NOTWITHSTANDING his own misfortunes, Somers could not help thinking of his friend De Banyan, whom he regarded as an elder brother. They had endured much suffering, and passed through many perils together, and the bond of union between them was very strong. The riderless horse indicated that he had been killed. The rebels had fired upon Somers before they summoned him to surrender, and probably a shot aimed at De Banyan had been more unfortunate. It was very sad for Somers to think of his noble companion, shot down by an unseen foe; but he could hardly cherish a hope that he was still alive. It would have been better for him to fall in the front of battle, where he had so often distinguished himself.
It was hard to give him up; yet all the probabilities were, that he had been killed, and that his body lay unnoticed and unhonored on the spot where he had fallen. Somers was a prisoner himself, and had been plundered even of the most necessary articles of wearing apparel, and subjected to needless insult and brutality. The condition of the Union prisoners at Richmond, Andersonville, and Salisbury was too well known to him to render the prospect before him even tolerable. But a desponding spirit would only aggravate his miseries, and he determined to submit to his fate with patient resignation. He felt that he was in the keeping of the good Father, who doeth all things well; and in His appointed time he would be rescued from peril and restored to his friends; or, if it was the will of Heaven that he should lay down his life in grief and misery for the cause he had chosen to serve, he would try to be faithful and patient unto the bitter end.
The rebels conducted him through the woods to the creek, which they forded, and continued on their way till they reached a grove, where it now appeared that they had picketed their horses. It was also evident to the unfortunate prisoner that his captors were not regular cavalrymen, but guerillas, who hung on the flanks of the army to rob the wounded, plunder the dead, capture stragglers worth the trouble, and gather up the spoils of battle. When this was apparent to Somers, from the words and the actions of the wretches, he felt that he had reason to be thankful that they had not murdered him, as they probably had his friend. His life had been spared, but this new revelation of the character of his captors suggested a doubt whether death was not preferable to captivity in the hands of such miscreants. At the grove the men halted.
“Now, cap’n, off with them boots!” said Turkin, in savage tones.
Somers felt that he had not a moment’s lease of life secured to him, and he promptly complied with the unreasonable demand of the guerilla.
“Who’s gwine to hev them boots?” suggested one of the gang.
“The man as they fits,” replied Turkin, who proceeded at once to try them on.
“No, sir! I’ll be dog-on’d if anything of that sort shall be did!” protested the other.
“Well, Gragg, what’s the use of them boots to you? You couldn’t put ’em outside yer feet, more’n yer could crawl inter the barrel of yer shooter.”
“May be I couldn’t; but them boots is wuth more to you than the hoss. Draw lots fur ’em.”
The guerillas debated this question for some time, and with so much acrimony that Somers ventured to hope they would resort to knives and bullets in the adjustment of the quarrel, and thus afford him an opportunity to profit by the discussion. But it was finally agreed to value the property, and make an equal division of it. Turkin could not get the boots on; whereat he was greatly enraged, and looked at Somers as though he intended to annihilate him for not having a larger foot. A young fellow of the party succeeded in getting them on, and they were apportioned to him. It was pleasant to think that he was dooming himself to a great deal of misery by his apparent good fortune; for, if he had corns, the boots would be agony to him; if not, they would be tight enough to raise a crop of the tormentors in a very brief period. If through tribulation we are brought to the truth, it is to be hoped that the sufferings of the young guerilla brought him to a belief that “honesty is the best policy,” though this is not the highest rule of morality.
Each of the marauders was supplied with a horse, and apparently to save the trouble of leading him, rather than for the comfort of the prisoner, Somers was ordered to ride the animal which had belonged to De Banyan. The party were loaded with plunder, taken from the dead and wounded of both armies, as Somers judged from the appearance of the articles. They moved in the direction of the rebel camps, and in a short time they had passed beyond the reach of danger from the Union army.
“Gragg, what we gwine to do with this feller?” said Turkin, as he pointed to the prisoner. “We don’t want him.”
“Knock him on the head, and leave him here,” replied the benevolent Gragg.
“I don’t keer,” added Turkin, as he rubbed his matted hair beneath his hat, as if to stimulate a half developed idea which was struggling for existence in his brain.
Somers did care: it would make considerable difference to him. He had patiently submitted to the policy of his captors in order to save his life; but upon the question of murdering him in cold blood, he felt that he had something to say. If resorting to desperate measures would afford the slightest hope of escape, he was ready to accept the issue. There were seven of the guerillas, and resistance was almost hopeless, yet not entirely so, for there was a single favorable circumstance to aid him.
As the prisoner rode along between Turkin and Gragg, he happened to discover that the holsters of De Banyan’s horse still contained the pistols of his friend. They were two navy revolvers, which the guerillas had neglected to secure. With these formidable weapons Somers believed that he could make a tolerably good fight, though such a course would be madness on his part, unless he was reduced to the most desperate extremity, when death was certain if he did not resort to it.
“We don’t want ter be bothered with this carri’n,” continued the philanthropic Gragg.
“I was thinkin’,” said Turkin.
“Was yer?” demanded Gragg, as the thinker did not develop the result of his meditations. “What was yer thinkin’?”
“Yer know what happened yesterday?”
Gragg did know, and as it appeared from their conversation, Colonel Grayhame, of the Confederate cavalry, had threatened to hang the whole of the gang for some irregular proceedings among the rebel wounded.
“The kun’l’s down on us, Gragg,” added the politic Turkin.
“I don’t keer.”
“He’ll spile our prospects. We kin make him good natered by givin’ him a young scrub of a Yankee officer like this.”
“I don’t keer.”
“It won’t cost nothin’. We don’t want the young cub; and he’ll think we’re doin’ sunthin’ for the cause.”
“He’ll make yer give up the boots and the coat,” suggested the prudent Gragg.
“You bet he won’t!” replied Turkin, positively. “The feller is a staff officer, belongin’ to one of the big Yankee gin’rals; and the kun’l will be glad to git him.”
“But the coat and the boots, the watch and the money? The kun’l’s foolish about sech things. He don’t take ’em from the Yanks.”
It was finally decided to say that the prisoner had been robbed of these articles before they captured him, and to deliver the captive to the colonel, as a conciliatory offering. Somers was much relieved when this decision was readied, for it was some satisfaction to be handed over to an officer who was a gentleman, and had some regard for the comfort of his prisoners.
When the guerillas arrived at the spot where the camp of Colonel Grayhame had been on the previous day, their plans were entirely changed by learning that the cavalry under his command had been ordered away to look after the Union force, sent down to destroy the West Point Railroad; not that this information affected their purposes, but because it suggested a field for the better prosecution of their irregular work. Somers heard them discuss the matter; and he found that they believed the Union cavalry would burn and plunder public and private property, without discrimination, wherever they went. Their presence would create a panic; houses would be abandoned, citizens killed, and the spoils would be plentiful. When Turkin suggested that the party should follow the colonel, and gather up the plunder, his companions readily assented.
Somers did not learn what was to be done with himself, but he concluded that he was to go with them. Though it was now dark, the guerillas immediately started for the new field of operations, and the prisoner was placed between Gragg and Turkin, as before. These worthies were less communicative during the evening than they had been immediately after his capture, and Somers listened in vain for any hint in regard to the disposition which they intended to make of him.
They rode till about nine o’clock, when Gragg suggested that they were human, and ought to have some supper. They were approaching the mansion of a planter, and as they owed allegiance to neither side in the great conflict, it mattered but little to them who or what the owner was. Their sympathies were undoubtedly with the South, but their love of plunder was stronger than their sympathies.
“Git off the hoss, cap’n,” said Turkin, as the party halted in the yard of the house.
Somers obeyed. In the darkness of the evening he had contrived to remove one of the revolvers from its holster, and place it under his vest; for he did not know that he should again be permitted to mount the horse. He had also transferred from a leather bag on the pommel of the saddle, two or three at a time, a sufficient number of patent cartridges and caps. He was not without a hope that the present halt would afford him an opportunity to attempt an escape.
“Lead your horse to the stable,” added Turkin.
He put the horse in the stable with the others; but he was closely watched all the time. While he was thus engaged, he saw Gragg and Turkin in close conversation; and, though Somers could not hear what was said, he was satisfied that they were talking about him.
“Cap’n,” said Turkin, as the prisoner came out of the stall.
“I’m here,” replied Somers.
“Will you be shot afore supper, or arter?”
“Neither.”
“That’s jest what I expected you mought say, because it stands to reason no man don’t want to be shot.”
“Just my sentiments; I don’t want to be shot.”
“Jes so; and yer ought to be much obleeged ter me fur not shoot’n yer before.”
“I am very grateful to you for your consideration.”
“Exac’ly; you ain’t no more use to us than a knife and fork to a cow.”
“I don’t do you any harm.”
“That may be; but yer don’t do no good. Cap’n, will yer be shot afore supper, or arter?” repeated Turkin.
“I have already expressed my views on that subject.”
“Yes or no?”
“No.”
“Cap’n, you kin read, I take it.”
“I can.”
“D’yer ever read the story about the monkey that took the cat’s paw to haul the chestnuts out the fire with?”
“I have.”
“I knew yer hed; yer Yanks is great readers. Do yer know what the moril is to that story?”
“I think I do.”
“I knew yer did; yer Yanks is great on morils. I’m gwine ter tell yer the moril of that story. Did yer say you’d be shot afore supper, or arter?”
“Neither, if it will accommodate you just as well,” replied Somers, greatly perplexed to know what the fellow was going to do.
“Never mind, then; we’ll talk about the moril. It ain’t jest the thing fur us to go inter this house, and make ’em get supper fur us, because we ain’t exac’ly reg’lar. We wan’t the supper, and we may want sunthin’ more, arter that. We don’t want to be seen in the business. Now, we are the monkey, and you are the cat’s paw—don’t yer see?”
“I don’t quite understand you.”
“You shall go in, order the supper, and do the talkin’ for us. When they git supper ready, we’ll go in and eat it, without any of the folks seein’ on us. Yer’ll be cap’n, and do the talkin’ for us—don’t yer see?”
“I see.”
“And keep the folks from seein’ us too—don’t yer see?”
“I see.”
“Now, cap’n, will yer be shot afore supper, or arter?” demanded Turkin.
“Neither,” replied Somers, thereby consenting to the plan proposed by the guerilla.