The Young Lieutenant Part 23

He had fully and successfully accomplished the arduous purposes of his mission. He had examined the positions, and counted the forces of the rebels. He had received very valuable information from Mr. Raynes, and from others whom he had encountered in his walk through the enemy's lines. He was satisfied that he should receive a warm welcome from those who had sent him upon the perilous tour. He had earned the first bar to his shoulder-straps, and was proud of his achievement.

The work had been done, and he was within a short distance of the Union lines--within a short distance of the devoted Hapgood, who was patiently but anxiously waiting to give him a soldier's reception. Above all, he was safe; and he trembled when he thought of the perils through which he had pa.s.sed, of the consequences which must have followed the discovery of his real character. As he thanked G.o.d for the boon of life after the battle was over, so now he thanked Him for the signal success which had crowned his labors in the good cause. The last article of his raiment was put on and adjusted; he rose from the ground to walk towards the Union lines.

"I say, Yank, you look better'n you did 'fore yer changed your clothes,"

said a voice, which struck his ear with startling distinctness.

Somers looked in the direction from which the voice came, and discovered a villainous-looking countenance, that had just risen from the tall swamp-gra.s.s, within a couple of rods of the spot where he stood. The man was unmistakably a rebel--one of the most savage and implacable of rebels at that; such a character as we read of in connection with slave-hunts in Mississippi, or "free fights" in Arkansas. He wore a long, tangled beard; and his hair had probably never known the use of a comb. The grayback looked as cool and impudent as though he was perfectly a.s.sured of his prey, and intended to torture his victim with his tongue, as he would with his knife or his rifle if occasion required.

"I say, Yank, you look better'n yer did 'fore yer changed your colors,"

repeated the rebel, as he received no reply to his first salutation.

Somers looked at him again; indeed, he had hardly taken his eyes off the savage-looking fellow, who would have made a very good representative of Orson in the fairy story. He held a rifle in his hand, the muzzle of which could easily be brought to bear upon his victim. Our lieutenant at once understood the humor of the fellow; and, having recovered his self-possession in the momentary pause, he determined not to be behind his foe either in word or in deed.

"I say, reb, when did you shave last?" demanded Somers, with something as near akin to a laugh as he could manufacture for the occasion.

"'Fore you was born, I reckon, Yank," replied the rebel; "and I sha'n't shave ag'in till after you're dead. But I reckon I sha'n't hev ter wait long nuther."

"I suppose you don't know what a comb is for, do you?" continued Somers, who was, however, thinking of some method by which he might get out of this sc.r.a.pe.

"I reckon I've heerd about such things; but Joe Bagbone ain't a woman, and don't waste his time no such way. I say, stranger, you've got about three minutes more to live."

"How long?"

"Three minutes, stranger, I've sat here by them clothes, like a dog at a 'possum's nest, all the arternoon. Now I've treed the critter, and I'm gwine to shoot him."

"Is that so?"

"That's so, stranger."

"Do you usually shoot any man you happen to meet in the woods?"

"Well, I don't reckon we do, every man; but some on 'em we does. I calkilate you got on Tom Myers's clothes now, and yer shot the man 'fore you took the rags."

"I didn't shoot him."

"No matter for that, stranger; he was shot by a Yank, and you've got to settle the account."

Somers began to be of the same opinion himself. The grayback had evidently found the clothes, and suspected the purpose for which they were concealed. It was possible he had even more definite information than this; for he seemed to be prepared for precisely what had taken place.

"My friend----"

"I'm not your friend, stranger. You kin say anything you like, if yer don't insult me; Joe Bagbone don't take an insult from any live man."

"Well, Joe Bagbone," continued Somers, who was disposed to parley with the fellow to gain time, if nothing else, "if you shoot me, you will make the worst mistake you ever made in your life; and I can prove it to you in less than five minutes."

"No, yer can't, stranger. Don't waste yer time no such way. If yer want ter say yer prayers, blaze away lively, 'cause three minutes aren't long for a man to repent of all his sins."

"I have a pa.s.s from General M----, which permits me to go in safety through these lines," persisted Somers. "The sergeant above just examined it, and pa.s.sed me through."

"Don't keer nothing about yer pa.s.s. I respects Jeff Davis just as much as the best man in Mississip'. If yer had a pa.s.s from him, you mought as well not have it as have it. Tom Myers was killed, and somebody's gwine up for him."

"But I have important business on the other side."

"I knows that, stranger," replied the imperturbable Joe Bagbone. "It don't make no difference."

"I am sent over by General M----. I belong to the Fourth Alabama."

"Shet up! Don't tell no lies, 'cause yer hain't got no time ter repent on 'em."

"Then, if I understand it, you mean to murder one of your own men in cold blood."

"Nothin' of the sort; only gwine to shoot a Yank."

Somers looked into that hard, relentless eye; but there was not the slightest indication of any change of purpose. He felt that he stood in the presence of his executioner. All the errors of his past life crowded upon him, and the grave seemed to yawn before him.

"Call the sergeant above, and he will satisfy you that I am all right,"

said he, making one more effort to move the villain from his wicked purpose.

"Don't want the sergeant. Yer time's out, stranger."

"Let me call him, then."

"If yer do, I'll fire. Say yer prayers now, if yer mean ter; but I reckon the prayers of a Yank ain't of much account," replied Joe with a sneer.

Somers stood within a few feet of a large tree. Joe had several times raised his rifle to his shoulder; but, when he magnanimously offered his victim the last moment of grace, he dropped it again; and our lieutenant, taking advantage of this interval, darted behind the tree. Joe raised his piece quicker than a flash; but he did not fire, for the reason that he could not secure a perfect aim, and because he was sure of a better opportunity. Our lieutenant, who had carefully preserved his revolver during the various changes he had made in his dress, now took it from his pocket, and prepared to contest the field like a man.

The grayback, chagrined at this movement on the part of his victim, whom he had evidently intended to intimidate by his coolness and his ferocious words, rose from his seat in the long gra.s.s, and moved towards the tree behind which Somers had taken refuge. Probably he was not aware that the Yankee was armed; for he adopted none of the precautions which such a knowledge would have imposed upon any reasonable man.

"Come out from that tree, stranger, or you shall die like a hog, with a knife; not like a man, with a rifle-ball."

"I intend to die by neither," said Somers resolutely, as he discharged his pistol in the direction from which the voice of the grayback came; for he dared not take aim, lest the bullet of the ruffian should pierce his skull.

He might as well have fired into the air, so far as any injury to his enemy was concerned; but the report had the effect to a.s.sure the rebel that he was armed, and thus put an end to his farther advance in that direction. Somers listened with intense anxiety to discover the next movement of his wily persecutor. He had only checked, not defeated him; and an exciting game was commenced, which promised to terminate only in the death of one of the belligerents. Somers hoped that the discharge of his pistol would bring the sergeant down to his relief; but then to be discovered in Federal uniform was about equivalent to being shot by his relentless foe, burning to revenge the death of Tom Myers.

The report of pistols and muskets was so common an occurrence on the picket-lines as to occasion nothing more than a momentary inquiry. No one came for his relief, or his ruin, as the case might be; and he was left to play out the exciting game by himself. The grayback, with a wholesome regard for the pistol, had retired beyond the reach of its ball, while he was still a long way within rifle-range of his doomed enemy. Somers dared not look out from the tree to obtain even a single glance at the foe; for he knew how accurate is the aim of some of these Southern woodsmen. He had nothing to guide him but the rustling of the dried branches beneath his tread, or the occasional snapping of a twig under his feet.

Joe Bagbone, after retreating beyond pistol-shot from the tree, had commenced describing a circle which would bring him into a position that commanded a view of his concealed victim. It must be confessed that Joe's tactics were singularly deficient in range; for nothing but a surprise could make them successful. While he was moving a hundred rods to secure his position, Somers could defeat his purpose by taking a single step. As soon as he determined in what direction his persecutor was going, he changed his position; and Joe discovered the folly of his strategy, and sat down on a stump to await a demonstration on the part of his victim.

The game promised to be prolonged to a most unreasonable length; and Somers, now in a measure secure of his life, was impatient to join his anxious companions, with whom he had parted in the forenoon. He was satisfied that Joe would never abandon the chase, and the slightest indiscretion on his own part would result in instant death. It was a fearful position, and one which was calculated to wear terribly upon his nerves. He was anxious to bring the contest to a conclusion; and, while he was debating in his own mind the chances of escaping by a sudden dash in the direction of the Union lines, a happy thought in the way of strategy occurred to him.

He had determined as nearly as he could the situation of his bull-dog opponent, and thought that, if he could draw his fire, he might get out of range of his rifle before it could be reloaded. Placing his cap on the barrel of his pistol, he cautiously moved it over, just as it would have appeared to the rebel if his head had been inside of it, and projected it a little beyond the tree. He withdrew it suddenly two or three times to increase the delusion in the mind of his enemy. He could not see the effect of the stratagem; but he was hopeful of a satisfactory result. He continued to repeat the operation with the cap, till he was confident Joe was not to be fooled in this way. He was probably one of the sharpshooters, and had too often fired at empty caps to be caught in this manner when success depended upon the single charge of his rifle.

Somers did not despair, but slipped off his coat; and, rolling it up so as to form the semblance of a head, he placed the cap upon the top of the bundle, and cautiously exposed the "dummy" on the opposite side of the tree. The crack of Joe's rifle instantly followed this exhibition, and Somers felt the blow of the ball when it struck the cap. The critical moment had come; and, without the loss of a second, our lieutenant darted towards the Union lines. This movement was followed by a shrill yell from the Mississippian, which might have been a howl of disappointment at his failure; or it might have been intended to startle, and thus delay the fugitive.

Somers had listened to that battle yell too many times to be moved by it, especially when uttered by a single voice; and, with all the speed of which his limbs were capable, he fled to the arms of his friends. Joe was not content to give up the battle; and, dropping his rifle, he drew his long knife, and gave chase. They made a long run of it; and it was only ended when Tom heard the demand of his faithful sergeant--

"Who goes there?"

"Friend," gasped Somers, utterly exhausted by his exertions.