Seth Williams.
Corporal Diggs turned a look of wrath on his companion. "Who said I was in the mud and water?" he demanded, fiercely. "Who saw me in the mud and water?"
"No one, I don't suppose; but Lieutenant Whimple found you on the bank, looking very much as though you had just left the hands of Crazy Joe."
Before Corporal Diggs could reply, Miss Temple, rising, begged him to walk with her on the piazza.
As the two went away, Seth laughed for the first time during the evening, and told his companion the story of Crazy Joe's mud man.
The lawn had been converted into a dining-room, and long rows of tables were spread there; Chinese lanterns hung from all the trees, and an army of black waiters was in attendance.
The dining hall had been cleared and fitted for dancing, and already the soft sound of music was heard there, and gay dancers were gliding gracefully through the waltz.
It was nearly two o'clock in the morning, when Oleah Tompkins tired of dancing walked into the conservatory, and from there into the garden. His thoughts naturally flew back to his home, to his parents, and to her he had learned to love with all the warmth and ardor of his Southern heart. A hand touched him on the shoulder. He turned and beheld standing behind him a mulatto, one who had played the leading violin in the orchestra. He was between forty and fifty years of age, a man of grave and somber countenance.
"Well, sir, what will you have?" demanded the lieutenant, turning sharply about.
"Is your name Tompkins?" asked the man.
"Yes. What is your business with me?"
"I was anxious to be sure," said the mulatto, "for I assure you, Lieutenant Tompkins, that I may sometime be able to give you some valuable information."
"If you have any information to give, why not give it now?" demanded the young officer.
"I have reasons that I can not give. To tell the reasons would be to give the information."
Oleah looked fixedly into the mulatto's face. There was something unusual about him, something that impressed the young lieutenant strangely, yet, what it was, he could not tell.
"What is your name?" he asked.
"They call me Yellow Steve."
"How long have you been in this State?" asked Oleah, after a pause.
"About two years," was the answer.
"Have I ever known you before?"
"I don't think you ever saw me before."
"Well, have you ever seen me before?"
"No."
"Then what can you have to tell me that would interest me?"
"I can tell you something of the early history of her you call your sister, something that no one on earth but myself knows. You shall know it in the future."
The mulatto turned, pushed open the door of a Summer house near by, and disappeared.
"Stay!" cried Oleah. "By heavens, if you know anything of her, I will not wait, I will know it now."
He sprang through the door after the mulatto, but the Summer house was vacant. The strange musician had disappeared as suddenly as if he had sank into the earth. After searching vainly through the grounds Oleah returned to the house. The other musicians (all colored) knew the "yaller man who played first fiddle," but, as "he lived no where particularly, but about in spots," no one could tell where he would most likely be found.
It was late that night before Lieutenant Tompkins sought his tent, and sleep came not to his eyes until nearly daylight. When he did sleep, the strange mulatto was constantly before his eyes—his yellow skin, his yellow teeth, and yellow eyes all gleaming.
CHAPTER XV. MR. DIGGS AGAIN IN TROUBLE.
McClellan, in the meanwhile, had been sweeping the Western portion of Virginia. On the 11th of July, he gained a victory over the unorganized or at most half organized Confederates under Colonel Pegram at Rich Mountain, which was at no great distance from the Widow Juniper's.
Colonel Scrabble then endeavored to reinforce General Garnett at Laurel Hill, but the latter was on his retreat toward the Shenandoah to join Johnston's army, when Scrabble and eight hundred men, three hundred of which were cavalry, came up with him.
The fight at Rich Mountain had taken place just two days after Mrs. Juniper's reception, and it was partly this reception that had delayed Scrabble, for, by forced marches, he might have reached Pegram before his defeat. While he and his officers were basking in the smiles of the ladies of West Virginia, General McClellan, under the excellent guidance of Uncle Dan, had slipped in between the two forces and defeated the larger. Having been thus reinforced and, seeing escape almost impossible, General Garnett resolved to make one more stand against the enemy. At Carrick's Ford, on Cheat river, is a small winding stream, flowing through the central part northward of what is now West Virginia. It has its foundation-head near Rich Mountain, and the towns of Philippi, Grafton, and Beverly are on its banks.
The main army, under General Garnett, took position near the road on a bluff eighty feet high, where he planted his cannon. Colonel Scrabble, with his eight hundred troops, was on a bluff covered with thick almost impenetrable forest trees.
Oleah Tompkins and many others of the company had on more than one occasion shown superior courage, and the raw troops, with very few exceptions, promised excellent behavior on this occasion.
Corporal Diggs was there; he had fastened January to a small tree, near a stump that would enable him to mount. Mr. Diggs was very cool on this occasion. He sat behind a tree, his gun across his lap, and although he felt some uneasiness, yet, when he looked about him and saw the many strong, armed men standing in front of him in double ranks, he felt almost brave. Occasionally a shudder would pass through his frame, especially when he heard that the Yankees were in sight.
The roar of cannon shook the air, and a ball, whizzing through the tree-tops, just over the heads of Colonel Scrabble's raw troops, scattering leaves and clipping branches in its course, shivered a tree to splinters in the rear.
"Steady, boys!" shouted the colonel. "Never mind that. Don't fire till you get the word." But a few of the more nervous did fire.
"Steady!" cried the captains as they heard the shots.
"Steady!" repeated the file-closers in trembling tones.
"Stop that firing, you fools! Wait for the word," cried the enraged colonel, galloping furiously up and down the line.
"Steady!" said Corporal Diggs, in a hoarse whisper, lying flat on the ground behind his tree, the branches of which still trembled from the passage of the ball.
Soon a long line of blue coats could be seen on the opposite side of the small stream; fire belched from their guns, and a shower of leaden hail fell among the regiment of Colonel Scrabble.
"Steady!" cried the colonel. "Wait for the word."
"Steady!" cried the captains and lieutenants.
"Oh! Lordy, I'll be killed, I know I shall," wailed poor Diggs, crouching close to the ground.
"Aim! Fire!" was the command given on the Confederate side, and their guns returned the leaden storm with effect. The whole line was engaged, and peal followed peal, shot followed shot, thunder-clap followed thunder-clap, while the white smoke rose in canopying folds above the woods. The dead and wounded lay on both sides of the stream. The trees were shattered by the flying balls. The engagement became general.
After the first two or three rounds, Corporal Diggs, finding himself as yet unhurt, ventured to peep around the tree. He observed a number of blue coats on the opposite side of the stream and saw a number lying motionless on the ground. Snatching his carbine, he fired, he knew not at whom, because he closed his eyes as his finger pressed the trigger. Then, as if convinced that his shot would turn the tide of battle, he sprang once more behind his tree—to reload.
Among the new officers most noted for their daring was Oleah Tompkins, who was everywhere the shots fell thickest, encouraging his men by word and act. Through the flash of guns and clouds of smoke he occasionally caught a glimpse of a familiar form in the enemy's lines. It was a Union captain, upon whose coolness and courage seemed to rest the fortunes of his entire regiment. There was no mistaking that form, he had known it since his earliest recollection. That brave young officer, in an enemy's ranks, had been his playmate in childhood, his companion in boyhood, his schoolmate, his college chum, his constant associate in manhood, and was still his brother. A mist swam before the young Confederate's eyes, as he thought a single chance shot might send that brother into eternity. Little thought had Oleah for himself. He saw his comrades fall about him and heard groan and cry ascend from the blood stained grass, the balls of the enemy whistled about, shattering the tender bark of the trees, but the lieutenant had no thought save of his playmate, companion and brother on the other side of the stream.
"Lieutenant Tompkins, you expose yourself needlessly," said Harry Smith, touching his officer on the sleeve. "The other officers do not stand constantly in front."
Oleah lowered the field-glass, through which he had been looking at the young captain in blue across the river, and with a sad smile turned toward the speaker.
"Harry," he said, "do you know who we are fighting, who those men are across the river?"
"No," said Harry, "only that they are enemies."
"Once they were neighbors, friends and brothers. That is the company commanded by my brother Abner and raised in and about our village. Every shot we fire, whose aim is true, drinks the blood of one who was once a friend."
"Once friends," said Harry, "but enemies now."
Harry, who at first could not brook to take up arms against the Stars and Stripes, had joined the Home Guards, under the belief that they were only to protect their homes. He found himself in the Confederate army as many others did, and determined to make the best of it.
Blood is thicker than water, and—in spite of the fierce hatred Oleah Tompkins had for the Northern armies—it was with a sinking heart that he entered into combat with Colonel Holdfast's regiment.
While McClellan's main body was pressing Garnett's army closely in front, and threatening each moment to cross the ford, a portion of two Indiana regiments crossed about three miles above the ford and came crashing down on the Confederate's right wing. In a few minutes the right flank of the rebels was turned and the Union soldiers, with wild cheers, dashed into the stream and pushed across to the opposite side. The whole rebel line began to waver. General Garnett, seeing the danger his army was in, rode gallantly forward, and strove to rally his panic-stricken men. It was in vain, and, in the midst of his useless efforts to turn the tide of battle, he was struck by a ball and fell dead to the earth. His fall completed the panic which had already begun.
Corporal Diggs, who had displayed a vast amount of coolness, as he lay crouched behind his tree shivering in every limb, was the first in his regiment to determine how the battle would go. No sooner had the right flank been struck by the Hoosier troops than, with far-seeing military judgment, he declared the day lost and, bounding to his feet, sprang toward his horse which was snorting and plunging in its endeavors to get away.
"Whoa, January, you old fool!" cried the corporal.
Whiz zip, went a musket ball past his ear, clipping a twig which fell at his feet, and causing January to prance and rear.
"Oh Lordy, I'll be killed, I know I shall! Whoa, January!" and his trembling fingers struggled to unloose the knot of his halter.
Harry Smith, who had fought with desperate bravery, was, with Lieutenant Tompkins, among the last to leave the field. As he was in the act of mounting his horse, he cast a glance down toward the ford, where the mass of Union troops were forming and beheld the Stars and Stripes streaming above the long line of blue coats. Harry turned pale for the first time during the fight. A shock, as of a galvanic battery, seemed to strike his frame.
"Oh! Heavens!" he thought, "why am I in these ranks, a rebel and a traitor, fighting against the best government this world has ever known?"
"Mount quickly, Harry, or we shall be taken," cried Oleah, who was already in the saddle.
Harry sprang into the saddle, and they galloped away after their now flying comrades, the enemy's cavalry pursuing them closely and firing an occasional shot into the retreating ranks, as they rushed and crowded down the road through the lanes and over the hills in the direction of Beverly.
Corporal Diggs finally succeeded in untying the halter-knot, that held January to his post, and after some trouble got into the saddle. The bullets were whistling around his ears, and January was plunging through the underbrush and out into the road, where he struck off in a western direction at a rapid rate. The corporal did not try to restrain him, and they were soon over the hill, three miles away from the battle ground.
"Oh Lordy, I know they are all killed!" murmured the little corporal, looking back as he galloped down the road. For an hour he rode on, in what direction he knew not, but away from both armies. His mind was full of wild fancies. He saw six men coming like the wind down a cross lane, and, although they were a mile or two in his rear, he knew by their dark clothes and bright flashing guns that they were Union cavalry.
"Oh Lordy! I shall be killed, I know," he thought, as he used whip and spur, crying: "Get up, January! Oh! for the Lord's sake, run!"
Corporal Diggs glanced back again, and saw the six dark horsemen in the lane, directly behind him, and coming on as fast as their horses could carry them. He thundered down the lane, which was bordered on either side by a hedge fence about five feet high. The ground for about one mile was level, and then came some hills, steep and abrupt as only Virginia hills are.
The corporal unbuckled his saber and threw it away, threw away his pistols, and everything that might in the least impede his flight. January flew over the mile stretch and dashed down the hills at a break-neck speed. Corporal Diggs, who was not an experienced rider, clung to his horse's mane, and several times came very near being unseated. The soldiers in his rear came nearer, and their shouts could be heard by the poor flying wretch, but when he descended the hill they were out of sight.
January, coming to a ditch at the side of the road, made a fearful leap, and Corporal Diggs, losing his seat, was plunged head-foremost into a hedge, which closed completely over him.
"Oh, Lordy, I know I shall be killed!" he groaned, as he lay, bruised and bleeding, in the midst of the hedge. January never for a moment stopped his flight, and soon the six pursuers swept by. Immediately after this the corporal became unconscious.
Daylight had passed into night when Corporal Diggs recovered consciousness; lying in his thorny bed bleeding, sore at every joint, and with face and hands frightfully lacerated, it was needless to say that this brave soldier was very uncomfortable. His first thought, on regaining his senses, was to extricate himself from the thorns, and this was by no means an easy task. Thorns above, thorns below, thorns on all sides, made moving without additional laceration an impossibility. With great care and many a smothered imprecation, groan and prayer, he at last emerged on the meadow side of the hedge.
The sky was clear and dark, and studded with innumerable stars. Each silent watcher seemed twinkling with merriment as the tattered Confederate stood by the hedge, pondering which way to go. On the opposite side lay the broad, dark lane, leading he knew not where, and before him stretched the wide meadow. He chose the latter, and was in the act of starting on his journey, when the tramp of hoofs coming down the lane struck his ear, and he again crouched down under the shelter.
It proved to be a small body of Union cavalry, and their arms clanked ominously as they rode by. They passed on over the hill, and the corporal rose once more and scanned the broad, dark green meadow, whose waving grass was soaked with a heavy dew. But wet grass was nothing compared with Union cavalry just then, and he pushed boldly across the meadow, regardless of its dampness. The meadow was much wider than he had supposed; he traveled for a mile or more through the tall, damp grass before he came to a stone fence, on the opposite side of which he saw a thick wood.
After carefully reconnoitering the premises, Corporal Diggs scaled the stone fence and dropped down on the other side. He paused a few minutes to remove the thorns from his arms and legs, wrung some of the water out of his clothes, and then selecting one of many narrow paths, he walked down into the forest. He traveled for several hours, avoiding public roads, and at last came out in the rear of what seemed to be an extensive plantation. He found some stacks of new made hay, which offered quite a comfortable sleeping place, and in a few minutes, after he had crawled into one, he was asleep, and slept soundly until the sun was up. Then, stiff and sore and bruised, he crawled from his bed and looked about him. The place has a familiar look. There was a magnificent stone mansion to his left, and those broad fields and numerous plantation houses he had seen before. It was the plantation of Mrs. Julia Juniper.
The corporal knew, that in the widow, he would find a warm and sympathizing friend, and he consequently made his way toward the house. It was certainly with no martial bearing that he presented himself at the door of the widow's mansion. He asked to see Mrs. Juniper, but was told by her maid, that it was too early for her mistress to be out of bed. She brought him to the kitchen fire to dry his stained and dew-soaked clothes.
The corporal dried his clothes, washed and bound up his wounds with such linen as the cook would furnish, and tried to make himself presentable. Seeing Mrs. Juniper's maid he desired her to inform her mistress that Corporal Diggs wished to see her as early as possible.
Mrs. Juniper, supposing that some important message had been sent by Colonel Scrabble, allowed herself to be hastily dressed, and sent to tell the corporal she would receive him. Diggs lost no time in obeying the summons. At sight of the lacerated and bandaged being who entered, Mrs. Juniper, who had risen to receive her guest, utter a scream, and sank back into her chair.
"Corporal Diggs," she cried, "what has happened?"
"We have met the foe," said Diggs, with a tragic tone and manner. "Hem, hem, hem!—yes, Mrs. Juniper, we have met the foe—" He paused, overcome with emotion.
"With what result?"
"I alone am left to tell the tale."
"Oh, heavens! Corporal Diggs, it can not, it can not be true!"
"Alas! lady, it is but too true. Our brave army is now no more. I, wounded and hunted like a hare, have come to you for a few hours of peace and shelter."
Diggs endeavored to look the character of a wounded knight from Flodden Field.
"Pray, Corporal Diggs, tell me all; our cause is not, must not be lost. The South—but, pardon me, you are wounded, weak, and faint—"
Diggs had put one of his arms in a sling and had bound a bandage on his head.
"Sarah, bring wine here at once. Ah! you must have been very closely engaged with the enemy from the number of your wounds."
The wine was brought, and Diggs, now refreshed, gave eager Mrs. Juniper a glowing account of the battle at Carrick's Ford. As the account given by history does not, in all respects, agree with that of Corporal Diggs, we will give his version of the conflict.
"Madam," said the little corporal, "yesterday occurred one of the most bloody battles that the world has ever known. Our regiment joined General Garnett, and we met the enemy at Carrick's Ford, some seven hundred thousand strong, headed by old Abe Lincoln himself. They had a hundred to our one, but we fought, oh, my dear Mrs. Juniper, we fought like lions, like whirlwinds, like raging hurricanes—hem, hem"—broke off Corporal Diggs, trying to think of some stronger term, "yes, my dear Mrs. Juniper, like cyclones—hem, hem! We piled the ground around us several feet deep with their dead, and Cheat river overflowed its banks with the blood, but—hem, hem! it was no use. They came on, and their cannon shot, musket shot, and grape shot mowed men down. I—hem, hem—I was last to fall, I fought the whole of them for some time alone, but, surrounded, wounded, faint and bleeding, I fell from my horse and was left on the field for dead. When I came to my senses I—hem, hem!—crawled away and came here, believing that, wounded and faint as I was, you would not refuse me rest and shelter, and—and—hem, hem—I am very weak from loss of blood, Mrs. Juniper."
"Poor fellow, I don't doubt that you are. Sarah, bring water and fresh linen. My own hands shall dress your wounds!"
"No, no, dear Mrs. Juniper, I would not permit a delicate lady to look upon the rude gashes of war. If you will permit me, I will retire and dress my wounds." He tried hard to convulse his features with pain.
"I will not allow that," said the widow. "These wounds were received in defending my country against the cruel Northern invader, and I shall dress them with my own hands."
"No; oh! no, dear lady, you can not know how a soldier, rough and used only to the roar of cannon and clash of steel, must shrink from inflicting on a lady such needless pain."
"Then I will have a surgeon brought," persisted kind-hearted Mrs. Juniper.
"Quite unnecessary, my dear lady, as they are only flesh wounds—what we soldiers call mere scratches."
Mrs. Juniper had his breakfast brought to the parlor and insisted on his reclining on the sofa. She asked a thousand questions, which Mr. Diggs answered in his extravagant manner. The day passed, and rumor after rumor, almost as wild and extravagant as Corporal Diggs' report, came from the battle-field, confirming the defeat, at least, if not the utter annihilation, of the army.
As bodies of Union men were scouring the country, picking up stragglers from the Confederate army, who were fleeing in every direction, Mrs. Juniper suggested that Corporal Diggs had better have a bed prepared and sleep in the cellar, as her house might be entered and searched. The Corporal although asserting that, if armed, he would not be in the least afraid of half a hundred of the cowardly Yankees, consented, merely out of regard for the lady's feelings. Such scenes of carnage and bloodshed as must ensue, if an attempt should be made to capture him, would be too terrible for a delicate lady to witness. The corporal had no arms, all had been taken from him as he lay unconscious on the field, but Mrs. Juniper sent out among the hands and confiscated three guns, two old horse-pistols, and a long trooper's sword, which she had conveyed to the "brave soldier" in her cellar.
A horse had that morning been found with saddle and bridle on, looking hungrily at the barn and trying to make the acquaintance of the sleek, well-fed equines, who answered his neighs from its windows. The negro, who found the horse, had put him in the barn and given him all the oats and corn he desired, which was a considerable amount. The corporal, hearing of the horse, went to see him, and at once recognized in that tall, raw-boned creature his noble January. The meeting of knight and steed was of course very touching, as the wealthy, handsome widow was present to witness it.
As he walked back to the mansion he related many of the noble qualities of his horse, how he had fought over his master long after he lay insensible upon the battle-field. There was one little matter the "brave soldier" failed to explain, and that was, how, while insensible, the master knew what the horse was doing.
"What a brave man he must be," thought the widow as she sat in her boudoir after the corporal had retired to the cellar, where he put the guns and pistols at the extreme corner of the room, least they should accidentally go off and kill him. "What a brave man he is, who has fought so many men! On him alone now depends the success of our cause. He is the Alfred the Great, the Charles the Second, who must gather an army and strike when our foe least expects it. Brave, brave man!" And the widow dreamed that night that she saw Corporal Diggs lead a vast army against the enemy, and that victory crowned his attempts. She saw the glorious South an independent nation and honors heaped upon the man she had succored. He was seated on the throne of the new kingdom and became a wise and good ruler.
Waking, the widow actually wept with joy, for she would not believe that her vision was anything else than a direct revelation, and was sure that the fate of her beloved South hung upon the sword-point of the brave man, who was then sleeping in her cellar. True, he was small of stature, and, when mounted on January, did, as Seth Williams had said, look much like a bug on a log, but then he was brave, and many of the great military men were small.
The corporal spent three or four days in concealment at the widow's, and, although his thorn scratches were entirely healed, he still kept the bandage on his head and carried his arm in a sling. He had discovered that, wounded and suffering, he elicited more sympathy from the beautiful widow. They usually walked out at twilight, and spent an hour in the spacious ground.
Upon one occasion the widow told her dreams, and asked the brave man by her side what he thought of it.
"Think of it? Hem, hem! Why, my dear Mrs. Juniper—hem, hem, hem!—why, it will be fulfilled to the very letter. Yes, my dear lady—hem, hem!"—and Diggs turned his face aside in a reflective manner, and his little eyes glowed with meaning, "it is my design to gather another army and hurl back the tide of adversity. My dear Mrs. Juniper, the world yet knows not Corporal Diggs, but it shall, it shall," and he struck the end of a stout stick which he carried in his hand into the pebble-covered earth. "Oh, if these scratches would but heal, so that I once more could take the field and lead an army on to victory; then they should know—hem, hem, hem!—they would learn that the Cæsars are not dead."
"Oh! what a loss it would have been to our beloved South if you had been slain!" said the enraptured widow.
"Fear not—hem, hem, hem—my dear madam, I shall not be slain. I have my destiny to fulfill. And now—hem, hem!—my dear madam, my dear Mrs. Juniper, my dear Julia, let me call you by that sweet name, I have something of great importance to speak of."
An ambuscade could not have startled the widow more than this brave man's manner. She elevated her eyebrows, and her large dark eyes grew round with wonder as she said:
"Why—why, Corporal Diggs, what can it be! What can you mean?"
"Do you not comprehend me? Say, has love no sharper eyes? Oh, my dear, dear—Julia—" here Corporal Diggs' manner became demonstrative; he seemed to forget the severe wounds, and, starting from the garden seat, down he went on one knee, and drawing from the sling the arm that had been shattered by grapeshot, he clasped his hands as if in prayer. "Oh, my dear—hem, hem, hem!—my darling Julia, I love you! I have loved you ever since I first saw you, and I ask you—hem, hem!—to become mine. Accept this heart, which you have captured, and give me yours in return."
His speech delivered, the little corporal remained on his knee, with his eyes closed and his lips pursed, in his endeavor to appear absorbed and earnest.
"Mr. Diggs, your behavior is very unbecoming the brave soldier I took you to be," said the lady, after a moment's hesitation. "This is no time to talk of love."
At this rebuke Mr. Diggs rose from his knees, abashed and confused, and resumed his seat.
"We have enough, Corporal Diggs, to engage our minds for the present. While our beloved country is in peril we must forget all personal feelings. Let its dangers and its salvation be paramount."
"But when this cruel war is over, and peace returns once more, will you then consent to become my wife?" persisted the corporal. "I—I—love you, and I—I—I can't help it. Say you will be my wife!"
"It is growing rather late, Mr. Diggs, and the air is chilly. We will return to the house."
They accordingly rose, and Diggs, walking in sullen, abashed silence by the widow's side, entered the great stone mansion. Mrs. Juniper retired to her own room, and Corporal Diggs to the cellar.
Mrs. Julia Juniper had a tall, lantern-jawed, ill-disposed, and envious neighbor, who was a Union man for no other earthly reason than that all his neighbors were Confederates. He lived in a wretched little hovel, had a sickly wife, and eight children. He might have made a living on his little farm, but was too lazy to work, and continually engaged in petty lawsuits with his neighbors. Josiah Scraggs was a communist at heart, and he felt sure that, as he was such an excellent Union man and Mrs. Julia Juniper so decidedly "secesh" in principles, that eventually her magnificent mansion and large plantation would be taken from the widow and given to him. He had confided his hopes to his sickly wife and dirty children, and all were anxious for the happy change. Josiah Scraggs was constantly reporting the conduct of his neighbors, especially of the widow Juniper, to any Union soldiers who might be in the neighborhood. He had been watching the mansion since the battle of Carrick's Ford, for he suspected that she was "harboring secesh soldiers." Sure enough, one evening he saw the widow and Corporal Diggs walking together in the garden, and away he went to the headquarters of Colonel Holdfast, who was about ten miles away, to give information that secesh soldiers were concealed in the widow's mansion.
He rode the old gray mare into the camp, and called for the colonel. Being shown to his tent, he quickly made the object of his visit known, magnifying many fold what he had seen, and leaving the colonel to infer that many more might be in the house.
Scraggs, having made his report, was dismissed by the colonel. He loitered outside the tent, waiting hungrily for the colonel to execute to him and his heirs and assign forever a title in fee simple to the vast plantation and magnificent stone mansion of Mrs. Julia Juniper. Instead, the colonel sent for Captain Abner Tompkins, and ordered him to take his company, with as many more men as he needed, and proceed at once to Mrs. Juniper's to take prisoners the rebel soldiers lying concealed there.
"My own company will be sufficient, I think, colonel," said Abner.
"All right, then," replied the former, and turned to his papers without having issued the deed to Scraggs.
As Abner was mustering his men, Scraggs re-entered the colonel's tent, and, reaching out a long, bony, finger, touched the officer on the shoulder. Colonel Holdfast looked up from his papers with a "Well, what now?"
"What do I get for reportin' on this ere secesh woman?"
"The consciousness, sir, of having done your duty," replied the colonel.
"Well, but don't I git no pay?" asked Scraggs, his face darkening with disappointment, the house and plantation of Mrs. Juniper vanishing from before his mental vision.
"None, sir; so good a Union man as you are surely would ask no compensation for doing his duty."
"Well, but ain't you a goin' to give me her farm and house?" asked Scraggs, the disappointment on his face deepening into agony.
"My dear sir," said the colonel, "I have no authority to give you any one's property. If you want a plantation you must purchase it of the owner."
"Well, but she harbors secesh."
"If her house becomes a nuisance in that way we shall be justified in burning it, but we can not take it from her and give it to any one else."
The colonel again turned to his papers, and Scraggs, his long-cherished hopes blasted, left the tent, mounted his old gray mare, and rode home.
Scraggs was only one of the many, on both sides, who reported their neighbors' deeds and misdeeds to reap reward therefrom.
As Mrs. Juniper sat in her room that evening, the tramp of hoofs came to her ears. She extinguished her light and, going to the window, looked out into the night. The pale rays of the moon fell upon a large body of cavalry dismounting at her gate, and, oh horrors! surrounding her house. Swift as the wind the widow flew down two flights of stairs to the cellar, where she acquainted the "brave soldier" of the fact, and implored him to be merciful, should they discover him, and not kill any more than was necessary in self-defense. Poor little Diggs sat cuddled up in one corner, his round face pale as death, looking anything in the world but dangerous.
Then came loud knocking at the front door.
"There," said the widow, "they are at the front door. I will try to send them away; but you are armed, and you are a brave man and there are not more than fifty; so, of course, you will not fear them."
The widow turned and left, while poor Diggs sat cowering and mentally ejaculating:
"Oh! Lordy, I'll be killed, I know I shall!"
Mrs. Juniper went herself to the door and opened it.
Captain Abner Tompkins stood there, sword in hand. Behind him were twenty or more of his men, all armed, while the others were scattered in different portions of the yard.
"What will you have, gentlemen?" asked the widow, holding the lamp above her head and looking fearlessly down into their faces.
"Pardon me, madam," said the young captain, bowing, "but we have been informed that some rebels are quartering here, and have come for them."
"Your informant was both meddlesome and ignorant. There are no rebel soldiers in the house," was the widow's reply.
"I beg your pardon, madam," said Abner, entering unbidden, and followed by several of his men. "I have no cause to doubt, yet my orders are imperative, and I must search your house."
The widow had the tact to yield without more argument, and the search commenced. From her bedroom to the kitchen, all the house was thoroughly searched. The Captain laid his hand on the cellar door.
"Hold!" said the widow, laying her hand on his arm. "I told you there were no rebel soldiers here, and I told you the truth. There is, however, one of them in the cellar, but for humanity's sake I warn you not to encounter him. He is a host in himself, a perfect tornado, when roused. You will be all killed if you venture, for he is well armed."
The young captain smiled.
"You say he is a tornado; we are each a cyclone, and together we may raise a hurricane. But do not fear, madam, for, I assure you, we shall take him without the firing of a shot."
Opening the door, Captain Tompkins boldly walked down the flight of stairs, leading to the cellar, a light in one hand and a drawn sword in the other—a number of his men following him. A sight met their view at the foot of the stairs, calculated rather to excite laughter than to strike terror to their hearts. A small man in gray uniform, rushing aimlessly about trying to scale the cellar wall, to hide beneath the boxes, to find some way—any way—of escape. His actions were more like that of a rat in a trap than a brave soldier.
Mrs. Juniper, left in the room above, faint with terror, sank upon the nearest chair and clasped her hands to her ears to shut out the sounds of conflict that must inevitably follow.
"Halloa, Diggs! what are you doing here?" cried Captain Tompkins, who could not restrain his laughter. Mr. Diggs had been performing leap after leap, in his vain endeavors to get away, ejaculating all the while:
"Oh, Lordy, Lordy! I know I shall be killed, I know I shall be killed!"
At the sound of a familiar voice, he looked around, and, discovering who his captors were, he sprang forward and threw his arms around the neck of the captain, crying:
"Oh! Abner, Abner, Abner, my dearest friend Abner, you will not let me be killed! Oh! say you will not let me be killed! Although I was persuaded into the rebel army, I am not a Confederate. I have always thought that it was wrong to fight under any but the flag of Washington and Marion. Oh! don't let them kill me! Oh, Abner, Abner, for Heaven's sake, say you will protect me. I have suffered death a thousand times since I entered this unholy cause."
Abner, still laughing, assured him that he should not be injured, that he should be treated as a prisoner of war.
Corporal Diggs, assuring men and officers that there was no stronger Union man living than he, that he was ready to enlist and fight until he died for the Union, followed the troops out of the house. The widow fixed a gaze of astonishment on the "brave soldier," upon "whom the fate of the South rested," and when she heard his imploring tones and his avowed determination to fight for the Union till he died, her proud lips curled with scorn, and, without a word, she passed from the room.
The corporal mounted January, and rode away in good spirits toward the Union camp.
CHAPTER XVI. YELLOW STEVE.
Mr. Diggs fulfilled his determination to enlist in the Union army, insisting, the very day after his capture, on becoming a member of Abner's company. Abner told him that he had better consider the matter, but he declared he needed no further time; that now he was freed from error, and the pernicious influence of Seth Williams, who had persuaded him into espousing an unholy cause, and having wronged his beloved country by taking up arms against it, he wanted to atone by fighting for it. As the Union cause needed soldiers, Mr. Diggs, not corporal now, did not offer his services in vain. He was at once enrolled, and the same day the regiment started, by forced marches, to join the Union forces under Generals Scott and McDowell, where Mr. Patrick Henry Diggs was likely to see service in earnest.
On the 20th of July, the next after the day that Abner's regiment had joined the main army, and the day before the terrible battle of Manassas, or Bull Run, Abner Tompkins sat alone in his tent. It was late. The last picket had been stationed, the last order given, waiting for the morning to advance on the terrible foe, that lay sleeping over the hills only a few miles distant. It was but natural that his thoughts should wander back to his home. He drew out a small, many-folding locket, into which he gazed with looks of infinite tenderness. It represented the features of those whom his heart held most dear—his father's face, grave and most earnest, full of kindliness and honesty of purpose; his mother's face, beautiful and proud and tender; the third face on which the young officer gazed was young and fresh and fair. He seemed to look through the clear eyes into the pure, spotless soul. He gazed long and steadfastly, murmuring: "O Irene, Irene, shall we ever meet again?"
The next and last face was that of a young man—a dark, fearless face; firmness was in every lineament, determination in every line. Fearless, yet frank; proud, yet tender; the face was that of one who would be powerful for good or evil, who would scorn alike death and dishonor.
"War has severed the ties that bound us, my brother," spoke the captain. "Why can not political differences be settled without resort to arms? It is the ambitious and the great who stir up strife, and their humble followers fight their battles. They dwell in ease and safety, while my poor brother and I cross swords and shed each other's blood to uphold them in their greatness."
He closed the locket and placed it in his breast pocket, and the look of sadness deepened on his face. There came a gentle knock on the board that took the place of a door to the captain's tent.
"Come in," said Abner.
The board was set aside, and a pale, fair youth, about eighteen years of age, entered.
"Anything stirring yet, Willie?" asked the captain.
"Nothing, captain, except an occasional picket's shot," replied the boy. "But, if you please, there is a fellow out here who wants to see you."
"Who is he?" asked Abner.
"I don't know, captain. I never saw him before. He is a bright mulatto, and he says he must see you. He is dressed in citizen's clothes and unarmed."
"Let him come in, Willie."
The youthful soldier touched his cap lightly and withdrew, and a moment later a tall, yellow mulatto entered. He looked sharply about the tent, as though fearing that some secret foe might suddenly spring upon him.
"Have a seat," said Abner, pointing to the only unoccupied camp-stool that the tent afforded.
The mulatto took the proffered seat and fixed his bright, yellowish dark eyes on the young officer.
"Well, sir, what can I do for you?" asked the captain.
"Nothin'," replied the mulatto with a grin on his shriveled yellow face.
"Well, then, what can you do for me?"
"Nothin'," the grin broadening.
"Then, sir, what is your business here?" asked Abner, beginning to lose patience.
"I came to tell you that I was—here," said the mulatto, with provoking coolness.
"Well, what do you propose, now that you are here?" asked Abner, smiling in spite of himself.
"Your name is Tompkins—you are Captain Abner Tompkins?" said the mulatto.
"Yes."
"You have a brother Oleah, who is a captain in the Confederate army, that is right across the hill here?"
"Yes. What of him?"
"Oh, he is well," said the mulatto.
"What else have you to say?" asked Abner.
"Your father is George W. Tompkins, who lives on a plantation near Snagtown?"
"Yes. What of him?"
"Oh, he's well, too."
"Well, if you have anything to say, say it and be off," said Abner.
"Your sister as you call her, who was left at your door when a baby—"
"What of her?" cried Abner, eagerly. "Do you know anything of her?"
"Yes, she is well, too."
Abner, who had been started from his seat in his eagerness, sank back, and looked at his visitor in blank amazement. At length he said, sternly: "If you have nothing of importance to communicate, leave me. I have no time for pleasantry. From your manner I expected news—bad news—"
"And was disappointed," said the mulatto, with a smile.
"Who are you?" demanded Abner.
"I don't mind letting you know my name. I am called Yellow Steve—got no other name. I just come to say I shall be around, and if you should ever need me it is most likely you will find me right at hand. I am everywhere. Can come as near as possible being in three places at once."
"You must be a remarkable person," said Abner.
"I have a remarkable story to tell you at some time."
"Why not tell me now? I may fall in to-morrow's fight."
"Then I will tell your brother."
"But he may fall. Does it concern me?"
"It is the waif, the foundling, you call sister, my story concerns. Some time you shall have it—not now."
The man disappeared through the door as he spoke, and, though Abner rushed out after him, he was gone.
He inquired of Willie Thornbridge which way the man had gone, but Willie declared he had not seen him come out of the tent. He pursued his search and inquiries, but no one else had seen Yellow Steve at all.
Abner Tompkins, on the morning of the battle, was early astir, and, breakfast over, the bugle sounded boots and saddles. Abner kept his lines well dressed, and awaited the order to advance. The skirmish lines had already been thrown out, and the distant roar of guns could be heard.
Diggs declared that war was a cruel "institution," and that he was ready to retire at as early a date as possible.
"You present a nice figure on that horse," said Corporal Grimm. "Darned if a cannon-shot could afford to miss you."
"Yes," added Sergeant Swords, "you'll present as nice a mark for the sharpshooters up on that camel's back as if you were a squirrel in a tree."
"You'll come out all right yet, Henry," said Uncle Dan, the scout, riding up at this moment, with his trusty rifle on the pommel of his saddle.
"Do you think I'll be shot, Uncle Dan?" asked Diggs, shuddering in spite of himself.
"No, not if you do enough shooting yourself," replied the old man. "Ye must watch yer chance and pop it to them so fast they can't git a chance to pop back."
At this moment a pale, fair youth, mounted on a bright bay horse, came galloping up to Captain Tompkins. He was dressed in the uniform of a United States cavalryman, with a saber and carbine at his side, and pistols in his holsters. The sight of this youth, and the nearness of the coming battle, brought sad reflections to Abner's mind. Willie Thornbridge was just eighteen, the only comfort and support of his widowed mother. Abner remembered well the bright, sunny morning when Willie bade his mother farewell, and the mother, with tear-streaming eyes and aching heart, admonished Abner to take care of and protect him.
"What have you, Willie?" asked Abner, as the youth drew rein at his captain's side.
"Something the adjutant gave me," said Willie, handing a paper to Abner, who read and, carefully folding it, put it in the breast-pocket of his coat. At this moment the bugle sounded "forward."
"Fall in by my side, Willie," said Abner, and the boy wheeled into line by his captain, with Uncle Dan on the other side of him.
"Forward!" came the order, and the vast columns of men were in motion, moving on toward those black lines of the foe that lay in the distance. The far off firing of skirmishers became more rapid.
"Are you afraid?" asked Abner of the boy soldier.
"No. With you on one side and Uncle Dan on the other, I have no fear," and he smiled in such an assuring way that Abner could not doubt him.
Uncle Dan, as we have before said was an army scout, and not a regular soldier. However, he had volunteered on this occasion to accompany Abner's company. He was well mounted, his dress was half civil and half military, and his arms were his trusty rifle and a pair of holsters.
The vast columns were rapidly moving when Diggs exclaimed:
"Oh, Lordy! I feel very sick!"
"You will feel better soon," said Corporal Grimm, his file-leader.
"Ye'll have enough soon to take up yer attention," put in Sergeant Swords.
By nine o'clock the fight began in earnest. Colonel Holdfast's cavalry was at first held in reserve at the foot of the hill. When it was ordered to advance, just as the top of the hill was reached, January became frightened at the flashing guns, and, wheeling about, dashed down the hill with Diggs' saber dangling at his side.
The bugle rung out the fearful note—a wild dash, a moment's delirious excitement—and they were at the rebel's guns. The battery was captured with but little loss, and the guns turned on the retreating foe. The whole army now advanced, and a stubborn fight ensued, which resulted in the Confederate lines slowly falling back.
Cheer upon cheer arose along the Union lines, as the foe retreated and pursuit commenced. Mr. Diggs, who had viewed the battle afar off, seeing victory perched upon the banner of the Union forces, prevailed on January to join in the pursuit, and galloping up to his regiment, waved his sword high in the air, shouting:
"Hip, hip, huzzah, huzzah, huzzah! for the old Stars and Stripes, the flag of Washington and Marion! Charge everybody! I want to get among them! They shall know that Patrick Henry Diggs can fight."
The crest of the hill was reached, and the whole Confederate army suddenly burst into view, drawn up in a line of battle, a thunderclap shook the earth, and a huge volume of smoke seemed to enwrap it. Death and destruction was hurled among the advancing ranks. The ground was strewn at the first fire with dead and wounded. Out from these columns of smoke came the fearful Black Horse Regiment, bearing down like a dark storm on the already stunned Union lines.
Retreat was the only thing, and retreat became rout and panic. It was the arrival of General Johnston, who, having eluded Patterson, had come up with reinforcements that so suddenly turned the tide of battle, making defeat out of almost certain victory.
Abner saw his men and horses rolling in the dust from the deadly fire. A score of saddles were emptied at the first volley, and a score of riderless horses dashed back frightened, to spread panic in the rear. No bugle sounded the retreat, there was no need for any. It was vain to attempt to stem the current, for his men had lost all self-control.
As Uncle Dan wheeled his horse to follow the flying regiment, he saw Willie Thornbridge sink in his saddle. Reaching out his strong arm, he drew the slight boyish figure before him on his own horse.
"Are you hurt, Willie?" the old man asked.
The boy made no reply, but the uproar and confusion doubtless drowned the old man's words. He kept steadily on, bearing the slight burden, passing the infantry, the artillery, the baggage and ammunition trains, and on, until he reached the outskirts of the retreating army.
"Is he hurt?" asked Abner Tompkins, who had drawn up a portion of his shattered company.
"I don't know," said Uncle Dan, "he has not spoken during our entire ride. Can you get down, Willie?"
There was no answer. Captain Tompkins sprang from his horse and went to assist the boy. As the old man released his hold, the young soldier fell into the captain's arms and they saw he was dead.
Dead without a pang. Dead without a moment's preparation, without one word of endearment or farewell to his lonely and widowed mother.
Just behind Willie's left ear was a small, dark-red hole, from which the purple life-blood was still oozing. The small insignificant speck, as it seemed, had opened a door, through which his young soul had taken its everlasting flight.
Taking up the corpse, the cavalcade rode sadly on for a few miles, to where the tired Union army, or a portion of it, encamped for the night.
Mr. Diggs was in the very height of his patriotism and bravery, when the arrival of the re-enforcements so suddenly changed the tide of battle.
"Oh, Lordy! I'll be killed, I know I shall!" he shrieked, and January again turned and fled before the tempest. Taking a course to the left of that pursued by the regular army, Diggs soon found himself on the outskirts of the battle. As he looked over his shoulder, he beheld a powerful cavalryman in full uniform, mounted on a horse black as midnight, in hot pursuit of him.
"Oh, Lordy! he'll kill me, I know he will," yelled the miserable Diggs, as he urged January on at the top of his speed. Casting back occasional glances, he saw that the huge black horse was gradually gaining on him.
Things had really become serious, and Diggs was in momentary danger of the ponderous saber, which the cavalryman flourished threateningly in the air as he came on like the wind. They had been flying over a level piece of cleared land, but now a thick body of timber and brush loomed up before them. There was yet a chance. Once in the timber, Diggs might elude his dangerous pursuer. The Confederate cavalryman evidently understood this, for, with a whack he sent his saber into the scabbard, and drew his pistol, without once slacking his speed.
"Oh, Lordy! I shall be killed this time sure," bawled Diggs. Again he glanced toward the cavalryman and saw him raise his deadly weapon. Diggs yelled, screamed, and implored, all the while urging January to greater speed. The wood was almost at hand.
"Bang!" went the pistol, and Diggs felt a sharp pain, as if a red-hot iron had been suddenly jerked across the top of his left shoulder.
"Oh, I am killed! I am killed!" he yelled, as January plunged into the thick underbrush.
The Confederate evidently believing he had killed the Yankee (having, indeed, the Yankee's own word for it), turned and dashed away.
January had not gone twenty yards in his mad race through the woods before he plunged into the mill-stream. Diggs' wound was not serious and the water was shallow, so he soon managed to crawl out on the opposite side, where he seated himself for a moment at the foot of a tree, gasping, spitting, and sneezing, the water running from his clothes in rivulets. "This soldier business don't suit me," he muttered, "and I know I shall be killed if I don't quit it. It is nothing but duckings, falls, being torn with thorns and shot with guns—"
A sharp firing in the woods roused him to a reality of his situation, and, mounting the dripping January, he galloped away to join his regiment.