When he saw he was seen, he beckoned for some one to come to him. Two or three of the soldiers started, but he peremptorily waved them back. Lawrence then started, and the old man stood still.
"Don't go, Captain," cried the men. "It may be a trap."
"I will be careful," replied Lawrence. "Shoot at the first sign of treachery."
A dozen carbines covered the old man, but he did not seem to notice it. When Lawrence was within about fifty yards of him, he motioned for him to stop; then, in a high, cracked voice, exclaimed: "There is danger ahead."
"I know it," replied Lawrence.
"A little ahead, close to that large tree, you will find a faint trail. Take it. It will lead you over the mountain into another valley, where you can go on your way in safety. Delay twenty minutes, and all will be lost. Farewell."
The old man stepped from the rock and disappeared. Lawrence rushed to where he had been standing. Nothing was to be seen. It was as if the earth had swallowed him.
He returned and told what had happened, and the wonderment was great.
"No time to lose," exclaimed Lawrence. "I shall take his advice."
In single file, the men turned into the trail. The way was steep, but not impassable, and soon the forest swallowed them up.
Not until they were over the mountain, was there any opportunity of discussing the strange warning they had received.
"Can it be that old man has been our guardian angel all the time?" asked Lawrence.
"Impossible," said Dan. "We received the first warning when we had hardly left the valley of La Belle. We have come fast. How could that old man have come over the mountains and got ahead of us?"
"And where did he go when he disappeared so suddenly?" asked one.
"And who shot the guerrilla?" questioned another.
"It's a secret only the mountains can tell. I have heard they were haunted," said Dan.
"It's God's hand," said one of the men, a solemn, clerical-looking fellow, whom the men called Preacher. Before he was a soldier, he had been a Methodist class leader; and there was not a braver man in the company.
Argue as they might, they could come to no conclusion. To them it was a mystery that was never solved.
It was weeks before Lawrence fully knew of the danger from which the old man had saved him. Captain Turner, in his swift ride to get ahead of him, had fallen in with a scouting party of fifty Confederate cavalry; not only this, but his force had been augmented by guerrillas until he had fully two hundred men, well armed and mounted. Had Lawrence met this force in the narrow valley, he could not have escaped defeat.
The horror and amazement of the advance guard of Turner's force may be imagined when they came upon the scene of conflict. That the battle had just been fought, was evident; the smoke of the conflict had not entirely cleared from the field. What was more surprising, not an armed man was in sight—neither Federal nor Confederate.
They listened, but could hear no sound of conflict. Captain Turner came up. For a moment he gazed on the scene of carnage, and then cried: "Great God! Major Powell ran into an ambuscade, and his force has been annihilated. The dead are all our men. But where are the Yankees?"
"Doubtless in pursuit of the few of the Major's force that escaped," replied an officer.
"That is so," cried Turner. "Forward, men! Let our war-cry be: 'Powell and Revenge!' Give no quarter! Let every one of the cursed Yankees die."
They rode nearly four miles before they came on to Major Powell and the remnant of his force. They had continued falling back until they were certain they were not pursued.
Of his hundred men, the Major had succeeded in rallying about forty. The rest had been killed or wounded, or had fled. Some of them did not stop until they reached the valley of La Belle, bringing with them the story of the disaster, saying that of all of Powell's force they alone escaped.
"Did you meet and exterminate the Yankees?" was the first question put to Captain Turner by Major Powell.
"I have seen no Yankees," was the surprising answer.
Major Powell could only gasp, "Seen no Yankees?"
"No; not one."
"Then the mountains must have opened and swallowed them."
Full explanations were made, and the force returned to bury the dead and care for the wounded. The only possible explanation they could make for the disappearance of the Federals was that they had hid on the mountain-side and let the force of Captain Turner pass, then come down and resumed their flight.
As they debated, suddenly, above them, on the mountain-side, appeared the figure of an old man, and his voice came down to them, loud and shrill: "Woe, woe, woe to them who raise their hands against the flag of their country!"
"Damn him! Fire!" shouted Turner.
A hundred rifles blazed. There came back to them a mocking laugh, and the old man disappeared. The mountain was scoured, but not a trace of him could be found.
A superstitious fear fell upon the whole force. The old man must have been the devil, they argued, and he had helped the Yankees to escape.
It was a day or two after the appearance of the fugitives from Powell's force that Mark Grafton returned to the La Belle. He seemed tired and careworn, but reported that his trip had been entirely successful.
When told of the disastrous defeat of Powell's force, he was astounded. "Had I expected such a result," he exclaimed, "I would have gone with him. Ran into an ambuscade, did he? I believe, if I had been with him, I could have prevented that, for I am used to fighting just such fellows, and am up to all their tricks."
"You seem to have a good opinion of yourself," remarked Grace, somewhat sarcastically.
What she said, and the tone in which she said it, cut Mark to the heart. "Your rebuke is just, Grace. No man should boast," he said, as he turned away.
That night Mark lay thinking. That Grace had changed, he could plainly see. It must be because he had refused to tell her his secret. "I must go away, and never return," he sighed. "It is the only way. If I could only stay near her, to see her every day, to be her slave, I would be contented."
Then the thought of Big Tom came into his mind. He knew there was real danger from that source. No one knew better than he what the guerrillas of the State were fast becoming—bands of robbers that preyed on friend and foe alike. He felt that Mr. Chittenden's being a Confederate would not save him. To go away and leave Grace exposed to such a great danger would be to him a torture.
Sleep did not visit him that night, and when morning came he was no nearer a decision than he was the night before. He arose; white and haggard. The lines in his face showed what he had suffered.
That night also seemed to have changed Grace. She came to him and, holding out her hand, said: "Mark, I'm sorry I spoke as I did last night. Forgive me." Then, looking at him, she cried: "Foolish boy! I believe you took to heart what I said. Mark, did it hurt you so?"
"There is nothing to forgive, Grace," he replied, gently. "I passed a restless night, but it was not what you said that caused it, but the thought that I had already remained here too long; and yet it is hard to go from those who are so kind to me."
"Why go at all?" asked Grace. "You belong here. Did we not bring you back from the very brink of the grave? I have heard father say he wished you would always remain. He has taken a great fancy to you."
A great light came into Mark's face. He took a step toward her, as if he would clasp her in his arms. "Grace! Grace!" he cried, then stopped and turned deadly pale.
"Mark, what is it? Are you sick?" asked Grace, anxiously.
"No; I did turn a little faint, but I am over it now. I will think over what you said."
He did think it over, and came to the conclusion that he must go; for, if he stayed, the time would come when he would have to confess his love for Grace. He trembled when he realized how near he had come to telling her. But it was not many hours before he was telling her.
A man came riding into the valley from the north. He was burning with fever, and reeled from side to side in his saddle. He was lifted from his horse, and carried into the house.
"I am afraid I am done for," he said, faintly, as he was gently placed on a bed. "I was told I would find a crippled Confederate soldier here, called Mark Grafton, who sometimes acts as the bearer of dispatches. Is he here now?"
"He is," answered Mr. Chittenden.
"I must see him—see him before it is too late. I feel the hand of Death upon me."
Mark was called, and the sick man, between gasps, told his story. He said his name was Paul Dupont, and he was the bearer of important dispatches to General Hindman. "I was sick at the time they asked me to carry them, and tried to beg off, but they said the dispatches were so important they could only be trusted to a brave and trusty man, and they knew I was one. 'Carry them as far as Judge Chittenden's, on the La Belle,' they said; 'then, if you are not able to go farther, deliver them into the hands of a crippled Confederate soldier there, by the name of Mark Grafton.' I can go no farther. The hand of Death is already on me. You will find the dispatches sewed in the lining of my coat. Take them and deliver them into the hands of General Hindman."
"To Hindman!" gasped Mark.
"Yes—don't fail!" whispered Dupont, as he sank back on his pillow, exhausted. He closed his eyes; his breath came shorter and shorter, and he soon passed away, without speaking again.
Mark stood as one confounded. A sacred trust had been committed to him—one that took him where he never wished to go—into Arkansas. No one except himself could realize the dangers that he would run.
When Mr. Chittenden heard of the dead man's request, he said: "Mark, will you go? Those dispatches mean much; they may mean the redemption of the State. But the danger—Mark, I hate to see you go."
Mark thought a moment, and then, drawing himself up to his full height, his face set and determined, he answered: "I will go. It is a sacred trust—it is for my country."
Mr. Chittenden and Mark searched the effects of the dead man, and found the dispatches as stated. They also found he had about one hundred dollars in Federal money and two thousand dollars in Confederate money on his person. Among the papers found was a pass from General Hindman, asking all good Confederates to aid the bearer all possible.
"No doubt Dupont was a trusty spy for General Hindman," said Mr. Chittenden. "Mark, you are stepping into dangerous shoes; yet, if you were my son, I should bid you go. As for the money, keep that; no doubt it was given Dupont for expenses, and you are now in his place."
Mark's preparations were soon made, but the roll which he strapped behind his saddle was much larger than he generally took. When he was ready, he sought Grace, to say good-bye. She was not in the house, and knew nothing of what had taken place.
He sought her in her favorite nook by the side of the La Belle, and there he found her gazing pensively into the water. Mark thought there was a look of sadness on her face. She looked up in surprise as he rode up.
"Going away so soon?" she asked.
Dismounting, Mark hitched his horse, and, going up to her, said: "Yes, Grace, I am going again, and on one of the most dangerous missions I ever undertook. I have come to say good-bye. If I never see you again, God bless you!"
The girl turned pale. "Why go, Mark, if it is so dangerous?"
"It is my duty."
"Mark, don't go!" Tears were gathering in her eyes.
He looked at her, his whole face eloquent with love. All the resolutions he had made were forgotten.
"Grace, I must say what I have told myself a thousand times I would never say. Grace, I love you—love you better than I do my own soul, and because I so love you, it is better that I go away and never return."
"I don't understand," she murmured. "You said things the other day I didn't understand, and you made me angry."
"Grace, you are fit to reign a queen in some palace. I am poor and unknown. But it is not my poverty that has kept me from declaring my love. It is because I am unworthy of you—because I have deceived you in some things. Grace, I am not worthy to kiss the earth you tread on."
A death-like pallor came over the face of the girl. "Mark, for the love of Heaven, tell me—tell me! Are you married, or have you committed some heinous crime?"
"Married! Why, Grace, I never thought of love until I saw you. I knew not what love was. Neither am I a criminal. Things are done in war that would be criminal in times of peace."
"Then why do you say you are so unworthy? Mark, it's that terrible secret you are keeping from me! Mark, tell me what it is?" She put her hands on his shoulders, looking yearningly in his face.
Mark Grafton shook like a leaf. "Grace! Grace!" he cried, "don't tempt me! You know not what you ask."
"Then you refuse to tell me?" She had taken her hands from his shoulders; there was an angry flush on her cheeks.
"I can't, Grace! Oh, God! if I could!"
"Go!" she said. "For once, you have told the truth, when you said you were not worthy of me. All the rest you have said are lies—lies. You love me, you say, better than your own soul, and yet you refuse to tell me what it is that would keep me from you. If you loved me, you would trust me, confide in me. By your actions you have shown yourself unworthy of the love of any true woman. I have loved you as a sister—nothing more—but even that love is gone now. Go! I never want to see you again," and she turned from him.
A moment Mark stood; then he said, gently: "Grace, good-bye. It is best that you feel as you do, for I now know that it is only I who will suffer. I love you, Grace, and always will, but it will be a pure, a holy love. Nothing you can say or do can take from me the blessed privilege of loving you. Grace, will you not say good-bye?" No answer.
Mark turned wearily, and mounted his horse. As the sound of the horse's hoofs came to her, Grace started as if from a dream. She looked. He was already riding away. She rushed toward him, with outstretched arms.
"Mark! Mark! Come back!" she cried. "It was I that lied. I love you! I love you!"
He did not hear, or, if he heard, did not heed, for he rode on without looking back. She watched until he had disappeared in the distance; then, pressing her hands to her heart, sank down. The wind rustled through the trees, and sent a shower of withered leaves down upon her.
"Like my hopes," she murmured, "withered and dying; yet, even in death, they are beautiful!"
She noticed the imprint of Mark's foot where he had stood when he declared his love. A leaf, all orange and gold, with a splash of red in the center, had fallen and half concealed the imprint. She stooped and picked it up.
"He said he was not worthy to kiss the earth on which I tread," she whispered, and she pressed the leaf to her lips; then, with a shudder, she threw it from her, for she noticed her lips had touched the splash of red, which to her looked like blood.
For a few miles after leaving Grace, Mark rode as if pursued by an enemy. Wild thoughts rushed through his mind; but at length he became calmer.
"No, no," he soliloquized, "I cannot leave Grace to the vengeance of Hobson, and I am sure he will seek vengeance as soon as he recovers from his wound. But am I not leaving her? Well do I realize the danger I am running. It is doubtful if I ever come back. An ignominious death may await me. I have put duty above love. But, Grace, if I live, my duty, after this, will be to guard and protect you. Unseen and unknown, I will be near you. To see you from afar will be heaven."
Mark soon halted by a pool of clear water, and undid the roll behind his saddle, from which he took various articles. Soon no one would have known him as the young man who had ridden away from the La Belle. He looked ten years older; the color of his hair was changed, and a fine mustache adorned his upper lip.
He studied his face for a while as he leaned over the clear water. "It will do," he said. "But what if I meet Colonel Clay?"
For three days after that Mark rode without an adventure, but on the fourth day he was chased by a squad of Federal cavalry. A lucky shot killed the horse of his foremost pursuer, and he escaped. Skirting the flank of the Federal army, he reached the headquarters of General Hindman at Van Buren, on the Arkansas River.
Here, behind the Boston Mountains, Hindman had gathered an army estimated at from twenty to thirty thousand men. Opposed to him was General Blunt, with an army of not over seven or eight thousand men. Hindman thought that by a swift movement he could crush Blunt before he could be reinforced, and then, meeting any reinforcements which might be marching to his relief, whip them in detail, thus wresting Missouri from the grasp of the Federals.
He was now only waiting dispatches from Missouri informing him of the number and position of the Federal troops in the State, and the number of recruits he could reasonably expect to join him, once in the State, and where.
It was these dispatches that Mark Grafton was carrying. If captured with them, Mark well knew what his fate would be. There were other reasons, known only to himself, which made it extremely perilous for him to enter the Confederate lines.
It was late in the afternoon when Mark was challenged by the outposts of the Confederate army. He stated that he was a courier from Missouri, with important dispatches for General Hindman, and demanded that he be conducted to headquarters at once. It was dark before headquarters were reached, but Mark was granted an immediate audience with the General.
"What is your name?" asked the General, as Mark handed him the dispatches.
"Grafton—Mark Grafton."
"I was expecting dispatches, important ones, but from another source. I wonder what these can be?"
He opened them and, glancing at them, exclaimed: "Why, these are the very dispatches I was looking for! I expected them to be delivered by a man named Dupont. How did you come by them?"
"Dupont is dead," replied Mark, solemnly.
"Dupont dead! Great God! How did he die? Was he captured?"
"No." Mark told the full particulars of Dupont's death, and how in his dying moments he had committed the dispatches to him.
"Poor Dupont!" sighed Hindman. "He was my most trusted spy, and he died in the discharge of his duty."
Then, scrutinizing Mark closely, he said: "You have made good time in coming from Chittenden's. Have any trouble?"
"Only once. I put one Yankee cavalryman out of commission."
"Good! How would you like to take Dupont's place?" asked Hindman, abruptly.
"General, I would make a poor spy. I could be identified too easily," and Mark touched his crippled arm.
"Where did you get that?"
"In one of the little partisan battles in Missouri," answered Mark, without hesitation.
"I am sorry," answered Hindman. "I wished to send some dispatches back with you."
"I can take them," promptly answered Mark. "And, if you wish, I can act as dispatch-bearer for you in Missouri. I am well acquainted in the State, and am known to most of the guerrilla leaders. It is through them I receive and deliver my dispatches. I am careful never to enter a Federal camp. I am at present staying at Chittenden's, and will cheerfully execute any commission you may send me. I have carried dispatches for Colonel Clay several times."
"Just the thing. Consider yourself engaged," cried the General. "I recall now that I have heard Colonel Clay speak of you. I am sorry the Colonel is away on special duty."
Mark was not the least bit sorry, but his looks did not show it. Clay would not have known him in his disguise, and would have denounced him as an impostor.
"General, one thing more," said Mark. "Mr. Chittenden, in looking over the effects of Dupont, found several little trinkets that his family might wish to have. There was also one hundred dollars in Federal money and two thousand dollars in Confederate money on his person. Here is everything."
"You can keep the Federal money. The Confederate will be of little use to you in Missouri. Here is another one hundred in Federal money, but remember this money is a sacred trust, and only to be used for expenses when on business for the Confederacy."
"It will be so considered," said Mark as he took the money. "General, will it be possible for you to have your dispatches ready by morning. Mr. Chittenden wished me to get back as quickly as possible. He is in trouble."
"Trouble? What trouble?"
"Why, haven't you heard? The valley of the La Belle has been raided by a force of Federals, the provisions and forage he had gathered captured, and four or five hundred recruits coming from the central and northern part of the State taken prisoners and paroled."
"I had not heard of it," said the General, greatly excited. "When did it happen?"
"Only a few days before I left. But that is not all. Just as the Federals left, Major Powell came up from Arkansas with a train to get the provisions and forage and escort the recruits. He pursued the Federals, but fell into an ambuscade and his command was cut to pieces."
"Do you know who commanded the Federals?"
"Yes, a Captain Lawrence Middleton."
"The devil! He had much to do with frustrating our plans last summer."
"Yes, and but a few weeks ago he almost annihilated the band of Red Jerry. We are trying to lay plans to capture him."
"Well, this is bad news, but we will try and turn the tables before many days. I will have my dispatches ready by morning. Make yourself comfortable until then." With a wave of the hand the General dismissed him.
The next morning Mark called early for the dispatches and found the General in close conversation with a thick, heavy-set man whose face showed both courage and determination. When Mark saw him he gave a start. "I know you, my friend," he thought, "and it will be an unfortunate thing for me if you recognize me."
"Ah, Grafton, is that you?" said the General. "Glad to see you. Allow me to make you acquainted with Mr. Spencer. Spencer, this is the young man I was telling you about. Grafton, Spencer is now my most trusted spy, since Dupont is gone. He will ride part way with you."
Mark extended his hand cordially, but there was no warmth or cordiality in the hand that Spencer gave him. Instead, he looked as if he would read the inmost thoughts of Mark's soul, but Mark met his gaze steadily and coolly, as if he did not know his life was hanging in the balance.
At length Spencer said, "Glad to meet you, Grafton. Excuse me for scrutinizing you so closely, but we are in the same business, and as I may have you for a companion sometime, I like to measure my man before I tie to him."
"Well, how do I measure?" asked Mark, with a smile.
"I reckon you will do."
"I trust so," rejoined Mark. "But you made a mistake in saying I was in the same business. I don't believe I have nerve enough to be a spy. I am simply a courier, and carry what others have gathered. It takes nerve to penetrate the enemy's camp. Nerve such as you have, Spencer."
Spencer's face lit up with a smile. "You rate me too highly, Grafton," he answered. "But I certainly have been in some tight places, and I reckon you could relate some startling adventures if you would."
Mark had been handed his dispatches, and was about to depart when General Frost was announced.
"Hold on a minute," said Hindman. "General Frost may have some word he would like to send."
"Sending a courier into Missouri?" asked Frost.
"Yes, the same young man who brought those dispatches last night, that Dupont should have brought. I am sorry to say Dupont is dead."
"Dead! Dupont dead! Did the Yankees get him?"
"No, he died of the fever. He arrived at Chittenden's in a dying condition and gave his dispatches to Grafton to bring on."
"Grafton? I think I have heard that name from Colonel Clay. Happy to meet you, Grafton. Let me hear the news from Missouri."
Much against his will Mark was forced to remain and again rehearse his story. When he told of the capture of the train and the defeat of Powell, Frost became very much excited.
"What Federal officer did you say was in command?" he asked.
"I didn't say, but I understood it was a Captain Middleton."
Frost sprang to his feet, letting out a volley of oaths.
"Where were you when this happened?" he then asked.
"I was absent from the valley. I was helping Mr. Chittenden in gathering supplies, and was away seeing about some that had not yet arrived."
Mark was now excused, but told to wait for Spencer. General Frost had taken him aside and they were engaged in earnest conversation. Every now and then they would glance at Mark, and he was sure they were talking about him. If he had heard what they were saying he would have known he was under suspicion.
"It can't be he," Frost was saying, "but every now and then there is something about him that makes me think of him. I hardly know what; certain motions, I think."
"I knew him well," answered Spencer, "and so far I have not seen anything that would make me think Grafton was he. I am to ride with him nearly a day's journey, and if I see anything suspicious—well you know what will happen."
All being ready the two rode away together. They had not gone far when Mark noticed that Spencer was watching every move he made. Instantly every nerve of Mark's body became alert, but to all appearances he was totally unsuspicious. To Spencer's request that he tell him something of his life, he responded that he did not have much to tell. He had been a member of a guerrilla band, was wounded and had found his way into the Ozarks, where he had been with Mr. Chittenden, who took him in when he was suffering with the fever. He had acted as courier for Colonel Clay, but had never met with many exciting adventures.
"Now, Spencer," he said, "tell me something of yourself, for I know you have faced a hundred dangers where I have faced one."
Spencer refused to be interviewed, and maintained a rather moody silence. At length they reached where they were to part and when they shook hands Spencer, as if by accident, drew the sleeve of his coat across Mark's face and his mustache came off.
"Damn you! I know you now," shrieked Spencer as he reached for his revolver, but quick as a flash Mark snatched a revolver from his bosom and fired.
Spencer's revolver went off half raised. He sank down in the saddle, then rolled from his horse, a motionless body.
Mark was about to dismount to see if he was dead when he was startled by the pounding of horses' hoofs and looking up saw a squad of Federal cavalry bearing down on him. Putting spurs to his horse and bending low over his neck he escaped amid a shower of bullets.
The only mark of the conflict that Mark could find was a bullet which had lodged in the back of his saddle.
After riding several miles, Mark met half a dozen guerrillas who said they were on their way to join Hindman. He told them of meeting the Yankee cavalry and that they would have to look out, and asked them to take a note to General Hindman for him. To this they readily assented and this is what Mark wrote:
General: I am sorry to say that just as Spencer and I were to part we ran into a squad of Yankee cavalry. Poor Spencer was killed and I only escaped by the fleetness of my horse. If Spencer had dispatches that will embarrass you, you can govern yourself accordingly, for they are now in the hands of the enemy.
As for the dispatches you entrusted to me, they are safe, and if they are never delivered you will know I have suffered the fate of poor Spencer.
Mark Grafton.
After parting from the guerrillas Mark, instead of riding towards home, turned his horse westward. In due time General Hindman learned that the dispatches he had entrusted to Mark had been faithfully delivered, but that Mark had disappeared. Mr. Chittenden looked for his return to the La Belle in vain.
General Hindman made anxious inquiries, for he had use for so faithful a courier as Mark had proved to be. But the weeks passed and nothing was heard, and it was thought he must have been killed, and he was numbered with the unknown dead.
Mr. Chittenden mourned him as such, but Grace maintained that he still lived, and she had good cause for her belief. She had never told her father of the love passage between Mark and herself, and how she had refused to bid him good-bye when he left. The memory of that parting was a secret, she felt, only to be held in her own heart, for she was not sure she would ever see or hear from Mark again.
One day a letter was placed in Grace's hands by a messenger who hurried away before she had time to thank him, much less question him. Much to her surprise and joy the letter was from Mark.
"He lives! He lives!" she cried rapturously as she pressed it to her lips. Grace had forgotten all her resentment towards Mark, forgotten that the secret that lay between them was still unsolved. She only knew that she loved him. Eagerly she read the letter, which ran:
Grace: Lest you believe me dead, I write this. It was foolish in me to tell you of my love, but I had to do it. Now that you know, I am content. I ask nothing, deserve nothing, in return. Just the thought of loving you is like thinking of heaven. When I went away I rode as it were into the jaws of death, and escaped as by a miracle. Grace, it is best that I see you no more. Think of me only as one who takes joy in loving you. Only one thing will ever call me to your side, and that is if you are ever in grave danger. To defend you I would come from the ends of the earth.
I think you have read Longfellow's Hiawatha, for I have seen it in your library. Do you remember that when Minnehaha lay dying she called for Hiawatha, and, although he was miles and miles away, that cry of anguish reached him. And so great is my love for you that I believe that if you should call me in a time of danger I would hear. Remember this if trouble comes, though I hope it never will.
Farewell.
Mark.
Grace read and re-read the strange letter. Hiawatha had just been published when she was at school in St. Louis, and it had been a great favorite of hers.
What could Mark mean by intimating that some great peril might be impending? She knew not. But Mark lived; he still loved her, would always love her.
She placed the letter in her bosom next her heart and there it rested. Her secret was her own; why tell it? If Mark never came back, no one would ever know. But she believed he would come back, and her step grew lighter, her face brighter, her laugh merrier. In fact, she became her old self, and her father rejoiced, for he had noticed a change in her since Mark went away.
When General Sterling Price was ordered east of the Mississippi River the Confederate Government placed the Department of Arkansas under the command of General T. C. Hindman. It was Hindman who originated the idea of organizing the guerrillas of Missouri into companies and regiments, intending by a general uprising to wrest the State from the grasp of the Federals.
In his report to the Confederate Government Hindman says: "I gave authority to various persons to raise companies and regiments there (in Missouri) and to operate as guerrillas."
Thus Hindman confesses he was encouraging the bloody guerrilla warfare which raged throughout the State.
Hindman ruled Arkansas with a rod of iron. He declared martial law throughout the State, appointed a provost marshal for every county, and proceeded to force every able-bodied man into the army. In his reports he coolly says: "For the salvation of the country, I took the responsibility to force these men into service. I now resolved for the same objects to compel them to remain."
A great many of these men were Union at heart, and desertions were frequent. To stop this Hindman began the wholesale shooting of deserters. In all probability he shot as many men for deserting as the Federal authorities shot guerrillas in Missouri for breaking their paroles. So high-handed did his acts become, and so many were the complaints made against him, that the Confederate Government had to take cognizance of them.
By the end of November Hindman had succeeded in gathering an army of from twenty-five to thirty thousand men. Many of them were unarmed, but he had a formidable host in comparison to the small army opposed to him.
It was on December the second that Lawrence arrived at the camp of General Blunt. Since he had crossed the mountains, and escaped the force in front of him, he had encountered no serious opposition. He had met and scattered two or three small bands of guerrillas, and taken a number of prisoners, whom he had been obliged to parole.
"I am more than glad to see you," exclaimed General Blunt, warmly grasping Lawrence's hand. "Schofield telegraphed me you were coming and I have been looking for you for several days. I began to fear misfortune had overtaken you."
"We did have a variety of adventures," answered Lawrence. "More than we bargained for, but we are here all right now."
"Tell us about it," said the General, and nothing would do but that Lawrence must give a detailed account of the trip. The General listened attentively, and when Lawrence finished he clapped him on the shoulder and cried, "Well done, my boy! Well done. You ought to be a general. But were not the warnings you received in the mountains rather mysterious?"
"They were," answered Lawrence, "and I have no plausible explanation to make."
Early next morning Blunt sent for Lawrence, asking him to come immediately. He found him sitting with a paper in his hand, and a puzzled expression on his face.
"Hello! Captain," he cried. "I'm glad to see you, as I am a little in the mystery business myself this morning."
"In the mystery business?" asked Lawrence, somewhat astonished.
"Yes, don't imagine you are the only one to receive mysterious warnings. I received one myself last night."
"Out with it. Don't keep me in suspense, General."
"Well, last night a soldier brought me a communication, saying it was given to him by a young Indian with the urgent request that it be given to me at once."
"You have Indians in your command, have you not?"
"Yes, a company of scouts under the command of Colonel Wattles. The paper was of such a nature that I immediately began an investigation as to its genuineness. Colonel Wattles asked every man in his command if any one of them had delivered such a paper and each and every one denied knowledge of it. I found the soldier who gave me the paper, and he said the Indian who gave it to him disappeared in the darkness before he could ask him any questions. The paper contains the most important information, if true. Here it is. I want you to look at it, and tell me what you think of it."
General Blunt handed Lawrence the communication, and no sooner had he glanced at it than he exclaimed, "Great Heavens!"
"What is it?" asked Blunt, jumping up in his excitement. "Do you know who wrote it?"
"I do not know who wrote it, but I know the handwriting. It is from the same person who warned General Schofield, through me, of the contemplated partisan uprising in Missouri last summer. It was the information given in that communication that enabled General Schofield to thwart the movement."
"Was it the same person that warned you that you were being pursued in the Ozarks?" asked the General.
"No, that warning was given by an illiterate person. This is by someone well educated. Whatever information the paper gives, act upon it at once. I will stake my life on its being correct."
"Read what it says," replied the General.
Lawrence read the paper through and, as he expected, it was a detailed account of the plans of General Hindman. It stated that Hindman had just received dispatches from several sources in Missouri that if he did not hurry up and invade the State the cause would be hopelessly lost, but if he could defeat Blunt and invade the State, thousands were ready to flock to his standard. Hindman had answered that he was ready to move on Blunt with twenty thousand men, and anticipated an easy victory as he (Blunt) did not have more than five or six thousand men.
"He estimated my force closely," said Blunt. "There must have been spies in my camp," but read on.
"Great Scott! He says Hindman will commence his movement on the fourth or fifth; and this is the third," exclaimed Lawrence.
"Yes, and I have only this small division to oppose him."
"Where are the other two divisions?"
"Up around Springfield, seventy-five miles away, and Schofield's orders are to hold this position at all hazards."
"Herron can get here," cried Lawrence. "I know his Western boys; they are greyhounds to march."
"But just think, seventy-five miles in two or three days," said Blunt, "and then go into battle. But it is my only hope."
It was twelve miles to the telegraph office at Fayetteville. A swift courier carried the message there and from there it went on the wings of the lightning to General Herron.
It was a little after midnight on the morning of the fourth that General Herron received the message, and by three o'clock his little army was on the way—a march of seventy-five miles before them and then a battle. There was no lagging, no grumbling. "On to save Blunt" was the cry.
That army was accustomed to long marches, to hardships almost incredible. Hardly ever stopping, through the nights as well as days, they marched, and on the evening of the sixth the advance of Herron's army reached Fayetteville; the rest would be up during the night. Blunt's army was still twelve miles away, and the boom of the cannon told them the conflict was on.
Hindman knew that Herron was coming, and he made haste to strike before his arrival. On December fifth he instructed General Marmaduke to take his division, turn the right flank of Blunt's army, and throw his men in between Blunt and Fayetteville, thus preventing the union of Blunt and Herron.
The clash came at Cain Hill. Lawrence, with his troop, was in the advance, and the rapidity of their fire so astonished Marmaduke that he thought he was fighting a much larger force than he was, and his men fell back in confusion. The movement was a failure.
All through the next day Hindman's forces kept pouring through the passes of the mountains, and though the Federals resisted gallantly, they were gradually pressed back, and the evening of the sixth found the two armies confronting each other, ready to grapple in deadly conflict.
Blunt had sent word to Herron that he would fight where he was, and for him to hurry forward. During the night General Hindman made an unexpected and aggressive movement, worthy of Stonewall Jackson. Reasoning that Herron's men must be completely exhausted by their long march, he resolved to leave his camp fires burning and a small force which was to make a big show, thus leading General Blunt to believe the whole army was still before him. Hindman then marched around Blunt and in the morning was squarely between him and Herron. Hindman believed he could easily whip Herron before Blunt came up, and then he would turn on Blunt and finish the job.
As soon as it was light the Confederates in front of Blunt opened a noisy battle. Lawrence was serving on Blunt's staff, leaving the troop in command of Dan. The Federals pressed eagerly forward, the Confederates yielding ground readily.
"General," said Lawrence, "there is something wrong. I do not believe the whole army is before us. They give ground too easily. I believe the main part of Hindman's army has slipped past us, and gone to attack Herron."
"Impossible," answered Blunt. "The only road they could have taken to get past us is the Cove Creek road, some four miles away, and I sent Colonel Richardson with his regiment to guard that with strict orders to hold it, and let me know if he was attacked. I have heard nothing from him, so all must be well."
But Lawrence was not satisfied; more and more he became convinced that there was only a small force in front, and he asked Blunt if he might not go and try to find Richardson, as he had not yet reported. Permission was readily granted. Lawrence had not gone two miles before he came onto Richardson. He had not occupied nor had he attempted to occupy the Cove Creek road. Instead he had halted two miles from it, and sent forward a small reconnoitering party; and the officer in charge of the party had reported that the enemy had been passing along the road in force ever since midnight.
"Why didn't you occupy the road as ordered?" angrily demanded Lawrence of Richardson.
"Do you think I was going to fight the whole Confederate army with my little regiment? I'm not such a fool," retorted Richardson.
"Why didn't you send word to the General then that the enemy was passing along this road in force?" demanded Lawrence, still more angry. "By your own admission you became aware of the movement by midnight."
"Why, I was just about to report the matter," said Richardson.
"Just about to, and here it is after nine o'clock. If I had the power I would strip off your shoulder straps, and have you drummed out of the army," exclaimed Lawrence furiously. In fact, he came the nearest swearing he ever did. But there was no time to quarrel. Wheeling his horse he rode at full speed to General Blunt with the news.
Calling back his men and paying no more attention to the force in front, Blunt marched to the relief of Herron, but it was nearly eleven o'clock before he got under way. Then he did not know exactly where Herron was, for no courier could get through. It was one o'clock before the roar of the cannon told him that the battle had opened, and then he found he was marching in the wrong direction, and it was nearly four o'clock before he reached the field.
Hindman's movement had been a complete success. Herron had gathered his little army at Fayetteville and early in the morning started to join Blunt, whose cannon he could hear, not dreaming that it was to be he and not Blunt that was to fight the main battle.
Hardly had the light of the short December day dawned when Shelby's brigade surprised and captured a train of thirty wagons, and with it nearly three hundred of the four hundred soldiers guarding it. Those not captured fled panic-stricken and for nearly five miles Shelby's men followed them, but here they ran into Herron's men and went back as fast as they had come.
Herron soon came upon the entire Confederate army in line of battle along Illinois Creek, not far from an old church called Prairie Grove Church. The position was a strong one, but Herron did not hesitate a moment, but made preparations to attack.
Why Hindman, with his overwhelming force, did not attack, but waited to be attacked, will never be known. Owing to the nature of the ground it took Herron some time to form his line, but at one o'clock the battle opened. For nearly three long hours it raged. Every time the Confederates essayed to charge they were met with such a storm of shot and shell that they went reeling back.
Twice did Herron's men make desperate charges and captured a battery each time, but they were met with such an overwhelming force that they were forced to relinquish the guns. Herron's men were hard pressed, but grimly they held to their position, awaiting the arrival of Blunt.
It was nearly four o'clock when the roar of Blunt's cannon was heard. Throwing his force on the flank of the Confederate army, they were compelled to give way and the field was won.
Darkness put an end to the conflict, and the tired soldiers threw themselves on the ground to sleep, expecting to renew the conflict in the morning. But Hindman had had enough. He had failed to crush Herron, and now that Blunt and Herron were united, he only thought of safety; so muffling the wheels of his artillery he began his retreat to Van Buren, leaving his dead to be buried and hundreds of his wounded to be cared for by the victorious Federals.
This ended all hopes of the Confederates invading Missouri at this time. Soon Hindman withdrew his army from Northwest Arkansas and fled to Little Rock.
Again had the Army of the Northwest, now known as the Army of the Frontier, achieved a glorious victory in the face of immense odds.[17]
The victory of Prairie Grove sent a thrill throughout the west, especially to the Union men of Missouri. To the secession element of the State it was a fearful blow, and they felt that their only hope was in the success of the Southern army in other fields.
Generals Blunt and Herron and the gallant soldiers of the Army of the Frontier were warmly thanked by the Federal Government for the great victory they had achieved.
A few days after the battle an orderly placed a bulky letter in the hands of Lawrence. He found it to be from General Schofield. As he read it he uttered an exclamation of surprise. The letter stated that General Blair had sent an urgent request that Lawrence be at once returned to him, as he was greatly in need of a staff officer of Lawrence's acquirements.
"As much as I regret to lose you," wrote Schofield, "under the circumstances I cannot object. I have just heard of your achievements in the Ozarks and desire to thank you, which I hope to do in person."
The letter then went on to state that while he no longer feared an invasion of Missouri by any large force, the guerrilla warfare was by no means over, and the State was still open to raids from Arkansas; therefore he hoped that the troop would remain under the command of Lieutenant Sherman, and that the scout Harry Semans would remain with him.
As Lawrence read this his brow contracted, for he hated to give up Dan and Harry. But he felt the wisdom of Schofield's suggestion and could offer no objection.
Enclosed was a letter from General Blair to Lawrence, urging him to come as soon as possible, saying that the movement against Vicksburg was about to commence. "There will be stirring times down here for the next few months," he wrote, "and you will find plenty to do, and fresh fields in which to win honor."
After he read the letter Lawrence handed Schofield's letter to Dan, saying, "Read it."
Dan had read but a few words when he looked up with a happy smile. "Why, Captain," he exclaimed, "this is jolly. It means a wider field. I always thought I would like to be in an army commanded by Grant."
"Read on, Dan," said Lawrence. "There is much bitter with the sweet in that document."
Dan read on. In a moment he uttered an oath, and threw the letter down. "I won't stay," he cried. "I want to go with you. I will resign my commission. I will enlist as a private soldier so I can be near you."
"I do not think that will do you much good," said Lawrence, smiling. "As a private soldier you might be sent hundreds of miles from me. Even if we were in the same army we would see little or nothing of each other. Dan, let's look at this in a reasonable way. To part with you is as great a grief to me as to you. It will be a sad parting, Dan, but it will leave you in command of the troop and, Dan, I know you will do as well, if not better, than I. Then you will have Harry and Bruno. General Schofield is right; the guerrilla warfare is not over, and it is your duty to remain here."
It was hard to convince Dan, although he knew Lawrence was right.
"Let's go and see Blunt," said Lawrence.
The General, though he had known Lawrence but a few days, had become warmly attached to him. His gallantry and coolness in time of battle had won his admiration.
"I had hoped you could remain and become chief of my scouts," he said. "I have need of just such a body of men as you command."
"You forget," said Lawrence, "that General Schofield writes that the troop is to remain under the command of my lieutenant, Daniel Sherman. You will find him equal to all demands. As for scouting, Harry Semans is to remain with his dog Bruno, and they are equal to a regiment when it comes to scouting."
Schofield had written that he wished Lawrence would come by way of St. Louis, as he wished to see him. This meant a horseback ride of two hundred miles to Rolla. Lawrence's preparations for the long ride were soon made, and the time to bid farewell to his command came.
The members of the troop crowded around him to say good-bye and bid him Godspeed, and tears stood in the eyes of many a rough soldier as they took his hand in theirs.
When it came to parting with Dan and Harry, Lawrence broke down. He tried to say something, but a great lump was in his throat and his voice died away. They could only clasp hands, their eyes looking what their tongues refused to say. Dan and Harry watched him ride away, and as he looked back, waved him a last farewell.
But Lawrence's adventures in Missouri were not ended. He reached Springfield in safety and there joined a wagon train en route for Rolla, guarded by a detachment of fifty cavalry. The train was a small one, consisting of forty wagons and ten ambulances, the ambulances conveying back some disabled soldiers who had been furloughed.
The escort was in charge of a Captain Jackson, a pompous, red faced man. Lawrence noticed that he was more or less under the influence of liquor all the time, and that there was little discipline among his men.
A train from Rolla that came into Springfield just as this train was leaving reported that they had been threatened by a band of guerrillas under Jackman, but as their train was strongly guarded, he had not attacked.
"You had better be on your guard," said the officer in command to Jackson.
With an oath Jackson replied that his fifty men were a match for any force Jackman could bring against him. That he wished Jackman would attack, as he would like to give him a good licking.
The first day out Lawrence saw how things were going and spoke to Jackson, telling him that he was moving carelessly, that his men were straggling and were in no shape to resist an attack if one came.
Jackson drew himself proudly up and growled: "Who's in command of this train, you or I? If you are afraid you had better go back to Springfield and get a regiment to guard you through."
Lawrence smothered his wrath and said nothing more. Jackson went among his men boasting loudly how he had taken the starch out of that young peacock of a captain. He had quickly shown him he couldn't order him around.
Soon a lieutenant of the company came to Lawrence and said, "Captain, I heard what you said to Captain Jackson and his insulting reply. You are right. We are in no shape to resist an attack."
"You are in charge of the rear guard, are you not?" asked Lawrence.
"Yes."
"How many men have you?"
"Fifteen."
"Can they all be depended on?"
"Ten or twelve can."
"Good! Tell them if an attack comes to stand by the train to the last. Captain Jackson has charge of the advance; how many men has he?"
"Twenty. Half of them are no good. They would run at the first shot."
"That leaves fifteen men to guard the center of the train," replied Lawrence. "Under whose command are they?"
"Sergeant Strong. He's a good man."
"Let's see him."
The Sergeant was seen and found to be a keen young soldier, fully alive to the situation. "I have had hard work," he said, "to keep my men in hand owing to the example of those in front, but I am doing the best I can. One shot would stampede the whole advance."
"If an attack should come in front," said Lawrence, "and the advance come back panic-stricken, don't give way; Lieutenant Hale, here, will come to your relief. If the rear is attacked, go to him. If the center is attacked he will come to you."
"You can depend on that," said Hale.
"Are the teamsters armed?" asked Lawrence.
"Only about half of them are enlisted men. They are armed."
"See that their guns are loaded and ready for instant use."
The teamsters were astonished and considerably excited when the order came, but they were told that it was merely a matter of precaution, and that there was no cause for alarm.
On the morning of the third day out firing was heard in front. There came a volley followed by fiendish yells and the advance came tearing back, panic-stricken. In a moment everything was in confusion.
Down the train rode the guerrillas, shooting the teamsters and mules, and yelling like devils. Back came Captain Jackson, spurring his horse, his face white with fright.
"Halt," cried Lawrence. But the Captain went past him like a whirlwind, his only thought of escape.
Where the guerrillas had charged the head of the train the ground was open, but where Lawrence was there was a thick growth of bushes on one side of the road and a rough fence built out of logs and rails on the other.
Lawrence ordered one of the teamsters who had not entirely lost his head to swing his wagon across the road, blocking it. Sergeant Strong had succeeded in rallying some ten or twelve of the soldiers, who, springing from their horses, used the mules and wagons for breastworks. Several of the advance guard had been cut off, but they jumped from their horses and, diving under the wagon, continued their flight. Lawrence did not attempt to stop them, for they had lost their arms and would have been of no use.
Close on the heels of the fugitives came six or eight guerrillas.
"Steady, men! Hold your fire!" shouted Lawrence.
He waited until the guerrillas were within a few rods of the improvised breastworks, then ordered the men to fire. Half the saddles were emptied and the rest went scurrying back. But they were met by the main body of guerrillas and all came charging with blood curdling yells.
At this opportune moment Lieutenant Hale came galloping up with the rear guard. His quick eye took in the situation and he ordered his men to dismount and take position behind the mules and wagons.
"Hold your fire!" again shouted Lawrence. "Keep cool and take good aim."
On came the yelling horde. When within a few yards of the blockade the foremost tried to check their horses, but those in the rear pressed on and threw the whole body into confusion.
"Fire!" Lawrence's voice rang out loud and clear. In that packed mass the effect of the volley was terrible.
"Give it to them," shouted Lawrence.
The men loaded and fired as fast as they could, but soon there was no one to shoot at. The guerrillas who had escaped were in retreat.
"Lieutenant Hale, hold the position here," said Lawrence. "Fifteen men come with me."
Every man within the barricade volunteered. Quickly Lawrence counted off fifteen. "The rest stay with Lieutenant Hale and hold the barricade," he ordered.
With the fifteen men Lawrence boldly charged after the fleeing enemy. They had commenced to rally, but a few well directed volleys once more put them to flight.
Ten or twelve wagons were in flames, half a dozen of the teamsters lay weltering in their blood, and the poor mules lay in heaps as they had fallen. The ambulances had been in the rear of the train and so the occupants had escaped.
It was found that fifteen of the teamsters and soldiers had been killed or wounded. Of the guerrillas, thirty lay dead or desperately wounded.
After the fight was over Captain Jackson came creeping back. He claimed that before he retreated he had killed two of the guerrillas with his own hand and he had only gone to the rear to order up Lieutenant Hale.
"Captain Jackson, you are under arrest."
"Sergeant Strong, please relieve Captain Jackson of his sword," said Lawrence, coolly.
"By what right do you arrest me?" roared the Captain. "I refuse to be arrested. Sergeant Strong, dare to arrest me and I will have you court-martialed."
"As the representative of General Schofield I arrest you; I am on his staff," quietly answered Lawrence. "Sergeant, do your duty."
The Captain delivered up his sword without a word. The name of General Schofield was potent.
Lawrence now turned to Lieutenant Hale and said, "Lieutenant, you are in charge of the train. Clear up the debris of the battle. Let the men in the ambulances who are best able be put in the wagons and our wounded take their places. Let the wounded guerrillas be taken to that house over there, and be made as comfortable as possible. Their friends will care for them as soon as we are out of sight."
It was noon before the train was again on the way. The burnt wagons, dead mules and new made graves were the mute witnesses left to tell of the fight.
Rolla was reached without further trouble. Here Lawrence turned Captain Jackson over, charging him with disgraceful cowardice. The Captain was court-martialed and dishonorably dismissed from the service. For their bravery, Lieutenant Hale was promoted to captain and Sergeant Strong to second lieutenant.
Lawrence took the cars at Rolla and was soon in St. Louis, where he reported to General Schofield. What that gentleman said brought the blushes to Lawrence's cheeks.
"You do not know how I hate to give you up," said the General. "But on your account, I rejoice. This is a miserable warfare in Missouri; not much glory gained in fighting guerrillas. I will welcome the day when I am assigned to another department. I have repeatedly asked to be released, but the powers that be think I am of more service here. I know the Radicals are opposed to me, and that complaints are pouring into Washington against me. There is a large element that will not be satisfied except I devastate the whole State with fire and sword."
"I know," replied Lawrence. "I had a little experience with Jennison. Jim Lane and a host of others are as bad. As you say, this is a murderous warfare in Missouri, without much glory."
"There will be great things doing around Vicksburg. I envy you," said Schofield.
"Ah! General, before the war is over you may have opportunities to distinguish yourself, rather than fight guerrillas."
The history of General Schofield shows that these opportunities came and that in the last year of the war he won great distinction.
Lawrence made a hurried visit to his friends before he departed for his new field. He found his uncle and aunt well. His uncle was as firmly convinced as ever that the South could never be conquered.
Lola Laselle was overjoyed to meet him. "Every day I live I am prouder of my knight-errant than ever," she cried. "No lady of old ever had a braver or truer knight."
Lawrence found Leon Laselle had nearly recovered from his wound. Randolph Hamilton was in a fair way to recover, and was longing for the day to come when he could be exchanged and again fight for the principles he held dear.
When he heard of Lawrence being the chosen knight of Lola he begged to be allowed to become her knight too. "Then Lola," he said, "you will have a knight in both armies, and one of them will be sure to come back wearing the crown of victory."
"It will not do," laughed Lola, "and you are a naughty boy for fighting against the old flag. I had rather my knight be defeated in a good cause than be victor in a bad one, and Randolph, the cause for which you are fighting is a bad one, very bad."
Randolph sighed. Day by day Lola had become more precious to him, and as he looked at Lawrence he thought, "Why should she not prefer him to me?"
When Lawrence inquired so particularly about Dorothy, how she was getting along and how she liked Europe, a faint hope came to him that after all it might be Dorothy and not Lola that attracted Lawrence; and then he sighed again, for he remembered Dorothy's hatred for Yankees.
The next day Lawrence was floating down the river. When we meet him next it will be in that great campaign which ended in the capture of Vicksburg, the Gibraltar of the Mississippi River.