Brother Against Brother Part 32

"What are you doing here, Tilford?" demanded the commander.

"I am wounded and in great pain," replied the overseer in weak and submissive tones.

"Then why don't you join your friends?" asked the colonel.

"I made a mistake to-night, and I did not know who my friends were,"

pleaded the wounded man.

"Sam!" shouted the planter to the house servant, who had followed the party nearly to the stable; and the boy immediately presented himself before his master. "Take the overseer to his room, and do what you can for him."

"Thank you, Colonel!" exclaimed Tilford; and his wound seemed to have made another man of him.

Sam took the sufferer by the arm, wondering at the magnanimity of his master, who had ordered all the people to shoot him if he was seen again on the premises, and conducted him towards the mansion, where he had a chamber back of the dining-room. As he led him up the steps, Margie and Kate came to him; and they proved to be as forgiving as their father, for they did everything they could to make him comfortable. One of the old "aunties," skilled in nursing, was sent to him, and his wound was dressed.

The mounted men, led by the commander, galloped over to the old road, which was deserted at the place where they came out. On a slight elevation in the highway a great fire was blazing brilliantly, and near it was an a.s.semblage of people, the nature of which the commander could not make out.

"I don't understand that gathering," said he, as Major Gadbury rode up to his side.

"It looks as though the enemy were using the flag of truce ruse over here," replied the major.

"I don't believe Major Lyon would fool with them. They are marauders and disturbers of the peace, and I think he is as disposed to deal summarily with them as I am," added the commander. "But we will ride up to the place, and we shall soon know what is going on."

"Who are these men coming into the road just ahead of us?" asked Major Gadbury, pointing to three men who were making their way through the field to the road. "The fire on the hill don't give quite light enough to enable me to make them out; but I suppose they are ruffians who have made their way from the new road."

"I don't know what they are, but we will go and see;" and they rode forward about a dozen rods to the point where the men were emerging from the field. "Who goes there?" demanded Colonel Belthorpe.

"Is that you, Mars'r Cunnel?" asked one of them.

"Uncle Dave!" exclaimed the planter.

"That's the parson," added Colonel Cosgrove.

"What are you doing over here, Uncle?" asked the commander.

"We done have nothin' more to do over yonder," replied the preacher.

"The boys are all movin' over this way."

"But where are the ruffians that retreated from the new road?"

"The boys fell upon 'em and drove 'em over to the west, sar," the parson explained. "We don't kill any of 'em; but we bang 'em so they hold still on the ground. We think they was comin' over here to help the ruffians on this side, and we come over to 'tend to 'em."

"All right, venerable Uncle," laughed the colonel. "But can you tell me what is going on upon the hill yonder?"

"I don't know, Mars'r Cunnel. I don't see 'em till now."

Uncle Dave had a pitchfork in his hand, and it was plain enough just now that he was of the church militant, for he was in fighting condition. It was said that he could read and write; but from motives of policy he never allowed a white man to see him do either. He was a sensible old man in spite of his condition, and was employed about the stable and carriage-house, and was favored by his master and all the family. He had learned to speak without using the negro dialect, though his sentences were not rhetorical models, and from the force of habit he retained some of the old forms to avoid the imputation of "putting on airs."

"There seems to be no fighting going on up there," said the commander after he had studied the situation some time, though he could not understand it. "If the ruffians are moving over here, as Uncle Dave says, we shall be needed in that quarter."

"I don't think so, Mars'r Cunnel, for we maul the ruffians so that they won't want to fight no more for two weeks and a half," added the preacher, who heard the remark.

"You may stay here, and if your flock come to this road, send them up to the hill where we are going," ordered the commander, as he dashed off, followed by the other hors.e.m.e.n.

The gathering on the hill was not a parley under a flag of truce, as Colonel Belthorpe feared it might be; but to explain its nature it will be necessary to go back to the time when Major Lyon, followed by his command, had marched over to the old road.

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE RESULT OF THE FLANK MOVEMENT

Even the t.i.tle of major which had been thrust upon him could not make the planter of Riverlawn feel like a military commander as he led his battalion of foot and mounted volunteers to the old road, which might prove to be a battle-field. His force consisted of only four white men,--himself, his son, Tom Belthorpe, and Squire Truman. Deck had been provided with a saddle horse from the stable of the Lyndhall planter, so that all of them were well mounted.

Four of the mounted boys from Riverlawn, four of them on foot, and about twenty of the colonel's ablest hands formed the rest of his force. The latter were as emulous to fight the battle of their master as those who had been sent to the new road. Major Lyon's boys had already been under fire, and they were exceedingly proud of the experience. They talked rather large, perhaps, to the Lyndhall volunteers, and told them they must stand up to it when the enemy fired, and must not run away though they were sure they would be shot. They were earnestly counselled not "to disgrace the race."

At that time a negro soldier was unknown, and most white men, especially at the South, would as soon have thought of arming and drilling a lot of baboons and monkeys; and even those in Barcreek who were willing to accept their services in defence of their families and their property had never dreamed of such a thing as making soldiers of the negroes.

Their steadiness under fire, though they had been subjected to only a discharge of random shots, filled the slaveholders present with astonishment, if not with admiration.

When the force reached the old road, there was nothing to be seen of the ruffians, for it was quite dark, and they were beyond the hill, which obstructed their view. But the scouts had reported them as approaching, and the major in command was not inclined to await their coming. He gave the order to march; but they had gone only a few rods before the column was seen at the top of the hill. A halt was called in order to enable the prudent commander to prepare a plan for the a.s.sault.

The advance of the force was evidently perceived by the ruffians, for they also halted, and in a few moments more a great fire was blazing up at the side of the road. On the march so far, Tom and Deck had done a good deal of talking together. Since his brave and determined defence of Miss Kate in the cross-cut, and his strategy in disposing of Buck Lagger, Tom had a very high respect and regard for Deck.

"My father isn't much of a soldier, any more than the rest of us," said Deck, as the major gave the order to halt. "If we fire at those scalliwags, they will scatter and run away, as they did at the creek bridge, and be all ready to burn a house or run off with a girl as soon as they get the chance. I believe we ought to punish them so that they will remember it till to-morrow or next day."

"Just my idea," replied Tom. "These n.i.g.g.e.rs stand up to the fight like white men. I believed they would all run away at the first shot from an enemy."

"Not one of them flinched on the bridge or in the road when the ruffians fired into them, my father says, for I was not there then; I was in the artillery service just at that time."

"In the artillery service!" exclaimed Tom, laughing at the magnificent speech of his companion in arms.

"Exactly so; you have heard the story of the capture of the arms at the sink-hole; the cannon are mounted in the ice-house. If you see one of our darkeys flinch when the firing begins, I wish you would let me know, and we will cut down his hominy ration," rattled Deck, as enthusiastic as though he had slept all night instead of half an hour. "But I have got an idea."

"You seem to have one in tow all the time."

"I want you to mention it to my father if you believe in it, and he will think more of it than if I put it forward."

"Your father seems to think a good deal of what you say and do."

"He will think I am too old for my years; but he is the best father I ever had, and I want him to come out of this sc.r.a.pe with flying colors."

"But what is your idea, Deck?" asked Tom curiously.

"I think my father is waked up to the bottom of his boots; he won't fool with any flags of truce, and he will order us all to fire as soon as the time comes, though his own brother is in the gang ahead of us, or in the one over on the other road."

"I am sure he won't wince."

"And the moment we fire, the ruffians will all run away, which the darkeys won't do. That is just what I have seen them do twice to-night.