A curious scene presented itself at the Junction. But before we attempt to describe the former, we will give the reader some idea of the latter. The Junction was the terminus of one railroad and the junction of two others. One of the railroads led to Washington, one to Pittsburg, and one to Baltimore. It was not a large town; a village of perhaps twelve or fifteen hundred inhabitants, blackened by the smoke of engines. The surrounding country was broken and rough, with hills rising upon hills, deep ravines, rocky gorges, and winding streams, lined with a luxuriant growth of pine and maple, while far away in the distance the gray peaks of mountains could be seen.
The Junction was about twenty miles north-east of Snagtown, there being no railroad to the latter place, though there was a hard beaten turnpike, with a daily mail-coach running between the two. Some of the houses about the Junction were of brick, but the majority of wood. There were neat little cottages, looking like fairy abodes, amid the green vines and blooming flowers of Spring-time, and there were cottages neither neat nor fairy-like in aspect; the log hovel, showing signs of decay and neglect. But the village, taken as a whole, was a very pretty place.
It was about the 1st of May. The President had called for eighty-two thousand more men, finding seventy-five thousand wholly inadequate to put down the rebellion. Virginia was at this period in a constant state of alarm. Sumter had fallen, Harper's Ferry and Norfolk Navy-yard were in the hands of the rebels, while a mob, in the city of Baltimore, had attacked Massachusetts and Pennsylvania troops on their way to the defense of Washington.
The Federal Government, on the other hand, was straining every nerve. It had collected about Washington, as speedily as possible, under General Scott, the veteran hero of Chippewa, Lundy's Lane, and the Mexican War, the volunteers who flocked to their country's defense in answer to the President's call. Volunteer companies were raising all over the country. In the extreme Northern States, in the defense of the Federal Government; in the extreme Southern States, in defense of the Confederate Government, and in some of the Middle and Western States, companies were raised for both sides. In fact, there were men in some of the more Northern slave States, who mustered with the rebels and were actually in the Confederate service before they knew it.
In Virginia, as we have shown, both sides were represented. The Junction, on account of its railroad facilities, was an important point to guard, and about three hundred volunteers, under Colonel Holdfast, were here stationed. Of these raw recruits, there was but one company that was a complete organization, uniformed and armed at the expense of the Government. It was a company of mounted infantry, under command of Captain Wardle, armed with musket, uniformed in the Government blue, and furnished with horses in order to scout the country.
The Government found it impossible to turn out arms and clothing fast enough to supply the volunteers at once, and it was late in the Summer of 1861 before they were all equipped. Many armed themselves, as was the case with two hundred of those at the Junction. Their arms consisted of rifles, shot-guns, and such other weapons as they were able to furnish themselves with.
The Junction, as we have said, presented a curious scene. Five tall, white army tents had been erected for Captain Wardle's men, and there were a score or more enclosures, ambitious to be known as tents, made from Virginia wagon-covers, sail-cloth, oil-cloth, sheeting, and bed-ticking. They were of various sizes and shapes; some so small that four men would fill them; others large enough to hold twenty-five. Some of them were square, some round, like Indian wigwams, and others more like a circus canvas than anything we can compare them to.
The tents were a motley assemblage, and so, and to a greater extent, were the men therein sheltered. There was first the company of Captain Wardle, properly uniformed and armed, and intensely military in appearance and behavior. They were always drilling when not scouting the country; the raw recruits standing by, overwhelmed with admiration at their easy proficiency in the manual of arms, or the intricate and mysterious movements of the company drill.
It was early morning, and the smoke was ascending from half a hundred camp-fires. The scene was a constantly varying panorama of straw hats, linen coats, broadcloth coats, colored, flannel and white shirts. An orderly sergeant was trying to initiate a squad of raw recruits into some of the mysteries of drilling.
"Remember the position of a soldier," said the orderly. "Heels close together, head up, the eyes striking the ground twenty paces away. Now, shoulder arms! Great Moses! Tom Koontz, can't you learn how to handle a gun? Keep the barrel vertical. Do you call that vertical?"
"What d'ye mean by sayin' vartical?" asked Koontz.
The orderly explained for the hundredth time, that vertical meant straight up and down. He had them then count off by twos, beginning at the right, then he instructed them that at the order of "right face," number one was to take a half step obliquely to the right, and number two a step and a half to the left, bringing them in double file at right face. But when he gave the order, half of the men had forgotten their number. Confusion and dismay resulted, and the long suffering orderly sat down and swore until he was exhausted.
Camp-life was new to all, and its novelty kept all in a perpetual excitement. There was but little discipline. Officers ordered men and men ordered each other. Every one had suggestions to make, and those who knew the least offered the most of them.
"I tell you," said Sergeant Swords to Corporal Grimm, "that tent is not strong. The center pole is too weak, and the guy ropes are rotten. It'll go down."
"I always knowed them boys didn't know how to fix a tent," said Corporal Grimm, plying his jaws vigorously on a huge piece of pig-tail tobacco.
"Yes, sir; they've got a good deal to learn yet," said Sergeant Swords, with a sigh.
"I do hate to see any one, who don't know anything about soldier life, pretend to know so much," said Corporal Grimm, who had had ten days' experience before he enlisted in his present company.
"So do I," said Sergeant Swords, who had seen at least six days' service. "They'll find yet they had better take some one else's advice what's had experience. Why, when I was with Captain Strong's men, and we marched forty miles to Goose Creek Bridge to keep the rebels from burnin' it, we fixed a tent up like that, and the first night after we encamped, there came up a rain-storm, and blowed the thing a quarter of a mile into a brush heap."
"Did I ever tell you what a hard time we had when I was under General Preston;" asked Corporal Grimm, by way of introduction to a story which should redound to his own greatness.
"No, I believe not," answered Sergeant Swords, with more courtesy than truthfulness, for he had heard the story at least a dozen times.
"Well, sir, them was tryin' times," said Corporal Grimm, shaking his head and masticating his quid with the air of a man who has suffered. "Why, sir, we marched eighty-five miles on foot, and all the rations we got was dried bacon, hams, and crackers. Oh, I just thought I would give anything for something substantial to eat, or a drink of coffee! The boys all run out of tobacco, too, an' we had an awful time." The thought of these hardships brought to his face an expression of extreme agony.
"Why didn't you press something to eat? You passed through a country where there was plenty, didn't you?" asked Sergeant Swords.
"Yes, but what could fifteen hundred men do at pressin'? Why, they couldn't a got enough to feed one brigade, let alone our whole army," answered Corporal Grimm, who, as much service as he had seen, did not exactly know how many men it took to constitute a brigade.
"We soldiers have hard times," said Sergeant Swords, brushing some of the mud off his blue jean coat. "Wonder how soon we'll draw our clothing and arms?"
"Don't know, but hope soon. I'm tired of these farmer brown breeches. I want a blue coat with stripes on the sleeves."
At this moment there came a blast from the bugle.
"Roll call," said Sergeant Swords.
A general gathering of each company about the Captain's tent followed.
Abner Tompkins was First Lieutenant of the company of which Sergeant Swords and Corporal Grimm were members. He had been with the company now for over a week.
The morning drill was over, and the volunteers were lounging about the tents, on the grass; Abner was leaning with his arm across the saddle-bow of his faithful horse, that he was about to turn out to graze. The mind of the young lieutenant was full of fancies and memories. His sudden departure from home, his interview with Irene, the parting with his brother, all were fresh in his thoughts, and his eyes naturally wandered back toward the road that led to his home. A familiar sight met his view. Coming down the hill, attended by a member of his own company, who had been on picket guard, was his father's carriage driven by the family coachman.
Abner started. Why was he coming to the Junction? The carriage drove up to Abner's tent, and the guard, making what he meant for a military salute, said:
"Lieutenant, here is a man as says he wants to see you."
"All right, Barney, you can leave him here."
The guard turned, and hurried back to his post as though the Nation's safety depended on his speed.
The driver opened the carriage door, Mr. Tompkins alighted, and father and son met with a cordial hand-grasp. Abner led his father into the officers' tent which was at present deserted by its usual occupants.
"Have you seen Oleah since?" asked Abner.
"I have," was the reply.
"Where?"
"At his camp."
"Why, father, how dare you go there, when your sentiments are known to be directly opposed to their cause? It was very dangerous."
"Not very dangerous, since I have a son who is an officer in that army."
"What office does Oleah hold?"
"Second Lieutenant."
"I suppose Seth Williams and Howard Jones are there?"
"Yes, and Harry Smith."
"Harry Smith?"
"Yes."
"Why, he is no Confederate at heart."
"So are not a great many who are in their ranks."
"I have been daily expecting Diggs here," said Abner.
"Diggs, Henry Diggs?" asked Mr. Tompkins curiously.
"Yes; he promised me he would come here and join our company," said Abner.
"He is on the other side," replied Mr. Tompkins.
"What?"
"He is on the other side. He is a corporal in Oleah's company."
"Why, the contemptible little scamp! He promised me faithful he would come here and enlist."
"He is a man who cannot resist persuasion, and someone on the other side got the last persuade of him."
"True, Diggs has no mind of his own," said Abner.
"I have sometimes wished that my sons' minds were not quite so decidedly their own," said the planter with a sad smile and a doubtful shake of the head.
"Did you try to persuade Oleah to leave the Southern army?"
"No; he has conscientiously espoused the cause, and I would not have him do violence to his conscience. I talked to him mostly about you."
"About me?"
"Yes. I told him, as I now tell you, that if he had a principle which he thought right, he was right to maintain it; but while he fought in one army to remember always that he had a brother in the other, and, if by chance he should meet that brother in the struggle, to set brotherly love above party principle."
"What did he say?"
"He promised that he would, and now I have come for your promise also."
"I make it freely, father. It has always been my intention to meet Oleah as a brother whenever we meet."
"This is now a sundered Nation," said Mr. Tompkins, "and its division has divided many families. It may be that brothers' swords shall drink brothers' blood, but, oh Abner, let it not be your fate to be a fratricide."
Mr. Tompkins lingered until late in the day, when he entered his carriage, and was driven towards his home.
That night the Colonel sent for Captain Wardle and told him that he had been informed of a body of rebels collecting on the headwaters of Wolf creek, not more than three or four miles from Snagtown, and instructed him to take sixty of his own company and fifty of the new recruits and proceed there the next day, starting early in the morning, to break up the rebel camp, and capture every person found there.
There was another motley and undisciplined body of men encamped on Wolf creek. Wolf creek was a clear rapid stream, whose fountain-head was in the Twin Mountains. It came dashing down their craggy sides in many small rivulets, which, at their base, united to form this beautiful stream that flowed through a dark, dense forest in the valley, passing at one place within a half a mile of Snagtown.
The camp, however, was three or four miles further up the stream, in what the military leaders considered a more advantageous location, on the main road that led from Snagtown by the Twin Mountains to a village beyond.
The numbers of the Confederates were increasing daily. As soon as the volunteers went into camp, those in sympathy with the cause came in from all the country round, until between three or four thousand men had assembled, ill armed, undisciplined, confident, and full of enthusiasm. But one company had yet elected officers. Colonel Scrabble, an old Mexican soldier, was commander-in-chief of this force. Of the organized company, Oleah Tompkins was second lieutenant and Patrick Henry Diggs was corporal.
Mr. Diggs had experienced considerable disappointment when the company failed to elect him captain; when a vote was taken for first lieutenant, he made a speech which secured him two votes; for second lieutenant, Oleah Tompkins was chosen. He was about to retire from the field and from the army, and had even applied for his discharge, when the captain appointed him corporal.
He did not like to accept a position so insignificant, but, when he reflected that there were a number of corporals who had risen to be generals, and that the prospect for his promotion was good, he became pacified, and very reluctantly assumed the office.
The spot where the Confederates were encamped had formerly been used for holding camp meetings; it was a grove, surrounded on every side by a dense forest and the high road, which led past the place, approached it in so circuitous a manner that it could not be seen fifty rods either way.
The Confederates had chosen so secluded a spot that it was evident they wished their camp concealed. Wolf Creek bounded their camping ground on one side. The tents were fantastic affairs, and could vie even with those of the Junction in variety of shape and material, and showed quite as great a lack of skill in arrangement. The men were of almost every class, dress, and nation; but the dark, sharp-cut Southern feature predominated.
They were firey, quick-tempered men, whose rashness nearly always excelled their judgment. Most of them were dressed in the garb of Virginia farmers, without any appearance or pretense to uniform. Their arms were shot-guns, rifles, and ancient muskets—a few of them excellent, but the majority inferior. As a class, they were men who enjoyed fox chases, wolf hunts, and horse races, and the present phase of their life they appeared to regard as a frolic.
Camp fires were smoldering, and camp kettles hung suspended over them. As at the Junction, there was a great deal of talk about camp life, and suggestions by the score were indulged in. The sergeants walked about with much dignity, and our corporal had grown to feel the importance of his office; he had the drill manual constantly in his hands, and conned its pages with the uttermost diligence.
Corporal Diggs was a general in embryo, and his name was yet to ring through the trump of fame, until, among all nations it should become a household word; he felt within his soul the uprising of greatness, as he looked through his glasses with the air of one born to command. And to think that he was an officer already—a corporal, men under him, to whom his word was law! Truly, the dream of his life was now beginning to be realized, his dearest desire was about to be fulfilled.
Corporal Diggs had, from his earliest boyhood, thirsted for military glory; he had pored over the pictures of famous generals represented as leading the dashing cavalry on their charge, amid blind smoke and flashing swords, or guiding the infantry by a wave of the hand, and had longed for an opportunity to do likewise. True, he was a mere corporal, but it took only a few sweeping strides from corporal to general. The soldiers did not seem at present to regard him with awe and admiration, but they had not yet seen him under fire; they did not know how cooly he could undergo so trying an ordeal. He longed for battle as the war horse that already sniffs the fray. Once in battle, he would so signalize himself by his coolness and daring as to be mentioned in the colonel's report, and would undoubtedly be at once promoted.
Corporal Diggs was full of fire and running over with enthusiasm. No man in all the camp seemed as busy as he; his tireless, short legs stumped about from place to place continually, his head thrown back, his eyes shining brilliantly through his glasses, a rusty, naked sword in his right hand. Occasionally the official duty of Corporal Diggs brought him to a standstill and then he would thrust the point of his sword in the ground, and lean upon it. As the sword was a long one when standing upon end, it came near reaching the chin of the born warrior who carried it.
No one could appreciate the greatness of this great man. "Why did you leave before I showed you?" and other such frivolous phrases were constantly sounded in his ears. The gallant soldier sometimes became highly indignant, but he soothed himself with the reflection that all this would be changed after they had once witnessed his powers on the battle-field.
It was the middle of the afternoon. The recruits had exhausted all their means of amusement, and were lounging about under the shade of the trees, or cleaning their rusty guns.
"What shall we do to keep awake this evening?" said one fellow, lazily, reclining flat on his back under the broad branches of an old elm.
"Dunno," said another, who was almost asleep.
"Let's get up a scout," proposed a third.
"I'll tell you how we can have some fun," said Seth Williams, his eyes twinkling.
"How?" asked half a dozen at once.
"Get Corporal Diggs to make a speech."
"Good, good!" cried a number springing to their feet. "The very thing."
It was finally decided to present to Corporal Diggs a written petition to address the members of his company on the question of the day, and enthuse them with his magnificent and stirring eloquence. The Sergeant himself circulated the petition, and had half a hundred names to it in less than fifteen minutes.
Corporal Diggs had just returned from inspecting the guard when the petition was presented to him.
"Well, yes—hem, hem!" began the soldier, orator, and general in embryo, "I have been thinking for some time that I ought to make the boys a speech. They—hem, hem!—should have something of the kind occasionally to keep—to keep their spirits up."
"Well, come right along now," said the Sergeant pointing to where nearly a hundred had gathered around a large elm stump. "They're waiting for you."
Corporal Diggs felt that his star had risen, and with a face full of becoming gravity, which the occasion and his official position demanded, he went toward the place indicated, dragging his long sword after him, much in the same way a small boy does the stick he calls his horse.
The crowd received him with enthusiastic cheers, and Corporal Diggs mounted the stump.
"Hem, hem, Hem!" he began, clearing his throat by way of commencement. "Ladies and gentlemen"—a slight titter in the audience—"I mean fellow citizens, or, perhaps, fellow soldiers or comrades would be more suitable terms for addressing those who are to share my toils and dangers." [Cheers.] "'I come not here to talk,' as one of old said, 'for you know too well the story of our thralldom.' What would the gentlemen have? Is life so dear or peace so sweet that they must be bought with slavery and chains? There are those who cry 'Peace, peace!' but there is no peace! The next gale that sweeps down from the North will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms. [Cheers.] But, my comrades, I—hem, hem!—feel it my imperative duty to tell you that the foe is near at hand, and battle, glorious battle, where 'flame and smoke, and shout and groan, and sabre stroke' fill the air." [Vehement cheering, and Seth Williams trying to kick the bottom out of a camp kettle.]
"Gentlemen of the jury—hem, hem!—No, fellow comrades, I mean, gird on the armor of determination, the helmet of courage, the shield of unity, the breast-plate of honesty, and with the sword of the right never fear to hew your way through the ranks of injustice." The orator paused for a moment for the cheering to subside that not a word of that sublime speech should be lost. All the soldiers in the camp, not on duty, had by this time gathered about the speaker.
"Gentlemen of the jury, or fellow soldiers, I should say, hem!" he resumed, "it may be that some day I shall have the honor of leading you to battle. Then, fellow citizens, I hope, nay, I verily believe, that not one in this camp will be found skulking or hiding. [Cheering, and cries of, "No, no!"] May that day come that we may all prove to the world that we have a principle, and that we can defend it. [Cheers and cries of, "Let her come!"] Gentlemen, hem!—comrades, liberty is in the very air, and the citizens of the South breathe it, and now that the tyrants of the North have seen fit to loose the war dogs, not one of the swords of Columbia's true sons shall be returned untarnished to its sheath. [Long continued cheering.] While this voice has power to speak, and this tongue power of proclaiming the truth, the wrongs of the South shall be told. [Cheers and cries of "You bet."] And while this eye has the power of sight to aim the gun, and this arm strength to wield the sword, they shall be used wholly for the South." [Cheers and cries of "Hurrah for Diggs."] Some scamp propounded the long unanswered question, "Why didn't you wait till I had shown you?" but the orator is unmoved by this attempt at ridicule. "Gentlemen of the jury, or, rather, fellow comrades, when I think of all our wrongs, I long for the day to come, when we may meet the foe face to face. Yes, face to face, with bristling steel between, and canopies of smoke rolling above and mixing with the clouds of the heavens. Then shall they feel the arm of vengeance. Oh, ye boasters of the North," growing very loud and eloquent, while his right hand, with fingers all apart, cleft the air, "if you would know with whom you have to deal, come on! [Cheers and cheers of "Come on!"] Cowards, boasters, how I long to meet you where the canon roars—the glad thunders of war. [Cheering, and one young recruit trying to stand on his head.] I tell you that we can now say with the poet:
"My brave comrades, remember Marion and Washington of old, and be like them, ready to lay down your life for your country. [Wild cheering.] I am ready to die in defense of the land that gave me—"
Bang, bang, bang! went three muskets about two hundred yards up the creek.
"Oh, Lordy!" yelled Corporal Diggs, and he performed a leap which a frog might have envied, alighting from the stump on his hands and knees on the ground.
Bang, bang, CRASH! went half a hundred guns in the same direction, and the air seemed alive with whistling balls.
"What is that?" cried Seth Williams.
"To arms! We are attacked!" shouted Colonel Scrabble.
"Run for your lives," cried the four pickets who now came in sight, setting the example.
As the pickets had seen the enemy, and the Colonel had not, the men considered that the former knew more of their number. As for the gallant Corporal Diggs, after one ineffectual attempt to spring on a tall horse, he ran rapidly away to the woods as fast as his short legs would carry him, which Seth Williams afterward declared was faster than any horse could. It was in vain that the officers attempted to rally their men. The blue-coated soldiers of Captain Wardle, after the first fire, came galloping into view out of the woods, and, dismounting, fell into line of battle just in the edge of the cleared space where Corporal Diggs, not two minutes before, had been entertaining the entire camp with his eloquence. They poured another volley into the camp, which awoke the echoes of the forest and seemed to the terrified recruits to shake the Twin Mountains to their very center. They then charged down on the enemy.
"Oh, Lordy, Lordy, have mercy on my soul!" gasped Corporal Diggs as, impelled by the roar of fire-arms in his rear, the whistling of bullets among the trees, and the thunder of plunging horses on every side, he went over the ground at a rate of speed which almost took away his breath. He ran as he never did before. He crushed through underbrush, tore through thorns, dodged under limbs, and leaped logs, in a manner that would have astonished any one who took into consideration the shortness of his legs. He was leading the entire force, as, in his speech a few minutes before, he had said he would. He was the first to start, and as yet was ahead of any footman.
Many of the horses, about four hundred in number, which had been picketed about the camp, had broken loose during the firing and were running, plunging, and snorting through the thick woods, much to the terror of poor Diggs, who imagined a Union soldier on every horse, and supposed that there could not be less than fifty thousand of them.
On, on, and on he ran, for about three miles, when, coming up to a steep bank of the creek, he found it impossible to check his headlong speed, and tumbled head first into it. Down into the mud and water he went, sticking his head so deep into the latter, that it was with some difficulty he extricated himself. When he washed the mud out of his eyes, he espied a drift a few feet away, and going to it managed to conceal himself amid the brush and logs.
"Oh! Lordy! Lordy! have mercy on me! Oh, I know I shall be killed!"
"Thump, thump! crash, crash! splash!" It was simply one of the frightened horses that had broken away from the camp, but it put Corporal Diggs in extreme terror as he supposed it to be a regiment of Union cavalry.
"Oh, I ought never to have engaged in this unholy cause! I thought I was in error. I'll leave the Southern army sure, if ever I get out of this."
For hours Corporal Diggs was kept in a state of perpetual terror by fleeing men and horses.
Since the rebellion had assumed such proportions, and men, who had made war with pen and tongue had taken up the sword, Mr. Tompkins had been careful not to allude to the merits of either cause in his family. He had been made to feel the bitterness of the strife that, in dividing the Nation, had divided his home. He felt most keenly a parent's agony at having his two sons in hostile armies. That, at any hour or moment, they might meet in opposing ranks, was a horrible possibility, which, do what he would, he could not banish from his mind. He knew, too, that the companion of his life held views antagonistic to his own on the question of the war. So he was reticent on questions on which every one else was eagerly expressing opinions; but in his heart, he was firmly convinced of the justice of the Union cause. Though Mrs. Tompkins, like her husband, was silent as to her belief, she was as firmly convinced that the cause of the South was just. How could she, with all her native pride and prejudices, look on the subject in any other light? Her sunny home, the home of her childhood, the pride of her maturer years, was to be the field of contest. One side must win. On one side were arrayed the cold, calculating strangers of the North; on the other the warm-hearted, generous people of the South; but what endeared to her, more than any other circumstance, the Southern cause, was that it was based on principles which she believed just and right.
Americans, more than any other Nation on earth, fight from principle. Other Nations blindly follow king or emperor, regardless of right or wrong, but the American fights from principle approved by his judgment and based upon his earnest convictions.
Mr. Tompkins did not reflect on the dangers that might arise to himself from visiting two hostile armies. It was the day after his visit to the Junction that he chanced to be at Snagtown. He found the village in a state of excitement in consequence of "a large army of United States soldiers" having passed on their way to Wolf Creek. The villagers, unaccustomed to the sight of large bodies of men, put the number of Captain Wardle's command at several thousand, when in reality it did not exceed, including his own company and the others with him, one hundred and fifty.
"Where were they going?" inquired Mr. Tompkins of the village grocer.
"Dunno," was the reply.
"Which way did they go?"
"Towards the Twin Mountains."
"There is no question as to where they was goin'," said the blacksmith. "They was takin' a bee line for the camp on Wolf Creek, and they're going to gobble up our boys along there; but although they outnumber them twenty to one, they'll find the boys game."
"Where did these troops come from?" asked Mr. Tompkins.
"From the Junction."
Mr. Tompkins very well knew that the entire force at the Junction did not number over four hundred men.
While the loungers and others were attempting to estimate the number of the troops, and discussing the probable result of their visit to Wolf Creek, a volley of musketry saluted their astonished ears.
"There, they are at it!" said the blacksmith, smoking his pipe more vigorously.
The volley was quickly followed by another, another, and another. After this, for a quarter of an hour, an occasional shot was heard, but no more regular firing. Various were the conjectures as to the result of the battle. A frightened farmer, who had been near the camp at the time of the attack, came galloping in, declaring that the ground was strewn with dead bodies; that the Confederates were killed to a man, and other reports almost as wild, increasing the excitement and alarm of the villagers.
To say that Mr. Tompkins did not share the general anxiety would be to say he was not human. He knew that his youngest son might be lying in the woods either dead or dying. And Abner—had he accompanied the troops sent to the Junction? A thousand conflicting emotions stirred the heart of the planter, and a double care weighed on his mind. His first impulse was to go at once to the scene of the conflict; but a moment's reflection showed him that such a course would be not only dangerous, but foolish. He resolved to return home and await the development of facts in regard to the attack at Wolf Creek.
Mr. Tompkins found his wife awaiting him on the piazza, and he knew by the troubled look on her face that she had learned of the attack. He said nothing about it, for a single glance from each explained all.
"You look wearied, husband," said the wife as he sank into a chair at her side.
"I am wearied," he replied, the troubled look deepening on his face.
A moment's silence ensued. Mrs. Tompkins was the first to break it.
"There has been trouble at the camp on Wolf Creek. I heard the firing."
"Yes," said the husband, "a body of Union troops passed through Snagtown to-day to attack the camp there. There has been some sharp firing, but nothing definite has been heard of the affair."
An hour or so later there came a clatter of hoofs down the road, and a dozen horsemen paused in front of the gate, opening into the avenue that led to the house. Mr. Tompkins sent to ascertain what they wanted. The leader inquired if Mr. Tompkins lived there, and being answered in the affirmative, he said, with an oath:
"Well, tell him to come out here."
The speaker was a thick-set, low-browed man, dressed in homespun gray, and armed with a sword and revolver. His companions, as coarse as himself, were armed with rifles; each wore the broad-brimmed black hat then common in the South.
"Does yer want ter see my master?" asked the negro, his black face turning almost white, and his frame shaking with apprehension.
For answer, the leader snatched a holster from his saddle so vehemently that the darkey needed no other inducement to return with all speed to the house.
"What is the matter, Pompey?" asked Mr. Tompkins, as the boy stood breathless before him.
"Oh, gracious, mars, don't know, 'cept they be's a band o' brigantines as wants to see you down at the gate."
Mr. Tompkins smiled at Pompey's terror, and rose to go, but Mrs. Tompkins, who did not like the angry gesticulations of the strangers at the gate, accompanied her husband.
"Is your name Tompkins" asked the ferocious-looking leader, as the planter and his wife paused just inside the gate.
"It is, sir. Whom have I the honor of addressing?" returned Mr. Tompkins.
"I am Sergeant Strong of the Independent Mounted Volunteers of Jeff. Davis, and I have come here to hang you, sir."
Mrs. Tompkins gave a scream and clung to her husband.
"The men are only joking, Camille; can't you see they are only joking?" said Mr. Tompkins, to soothe his terrified wife.
"You'll find out that we're not joking," said the leader of the band, dismounting and fastening his horse to an ornamental tree on the lawn. Six of his men followed his example, leading their horses inside the gate, and hitching them to the fence or trees.
"Men what do you mean?" said Mr. Tompkins, who took great pride in his shrubbery. "I do not allow horses to be tied near my trees."
"We'll tie you to one of your trees soon and see how you like it, with a dance in the air."
Mrs. Tompkins clung to her husband, half dead with terror, and Irene came hurrying from the house.
"Go back, Camille; go back with Irene, and wait for me in the house," said Mr. Tompkins. "This is nothing serious."
"Ye'll see, sir, if it ain't somethin' serious," said Sergeant Strong, unstrapping a rope from behind his saddle, and uncoiling it. "The law says spies shall suffer death, and we're going to make an example of you, sir."
"I am no spy," returned the planter.
"Don't suppose I saw ye hangin' 'round our camp, and then shootin' off after sojers at the Junction to come down and lick us! And they just come to-day an' cleaned us most all out, and you shall hang for it." As he spoke he threw one end of the rope over the projecting branch of a large maple tree.
"Those terrible men mean what they say," whispered Irene in Mrs. Tompkins' ear. She had comprehended all in a moment's time. "I will run for the overseer and the field hands."
She turned to fly, but her motive was interpreted, and one of the men seized her around the waist, saying: "No, my purty gal, ye' don't do nothin' o' the kind jist yit awhile."
In vain she struggled to free herself; she was powerless in the man's hands.
Mrs. Tompkins, completely overcome, had fainted.
"Now, boys, we are ready; bring him here," said Sergeant Strong.
Three or four men laid hands on the planter, but he felled them instantly. They did not expect such resistance from a man of his age, and were not prepared for it. It was not until Mr. Tompkins was stunned by a blow from the butt of a rifle that he was secured and bound; he was then led under the tree and the noose thrown over his neck. Mrs. Tompkins lay still and white on the greensward, and Irene was struggling with her captor and screaming for help. No one noticed the horseman who came dashing furiously down the hill.
"Up with him!" cried the Sergeant, and he seized the rope. At this moment the horseman thundered through the open gate, and just as Strong cried, "Now pull all!" the butt of a heavy pistol struck him on the head, and he fell like a beef under the hammer.
Then, with his hand still uplifted, he rode toward Irene's captor, but the fellow had released her and fled; the horseman fired a shot after the rapidly retreating figure. Then, turning on the remainder of the band, he asked in a voice of thunder, "What, in heaven's name, does this mean?"
Mr. Tompkins, for the first time, saw the horseman's face, and recognized his son, Oleah.
"Why, it's the Leftenant," stammered one of the men, his teeth chattering with fear.
"What does this mean, I say?" he again demanded.
"Why, Lieutenant," said one man, who had the rope in his hand when Oleah came up, "Strong said he was a spy, and he had set the sojers on us to-day, and ordered us to punish him; be we didn't intend to hang him."
Oleah's hot temper got the better of him, and he would have shot Sergeant Strong, who was still insensible, and the other ringleaders, on the spot, had not Irene and his father interfered. All danger being over, the servants came flocking to the scene, and Mrs. Tompkins was carried into the house. These men were a part of Oleah's own company. He ordered them to take the Sergeant, who was beginning to recover, and retire into the woods until he should join them. They obeyed and rode over the hill, quite crestfallen, conveying their wounded sergeant.
Oleah briefly told his father of the attack made on their camp. He said they were taken by surprise, their forces scattered through the woods, but he believed not one drop of blood had been shed, although Diggs was missing, as well as several others. It was thought they had been taken prisoners. Then he again mounted his horse and dashed off, to gather up his scattered forces.
Captain Wardle's campaign had been a complete success. He had made twenty prisoners, he had secured most of the arms and the camp equipage, with one hundred and six horses. Vain search was made for the bodies of the dead who had been slain in the fight, none could be found; and from the marks of the bullets on the timber one would judge that no one had been touched, as no trees had been struck lower than twenty feet.
Camp-kettles, tents, rusty fire-locks, and weapons of nearly every description, were scattered about over the ground. The soldiers, the ununiformed especially, entertained themselves with the very exhilarating amusement of shattering against the trees these old fire-locks and such other weapons as could not be conveniently carried off. The plundering of the camp was an interesting occupation—interesting, even, to those who took no part in it. The ununiformed took the lead in this business. Perhaps they regarded it as their especial duty to be foremost now, since they had been in the rear during the attack.
Corporal Grimm and Sergeant Swords were both present, very busy, and trying to look very soldier-like, though their brown homespun suits and broad-brimmed hats gave them anything but a military appearance. Corporal Grimm kept his jaws in lively motion on a huge piece of pig-tail, while he kept up a lively conversation with Sergeant Swords and others immediately about him. Somehow the scene reminded him of his ten days' experience as a soldier with "General Preston," and he related that experience at length. The scene also vividly impressed Sergeant Swords with his experience under Captain Floyd, and he impelled to tell his comrades of that.
All were in excellent spirits. Captain Wardle congratulated the men on their coolness and gallant conduct, and the men congratulated Captain Wardle on his coolness and good generalship—all congratulating each other.
About three hours were spent on the late camping ground of the Confederates, and then the entire force, with their twenty prisoners and the plunder they could carry, started on their return to the Junction. Night overtook them about five miles after they had passed Snagtown, and, selecting a suitable place, they encamped. There was but one thing to dampen their ardor, but one thing had been overlooked. Their arms were in excellent condition, and they were all well mounted; but even riotous soldiers must eat, and this little fact had been overlooked. When night came they were tired and hungry, but there were rations only for about one-half of their force, and many went supperless to bed, with a fine prospect of having nothing to eat before noon the next day.
Captain Wardle felt most keenly his mistake in not bringing supplies, and spent most of the night in examining an old backless drill book to see how the thing could be remedied. Not finding anything in the tactics, he thrust it in his pocket and, throwing himself on his blanket, closed his eyes and in a few moments solved the problem. He then went to sleep, and it was not until his lieutenant had dragged him several feet from under his covering that he awoke next morning.
The sun was up, and so were the men, the latter hungry and ill-natured.
"Never mind! Tell the boys I've got this question fixed. They shall all have their breakfast. Tell the bugler to sound the roll-call."
The blast of the bugle called the men together, and the roll was soon called.
"Now," said Captain Wardle, who had been holding a conversation with Captain Gunn, "I think you are hungry—"
"You bet we are, Capen," put in a red-faced private.
"Shet up, sir, or I'll have you court-martialed and shot for contempt."
All became silent; the men looked grave and appeared willing to learn from the old, time-honored soldier, Captain Wardle.
"We haven't got enough in camp to feed more than about twenty-five men, so the rest o' ye will have to forage. Go in gangs of ten or fifteen and hunt your breakfast where yer can. The people all around here are secesh, and it will be a good thing to make them feed Union soldiers once in a while."
This announcement was received with applause, and the troops commenced dividing into small squads, the uniformed mixing promiscuously with the ununiformed, and waiting only for instructions where to join the main force, which now, consisting of twenty-five men and the prisoners, mounted their horses and rode off.
The eastern sun, like a blazing ball, was rising higher and higher in the sky as twelve men, among whom were Corporal Grimm and Sergeant Swords, galloped down a wooded road, keeping a sharp lookout for "bushwhackers." Six of these men wore the uniform and carried the arms of the United States Infantry, and six were dressed in citizens' attire and armed with rifles or double-barreled shot-guns. All rode at a furious pace, splashing through the mud and frightening the birds in the woods on either side.
A boy was riding down the road in the opposite direction. He was mounted on a thin, slow-moving mare, of an indistinct color, which might have been taken for a bay, yellow or sorrel. The boy was barefooted, had on a straw hat, rode on a folded sheepskin instead of a saddle, held an empty bag before him, and certainly did not look very warlike.
"Halt!" cried Sergeant Swords, drawing an old, rusty sword from its sheath and waving it in the air.
"Halt!" cried Corporal Grimm, drawing a many-barreled pistol, commonly known as a pepper-box, which he flourished in a threatening manner.
"Halt!" again cried both, "or we will fire."
The boy, being overawed by numbers, felt constrained to pull up the thin mare.
"Advance and give the countersign!" said Corporal Grimm.
"Shet up, Grimm! I command this squad," said Sergeant Swords.
Grimm chewed his pigtail in silence. In the meantime the boy seemed undecided whether to fly or to stand his ground, though his face betrayed a strong inclination in favor of the former proposition.
"Who comes there?" said Sergeant Swords, bringing his rusty sword to a salute.
"Who are ye talkin' to?" asked the boy, looking around to see if he could possibly be addressing any one else.
"I am talkin' to you, sir," said the Sergeant, sharply.
"What d'ye want?" asked the boy.
"Who comes there, I said?" answered the Sergeant more sharply.
"Me."
"Advance, then."
"Do what?"
"Come here."
The boy understood this. He had it delivered in just such a tone when he had been violating the domestic law. He advanced.
"What d'ye want?" he asked again.
"Where can we get our breakfast?"
"Dunno," he replied, wonderingly.
"Well, how fur is it to the next farm-house?"
"Taint more'n a mile."
"Who lives there?"
"Old Ruben Smith; but he ain't there now."
"Where is he?"
"Dunno; says he's gone to the war, him and his two boys."
"Which army?"
"Dunno."
"Are they Union or secesh?"
"Lor bless ye, we're all secesh here."
"You are? Well, we are Union. We'll take ye prisoner, then," said Corporal Grimm.
"Oh, but I ain't secesh."
"Well, then, you are a good boy," said the Sergeant. "Where are ye going?"
"Gwine to Snagtown to git the mail and buy some sugar and coffee."
"Well, you may go on," said the grim soldier, winking at the Corporal; the boy trotted on, looking curiously back at the men and their blue uniforms and big guns.
The cavalcade now galloped on towards the house of Ruben Smith. The steep gable roof soon loomed up in the distance, and after dashing down the lane, around a pasture, through a small wood, they pulled up in front of the house.
"Dismount!" commanded the Sergeant. The men were on the ground in an instant. "Now hitch where you can, and two of you stay on guard while the rest are eating."
"Who are ye, and what do ye want," demanded a sharp-visaged, ill-natured looking woman, coming out on the porch as the soldiers entered the yard.
"We are Union soldiers, and we want our breakfast," said Corporal Grimm, as the Sergeant was busy giving orders to the men.
"You low, nigger-lovin', aberlition thieves, I wouldn't give ye a bite if ye were starvin'," said the woman.
"Mother, don't talk that way to them," said a pretty, red cheeked girl of about fifteen, standing by her side.
"We want breakfast for twelve," said Sergeant Swords, now coming forward.
"Well, sir, ye won't git it here. Go to some nigger shanty and let them cook for ye."
"Oh, no, my good woman, we want you to get our breakfast. You are a good lookin' woman, and I know you can get up a good meal."
"If I was to cook for ye scamps, I'd pizen the last one o' ye," she fairly shrieked.
"We shall have you eat with us, my good lady, and we can eat anything you do," said Sergeant Swords, good-humoredly. The young girl was all the while persuading her mother to be more calm.
"Come now, I'll help you. I'll kindle the fire and carry the wood and draw the water," said the corporal.
"Come in my house an' I'll pour bilin' hot water in yer face, and scald yer eyes out!"
"Don't talk so, mother," urged the pretty daughter.
At this moment the kitchen door opened, and a negro girl peeped out.
"Say, kinky head, stir up the kitchen fire and get us some breakfast right soon," said Corporal Grimm. The black face withdrew, and the two non-commissioned officers entered the house to see that their bidding was performed.
While the latter were discussing the possibility of bushwhackers being in the neighborhood, they were suddenly startled by a loud cackling of hens and screaming of chickens; at the same instant a flock came rushing around the house with half a dozen soldiers in close pursuit.
"Good idea, boys! We will have chickens for breakfast," said Corporal Grimm.
A dozen or more chickens were caught and killed and carried to the cook. The soldiers politely inquired of the lady of the house if they could be of any further assistance, and then most of them returned to the front yard, where their arms were stacked or strewn promiscuously about. Three of them, with Corporal Grimm, remained to pick the chickens and prepare them for the cook, while their very amiable hostess was sullenly grinding away at a large coffee mill. The negro girl and the rosy-cheeked daughter of the house were both very busy hurrying up the fire, putting on the kettles of water, making biscuits, and attending to the various culinary duties.
"Where is your husband?" asked Corporal Grimm.
"None of your business," was the quick reply.
"Where are your sons?" asked Grimm.
"In Jeff Davis' army, to shoot just such thieves as you are."
"How long have they been in Jeff Davis' army?"
"Ever since the war commenced."
"How old is this hen I am picking?"
"I hope she is old enough and tough enough to choke ye to death," said the women, giving the coffee mill a furious rap.
"Your husband must be a very happy man," said Corporal Grimm.
"If he was here, you wouldn't be very happy," she replied, testily.
"No, I am happier with his amiable spouse."
"There, I hope that'll pizen ye," she said, emptying the ground coffee into a coffee-pot, and pouring boiling water over it.
"Make it strong enough to bear up an iron wedge," said Corporal Grimm; then, addressing his men:
"Watch the old vixen, for she may pizen us if she gets a chance."
The men needed no second bidding, and as the cooking progressed, they watched more keenly. They were all very hungry, yet none wanted to be poisoned.
Breakfast being prepared, the reluctant hostess was compelled to eat with the soldiers, who, being thus convinced that none of the viands were poisoned, did full justice to the really excellent meal.
Colonel Scrabble found his forces, when the attacking party had retired, somewhat scattered. With Lieutenant Whimple he had sought safety in a hollow tree, whence, after waiting four hours, he issued orders to the lieutenant to go forth and see if the Federal troops had retreated. The lieutenant took a circuitous route, walking on tiptoe, lest he should disturb the slumbers of the dead, until he reached the camp, which the Union soldiers had just left.
Lieutenant Whimple then started to return, meeting on his way Captain Fogg. One by one they picked up men, behind logs, in tree-tops, and thick cluster of bushes, until they arrived twenty in number at the colonel's head-quarters, in the hollow tree. Here a council of war was held, and it was decided to send runners through the woods to notify their scattered forces that the enemy was gone; by night one hundred and fifty men had assembled around the hollow tree. They talked, in low determined tones, and all swore to avenge their lost comrades.
Lieutenant Whimple and a score of resolute men were still scouring the woods in search of fugitives. They had approached very near the bank of the creek when the foremost man started back, saying:
"My God! Just look at that!"
"Where?" asked a dozen voices, peeping through the underbush, expecting to behold a masked battery at the least. The sun was low in the Western horizon, and our soldiers could not see the object at first.
"There," said the first speaker, "sittin' right on the bank of the creek, is the devil come out to sun himself."
They could now describe an object that might be a huge mud turtle, or might be almost any thing a lively fancy could suggest. A closer examination, however, showed it to be a little man somewhat larger than an apple dumpling, but so plastered from his head to his heels with mud that one could hardly tell whether he was black or white.
The men drew nearer the strange object and finally rushed from their concealment. The poor fellow went down on his knees and threw up his hands imploringly. He was covered with the very blackest of Virginia mud, except great, white rings around the eyes and mouth, which gave a a most horrible expression to the features.
"Oh! have mercy, mercy—hem, hem!—have mercy!" he gasped, clasping his hands and closing his eyes, "and I will quit this unholy cause."
"Why, hallo, Corporal Diggs?" cried Lieutenant Whimple. At sound of that familiar voice, Mr. Diggs bounded to his feet, smeared as he was, threw his arms round the speaker's neck and wept for joy.
"Oh! Whimple, Whimple, Whimple! I never expected to behold your face again. Oh! my dear, dear Whimple, you're not killed, are you? Tell me that you are not dead!"
Whimple assured him that not only was he alive but in good health; after allowing the corporal time to recover, they picked up a few more men in the woods, also about forty horses, and returned.
Lieutenant Tompkins, who had been out in search of scattered men, now returned with the sergeant's squad, the Sergeant's head bandaged.
A hundred curious eyes were turned toward Whimple's squad as they came in; but it was not so much the numbers of the squad that attracted their attention, as the mud covered object that walked in their midst, in regard to which various conjectures were hazarded.
About three hundred and seventy-five men were gathered around the Colonel's head-quarters, the hollow tree, before nightfall. Something must be done, all agreed. There were several men in the country, the Colonel said, who must either take the oath of allegiance to the Southern cause or suffer death for their disloyalty. Several names were mentioned, among them that of Dan Martin.
"The hunter of Twin Mountains?" asked Oleah Tompkins.
"Yes," said Lieutenant Whimple, who had suggested the name.
"He is an old friend of mine," said Oleah.
"Well, but, Lieutenant Tompkins, we can't afford to screen all your friends," said the Colonel.
"Of course, no one can blame you for saving your father, but you can't expect all your Abolition friends will be left unmolested. Lieutenant Whimple, take twenty men and wait on old Dan Martin to-morrow."
When morning came, nearly all the horses were needed for the work of collecting the balance of the scattered forces, foraging for provisions and for arms and horses.
Corporal Diggs was second in command of Whimple's force, and, as he mounted his tall horse, he heard Seth Williams making audible comments on his appearance.
The mounted force galloped away toward the foot of Twin Mountains, where Uncle Dan lived, a distance of about ten miles from the camp.
It was near the middle of the forenoon when Uncle Dan, who was sitting in his door-yard, saw a cavalcade approaching. Crazy Joe was in the house drawing a map of Egypt, showing by lines how far the famine had extended.
Uncle Dan's fierce mastiff and his hounds seemed to scent coming danger, the latter sending up mournful howls and the former uttering low, fierce howls of anger.
"By hokey, I don't like the looks o' that," said the old man, as he observed the armed band approaching his lonely cabin. "Seems like they ain't honest. They're secesh, sure as gun's made o' iron, for there is Jake Whimple leading 'em, and right here, too. Guess it won't do any harm to keep old 'Broken Ribs' handy, in case they should be ugly."
As the old man concluded he entered the house, and, taking his rifle from the rack over the door, leaned it against the wall while he took his seat in the door-way, his gun within easy reach. He had also placed a large navy revolver by his side.
The horsemen had now caught sight of him, and, with exultant yells, galloped up the slight elevation from the creek toward the cabin.
"Say, I reckin you'd better stop now and let a fellow know what ye want," cried Uncle Dan, snatching his rifle, and bringing it to a poise.
The cavalcade halted, the men looking apprehensively at the unerring rifle and then at one another. Finally, by common consent, all eyes were turned on Lieutenant Whimple.
"What do ye want, Jake Whimple?" demanded Uncle Dan in sharp, imperative tones.
"We have come to administer the oath of allegiance to you," said Whimple, riding a little nearer, his comrades following close behind.
"Then stop," cried the old hunter, "or I will make it hot for you, for I won't take no oath of allegiance from any one to the Southern Confederacy, 'specially such a sorry cuss as you."
"Then I shall take you a prisoner and bring you to camp," said Lieutenant Whimple, trying to throw some sternness in his voice.
"I'll drop some o' you fellars afore ye do that. Now jist advance one step further and see if I don't."
Although they were fifty yards away, they could distinctly hear the ominous click of that rifle which never failed.
"I've lost something down here," muttered Corporal Diggs, striving in vain to keep his teeth from chattering, "and I believe I'll go back and see if I can't find it."
The Corporal wheeled his big horse around, and galloped down the hill for about one hundred yards, and, dismounting, set about examining very intently the ground behind a large oak tree.
"Whoa, January," he said shivering, perhaps from cold, as the thermometer was only 65° above in the shade.
"If you don't come along peaceably with us we shall have to use force," said Lieutenant Whimple, in a tone of as much severity as he could command.
The old man sprang to his feet and brought his gun to his face, "Now, turn about and git from here, or I'll drop some of ye where ye stand," he shouted.
Lieutenant Whimple spurred his horse, which reared, and wheeled and as he turned he fired his pistol at the hunter. The ball passed high over the old man's house, missing its aim by ten feet.
"Shoot the old rascal!" he frantically cried, as he saw the fatal rifle aimed at himself. The discharge of the pistol had frightened the horses; they had broken ranks and were now rearing and plunging in every direction.
"Crack!" went Uncle Dan's rifle, and a bullet went through the Lieutenant's hat, knocking it from his head.
With a wild cry, the Lieutenant threw up his hands, and fell forward on his horse's neck, believing, as did the others, that he was killed. The horse tore down the hill, followed by the entire company.
Uncle Dan's blood was up and snatching his revolver he fired three more shots at the retreating cavalcade. At the last shot he saw the dust arise from the back of one man's coat and heard a wild cry.
"Take me by force," said Uncle Dan, "May be," and re-entering the house he reloaded his weapons, to be ready for another assault.
Corporal Diggs was still searching for the treasure he had lost, when he heard the shots, and, looking from behind the tree, he saw the whole troop come tearing down the hill, retreating, as it seemed to him, in the midst of a storm of shot fired from a six pounder.
The Corporal made a spring for his saddle (as he afterward declared), to rally his men, seeing that the Lieutenant was wounded, but he could only succeed in grasping the horn of his saddle. Thus clinging, he managed to slip one foot into the stirrup, when the flying horsemen thundered by. The Corporal's long-legged horse gave one snort and started at headlong speed.
"Whoa, January! whoa, January! whoa January!" frantically cried the Corporal, clinging to the side of the tall horse, able neither to get on or off, while the excited beast seemed to be trying to outstrip the wind.
"Whoa, January," cried the Corporal, trying to stop his flying steed, but unable to touch the bridle.
"Whoa, January," his arms and legs extended, and his short coat-tail flying, made him look like a spider on a circular saw. "Whoa January! Oh Lordy, won't no one stop this horse? I'll—hem, hem—be killed against a tree! Help, help! Whoa January."
January by this time had passed the foremost horse in the fleeing cavalcade, and his rider presented such a ludicrous appearance that the men, badly frightened as they were, roared with laughter.
Lieutenant Whimple, after swaying for some time in the saddle, plunged off in a helpless heap on the side of the road. Three or four of the men paused to pick him up. The man who had been wounded in the back, fainted and fell from his horse, when another halt was made.
But on thundered January, his rider still clinging to his side and crying vigorously for help. The creek was reached, and January, by one tremendous leap, cleared the ford. The stirrup broke, so did Corporal Diggs' hold. There was a great splash, and those nearest saw a pair of short legs disappear beneath the surface of the water.
When the party came up, they beheld a mud-stained, water-soaked individual crawling up the opposite bank, sputtering and groaning, and swearing he would quit such an unholy cause.
The Lieutenant soon recovered, though he acted for hours like a man dazed. The severely wounded private was carried to the nearest house, where he was left and medical aid sent for. Corporal Diggs rode behind one of the soldiers until they came upon the fractious January nibbling the fresh grass in a piece of bottom-land. He then mounted his own steed and took command of the company, which he led straight back to camp.
No sooner had the Confederates left Uncle Dan's residence than the latter packed up his few valuables, and, telling Crazy Joe to go to Mr. Tompkins, turned loose his dogs and set out through the woods to the Junction. Uncle Dan surmised the rebels would return in force and burn his dwelling to the earth.