An Unoficial Patriot Part 18

CHAPTER XIX.

_"How dear to my heart are the scenes of my childhood."_

When the news of the battle reached Katherine, she was still alone.

Griffith had not completed the task set, and was still in the tent of the irascible General, whose chief acquaintance with the English language appeared to lie in his explosive and ever ready profanity. He swore if things went right, and he swore if they went wrong. If he liked a man, he swore at him playfully, and if he disliked him, he swore at him in wrath. His ammunition might give out, but a volley of oaths was never wanting to fire at the enemy. It sometimes seemed to Griffith the irony of fate that he should be placed in the same tent and closely a.s.sociated with such a man, for, although Griffith said nothing, it grated sadly upon his ears, and he sometimes wondered if the Almighty would prosper an expedition led by this man, for Griffith had kept still, through all the years the primitive idea of a personal G.o.d who takes cognizance of the doings of men, and meets and parries them by devices and schemes of His own.

As time went on, and Lengthy Patterson recovered from his wound so as to be always in evidence, he came in for a large share of the General's explosive and meaningless oaths. Sometimes it was half in fun, more often it was in memory of the fact that Lengthy had ignored him and his questions upon their first meeting, and that up to this day the lank mountaineer took his orders and his cue from Griffith only. He had attached himself to the sharpshooters and rarely left Griffith's side.

As silent and faithful as a dog he rode day after day, with watchful eyes, by the side of or just behind "the Parson," as he still called the object of his adoration. He watched Griffith narrowly. He noticed the growing sadness of the old-time merry face. He felt that something was wrong. At last the silence could be preserved no longer, he must know what the trouble was. They were near the borders of the county where Griffith's old home was. Lengthy had expected to see his face grow interested and bright, but instead there seemed to come over it a drawn and haggard look that was a puzzle and a torment to the woodsman. He ventured a remark as they rode apart from the rest. "Sick?"

"No, no, Lengthy. I'm not sick. Why?"

"Yeh never talk no mo'. Heard yeh kinder groan.

Few-words-comprehends-th'-whole." Griffith turned his face full upon him.

"Lengthy, it is almost more than I can bear to do this work. I--it is--sometimes I think I _cannot_ take them over there." He held out his hand toward the beautiful valley in the distance. They could see the thread of the river winding through the trees and out into field and farm. It was the river in which Lengthy had seen this friend of his baptized, so many years ago, when both were young men, and now both were growing gray!

Lengthy made no reply. The silence stretched into minutes. They halted for the noon meal and to feed and rest the horses. They all lay about on the hill, and Griffith talked to the engineers. They drew lines and made figures and notes. An hour later they pushed on toward the river.

Lengthy and Griffith rode in front. The old mill where Pete had run away appeared in the distance. The river was very near now. A heavy sigh from Griffith broke the silence. He was looking far ahead and his face was drawn and miserable.

"What d' yeh go fer?"

Griffith did not hear. His chin had dropped upon his breast, and his face was pale. His lips moved, and the mountaineer waited. At last he said: "What yeh do hit fer?"

"What?"

"What yeh do hit fer,'f yeh don't want teh?"

"Do what? Go here?"

"Yeh?"

"I am a Union man, Lengthy. The President sent for me and asked me to do it. He made me see it was my duty. There was no one else he could trust, who knew the country. I----"

There was a long pause. The mountaineer threw his leg up over the front of his saddle, and ruminated on the new outlook. Presently Griffith went on: "Some one _must_ do it, but--"

He lifted his face toward the blue above him; "Oh, my G.o.d, if this cup could but pa.s.s from _me!!_" he groaned aloud. "It seems to me I cannot cross that river! It seems to me I _cannot!_" His voice broke and there was silence.

"Don't need teh'."

Griffith did not hear. His eyes were closed and he was praying for light and leading, as he would have called it--for strength to do the dreaded task, if it must be done. Lengthy looked at him, and then at the not far distant river, and waited in silence. A half mile farther on he said, as if the chain of remarks had been unbroken: "Don't need teh cross. I will fer yeh."

"What?" cried Griffith, like a man who has heard and is afraid to believe.

"Said yeh didn't need teh cross. I will fer yeh.

Few-words-comprehends-th'-whole," he repeated, in the same level key, looking straight at his horse's ears.

Griffith's bridle fell upon his horse's neck. Both arms lifted themselves up, and both hands spread as if to grasp something. "Oh, my G.o.d, is my prayer to be answered so soon? Do you mean--oh, Lengthy, do you mean that you will save me from this terrible trial? Do you mean----"

"I does." He was gazing straight ahead of him now, with elaborate pretense of indifference. He had begun to grasp the situation.

Griffith dropped both hands upon his uplifted face, and a cry as of one in great pain escaped him, "O-h-h," in a long quaver. The mountaineer turned his eyes. Griffith was looking straight at him now, like a hunted man who at last sees hope and rescue ahead, but dares not trust it lest it prove but an illusion. He tried to speak, but his voice failed him.

The mountaineer understood.

"Yeh kin go home. I'll do hit. Few words----"

Griffith was overtaken with hysterics. He threw both arms above his head and shouted, "Glory to G.o.d in the highest! Peace and good will to men!"

and covered his face with his hands to hide the emotion he could not control.

They were on the banks of the river now, and the commander dashed up.

"What in h.e.l.l's the matter now?" he demanded.

"Hit's the river done it," put in the mountaineer, to save his friend the need of words. "Baptized thar."

"What? What in the devil are you talking about? What in----"

He was looking at Griffith, but Lengthy broke in again with his perfectly level and emotionless voice. "Baptized thar, I sez.

Few-words-comprehends-th'--"

"Will you dry up? You infernal-- What does this mean?" He turned again to Griffith, who had regained his self-control. The commander usually acted upon him as a refrigerator, so incapable was he of understanding human emotion that reached beyond the limits of irritability.

"General," he began, slowly, "I have just arranged with Mr. Patterson for him to take my place as Government Guide. I can go with you no farther. That house over there in the distance"--he stretched out his hand--"used to be my old home. I love the people who live here--all about here. This river----"

A volley of oaths interrupted Griffith. The command had come up, and the staff-officers sat listening and waiting. The General was changing his first outburst into arguments. Griffith met them quite calmly. It seemed a long time now since he had found the relief he felt. It did not seem possible that it was only ten minutes ago that it had come to him.

"This man knows the country even better than I do, General. He is willing to go--to take my place--and he is perfectly loyal--_loyal to me_. He will--what Mr. Lincoln wanted was that the work should be done, and done by one he could trust--it was not that he wanted _me_ to do it.

I will stake my honor on this man's fidelity. He--" The word "deserter,"

mingled with threats, struck Griffith's ear; he did not pause to a.n.a.lyze it. "Mr. Lincoln told me that I was to return to him whenever I----"

"G.o.d d.a.m.n Mr. Lincoln! _I_ am in command of these troops! Mr. Lincoln didn't know he was giving me a couple of lunatics to deal with! If you attempt to leave you will be shot as a deserter, I tell you! I'll do it myself, by G.o.d!" Griffith's head dropped against his breast. He dismounted slowly and handed his bridle to the mountaineer. Lengthy hooked it over his arm and waited. Mr. Davenport deliberately knelt by the bank of the river, with his face toward the old home.

"Shoot. I will go no farther!" he said, and closed his eyes.

Instantly the mountaineer's gun went to his shoulder. His aim was at the General's breast. "Few-words-comprehends-th'-whole," he said, and the hammer clicked. The General smiled grimly.

"Get up," he said. "I had no right to make that threat. You are a private citizen. You came of your own accord. You _are_ under Lincoln only. Get up! Can we trust this man, d.a.m.n him?"

Griffith staggered to his feet. The storm had left him weak and pale.

The mountaineer dismounted and stood beside him.

"You mean to take my place in good faith--to lead them right--I know, Lengthy; but tell him so _for me_," Griffith asked, in a tired voice, taking the swarthy hand in his. "You will do your best as a guide in my place, won't you?"

Lengthy's response was unequivocal. "I will," he said in his monotonous tone, and somehow, as they stood hand in hand with the curious group of men about them, the reply reminded every one of the response in the marriage service, and a smile ran around as the men glanced at each other.

"You promise to do all in your knowledge and power to enable them to get accurate knowledge and make their maps, don't you, Lengthy?"