Title: The Blue Balloon - A Tale of the Shenandoah Valley
Author: Horsley, Reginald
Language: English
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[Illustration:

  Down came Ephraim’s rifle to the charge again.

  PAGE 153.
]



                            THE BLUE BALLOON
                               A TALE OF
                         THE SHENANDOAH VALLEY


                                   BY

                            REGINALD HORSLEY

                    AUTHOR OF ‘THE YELLOW GOD;’ ETC.


                         WITH SIX ILLUSTRATIONS
                                   BY
                              W. S. STACEY


                                NEW YORK
                        E. P. DUTTON AND COMPANY
                      31 WEST-TWENTY-THIRD STREET
                                  1896



[Illustration: CONTENTS.]

                               CONTENTS.


  CHAPTER                                                        PAGE
       I. OLD GRIZZLY                                               7

      II. STONEWALL JACKSON’S WAY                                  19

     III. THE BALLOON GOES UP                                      32

      IV. THE BALLOON COMES DOWN                                   49

       V. A FIRE-EATING COLONEL                                    64

      VI. A FREE BREAKFAST                                         74

     VII. NO. XX. COMPANY D OF THE ‘TRAILING TERRORS’              93

    VIII. A PAIR OF RELUCTANT RECRUITS                            118

      IX. HOW GENERAL SHIELDS SENT A DESPATCH TO GENERAL FRÉMONT  131

       X. HOW THAT DESPATCH WAS INTERCEPTED                       148

      XI. LUCIUS BRINGS THE BOAT ASHORE                           158

     XII. A DUEL IN THE DARK                                      175

    XIII. HOW THE DESPATCH WAS BROUGHT TO STONEWALL JACKSON       199

     XIV. GRIZZLY IN THE TOILS                                    223

      XV. ANY PORT IN A STORM                                     239

     XVI. OLD GRIZZLY’S SACRIFICE                                 257

    XVII. WHAT CAME OF IT ALL                                     277



                         LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.


                                                                    PAGE
 Down came Ephraim’s rifle to the charge again            _Frontispiece_

 ‘Hyar I am,’ said Ephraim                                            13

 Ephraim, his feet twined among the cordage, slowly
   mounted towards the network                                        61

 ‘Upon my word, you are a nice young man,’ said the
   general                                                           111

 A candle was burning on a table by the window                       211

 ‘Fire, boys! Fire!’                                                 275

[Illustration]



                           THE BLUE BALLOON.



                               CHAPTER I.
                              OLD GRIZZLY.


Thirty-three years ago, or, to be quite exact, in the month of May 1862,
the great civil war in the United States of America was in full swing.
The Federals had discovered that their boast that they would finish the
whole affair in ninety days had been an empty one; while the
Confederates, brave as they were, and fighting with all the vigour of
men goaded to fury by the horrors of invasion, were learning by slow
degrees, and in the teeth of their successes, that one Southerner could
_not_ whip five Yankees.

The short remnant of summer which followed the first battle of Bull Run,
or Manassas, as it was named in the South, had come to an end without
startling incident; the dreary winter had dragged itself to a close,
unmarked by aught but skirmishes and conflicts of minor importance; but
in the spring of ’62 immense armies took the field, and campaigns were
begun, compared with which all that had gone before was merely an
insignificant prelude.

At the first rumour that McClellan, stirring at last from his long and
inglorious inactivity, was about to advance upon Richmond, the
Confederate General Johnston at once evacuated Manassas, and fell back
towards the threatened point; while Stonewall Jackson, who commanded the
army of the Shenandoah, moved up the valley, so as to keep communication
open with the defenders of the capital.

In the valley lay the town of Staunton, the capital of Augusta county,
Virginia, and the presumed objective of one section of the Federal
advance. Here, when the war began, lived a youth named Ephraim Sykes,
more commonly known as ‘Old Grizzly.’ Not that he at all resembled that
ferocious animal either in person or in disposition, for his manners
were mild and inoffensive; but since his Christian name happened to
coincide with the sobriquet usually bestowed upon the grizzly
bear—namely, ‘Ephraim’—a happy thought occurred one day to a youthful
wag of Staunton. So Ephraim Sykes was promptly dubbed ‘Old Grizzly,’ and
as such was known ever afterwards.

Ephraim was between nineteen and twenty years of age, but looked much
older, for he was tall and lank, with a thoughtful face and a sallow
complexion, while an early and luxuriant crop of dark and curling hair
flourished upon his thin cheeks and square, resolute chin. It was this
chin, along with a pair of clear, steady, gray eyes, which conveyed to
the physiognomist the impression that, shy and retiring as the lad was,
beneath his unassuming exterior lurked the spirit of a lion, united to a
will of iron.

Ephraim was a ‘hand’ in one of the large ironworks in Staunton, but he
owned a soul above his humble calling, and his mechanical genius was
little short of marvellous. He was for ever inventing curious toys and
handy appliances, which he traded off among the Staunton boys for sums
very far below their actual value. The money thus obtained he devoted
partly to the support of an aged aunt, who had brought him up since the
death of his father and mother, and partly to the purchase of material
for the manufacture of his inventions, or, as he himself styled them,
his ‘notions.’ Education, in the ordinary sense of the word, he had
never had, but he had managed, nevertheless, by his own efforts and
quiet persistence, to acquire an extraordinary amount of general and
useful information: a neatly made bookcase, which stood against the wall
of his little room, held a supply of books on science, mathematics, and
the mechanical arts, which seemed curiously out of place in the homely
cabin. But that Ephraim knew their use, and profited by the information
he derived from the study of them, was evidenced by the character of the
work he turned out, and the increasing favour in which he was held by Mr
Coulter, the master of the works in which he was employed.

By the boys who formed his chief customers Grizzly was popularly
supposed to be very rich, and the one fault they had to find with him
was that he hoarded his gains in a miserly fashion, spending not a cent
more than was absolutely necessary to provide himself and his aunt with
the simple necessaries of life. Here, however, they misjudged Ephraim,
for though it was true that he scraped and pinched and denied himself to
put aside some small proportion of his not very extensive means, yet
there was a purpose in what he did, and his motives were very different
from those which the boys in their thoughtless way ascribed to him.

The fact was that poor Ephraim’s soul was fired with one strong and
overmastering ambition. He longed to rise in the world. He dimly
recognised his own powers, and felt within himself a capacity for
progress which he could not but see was denied to the bulk of his
fellow-workers. His shrewdness early taught him the value of money as a
means to this end, and while others spent and squandered, he added
dollar after dollar to his little hoard, and watched with keen
satisfaction the slowly accumulating pile.

He was known to almost everybody in Staunton—there being few homes which
did not possess some proof of his skill in handicraft—and he was a
general favourite on account of his unfailing good-nature. For though
careful, or mean as some called it, with his money, he was always
willing to give the work of his hands, and many were the small boys
whose happiness had been rendered unbounded by the acquisition of some
precious plaything, for which they could not afford to pay, but which
Ephraim had not the heart to deny them.

Still, though many sought his acquaintance, Grizzly allowed himself the
luxury of but one friend, the only boy, perhaps, in all Staunton who
thoroughly understood and properly appreciated him, Lucius Markham. And
him Ephraim simply worshipped. The contrast between the two was almost
absurd, for Lucius was what is called a gentleman, and with his fair
hair, blue eyes, and aristocratic bearing, stood out in curious relief
beside the rough working-lad whom he had selected for his crony. Yet the
two were inseparable, and Lucius, who was three years younger than
Ephraim, and high-spirited and self-willed, would listen to no
remonstrances on the part of his parents, who looked askance upon this
ill-assorted companionship, but spent as much of his spare time as he
possibly could by Ephraim’s side, often in the latter’s little workshop,
where he watched admiringly the processes which neither could his head
understand nor his hands execute.

As for Ephraim, Lucius was his hero, and he adored him with a dog-like
affection, which the other, though he certainly returned it, yet
received with a lofty air of patronage, as became the son and heir of so
important a personage as Mr Markham of Markham Hall.

When the war broke out, the enthusiasm of the two lads knew no bounds.
The Staunton artillery, in which Mr Markham held a commission, had been
almost the first to take the field, and had played an important part in
the capture of Harper’s Ferry and the arsenal. Lucius had therefore a
personal interest in the war from the very beginning, and great indeed
was his delight when he was allowed to pay a visit to his father at the
camp at Harper’s Ferry, where the impetuous young Southerners were
receiving their first lessons in the art of real war from generals and
captains who were afterwards destined to write their names large upon
the scroll of Fame.

On his return to Staunton, Lucius flew to the house of his friend,
burning to impart his new experiences.

‘Hello, Aunty Chris!’ he shouted, bursting into the little cabin where
the old woman sat darning Ephraim’s socks. ‘Where’s Grizzly?’

‘Hyar I am,’ said Ephraim, coming out of his den with a jack-plane in
one hand and a piece of walnut wood in the other. ‘How ye comin’ along,
Luce?’ he added, his eyes beaming affectionately upon his friend.

‘Oh!’ cried Lucius, not troubling to return the salute, ‘I tell you I’ve
had such a time at the Ferry. They are all there—father, and General
Harper, and General Harman, and Captain Imboden, and all the rest of
them; and Major Jackson of the Military Institute way down in Lexington
has been made a colonel and put in command over the whole lot of them.
They didn’t like it at first, but they’ve got used to it now, and my!
don’t he just make them work. They were having a picnic before he came,
but I guess he didn’t help to whip the Mexicans for nothing.’

‘Do tell,’ remarked Ephraim.

‘I should say so,’ went on Lucius. ‘He’s a stark fighter, he is, and he
keeps them down to it. They’re drilling and marching, and marching and
drilling, all day long; and at night they have camp-fires, and sentries,
and everything. You never saw such a show. And oh! Grizzly, what do you
think? Captain Imboden let me fire off a cannon.’

‘Ye don’t say so!’ exclaimed Ephraim, his sallow face lighting up. ‘How
many Yanks did ye shoot?’

Lucius burst out laughing. ‘Why, it wasn’t loaded, stupid,’ he said,
‘except with blank cartridge. But I touched her off, and she made an
awful good row.’

[Illustration:

  ‘Hyar I am,’ said Ephraim.
]

‘I reckon,’ said Ephraim simply, adding with some anxiety in his voice:
‘Then ye warn’t in no battle, Luce?’

‘Battle! No,’ answered Lucius. ‘There hasn’t been one so far, and I
imagine they wouldn’t have had me around while it was going on. There’s
sure to be one soon, though; so they all say. Don’t I wish we could be
there to see it. There’ll only be one, you know,’ he added confidently.
‘We shall whip the Yanks, and then everybody will come home again.’

‘Thet’s so,’ remarked Ephraim sententiously, ‘’ceptin’ them as is
killed, of co’se.’ He fell to considering the piece of wood which he
held in his hand.

‘What are you making there?’ demanded Lucius.

‘A gun-stock. I got a bar’l in thar.’

‘I’ll come and watch you,’ said Lucius, ‘and then I can tell you all
about the camp.’

He followed Ephraim into his workshop and sat down upon the edge of a
small tub, in which were set two huge glass jars, partly filled with
fluid.

‘Don’t ye set down thar,’ cried Ephraim, pushing him off. ‘Jerushy! A
little more and ye’d have been through the roof.’

‘Why, what’s in them?’ inquired Lucius, looking rather scared, as he
shifted his seat to the dusty bench at which Ephraim worked.

‘They’re chemicals—different sorts, ye know,’ explained Grizzly. ‘Just’s
long as they’re by themselves they’re all right, ye onderstand; but
wanst they come together there’s the all-firedest kick-up ye ever see.’

‘What a fellow you are!’ said Lucius, glancing round the room with its
mixture of tools, cog-wheels, small engine bars, glass retorts, and what
not. ‘You’ll blow your own head off some of these fine days.’

‘I nearly done it last Toosday,’ grinned Ephraim genially; ‘and old
Aunty Chris war thet skeert, she run down the street hollerin’ thieves
and murder.’ He laughed quietly at the recollection.

‘That’s all very well,’ said Lucius; ‘but you shouldn’t leave them so
close to one another if they are so dangerous as you say they are.’

‘Thet’s so,’ acquiesced Ephraim, removing one of the jars to a corner of
the room. ‘It don’t matter a cob of corn what goes wrong with me, but I
’low I’d never forgive myself if harm came to you.’

‘How’s the pile, Grizzly?’ asked Lucius irrelevantly.

‘It’s growing, sonny; it’s growing. It ain’t the wuth of a gold mine
yet; but it’s coming along. War ye wanting a trifle, maybe?’

‘Who, me?’ answered Lucius loftily. ‘I should say not. I’ve got plenty.’
He rattled the money in his pocket as he spoke. ‘But I say, Grizzly,
when do you think it will be big enough to let you go to college?’

Ephraim’s eyes glistened. ‘Maybe two years,’ he replied; ‘that is, ef
trade keeps steady. It seems a long time, don’t it? But it’s a little
while when ye reckon I’ve worked and waited five years for’t already.’

Lucius looked at him admiringly. ‘You’ll do big things yet, if only you
get the chance, Grizzly,’ he said. ‘And if you weren’t so mighty proud,
you could have had the chance long ago. Father would give me the money
for you, if you’d let me ask him. I know he would.’

‘No, Luce,’ returned Ephraim, laying a hairy paw affectionately on his
friend’s shoulder. ‘I know ye’d do it and willin’, jest ez I’d give you
the best I had; but I med up my mind long ago thet ef I couldn’t work it
out myself I wouldn’t be wuth no one’s workin’ it out for me, and thet’s
the fact. It’ll come in time, I know thet. And besides I’m used to
waitin’.’ He sighed, though, as he said it.

‘It does seem a shame,’ burst out Lucius, ‘that a great empty-headed
noodle like me should have more money than he knows what to do with,
while a clever, enterprising fellow like you, with a brain full of
notions, should be kept back because you haven’t got any. I’——

‘Oh, shet yer head, Luce,’ interrupted Ephraim good-humouredly. ‘Ef I
war all ye make me out ter be, I’d hev been thar long ago, dollars or no
dollars. Maybe it’s best as it is,’ he concluded; ‘for ef I war ready
ter go now, I reckon this old war would come in the way of it.’

‘Pooh! the war,’ ejaculated Lucius contemptuously. ‘I tell you there’s
going to be no war. Father says there’ll be a battle likely—just one,
and that will settle the Yankees and their bounce for good and all.’

‘Maybe,’ nodded Ephraim. ‘We’re going ter see.’

‘Well, if there is a war,’ proclaimed Lucius, ‘I am going to join in. So
there.’

‘You!’ exclaimed Ephraim in unaffected astonishment. ‘Why, Luce, they
wouldn’t have ye. Ye’re too young.’

‘What of that?’ retorted Lucius, flushing. ‘I am sixteen. I can carry a
gun. What more do they want?’

‘A heap, I reckon,’ said Ephraim, eyeing him along the gun-stock he was
planing. ‘But no matter for that, Luce. Yer par would never let ye go.’

‘Maybe then I’d go without asking him,’ muttered Lucius rebelliously.

Ephraim laid down the gun-stock and approached him. ‘See hyar, Luce,’ he
said anxiously, ‘ye ain’t got no idees in yer head, hev ye?’

Lucius burst out laughing. ‘Well, you have a way of putting things,’ he
cried. ‘I believe I have just one, and that is, I am going to be a
soldier.’

Ephraim considered a moment. ‘Waal,’ he said at last, ‘ef thet’s so, I
believe I’ll hev to volunteer ter look after ye.’

Lucius roared afresh at this. ‘A pretty soldier you would make,
Grizzly,’ he shouted. ‘I fancy I see you ambling along with a gun over
your shoulder. Why, I believe you’d be scared to death the moment you
let it off.’

‘Maybe I would,’ admitted Ephraim candidly. ‘I ’low I han’t been used to
shootin’. But anyway, Luce, whar ye kin lead, I reckon I’ll do my best
ter foller.’

[Illustration]



[Illustration]

                              CHAPTER II.
                        STONEWALL JACKSON’S WAY.


The months rolled on, the battle of Manassas had been fought and won,
and the Federals, driven back upon Washington in hopeless rout, with the
immediate result that thousands of volunteers left the Confederate
service and returned to their homes and their ordinary vocations,
thinking that an enemy so easily whipped could be as easily finished off
without their further help. Many officers, too, who had hastened to the
front at the first call of the trumpet, leaving their plantations or
their businesses to look after themselves, gladly took advantage of the
temporary lull to snatch a short furlough. Among these latter was Major
Markham, who since the first sudden rush upon Harper’s Ferry in April
had never once left the field. Now, however, a wound received at Bull
Run incapacitating him from further service for the present, he rejoined
his wife and son at Markham Hall.

The picturesque descriptions which his father gave him of the leading
features of the battle, along with many incidents of personal adventure
and heroism, so fired Lucius’s already ardent spirit, that from that
time onwards he lived in imagination the life of a soldier. He begged,
he prayed, he implored, he even went on his knees to his father to allow
him to join the army as a drummer-boy, as a bugler, as a mule-driver, as
anything at all, in any capacity whatsoever. Major Markham laughed at
his son at first, but when he realised how absolutely in earnest Lucius
was, he bade him, with what show of sternness he could muster—for he
could not but admire the boy’s high spirit—never to mention the subject
again.

Thwarted at home, Lucius sought consolation from his friend Ephraim, and
so worked upon his slower nature with tales of deeds of daring, drawn
almost entirely from his own perfervid imagination, that even Grizzly
was stirred to enthusiasm, and flourished his long arms over his head as
he declared his intention of annihilating whole regiments of Yankees at
one fell blow, by means of some devastating compound, the first idea of
which was germinating in his fertile brain.

At the same time, Ephraim’s common sense stood both him and Lucius in
good stead, and held the younger boy back more effectually than the
commands of his father or the pleadings of his mother. But when Major
Markham rejoined his regiment in December, to take part in the terrible
expedition to Romney, Lucius could bear the restraint no longer, and one
cold, snowy night he astonished Ephraim by suddenly appearing and boldly
proposing that they should run away together.

‘Whar ye gwine ter run ter?’ inquired common-sense Ephraim, looking up
from the calculations on which he was engaged.

‘How do I know?’ flashed Lucius the fervid. ‘We’ll just go on until we
come to one of our armies. They’ll be mighty glad to let us join.’

‘A stark lighter sech ez ye would be!’ said Ephraim with beaming
admiration, and without the least trace of irony.

‘Yes,’ assented Lucius complacently; ‘they’ll not refuse two such strong
and active lads as you and’——

‘Sho!’ interrupted Ephraim. ‘Don’t ye count on me. I warn ye.’

‘What!’ exclaimed Lucius, in a voice of mingled surprise and grief. ‘Do
you mean to say that, after all I have told you, you will let me go
alone?’

‘I ain’t gwine ter let ye go at all, Luce,’ returned Ephraim, placing a
long, hairy arm affectionately round the boy’s neck. ‘See hyar, now,’ he
went on, as Lucius shook himself angrily free, ‘thar ain’t nuthin’ ter
call fightin’ goin’ on jest now. Nothin’ but marchin’ round and round,
and up and down in the snow and the slush. Now, thar ain’t no fun in
thet, I reckon.’

‘Well, no,’ admitted Lucius reluctantly. He thought for a moment or two,
and then burst out: ‘Look here, Grizzly, the real fighting is sure to
begin again in spring. If I promise to wait, will you promise to come
with me then?’

‘I ’low we’ll wait till spring comes along,’ answered Ephraim
oracularly. ‘Ef ye’re ez sot upon it then ez ye air now, I’ll see what I
kin do.’

‘That’s a bargain, then,’ said Lucius. ‘I just long to see a real good
battle. Mind, if you go back on me now, I’ll call you a coward and start
without you.’

‘I ain’t any coward,’ answered Ephraim quietly, though his pale face
flushed slightly; ‘leastways ez fur ez goin’ along with ye is consarned.
Ye don’t imagine I’d go fer ter lose sight of ye, Luce?’ he finished,
with a catch in his voice.

‘Oh no,’ said Lucius, mollified. ‘Only I thought that maybe you couldn’t
understand my feelings. You’re a dear old thing, Grizzly; but you’re a
rough bit of stick, you know, and you haven’t so much at stake as people
like us.’ And the young aristocrat drew himself proudly up.

‘Thet’s a fact,’ nodded Ephraim; ‘though I ain’t heard ez the fust
families hez been doin’ all the fightin’.’ There was a subdued grin on
his face as he spoke.

‘Of course not,’ said Lucius hastily. ‘Our fellows are stark fighters
all round; but it’s men like my father and Jackson and the rest who lead
the way. You know that well enough.’

Ephraim stretched out his brown hairy paw and drew Lucius towards him.
‘I only know I’d die fer ye glad and willin’ ef ye war ahead, Luce,’ he
said tenderly.

‘Shucks!’ exclaimed Lucius impatiently; ‘who said anything about dying?
Now it’s all settled, and you’ll come.’

‘I’ll be on time,’ said Ephraim. He was silent for a moment, during
which he thought deeply. Finally he said,’Ye air jest sot ter see a
battle, ain’t ye, Luce?’

‘Yes,’ answered Lucius. ‘Didn’t I tell you so?’

‘Waal,’ resumed Ephraim, ‘wouldn’t ye be content jest ter see wan,
without arskin’ ter take a hand in the fightin’?’

‘Whatever do you mean by that?’ queried Lucius. ‘I don’t understand
you.’

‘Waal, it don’t matter,’ said Ephraim, ’fer I reckon I han’t got no very
cl’ar idee of what I mean myself ez yet. Anyway thar’s heaps of time.
We’re on’y beginnin’ December now, and thar’ll be nuthin’ this long
while. Ef ye’re still sot in spring, why, we’ll see.’

‘See what?’ demanded Lucius impatiently. ‘Can’t you explain?’

But Ephraim either could not or would not, and presently Lucius took his
departure in high dudgeon.

Ephraim sat thinking to himself for a long while, and finally he took
down a volume from his shelves and buried himself in it, until the voice
of the old woman in the next room disturbed him by querulously demanding
‘Ef he warn’t never goin’ to bed.’

‘I b’lieve I could do it,’ he thought to himself as he undressed;
‘but’—— He pulled a trunk from under his bed, and unlocking it, drew out
a small cash-box. This in turn he opened and studied the little pile of
dollars it contained with an anxious face.

‘Thet’s the only way ter do it,’ he muttered, passing the coins
backwards and forwards through his fingers. ‘Thar’s not much more than
enough thar, if thar is enough. Imagine! Only that little lot in five
long years. Seems a pity, jest fer a whim. But it’s fer Luce. It’s ter
pleasure Luce. He’s that sot on it, and he nat’ally looks ter me. No
matter, I guess I’ll work it up again.’

He stood looking into the box with eyes that did not see, for he was far
away in spirit in the little Massachusetts town, where stood the famous
college he so ardently desired to enter.

Splash! A great tear fell into the box of dollars.

‘What ye doin’?’ Ephraim apostrophised himself with great vehemence.
‘Ain’t it fer Luce? Ain’t he wuth it? Ef ye can’t do a little thing like
that fer yer friend, it’s time ye’——

He broke off suddenly, snapped the lid of the box, and threw it back
into the trunk.

‘Ef ye can’t do a little thing like that without makin’ a fuss about
it,’ he repeated, ‘it’s time ye—it’s time ye’——

He choked over the words, a rain of tears gushed from his eyes, and with
a low cry he flung himself sobbing upon his bed.

The year came to an end, and plague and worry him as he would, Lucius
could extract nothing from Ephraim to throw light on the mysterious
remark. Indeed Grizzly was now seldom or never to be found in his
workshop; nor could Aunty Chris explain his absence, or disclose his
whereabouts, for, as she frankly confessed, she knew nothing whatever
about him. Lucius, of course, whenever he could waylay him, questioned
and cross-questioned him as to what he was engaged upon in his spare
time and where; but Grizzly invariably replied with a wag of his head:
‘Ye’ll git thar in time, Luce. On’y ye’ll hev ter hang on till the time
comes.’ With which Delphic utterance Lucius was obliged to be content.

Meantime the war was not standing still. Manassas had, after all, not
crumpled up the North, and early in ’62 the people of the valley were
rudely awakened to the fact by the appearance among them of no less than
three Federal generals, with an aggregate force of sixty-four thousand
men. And to these Stonewall Jackson could oppose but thirteen thousand!
But though the excitement was great, there was little anxiety; for the
reputation which Jackson and his brigade had won at Manassas, and their
stern and soldierly endurance of the terrible hardships of the severe
winter just ended, inspired a confidence in their prowess, which would
scarcely have been shaken had all the armies of the North been combined
against them.

What were men’s feelings then, when the astounding news spread like
wildfire from town to town: ‘Jackson has deserted us in our extremity.
He has fled through the gaps to the east side of the Blue Ridge!’

The report was not unfounded. It certainly was true that Jackson had
disappeared from the valley. Only Colonel Ashby, the famous cavalry
leader, remained behind with a thousand sabres at his back.

Men laughed bitterly. What was this little force to do for their
protection against an army so gigantic? But Ashby with scattered troops
was here, there, and everywhere. Now at McDowell, now at Strasburg, now
at Franklin, yesterday at Front Royal, to-morrow at Luray. But what he
learned in his reconnaissances, and where he sent the information which
he acquired, no man knew, no man had the heart to ask. In Staunton
itself the wildest confusion reigned; for no sooner had the news of
Jackson’s flight been conveyed to the Federal generals, than they set
their masses in motion, and began to advance along converging lines upon
the little town. That it was to be occupied was regarded as certain, and
in the universal terror much that was valuable in the way of military
stores was removed or destroyed; while General Johnson with six
regiments retired from his strong position on the Shenandoah Mountain,
intent only on saving his small force by effecting a junction with the
vanished Jackson wherever he might find him.

Then came the day when Staunton, abandoned and defenceless, lay sullenly
awaiting its fate, with Milroy and twelve thousand Federals not
two-and-twenty miles away, and Frémont coming on with thirty thousand
more.

It was a Sunday, and the churches were full of devout worshippers,
praying doubtless that the chastening rod held over them might be
averted in its descent. Suddenly a strange and terrible sound arose—a
noise of trampling thousands, the clink of steel against steel as
scabbard and stirrup jangled together, the clatter of squadrons upon the
road, the hoarse rumble and grumble of artillery wagons. People looked
at one another in dismay. Despite their supplications the blow had
fallen: they were in the hands of the enemy.

Slowly, with mournful hearts and dejected mien, they filed out of
church, their downcast eyes refusing to look at the bitter sight. Then,
as one head after another was lifted, exclamations of deep surprise
broke forth here and there.

Where were the stars and stripes? Where was the blue of the detested
Federals? The marching columns were _gray_! The stars and bars waved
proudly in the breeze, and here and there in the midst of a regiment the
lone star shone upon flag and pennon.

What a shout of joy went up from the multitude: ‘Confederates!
Confederates! They are our own boys back again! Old Stonewall is here!
Thank God! Hurrah! Hurrah!’

The excitement was tremendous. Nerves were strung to highest tension;
emotions touched the breaking point. Men leaped and danced for very joy.
Women flung themselves into each other’s arms and wept for sheer
happiness. And through it all the gray hosts rolled steadily on.

Then, as suddenly as it had arisen, the hubbub subsided. Apprehension
reigned once more, and the eager questions passed from lip to lip: ‘What
are they doing here? Have they been routed? Are they only in retreat?’

No, the soldiers answered, they were not running away. They had not seen
or heard of the enemy for days. What were they doing here, then? Again
they did not know. Nobody knew except old Stonewall. He knew of course.
It was one of his tricks. He had got something under his hat.

Then the crowd surged to the railway station to watch the debarking
troops as train after train rolled in. Here the same ignorance
prevailed. Nobody knew; nobody could understand. To their personal
friends the officers were dumb, for they were in darkness like the men.
Only the General knew; and those who knew the General knew also how
hopeless it would be to question him.

The dwellers in the country, who had come into town for church, hastened
away, full of their news, to tell the folk who had been left at home.
They did not get far. All around the town a strong cordon of soldiers
had been drawn who forced them back. What! they asked, might they not
even return to their own homes? No, they might not—at least, not yet.
Why? Nobody knew. Simply the General had ordered it so. Probably he did
not wish the news of his arrival to be spread abroad. But to everything,
the one monotonous, exasperating answer, ‘We do not know.’

Then at last the people understood. Silent as ever as to his plans,
mysterious in his movements, Jackson’s flight had been but a clever
feint. He had stolen back swiftly and without attracting attention; and
now, while the Federals fondly supposed him east of the Blue Ridge, here
he was, ready and able to deal them one of his slashing flank blows. It
was ‘Stonewall Jackson’s way.’

As soon as the soldiers began to arrive, Lucius and Ephraim, who both
sang in the choir of their church, hurried out and raced to the station.
Long before they got there Lucius had shouted himself hoarse, while,
though he took things more quietly, Ephraim’s cheeks were burning, and
his eyes blazing with unwonted fire.

‘Say, Grizzly, isn’t it splendid?’ panted Lucius.

Ephraim did not answer, for just then a roar of delight rent the air.
‘Here he comes! Here’s the General! Hurrah! Stonewall Jackson!
Stonewall! Cheer, boys! Hurrah! God bless you, General! Hurrah! Hurrah!’

Clad in his old gray coat, soiled and smirched with the stains of the
dreadful march to Romney in December, and with his queer slouched hat
cocked askew over his forehead, ‘Old Stonewall,’ then but thirty-eight
years of age, rode in the midst of his staff. His shrewd, kindly face
wore a smile of almost womanly sweetness, and his keen blue eyes, which,
it is said, glowed when the battle rage was upon him with a terrible
light that appalled both friend and foe, now beamed mildly on the
shouting crowd who sought to do him honour. He bowed continually right
and left, and was evidently pleased at his welcome, as well as touched
by the supreme confidence of the people in him.

So frantic was Lucius in his demonstrations that at last he attracted
the notice of the General, who after regarding him good-naturedly for a
moment, broke into an amused laugh, saying, as he nodded pleasantly:
‘Thank you, my lad, for your welcome. It does one’s heart good to see
such a face as yours.’ For a moment Lucius could not believe his ears.
Then, as he realised that the General had indeed spoken to _him_, his
face crimsoned with delight, and forgetting everything in his
exaltation, he rushed into the road and clung to Jackson’s stirrup
leather, as though to detain him by main force.

‘Take me with you, General!’ he cried at the top of his voice. ‘Take me
with you. I want to fight, and they won’t let me.’

‘Hurrah!’ shouted the crowd, moved by this novel sensation, while
Ephraim, glowing with pride, craned his long neck to see his hero, as he
fully expected, caught up in front of the General and borne away to the
wars.

‘By time!’ he muttered, ‘ain’t he jest cl’ar grit? Ain’t he noble? And
he’s my friend.’ Great tears rose in his honest eyes and blurred his
sight as the General reined in his charger and bent over to Lucius.

‘Take you with me, my boy?’ said Jackson kindly, laying his hand upon
the fair, curly head as he spoke. ‘Take you with me? God forbid! We
don’t want children amid such scenes as we are forced to go through.’

‘Why not?’ gasped Lucius. ‘I’m sixteen; I’d make one more anyway. I
don’t mind being shot any more than the next man.’

‘Gloryful gracious!’ murmured Ephraim, his eyes fairly brimming over;
while Jackson, bending lower still, said somewhat huskily: ‘God bless
you, lad, for your true heart.’ Then straightening himself in his
saddle, he cried in ringing tones to his officers: ‘When our men grow
from the stuff this boy is made of, gentlemen, it is no wonder that the
victory is ours.’

The crowd cheered again lustily at this, and Jackson, turning once more
to Lucius, said: ‘Tell me your name, my boy. I should like to remember
it.’

‘Lucius Markham, sir,’ replied the boy. ‘That is my father coming up
now.’

‘What, the son of Major Markham!’ said Jackson. ‘Ha! a chip of the old
block.—Major!’ he hailed, as a fine-looking bronzed officer rode by with
his battery. ‘So this is your son?’

‘I am afraid so, sir,’ returned Major Markham, smiling and nodding at
Lucius. ‘What has the young scapegrace been doing? He is always wanting
to follow the drum.’

‘Nay,’ protested Jackson, ‘I won’t allow you to call him names. He is a
fine fellow, and wants to come and be a soldier under me.’

‘May I, father?’ asked Lucius eagerly. ‘Do say yes.—I know most of the
drill, sir,’ he added to the General, ‘and I can shoot pretty straight.’

There was a laugh among the officers at this, but Jackson checked it
with a look, and, turning to Lucius, said impressively: ‘Listen to me,
Lucius. You are too young to come with me, but still you can be a
soldier, and a bold one, if you choose.’

‘In what regiment, sir?’ asked Lucius, looking up at him eagerly.

‘In the faithful regiment,’ answered Stonewall gravely, ‘under the
banner of the Cross, and with Christ for Commander. The war is the holy
war, and the battles are fought for God and against self and the wrong
every day. And remember, Lucius,’ he concluded, ‘the first duty of a
soldier is obedience.’

He rode on, followed by the cheers of the crowd, while Major Markham
slipped back to his place.

Lucius stared dreamily after them, heedless of the curious and
interested looks cast at him, till all at once a hand gripped his arm,
and Ephraim’s voice whispered in his ear: ‘Come away out of the crowd,
Luce. I’se suthin’ mighty partic’ler to say ter ye.’

[Illustration]

[Illustration]



                              CHAPTER III.
                          THE BALLOON GOES UP.


Still absorbed in his own thoughts, Lucius followed his friend in
silence through the crowded streets until they reached a remote field or
piece of waste land at the very outskirts of the town, and here Ephraim
halted and spoke once more.

The pomp and circumstance of glorious war had laid hold of poor Grizzly,
for his cheeks were still red and his eyes sparkling, while there was
something intense in his voice as he said: ‘Air ye sot, Luce? Air ye
still sot like ye war?’

‘Set on what?’ asked Lucius, still dreaming.

‘On seeing the fight.’

‘Oh yes,’ answered Lucius; but his expression plainly showed that he had
scarcely heard, and certainly not comprehended Grizzly’s remarks.

‘Waal, come over hyar, then,’ said Ephraim, ‘and I’ll show ye what I’ve
been fixed onter fer the last five months.’

He moved mysteriously towards an old shed of considerable size that
stood in a corner of the field, and with many anxious glances all around
unlocked the door. Though it chimed in with his mood, his caution was
unnecessary, for not a civilian was in sight. Only in the near distance
they could see part of the cordon of sentries pacing up and down with
bayonets fixed, and ever and anon a patrol rode swiftly by. Occasionally
a bugle blared in the town, and the hum of many voices came faintly to
them. Except for these all was quiet, and they were quite alone.

‘Come along, Luce,’ said Ephraim, pulling him through the door, which he
carefully shut and locked behind him. ‘Ye won’t know whar ye air, but
I’ll tell ye. This is my new workshop. I got it a bargain from Pete
Taylor last December after us two had thet talk. I pinned him down not
to let on that I had the place, fer I didn’t want ter be followed and
worried by the boys. And I been fixin’ things hyar ever sence ye ’lowed
ye war so sot.’

He flung the shutters wide as he spoke, and the light streamed through
two windows upon a great heap of blue cotton material, apparently
enveloped in a network of fine ropes. Here and there lay other ropes
neatly coiled, and close beside the blue heap was what looked like a
large round hamper without a cover.

‘Waal,’ demanded Ephraim anxiously, after a somewhat protracted pause,
during which Lucius glanced vacantly around the workshop, ‘what d’ ye
think of her? I ’lowed I’d try and fix her up fer ye, seein’ ye war so
sot.’

‘For me?’ echoed Lucius. ‘What is for me? I don’t see anything.’

‘Don’t see nuthin’, don’t ye?’ chuckled Ephraim. ‘I reckon ye see
without onderstandin’. What d’ ye ’magine this is?’

He took up an armful of the blue fabric as he spoke and let it fall
again in a heap.

‘I’m sure I don’t know,’ answered Lucius.

‘Co’se ye don’t; co’se ye don’t,’ said Ephraim, rubbing his hands
together, and grinning delightedly. ‘Ye never see nuthin’ like her
before, I bet.’

‘I have not,’ returned Lucius, now thoroughly awake, and examining
everything with great curiosity. ‘What a queer-looking——Oh! why,
Grizzly, if I don’t believe it’s a balloon!’

Ephraim sprang off the ground and twirled round in the air for joy.
‘Thet’s it,’ he cried. ‘Thet’s it! By time! ef ye ain’t cute. Thet’s
jest what it is.’

‘But—but—I don’t understand,’ said Lucius, fingering the network. ‘Where
did you get it?’

Ephraim gave himself another spin. ‘I done read her up out of a book,
and made her myself,’ he said.

‘Grizzly!’ cried Lucius in profound admiration. ‘You—made—it—yourself.
Well, if you don’t just beat every one. You’re a genius, that’s what you
are. What put it into your head to make it? You clever old stick!’

‘You did,’ answered Ephraim, glowing with pride and pleasure.

‘_I_ did! Why? How? What is it for, then?’

Ephraim took a step forward and looked into his eyes. ‘_Fer you and me
to sail around in and watch the war_,’ he said.

Profound silence followed this extraordinary announcement, and then
Lucius sat down on a heap of shavings and rather feebly remarked, ‘Oh!’
There really seemed nothing more to be said.

‘Yas, sir,’ went on Ephraim, still beaming with satisfaction; ‘when ye
said ye wuz so sot ter see some fightin’, I began ter study and figger
out what’d be the best way for ye ter do it ’thout ye gettin’ in the
track of the bullets.’

‘Oh,’ commented Lucius, ‘you were afraid of being killed, were you?’

‘No, and I warn’t neither,’ returned Ephraim simply; ‘but I wuz powerful
frightened lest ye might be. Bullets is sech darned unpolites—they never
stops ter inquire if ye b’long ter a fust fam’ly or if ye don’t.’

‘But you know,’ explained Lucius, ‘when I said that I wanted to see a
battle, I meant that I wanted to take part in one.’

‘I know ye did,’ assented Ephraim. ‘At the same time, ez fur ez I kin
l’arn, that’s about _the_ most or’nery way of seein’ a battle ez has
ever been invented. I tell ye, a bullet is the meanes’ thing alive.’

Lucius laughed. ‘But we can’t fight if we are up in the air, Grizzly,’
he observed.

‘Can’t we? I reckon we kin, though,’ replied Ephraim. ‘But ez fur ez
that goes, who wants ter fight? I don’t, fer wun; and I don’t mean to
let you, fer another. Ain’t there enuff of ’em hammerin’ away just now
without you and me joinin’ in?’

‘That’s not very patriotic,’ said Lucius with emphasis.

‘Ain’t it?’ answered Ephraim drily. ‘I reckon it’s sense all the same.
Anyway, this is how I’ve fixed it up. If ye don’t like my way, I promise
ye, ye won’t get a chance to go off on yer own, ef I have ter tie ye in
a chair and keep ye at my own expense until the war is through.’

Lucius laughed again. ‘You dear old Grizzly,’ he said, ‘you are always
thinking of me. I’d just love to go with you. It will be splendid fun.
But, tell me, how ever did you manage to make such a wonderful thing all
by yourself?’

‘Waal, I don’t say it war ez easy ez hoein’ a row,’ replied Ephraim,
‘but it warn’t so dreadful hard nuther. I got it all outern a book, as I
was telling ye, and made her to measurement, and thar she is, ye see.
Besides,’ he added with an affectionate grin, ‘seein’ ez how it wuz fer
ye I made her, Luce, I didn’t take no count of trouble. Ef thar wuz any,
I reckon it never come my way.’

‘Upon my word, you are a good old Grizzly,’ cried Lucius
enthusiastically, and fetching Ephraim a sounding slap between the
shoulders, which seemed to delight the assaulted one immensely. ‘To
think of your taking all that trouble just to please me. And the thing
itself—why, it’s magnificent! If you aren’t clever! Say, Grizzly, are
you sure it will hold us?’

‘I reckon,’ answered Ephraim. ‘Git inter the kyar and see.’

‘Yes, I see there’s plenty of room in there,’ said Lucius, ‘but what I
meant to say was, will it bear us, hold us up, or whatever you call it?’

‘Waal, I should say so,’ cried Ephraim joyously. ‘Ye onderstand, Luce,
thet’s jest whar the hard part came in. I had ter cal’clate the strain
and——But d’ ye know anythin’ ’bout airy nortics?’

‘Airy who?’ repeated Lucius, puzzled. ‘Oh, I see, aeronautics.’

‘Waal, I said so. D’ ye know ’em?’

Lucius shook his head.

‘Then I han’t no time ter teach ye now. Ye kin read ’em up twixt now and
the time we go up, ef ye like.’

‘I shouldn’t understand it,’ said Lucius. ‘I guess I’ll leave it to you.
It means the way to handle a balloon, I suppose?’

‘Thet’s about it,’ answered Ephraim sententiously. ‘I ’magine it’s easy
’nuff. I read her up, and if ye care to come, why, I ain’t afraid ter be
airy-nort.’

‘I’ll go with you fast enough,’ said Lucius. ‘It will be grand. When do
you mean to start?’

‘Waal, perhaps we’d better wait till we get a notion whar old
Stonewall’s goin’ ter. Then we kin foller him up; fer, don’t ye know,
thar’s bound ter be some mighty stark fightin’ when old Stonewall is
around.’

‘Oh!’ cried Lucius, flushing scarlet, as a sudden recollection struck
him. ‘I forgot. I won’t—I mean I can’t go with you.’

‘What! what’s thet ye say?’ exclaimed Ephraim, too astonished for
further speech.

‘A soldier’s first duty is obedience,’ went on Lucius, speaking to
himself. ‘It’s no use, Grizzly; I’ll just have to stay behind.’

‘What ails ye ter say such ez thet?’ asked Ephraim, much aggrieved.
‘Right now ye seemed willin’ ’nuff, and ye looked right peart and
chipper. Ye seemed ter ache ter come. Co’se ye mought have been funnin’
bout’n thet; but ef thet’s so, why, I give in I never war so fooled
before.’

‘No,’ said Lucius, shaking his head sadly; ‘you were not wrong. I did
want to go. I do still, very much indeed.’

‘Then why in thunder don’t ye?’ queried the mystified Ephraim.

‘Well,’ answered Lucius, growing very red again, and stirring a coil of
ropes with his foot, ‘you know what father said when I told him I wanted
to join; and then _he_ said—the General, I mean—“a soldier’s first duty
is obedience.” And, oh! Grizzly,’ he cried, flinging himself face
downwards upon the blue heap, ‘I’d just love to go now; for since he
spoke to me, I’d follow him through fire and water all the world over.
But I mustn’t—I mustn’t.’

Ephraim stood twining his long brown fingers together, the picture of
distress at sight of Luce’s grief. A blue vein which ran perpendicularly
in the centre of his forehead, swelled out, a rugged bar, against which
the waves of red which chased one another over his face broke and
receded. His eyes were troubled, and swept rapidly up and down and round
and round as if seeking inspiration, while so firmly were his lips
compressed that the line of parting could barely be distinguished.

‘Don’t ye take on so, Luce. I can’t abear it,’ he muttered huskily, at
last. Then, as if with the breaking of his silence the idea of which he
had been in pursuit had been captured, he emitted a sudden cackle of
satisfaction, and flinging himself down beside Lucius, drew the boy to
him and hugged him like a grizzly indeed.

‘Cheer up, Luce!’ he cried. ‘I done got the way. By time! what an
or’nery fool I must hev been not ter remember thet.’

‘Remember what?’ asked Lucius, willing but unable to see a ray of
comfort.

‘What I been doin’ ter let thet notion past me?’ inquired Ephraim
cheerfully of himself. ‘I declar’ I had her all along; on’y when ye up
’n said ye wouldn’t come, I ’low I let her slip fer a minnit.’

‘I wish you’d explain,’ said Lucius fretfully.

‘Comin’, Luce, comin’. Don’t ye go fer ter knock thet idee out er my
head agen with yer talk. Why, I war workin’ along the very same lines
myself when we began ter talk, if ye recollect. Now, see hyar. This is
the way I put it up. Your par, he says ye’re not ter go fightin’—and I
swow it’s the last thing _I_ want ter do—Old Stonewall he ’lows ye orter
do ez yer par says, and ye ’low ye orter agree with both of ’em. Ain’t
thet so?’

‘That’s so,’ admitted Lucius forlornly.

‘Ezacly! Waal now, Luce, I’ll give ye the whole idee in a par’ble. Ye
know thet black bull way down ter Holmes’s place?’ Lucius nodded. ‘Waal
then, we’ll suppose yer par sez ter ye: “Luce,” sez he, “that bull er
Holmes’s is powerful servigerous. I’ll not hev ye goin inter the field
ter take him by the tail!”’

‘Well?’ laughed Lucius, as Ephraim paused to wrestle with his idea.

‘Waal, ye ’low ye’ll do ez yer par sez; but all the same ye hev an
outrageous hankerin’ ter see thet bull er Holmes’s. Now, what d’ ye
reckon ye’d do?’

‘Why, sit on the fence and look at him,’ answered Lucius.

‘Ezacly!’ cried Ephraim joyously. ‘Thet’s what I ’lowed ye’d do. And
think no harm of it?’ he finished anxiously.

‘No,’ said Lucius; ‘I wasn’t told not to look at the bull. I don’t see
how there could be any harm in doing that.’

‘Then thet’s all right. This hyar fight, thet stands fer Holmes’s bull,
ye onderstand; and the old balloon, she stands fer the ring fence. How
does thet strike ye?’

‘You mean,’ said Lucius thoughtfully, ‘that since we only intend to
watch what is going on, I shall be doing no harm if I go with you.’

‘Thet’s it, I reckon. Why, don’t ye know, I’ve been studyin’ all the
time how I could git ye thar, and give ye suthin’ like what ye wanted,
without ye runnin’ no resks.’ It did not appear to strike Ephraim that
there could be any risk connected with the balloon itself. ‘Waal,’ he
added after a pause, during which Lucius gave himself up to reflection,
‘what d’ ye ’low ye’ll do?’

‘I’ll come,’ said Lucius, rising to his feet. ‘There can’t be anything
wrong in this, for it’s only a piece of fun.’ There was a note of doubt
in his voice; but he was anxious to allow himself to be convinced.

‘Then thet’s fixed,’ said Ephraim, with a sigh of relief. ‘’Taint likely
ez I’d ask ye ter do anythin’ wrong, Luce.—Now we’ll git outern this,
and I’ll let ye know when all’s ready fer a start.’

‘But how are you going to manage it?’ asked Lucius. ‘What about the
gas?’

‘I’ll show ye,’ answered Ephraim. ‘See them two bar’ls?’

‘No,’ said Lucius; ‘I don’t see any barrels.’

‘Thar, opposite the door, buried in the ground.’

‘Oh yes; filled with straw. What are they for?’

‘They ain’t filled with straw, ye onderstand,’ explained Ephraim. ‘I’ll
show ye.’

He gathered up the straw from the top of one of the barrels, and
disclosed underneath a quantity of iron filings and borings.

‘Why, that’s iron,’ exclaimed Lucius; ‘what has that to do with gas?’

‘Hold on,’ replied Ephraim genially. ‘I’ll make it cl’ar ter ye in a
jiffy. Ye see,’ he pursued, ‘this kind er thing goes on all the way
down—a layer er straw and a layer er iron-filin’s plumb down ter the
bottom er the bar’l.’

‘I see,’ said Lucius, looking very wise, though, as a matter of fact, he
was as much in the dark as ever.

‘Now,’ went on Ephraim, pointing to some carboys ranged against the
wall, ‘them things is full er sulphuric acid—vitriol, that is ter say;
and ez soon ez ever I take and heave the acid on top er the
iron-filin’s, the gas—hydrergin it’s called—begins ter come off.’

‘Does it?’ said Lucius, much interested. ‘Let’s see.’

Ephraim grinned. ‘I reckon I han’t been gatherin’ the stuff all these
months jest ter fire it off before the time,’ he remarked; ‘but I’ll
show ye the same thing in a little way, so ter speak.’

He took a glass flask from a shelf and placed a few iron filings in it.
He then poured some sulphuric acid into a cup, added some water thereto,
and finally introduced it into the flask, completely covering the lumps
of iron.

‘Now,’ said he, ‘ye’ll see what ye’ll see.’ He closed the mouth of the
flask with a cork through which was set a glass tube, and to the free
end of this latter he presently applied a lighted match. Instantly the
gas which was issuing from the tube ignited, and burned with a pure,
pale flame.

‘Hooray!’ shouted Lucius. ‘That’s wonderful. I never saw anything like
it.’

‘Waal, it’s been done before, ye know,’ said Ephraim drily. ‘I didn’t
invent it.’

‘You’re a marvel, all the same,’ cried Lucius enthusiastically. ‘My!
what a splash you’ll make when you get to college, Grizzly.’

Ephraim turned quickly away, and stooping down, replaced the straw which
he had taken from the barrel. When he looked up again, his face was very
pale.

‘Ye see, Luce,’ he went on, concluding his explanation, but speaking
with much less fire and animation, ‘what went on in the flask is what’ll
go on in the bar’ls, and ez the hydrergin comes off it’ll be led through
these pipes, which I can fix onter the bar’ls, inter a tank er water, ye
maybe noticed standin’ outside. Thar’s a receiver in the tank, or thar
will be wanst we’re ready, and another pipe’ll be led from thar to the
balloon, and thar ye air.’

‘What do you lead the gas under water for?’ inquired Lucius.

‘Ter cool it fer wan thing, and ter wash it fer another.’

‘Well, it’s wonderful! That’s all I can say,’ repeated Lucius. ‘And to
think that you should have done everything all by yourself. But,
Grizzly, surely you can’t fill the balloon and let her up without help.’

‘I know thet; but don’t ye fret,’ returned Ephraim. ‘I bet she’ll be
ready when we air. There’s two or three in the works ez I kin trust to
tell about her ’thout them lettin’ it go all over the town. All ye hev
ter do is ter go home and set still till I arsk ye ter git up.—Come on;
let’s be off out er this.’ For some reason or other he was growing
restless under Luce’s perpetual fire of questions.

‘How pretty the blue stuff looks, varnished,’ said Lucius, adding
suddenly: ‘It must have cost an awful lot, Grizzly. Where did you get
all the money to buy it with?’

‘Oh, hyar and thar,’ answered Ephraim uncomfortably. ‘I sold things. She
ain’t made er silk, ye know—only er cotton stuff.—Come on, Luce, it’s
gittin’ late, and Aunty Chris will be hollerin’ fer her tea.’

But Lucius stood still, looking down upon the confused heap of material
and cordage, and pondering deeply. All at once he swung round and faced
Ephraim. ‘Grizzly,’ he said jerkily, ‘I believe you have broken into the
pile.’

Ephraim’s face was a study. If he had been caught robbing his master’s
till, he could not have looked more sheepish and ashamed. He shifted
uneasily from one foot to the other, and twisted his long fingers in and
out till all the joints cracked like a volley of small-arms. ‘Waal,
waal’——he stuttered.

‘You’ve broken into the pile,’ interrupted Lucius. ‘For five years
you’ve been grubbing and saving all for one purpose, working overtime,
and making odds and ends here and there for the boys, all for one
purpose—that you might go to college. And now you’ve gone and upset
everything. I’ll bet you haven’t a dollar left of all your savings. Now,
have you?’

‘No,’ mumbled Ephraim shamefacedly. ‘But’——

‘I know what you’re going to say,’ broke in Lucius—‘you did it for me.
You are always doing things for me. But you’d no right to do this. You’d
no right to spoil your whole life just for me. What can I do? I can’t
pay you back. And father’——

‘Ez ter thet,’ interjected Ephraim, ‘it war my own. I ain’t askin’ any
wan ter put it back.’

‘It wasn’t your own,’ burst out Lucius. ‘At least it wasn’t your own to
do as you liked with. It was to help you on in the world. It was to give
your brains a chance. Oh! weren’t there heaps of ways in which we could
have had our fun without this? If I’d known it, if I’d dreamed of it,
I’d have gone off and ‘listed without a word to any one.’

‘I know ye would, Luce,’ said Ephraim quietly. ‘Ye were mighty nigh
doin’ it thet snowy night when ye came ter me. Thet sot me thinkin’. I
sez ter m’self, sez I, I reckon it’s mostly froth on Luce’s part. Ef I
ken git him pinned down ter come with me, I guess I kin keep him out er
harm’s way. Lordy! Luce, what would I hev done ef I’d gone and lost ye?
Waal, ez I sot thar thinkin’ ter m’self, all at once thar comes an idee.
I dunno whar it came from, but thet’s it’—he pointed to the balloon—‘and
wanst I gripped it I never let it go again, fer it jest seemed the best
way in all the world fer ter let ye see all ye wanted ter see, and ter
keep ye safe et the same time.’ He held up his hand as Lucius was about
to speak.

‘Don’t say it again, Luce. It’s done now, and can’t be undone. Maybe
some folk’d think it war a mad thing ter do; but it didn’t seem so ter
me, seein’ it war done fer you.’

Sometimes the step from the ridiculous to the sublime is as easy as that
in the opposite direction. It was so now, when the rough, hard-handed
mechanic, whose brains, nevertheless, had been able to devise and
execute this wonderful thing, stood before the high-spirited,
empty-headed boy, whom he loved, and for whose well-being, as he
imagined, he had thrown away his substance and his worldly hopes.

For a few moments there was silence between the boys, Ephraim standing
with his hand upon the bolt of the door, Lucius driving first the toe
and then the heel of his boot into the ground. At last he shuffled over
to Ephraim, glanced shyly up into the big gray eyes that beamed so
affectionately down on him, and with something that sounded suspiciously
like a sob, clasped Grizzly’s free hand in both his own.

Ephraim flung wide the door. ‘Garn away!’ he said with a genial grin,
and tenderly shoved Lucius out of the cabin.

On the following Wednesday Jackson marched his army out of Staunton,
broke up the camp at West View, and started to attack General Milroy,
whom he met and defeated with heavy loss at McDowell. Movement then
followed movement so rapidly that the people of Staunton were
bewildered. However, as all the news they received told of the success,
they were also content. Meanwhile the month wore to an end without
another word from Ephraim to Lucius on the subject of the balloon. But
at last, one bright afternoon in early June, the long expected and
desired summons came.

Lucius was sitting idly on his own gate, whittling a stick, when a
working-man approached him, and after a cautious look up the avenue to
see if any one else was in sight, observed interrogatively, ‘Young
Squire Markham?’

Lucius nodded, and the man went on: ‘Ef that’s so, I’ve a message fer ye
from the Grizzly. He sez ye’re ter jine him et the shed any time ye
think fit after midnight, and before day.’

‘Is he—going up?’ asked Lucius, with rounded eyes.

‘I ’low he is, ef the wind holds from the south-west,’ replied the man.
‘Will I say ye’ll be on hand?’

‘Rather!’ answered Lucius. ‘Here’s a dollar for your trouble. I’m much
obliged.—Hi! you won’t say anything about it?’

‘I’m dumb, squire,’ grinned the man as he moved away, while Lucius,
ablaze with excitement, stole into the house and shut himself up in his
room to think.

He knew perfectly well that he was about to do wrong; but he tried to
deceive himself into the belief that Ephraim’s casuistry afforded him a
sufficient excuse for going off without the leave which would certainly
never have been granted him. Moreover, he argued that, after the
sacrifice which Ephraim had made just to give him pleasure, he could not
now hang back. In a word, as many a wise person has done before and
since, he set up objections like so many men of straw, and deliberately
proceeded to knock them down again.

At last he succeeded in crowding his conscience into a corner, and about
eleven o’clock, when every one else in the house was fast asleep, rose
from the bed where he had tossed and turned since nine, and slipping on
his clothes, softly opened the window and got out.

The night was very dark; a light breeze blew from the south; and the
waving branches of shrubs and trees smote Lucius gently on the face as
he stole through the plantations to the turnpike. His heart thumped
violently against his ribs, for it seemed to him as if unseen hands were
laying hold of him and striving to draw him back to his duty. But all
these sombre thoughts took flight when he reached the rendezvous, where
Ephraim, with the aid of half a dozen of his fellow-workmen, was engaged
in inflating the balloon.

Three or four great torches illuminated the scene, which was to Lucius
at least sufficiently awe-inspiring, for what he had last seen a tangled
heap upon the floor of the cabin, now rose a vast bulk, which, passing
into the mirk above the flare of the torches, seemed to rear itself into
the very vault of heaven. Lucius trembled as he watched it.

‘Hello! Luce,’ said Ephraim, coming forward. ‘Ye’re hyar on time.’

Lucius attempted to reply, but the words stuck in his throat, and he
only gripped Ephraim nervously by the arm.

‘Purty, ain’t she?’ asked Ephraim with pardonable pride, as he surveyed
his handiwork, which, now nearly full, and securely anchored to the
ground by strong ropes, swayed to and fro in the night wind.

‘She ain’t big, ye know,’ went on Ephraim—big! she seemed to Lucius like
a vast mountain—‘she ain’t big, ye know, but she’ll carry the like er us
two shore and easy. Say, Luce,’ as he felt the latter shaken by a
violent shiver, ‘ye ain’t afraid, air ye?’

‘Not I,’ answered Lucius, as well as he could for his chattering teeth.
‘I’m cold—I’m excited; but I’m not in the least frightened. Shall we get
into the car?’

‘Not yet,’ answered Ephraim. ‘She ain’t full yet. I’ll tell ye when.’

But two intolerably long hours passed before Ephraim hailed him with:
‘Now then, Luce, I reckon she’s ready, ef ye air.’

At the sound of his voice Lucius started. To say that the boy was merely
frightened would be incorrect. He was sick and faint with a deadly,
paralysing fear. The terrors of the unknown had got hold upon him with a
vengeance. However, he managed to stumble forward without knowing
exactly how he did it, and assisted by one of the men, scrambled into
the car, where Ephraim was already standing. The next moment the
balloon, released from all its bonds save one, shot up to the extent of
the remaining rope.

‘We’ll be off in a jiffy,’ said Ephraim cheerfully. ‘Good-bye, boys.
Take keer on yersels till we see ye again. It don’t matter who ye tell
now. We’ll bring ye the latest news from the seat er war. Cast her
loose.’

‘Wait!’ gasped Lucius, rousing himself by a mighty effort. ‘I meant to
write a message before I left home; but I forgot. One of you go up to
the Hall in the morning and tell my mother I’m all right, and that I’ll
be back in a day or two.’

He leaned over the side of the car as he spoke, and one of the men
answered him. Then, even as he looked, the torches suddenly lessened to
brightly twinkling points of light, then to mere sparks, and finally
went out altogether.

[Illustration]



                              CHAPTER IV.
                        THE BALLOON COMES DOWN.


‘Hello!’ exclaimed Lucius. ‘What have they put out the torches for, I
wonder.’

‘So they hev,’ said Ephraim, peering over. ‘Sh! keep mum! Maybe thar’s
some wan tryin’ ter head us off. I wish they’d let her go.’ Then, as no
sound broke the stillness of the night, nor could any noise of footsteps
be heard, he called softly, ‘Let her go!’

Instantly came back a response in his own words, as a bo’sun repeats the
orders of the mate, ‘Let her go!’

But the balloon remained stationary, and at last, after waiting for a
moment or two, Ephraim cast prudence to the winds and shouted at the top
of his voice: ‘Let her go, ye durned fools. Why don’t ye let her go?’

‘Ye durned fools, why don’t ye let her go?’ was hurled back at him with
savage emphasis.

‘By time!’ began Ephraim—when Lucius interrupted with, ‘That was echo,
Grizzly.’

‘Echo in this yer field!’ retorted Ephraim. ‘Thar ain’t any echo. If
thar war, why didn’t she up ’n answer when I gave the boys good-bye and
ye hollered out yer message?’

‘Well, it sounded like it,’ persisted Lucius. ‘Try again and make sure.’

‘Let her go, can’t ye?’ howled Ephraim, unable, in his anxiety to be
quit of mother earth, to think of any other test. But this time there
was no reply.

‘What’d I tell ye?’ cried Ephraim excitedly. ‘Thar warn’t no echo. The
or’nery skunks hev been playin’ it back on us, and now they’ve
skedaddled and left us anchored hyar.’

‘Perhaps some one came along and scared them,’ suggested Lucius.

‘I’ll scare ’em wanst I git down agen,’ grumbled Ephraim. ‘However, it
don’t amount ter a cob er corn. I’ll soon cut her loose, though sutt’nly
I didn’t want ter lose that extry bit er rope.’

‘It’s grown very cold all of a sudden,’ remarked Lucius, as Ephraim
hunted round for the lantern he had brought. ‘And wet, too. Oh!’ as the
Grizzly drew the slide and flashed the light here and there. ‘It’s
raining hard, and never a sound on the balloon. How very odd.’

‘Hyar’s the rope,’ exclaimed Ephraim at this juncture. ‘Ketch hold on
the light, Luce, while I cut her through.’

He handed the lantern to Lucius, and having opened a formidable
clasp-knife, put his hand through the cords which rose from the car, and
laid hold of the detaining rope.

Instantly an exclamation of deep surprise escaped him. The rope was
slack.

‘What’s wrong now?’ inquired Lucius, still occupied in wondering why the
rain had made no sound. ‘It has stopped raining. I can see the stars
again.’

For answer Ephraim broke into peal after peal of laughter. ‘Co’se ye
kin! Co’se ye kin!’ he shouted. ‘Why, don’t ye know ye must be nigh on a
mile nearer ter ’em than when ye started. Ho! ho! ho!’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Lucius. ‘We can’t have gone up so high just
since you cut the rope.’

‘Cut the rope!’ cried Ephraim. ‘I never did cut the rope. See hyar.’ He
hauled in the slack and flung it on the floor of the car. ‘While us two
fust-class samples er prize ijots hez been growlin’ and howlin’, ole
Blue Bag hyar hez been cuttin’ through space like a wheel-saw goin’
through a block er pine.’

‘My!’ exclaimed Lucius. ‘Then the torches were not put out by the men?’

‘Not them,’ chuckled Ephraim. ‘The old balloon jest lit out fer the sky
and left ’em.’

‘I didn’t feel any movement then, and I don’t now,’ said Lucius
incredulously. ‘Are you sure we are off?’

‘You kin smile,’ returned Ephraim. ‘You’ve looked yer last on the old
world fer a bit. Why, that echo might hev told me, fer I read about jest
such a thing in my book; but I war that flabbergasted et what ye said
about the torches that I clean forgot it.’

‘Was the echo in the air then?’ asked Lucius.

‘It p’intedly war. Thar and nowhar else. Then we got out er that belt
and whoosh! through thet cloud and rain-storm, and hyar we air bright
and early, all ready to give howdy to the little twinklin’ stars.
Hurroo!’

‘But are you sure?’ persisted Lucius. ‘I can’t believe it.’

‘Waal, it’s so, sonny. Ye kin see fer yerself.’ Ephraim tore up some
paper and flung the pieces over the side of the car, and as he flashed
the light upon them, Lucius observed that they appeared to be fluttering
down. ‘Thet shows we’re goin’ up, ye onderstand,’ said Grizzly.

‘No, I do not understand,’ answered Lucius; ‘and since you know so much
about it, you’d better explain.’

Ephraim needed no second bidding, but at once began a learned discourse
on ballast, valves, and everything pertaining to the manufacture and
management of balloons, when Lucius suddenly shrieked out: ‘My ears are
beating like drums, and I think my head is going to burst.’

‘Ye don’t say so!’ responded Ephraim in unaffected alarm. ‘Hello! so’s
mine. We must be goin’ up too high. Hold on! I’ll fetch her down.’

He pulled the cord which opened the valve as he spoke, and presently
they were conscious of pleasanter surroundings.

‘That’s better,’ said Lucius. ‘Do you know, I think it was rather rash
to come up in the dark.’

‘Maybe it war,’ admitted Ephraim; ‘but ef we’d tried ter start in the
daytime, we’d never hev come up at all.’

‘We should have been stopped, sure enough,’ assented Lucius, who with
the absence of motion on the part of the balloon had lost most of the
fear which had possessed him at the start. ‘All the same, I think we
might as well have waited for the dawn.’

‘I don’t suppose thar’s much risk er a collision up hyar,’ said Ephraim
quaintly. ‘I ’magine we’ve got the sky pretty much ter ourselves. But ye
won’t hev long ter wait fer dawn on a June night; and meantime, ef we
watch the valve we’ll hev no trouble.’

‘That brings us down?’ said Lucius.

‘Ezacly. It’s all jest ez easy ez fallin’ off’n a log, this yer
balloonin’. When we want ter git up, ye chuck out a bag of ballast, and
when ye want ter come down, ye pull the valve cord and let out a smart
lump of gas. That’s about the lot of it.’

‘When we get back to Staunton,’ advised Lucius, ‘you ought to turn
professional.’

‘Professional what?’ inquired Ephraim, who was busy setting things to
rights in the car by the light of the lantern.

‘Why, professional—what d’ye call him? The man who goes up in balloons.’

‘Airy-nort!’ shouted Ephraim joyously. ‘By time! Luce, thet’s a
perfectly grand idee. So I will. I’ll turn airy-nort and take folks up
and down fer five dollars the trip. Luce, I’m obleeged ter ye fer thet
idee. I p’intedly am.’

‘If it helps you to get back your pile, I shall be very glad,’ said
Lucius rather sadly. ‘I’m sure I’ll be very willing to act as conductor,
and rush around and get passengers for you.’

‘Shucks!’ observed Ephraim. ‘Who’s thinkin’ of the pile?’

‘I am,’ said Lucius, ‘and shall never cease to think of it until I have
made it up to you in some way. I really do believe that aeronaut notion
is a good one.’

‘It is thet,’ affirmed Ephraim with conviction, ‘and I’ll fix it up too;
you see ef I don’t.’

‘I suppose you know that you are still holding the valve cord,’ said
Lucius. ‘How are we to get up again if you let out all the gas?’

‘By time! I forgot,’ exclaimed Ephraim, releasing the cord. ‘I ’low
thar’s more in this yer airy-nortin’ than I thort thar war. We’re about
steady now,’ he went on, throwing out some more paper in the stream of
lamplight; ‘but of co’se I dunno whar we air; fer I han’t no notion how
fast or how slow old Blue Bag kin travel.’

‘Well, there’s not much wind,’ said Lucius, ‘so I don’t suppose we have
gone very far. It would be rather a joke if we found ourselves standing
still over Staunton, wouldn’t it?’

‘It would thet!’ grinned Ephraim, ‘or, better still, ef we went hoverin’
over the Yanks jest ez they war gittin’ their breakfasts.’

‘By the way, where do you expect to get to?’ inquired Lucius. ‘I suppose
you thought it all out before we started?’

‘Waal, I kinder did, ez fur ez might be,’ replied Ephraim, ‘though
sutt’nly it war like enuff ter wanderin’ blindfold through a wood; but I
knew jest ez well ez everybody else thet old Stonewall war gobblin’ up
the Yanks somewhar in the valley, and I ’lowed we wouldn’t git much
beyond Winchester ’thout lightin’ on his trail.’

‘Winchester! All that long way off!’

‘Oh, come. It ain’t so very fur ez all thet comes to, and besides, ye
air carried free, gratis, and fur nuthin’. ’Tisn’t ez ef ye war asked
ter walk.’

‘That’s all very well; but supposing the wind changes, or has changed,
and blows us to goodness knows where. What are you going to do then?
Will there be enough gas left to bring us back again?’

‘Oh! I reckon yes,’ answered Ephraim rather uncomfortably, for this was
a point which he had left unconsidered. ‘But it don’t matter much after
all. It wouldn’t be such a trial ez all thet ter do it on foot!’

‘I shouldn’t mind,’ assented Lucius. ‘I suppose we could find our way,
and as to food—why, Grizzly, did you bring any with you? I never
remembered it.’

‘Thet’s all right,’ said Ephraim, relieved at the turn given to the
conversation; ‘ye’ll find plenty in this bag—bread and meat and milk—and
ef ye’re hungry, why, ye’d better pitch in.’

‘I don’t mind if I do,’ laughed Lucius, ‘though, to be sure, it is
rather early for breakfast. Oh, Grizzly,’ he went on, munching the
viands, ‘I was in a horrible fright when we first started. I was in two
minds about stepping out of the car, when old Blue Bag, as you seem to
have named the balloon, shot up to the length of the rope, and then of
course I was done for.’

‘Ye war,’ chuckled Ephraim, following suit with the provisions; ‘but now
ye see it’s jest the nicest kind er travellin’ ever invented. I ’low I
warn’t quite sure myself how it would be when fust we started, but I
wouldn’t ask nuthin’ better than this. Wait till mornin’ comes and we’ll
show our flag.’

‘Flag!’ echoed Lucius. ‘Have you brought a flag?’

‘Rayther!’ said Ephraim; ‘a proper one, too—stars and bars and all. I
didn’t want our boys ter fire on us ye know, sposin’ we came too close
to the ground.’

‘But the Yanks will fire on us if they see the flag,’ argued Lucius.

‘By time! I never thort er thet,’ confessed Ephraim with humility. His
reasoning was not infrequently like that of Sir Isaac Newton with regard
to his cat and her kitten. ‘Waal, never mind, we’ll do without the flag.
And ez ter shootin’,’ he muttered under his breath, ‘ef it comes ter
thet, I reckon we kin stand a siege.’

Lucius did not hear this remark, and in response to his request for its
repetition, Grizzly merely asserted that it didn’t matter.

Providence was kind to the two lads in their ignorance, and for a couple
of hours they floated peacefully along, sublimely unconscious of the
dangers to which they were exposed, and chatting, with boyish disregard
of the awfulness of the theme, over their chances of witnessing the most
horrible sight in nature—men struggling together in bloody strife, like
savage beasts of prey.

Then suddenly a red light flared up in the east, and Ephraim exclaimed
cheerfully: ‘Thar comes the mornin’. We’ll soon larn our wharabouts
now.’

But, even as he said the words, the fires of day were extinguished, a
wet veil enveloped the balloon, which heeled over as a blast of bitter
cold wind rushed shrieking through the cordage. A long, jagged stream of
blinding light rent the cloud-bank into which they had entered, while,
almost simultaneously, a stunning thunder roll reverberated all around
them.

‘Oh!’ shrieked Lucius, burying his face in his hands. ‘How awful! Let us
go down. Quick! quick! The balloon will burst.’

‘We can’t!’ gasped Ephraim, also temporarily out of his senses with
fright. ‘I’ve lost my grip of the valve cord.’

It was true. Not expecting such a contretemps, he had neglected to
secure the valve cord, which at the first lurch of the balloon had swung
through the cordage, and now dangled out of reach and invisible in the
darkness.

Meanwhile the thunder roared and crackled, and the lightning blazed
about them, and the balloon, driven this way and that by contrary
currents of wind, swung from side to side, staggering back to the
perpendicular; while the frail car, falling with each lurch and recovery
to the utmost limit of the binding ropes, shook and whirled and bumped
its miserable occupants till they were actually sick with terror and
physical discomfort.

‘Oh! oh!’ moaned Lucius. ‘I shall die! Oh! why did I ever come? I shall
be killed! Oh! if it were only not so very dark!’

Suddenly there was a shout from Ephraim. Lucius knew in a dim
unconscious way that he had risen to his feet and was leaning over the
car during a temporary lull in the mad gyrations of the balloon, and in
a few moments more old Blue Bag, bursting grandly through the storm,
soared peacefully amid tranquil skies into the broad light of day.

‘By time!’ ejaculated Ephraim, wiping the sweat from his face, which was
deadly pale. ‘Thet war on’y jest in time. Thet war none too soon. What
an or’nery skunk I must hev been ter fergit it.’

‘What did you do?’ chattered Lucius, still in deadly terror.

‘Why, hove out a big lump er ballast, er co’se,’ returned Ephraim, who
was fast getting his quivering nerves under control again. ‘And I do
hope it’ll fall plump on one er them pesky Yanks and knock the nat’al
stuffin’ out er him.—Don’t ye take on so, Luce. I ’low it war awful
while et lasted—awful; but we’re all right now. Old Blue Bag don’t set
me back again, I tell ye.’

Lucius cast one despairing look upwards.

‘Right!’ he groaned. ‘Can’t you see that we’re going up and up, and
we’ll never come down again until the balloon has been shivered into
atoms. You’ve lost the cord.’

Ephraim followed the glance. Matters were certainly about as bad as they
could be. The valve cord, tangled in the rigging of the balloon, lay
twisted far up on the side of the latter, absolutely out of reach.

‘Umph!’ grunted Ephraim. ‘Waal, it’s a mercy thar’s more ways than one.
I’ll make a hole in her side.’

He pulled out his clasp-knife, and with a sigh for the dire necessity of
it, prepared to stab the child of his invention. But, as he stood at the
edge of the car, his fingers, numbed with cold and wet, lost grip of the
knife in their efforts to open the strong blade, and with a silence more
eloquent than the loudest crash, it slipped down into the cloud depths
below.

A cry of horror broke from Lucius as what seemed to him their only means
of salvation disappeared, but Ephraim shouted loudly: ‘Lend us yourn,
quick! It’s gettin’ ez cold ez a iceberg. Smart, sonny!’

‘I haven’t got it,’ whimpered Lucius. ‘I put it out to bring, but I
forgot it. Oh! oh! oh! I shall be killed! I shall be killed!’ He flung
himself upon the floor of the car, grovelling abjectly in the desolation
of his spirit.

Another nature might have upbraided Lucius and reminded him that the
danger was at least equal for both of them, and that his was not the
only life at stake. Not so the old Grizzly. He stooped down, and patting
the cowering boy on the shoulder, said in strong, tender voice, in which
lurked no perceptible note of anxiety: ‘What, Luce! ’Tain’t your par’s
son ter be kyar’in’ on like thet. Stand up now—thar’s a lamb—and be
ready ter ketch hold on thet cord ez I sling her in.’

‘What are you going to do?’ Lucius would have said, but the words froze
upon his lips, and with eyes that bulged with terror he watched his
intrepid friend, who had kicked off his boots, and with an ashen face,
but steely eyes and hard-set lips, climbed upon the rim of the car and
grasped the mass of cordage above his head.

For a moment Lucius felt inclined to faint, but by a violent effort he
collected his scattered wits, and shaking like an aspen leaf, leaned
with outstretched hand against the side of the car.

Truly it was a fearful sight. As Ephraim, his feet twined among the
cordage, slowly mounted towards the network, the balloon, drawn by his
weight, careened over, so that he hung sideways—above him the
illimitable blue—below, thousands of feet below him, the earth he has so
rashly left. Lucius shut his eyes, and his brain reeled with the horror
of the thing; but brave old Grizzly never faltered, never hesitated,
only mounted inch by inch to where the valve cord rested on the bellying
curve of the balloon.

At last he reached it, and freeing it swiftly, sent it inwards with a
turn of the wrist. As one in a dream, Lucius saw it waving towards him,
opened and shut his hand mechanically, caught it, and pulled with all
his might.

‘Hold on!’ roared Ephraim, scrambling once more into the car. ‘Don’t ye
lug like thet. Ye’ll hev the whole gimbang ter bits, and we’ll go
whirlin’ down quicker ’n we came up.’

He gently took the cord from Luce’s trembling hand and made it fast.
‘Thar,’ he said, ‘I reckon we’ve about exhausted the possibilities fer a
spell. We’ll take a rest, now, thank ye.—Hello!’ For as he turned,
Lucius flung his arms about him.

‘Oh, you dear, brave old Grizzly,’ sobbed the overwrought boy. ‘You’ve
saved my life. Oh! How could you go up there in that dreadful place?’

The colour rushed back to Ephraim’s face in a great wave, and while he
satisfied himself by a look that the balloon was falling, he fondled and
soothed the boy by his side as a mother might have done.

‘Thar now, Luce; thar now,’ he said tenderly, ‘don’t take on no more.
Shucks! It warn’t nuthin’, now it’s over. We’re going down now. Steady,
bub, steady; we’re jist gittin’ ter thet bank of storm-clouds.
Thar’—drawing Lucius close to him, as the boy shivered with
apprehension—‘now we’re through that lot, and none the worse er it.
Look, Luce, look—thar’s old Mother Earth. Bullee! Reckon ye’ll prefer to
stay down wanst ye git thar.’

[Illustration:

  Ephraim, his feet twined among the cordage, slowly mounted towards the
    network.
]

‘Oh, yes,’ sobbed Lucius. ‘We’ll get home somehow, but not in this awful
balloon.’

Old Blue Bag was now rapidly nearing the earth, and had the boys had the
heart to consider it, a wonderful panorama lay stretched out below them.
But earth in their regard held but one joy just then—it was a
resting-place, a sure haven of safety, and for its beauties they had no
eye. With one hand on the valve cord, and holding a bag of ballast in
the other, Ephraim regulated their descent. The grapnel was out, and as
the balloon slowly sank, dragged through the tops of the trees in a
thick wood. Now they were past this, and floating over open spaces
again. The grapnel swept along the ground, caught under the bole of a
fallen tree—and they were safe.

‘Whoop!’ screeched Ephraim, flinging out a rope. ‘I reckon we’ve got
thar. Over ye go, Luce.’

Lucius did not wait to be told twice. He simply flung himself upon the
rope, and scrambling down, sank in a confused heap upon the ground.
Ephraim followed quickly, saw that the balloon was fast and secure, and
was just bending anxiously over his companion, when a sudden sound
caused him to look up.

From all directions men in blue uniforms, and guns with bayonets fixed
in their hands, were running towards them.

‘Gloryful gracious!’ murmured Ephraim, straightening up. ‘Ef thet ain’t
the peskiest kind er luck. We’ve been and tumbled right inter a nest er
Yanks!’

[Illustration]



                               CHAPTER V.
                          FIRE-EATING COLONEL.


‘Surrender! You’re our prisoner!’ cried several of the soldiers, running
up and presenting their bayonets at Ephraim’s chest.

‘Waal, I ain’t denyin’ it,’ said Ephraim coolly. ‘Reckon I kin master
thet fact ’thout ye drivin’ it inter me with them nasty spikes. Take ’em
away.’

The men laughed, and most of them dropped the points of their weapons;
but an officer, who just then came up, demanded roughly: ‘Who are you?
How and why do you come here?’

Ephraim considered the speaker earnestly before replying, and in that
moment took his measure accurately. ‘He’s a hard un,’ thought Grizzly.
‘He’ll make things hum fer us ef he gits his way.’ Aloud he said,
pointing to the balloon: ‘Ye see how we came; and ez fer why we came, it
war because we couldn’t help it.’

‘None of your insolence,’ said the officer threateningly. ‘What do you
mean by you couldn’t help it?’

‘Jest what I sez,’ returned Ephraim, ‘and I hadn’t no idee of bein’
insolent nuther. Ye don’t ’magine we came fer the pleasure er bein’ took
prisoner.—I won’t rile him willin’,’ he added within himself.

‘Will we haul down this yer balloon, cunnel, and see if she carries
anything?’ asked a sergeant at this stage.

The colonel nodded. ‘Now then, you fellow,’ he said to Ephraim in a
bullying tone, ‘tell me instantly what brought you here?’

‘The balloon,’ replied Ephraim without a pause.

‘Don’t humbug me,’ foamed the colonel; ‘I see your dodge plainly enough.
You are trying to gain time in order to invent a lie of some sort. But
I’d have you know I’m master here, and I’ll have the truth out of you
before I’m done with you.’

‘Ez fur ez that goes,’ began Ephraim, when a voice at his elbow said in
clear, distinct tones: ‘It is you who are insolent. Southern gentlemen
do not lie.’

Ephraim started. He had taken all the colonel’s remarks as addressed to
himself, supposing that Lucius was still lying on the ground behind him.
But, unknown to his friend, the younger boy had risen on the approach of
the colonel, and taken his stand at Grizzly’s side. To give way when
surrounded by dangers of such a novel and unimagined order as those from
which he had just escaped was one thing; but with his feet once more on
_terra firma_, Luce’s courage returned, and, if he felt any uneasiness
at the predicament they were in, he certainly did not intend to betray
it before the enemies he had been taught to despise as well as to
detest. Therefore, in a very emphatic manner he delivered himself of the
remark just quoted.

Ephraim turned and looked at Lucius. The boy was standing in an easy
attitude, a slight flush upon his cheeks, and a defiant light in his
eyes. All trace of his recent emotion was gone; and as he stood firmly
planted—his shoulders squared, his well-knit, youthful figure gracefully
poised—his whole bearing formed such a contrast to that of the
red-faced, swaggering bully whom he faced, that Ephraim could not
repress a cry of admiration.

The poor Grizzly had suffered a good deal in the last half-hour. The
fright of Lucius in the balloon he could understand, for he had been
thoroughly frightened himself; but the utter collapse of his hero was
beyond him. Not only had he known Lucius heretofore as a sturdy, manly
boy, but he had always set him upon a pinnacle above every one else in
the world, and worshipped him as a superior being, endowed with every
grace and virtue under the sun. Therefore, when mastering his own fears,
he had boldly faced a terrible danger and overcome it by his presence of
mind, the abject, grovelling cowardice of Lucius had come upon him with
a painful shock. He had caught a glimpse of the feet of his idol, and,
lo! they were of clay. But he covered them reverently up, humiliated
rather than proud that the accident of opportunity should have lifted
him so high, and loyally making all manner of excuses for his comrade’s
conduct. All the same, he had felt very miserable over it; but now, when
he heard the ringing scornful voice, and noted how fearlessly Lucius
faced the colonel, all his pain fled, his doubts were swallowed up, and
a great wave of joy flooded his honest heart. He had been right after
all—his hero was his hero still, and gold from crown to heel.

‘Whoop!’ he shouted in his delight. ‘Air ye thar, Luce? I didn’t see ez
ye riz up; but I might hev known ye wouldn’t be behind when ye orter be
in front. Thet’s the way ter talk ter him.—A Southern gentleman don’t
lie, mister; thet’s what he said. By time! ho! ho! ho!’

‘Silence, you dog!’ vociferated the enraged Federal, his dark face
aflame with passion, while at the same time he menaced Ephraim with his
revolver. ‘I’ll blow your brains out if you say another word.’

‘Ez ter thet,’ retorted Ephraim, his new-born joy overcoming his
prudence, ‘I han’t been doin’ the high trapeze a thousand miles up in
the sky ter be skeert the moment I come down by a pesky, bunkum Yank,
sech ez I jedge ye ter be.’

The colonel ground his teeth with rage, but before he could reply,
Lucius pushed Ephraim unceremoniously to one side.

‘Shut up, Grizzly,’ he said; ‘I’ll do the talking.—I’ll tell you the
truth, if you care to listen to it,’ he added to the colonel.

‘Tell it then, and be quick about it,’ said the latter, casting a
furious glance at Ephraim. ‘And talk more civilly than that low hound
there, or it will be the worse for you.’

Ephraim opened his mouth, but Lucius silenced him with a look, and
answered quietly:

‘We left Staunton early this morning in our balloon. We only intended to
have some fun; but we were nearly killed up there’—he pointed to the
sky—‘and were glad enough to descend anywhere. We had no idea but what
we were close home. Certainly, if we’d thought your army was anywhere
around, we wouldn’t have been fools enough to drop right into the middle
of it. That’s all.’

The Federal colonel looked darkly at him.

‘That’s all, is it?’ he sneered. ‘A likely story. I’ll see for myself.’
He turned and walked to the balloon, round which the sergeant and half a
dozen men were grouped, having hauled it down and secured it firmly to
the log. ‘What have you found here, sergeant?’ he demanded.

The sergeant saluted, and pointed silently to a small heap of articles
which had been taken out of the car and laid upon the ground. There were
some bread and meat, a bottle of milk and another of water, a telescope,
a revolver and a box of cartridges, a small gun—the same which Ephraim
had been engaged in making when the war broke out—two bags with powder
and shot, and, most compromising of all, the tiny rebel flag with its
stars and bars, within the folds of which was concealed a drawing block
fitted with a lead pencil.

Lucius stared in astonishment as his eyes fell upon this collection, of
the existence of which—save for the flag—he had till then been unaware;
for at first the darkness had concealed them from him, and afterwards,
when day dawned, his terror had been too great and absorbing to allow
him to notice anything. Mutely questioning, he looked at Ephraim, who,
vaguely conscious of coming trouble, muttered hastily: ‘It’s all right,
Luce. I put ’em thar. I’ll tell him wanst I git the chance.’

‘Be quiet,’ answered Lucius in the same low tone. ‘Let me speak.’

‘Stop that whispering,’ cried the colonel, coming back. ‘You came out
for fun, I think you said,’ he went on with an ugly grin on his face,
‘in a balloon, too, and in time of war. May I ask, then, to what use you
intended to put this armament—and this?’ He held up the sketching block.

Lucius was silent, not knowing, indeed, what to answer, for the full
significance of the last article had not yet dawned upon him.

‘A Southern gentleman does not lie,’ mimicked the colonel, a baleful
light in his eyes. ‘You do well to be silent, you couple of rascally
spies.’

Lucius started violently. ‘What!’ he ejaculated in profound
astonishment. ‘Spies!’

‘Ah!’ said the colonel, ‘I thought I should corner you.—Search them,’ he
added to the sergeant.

Nothing but a few odds and ends such as any boy might carry were found
upon Lucius, but from Ephraim’s pocket was drawn a piece of paper on
which he had scribbled a _précis_ of the news which had reached Staunton
during the last three weeks, and also a road map of the valley, which he
had brought with him in order that they might have some indication of
their whereabouts if they were forced to descend in an out-of-the-way
place.

‘Ha!’ exclaimed the colonel, when these were brought to light. ‘A
precious pair of jokers.—Now, will you persist in your denial, my fine
young Southern—_gentleman_?’ He laid a sneering emphasis upon the last
word.

‘I haven’t denied anything yet,’ returned Lucius. ‘I’ve never had the
chance. I tell you we are a couple of boys out for a spree, and that’s
all.’

‘You’ll find it a precious unpleasant spree before I get through with
you,’ said the colonel. ‘You may be a boy,’ he added dubiously, as
though the fact were not self-evident; ‘but I’d like to know what you
call _him_!’ He glanced malevolently at Ephraim.

‘He’s only nineteen,’ answered Lucius, earnestly wishing that Grizzly
had followed his oft-repeated advice, and razed the compromising
indications of manhood from his face.

‘What!’ scoffed the colonel. ‘Nineteen do you call him, with a monkey
face like that?’

‘Shave him, then, and you’ll see,’ answered Lucius, at which remark the
soldiers roared, though the boy was perfectly serious.

‘Silence!’ commanded the colonel, going on to observe caustically:
‘Since when have the rebels—I beg your pardon; I have no doubt that
a Southern gentleman would prefer that I should speak of
Confederates—since when, then, have the Confederates employed boys
to ascertain the movements of the National troops?’

The insolence of his tone fired Luce’s blood, and he answered
scornfully: ‘I do not know. Perhaps if you had not been so busy running
away from them for the last three weeks, you might have been able to
discover for yourself.’

Now, a more unfortunate remark Lucius could not just then have made; for
it so happened that in the series of retrograde movements in which the
Federals had lately been indulging in consequence of Jackson’s smashing
flank attacks, the colonel had taken a somewhat too prominent part.
Indeed in the last melee, while gallantly leading his men out of
action—very far ahead of them—he had somehow become separated from his
command, and when the balloon descended, had been making his way back to
the Federal lines along with a number of stragglers, whom he had picked
up _en route_. So now, when Lucius, amid the suppressed laughter of the
men, made his ill-timed observation, the doughty warrior’s feelings
overflowed, and his fury knew no bounds.

‘I’ll teach you to insult your betters, you rebel scum,’ he shouted. ‘I
heard of a balloon having been lost from our lines on the Potomac.
That’s it, I’ll take my oath. You’ve stolen it for your
poverty-stricken, rascally, rebel friends. That’s what you’ve done.’

‘We didn’t,’ protested Lucius, edging in a word. ‘He made it.’ He
indicated Ephraim.

‘Did he?’ stormed the colonel. ‘Where did he learn to make balloons, the
hairy-faced baboon? Anyhow, if you did or if you didn’t steal it, I’ve
proof enough of your object, and I’ll show you how to dance upon
nothing. Cut a couple of ropes from that balloon and string these cubs
up to a tree!’ he shouted to the men.

Lucius paled swiftly, but the colour rushed back again into his face at
once, and he stood with folded arms, scornfully fronting the colonel.
Ephraim, however, took a step forward.

‘Ye dassn’t do it, ye dirty fire-eater,’ he cried. ‘Ye dassn’t do it,
’thout’n a trial or nuthin’. Take us ter the ginrul, boys; he’ll hear
what we’ve got ter say.’

‘String them up, I say,’ roared the colonel, more incensed than ever at
this defiance. ‘String them up, and be sharp about it. I ‘ll let you
know,’ he ground out at Lucius, ‘how the gentlemen of the North treat
the gentlemen of the South when they catch them acting as pestilential
spies.’

‘I should think it’s precious little you know of gentlemen anywhere,’
Lucius answered boldly back. ‘I’ve seen a good many Northerners, and
they are brave men, if they are fighting an unjust war. But what you
were before they let you put on a uniform, I don’t know; though it
wouldn’t be hard to guess from the look of you. Why, your men are
ashamed of you.’

Two of the men moved slowly towards the balloon. The boy’s courage
appealed to them. They were soldiers, and brave soldiers too, though
they were smitten with a panic now and then as brave soldiers have been
before and since. They were willing enough to fight, but not to soil
their hands with such a horrid deed as this. Therefore they moved slowly
and reluctantly, hoping for a reversal of the order. But Ephraim changed
his tone.

‘See hyar,’ he said submissively, ‘I didn’t orter hev spoke ez I did. I
beg your pardon. Jest ye hear me a moment.’

But the colonel would hear nothing. He was beside himself with wrath,
and could not listen to reason. The men had stopped when Ephraim began
to speak, and now their commander turned furiously upon them.

‘Why don’t you obey orders?’ he shouted at them. ‘I’ll have you shot for
mutiny if you stand gaping there much longer. Up with them, I say.’

‘Cunnel!’ shrieked Ephraim in an agony of unselfish fear. ‘Cunnel, don’t
do it. As ye’re a Christian man, don’t do it. Ye may string me up, and
willin’. I’m a outrageous rebel. I’m a spy. I’m whatever you like. I
came ter make observations. I’m a spy, I tell ye. Hang me up. But don’t
you tech Luce. He ain’t done nuthin’. He on’y came because I told him I
wuz goin’ fer a trip. He knows nuthin’—he’s done nuthin’. Let him go!
Let him go!’

‘Pah!’ ejaculated the colonel. ‘Do you suppose I don’t see your game?
You can’t take me in with your heroics, you filthy cur, you.’ And he
spurned Ephraim with his foot.

A mist swam before Luce’s eyes. His blood boiled over, and, regardless
of the consequences, he rushed forward.

‘You lie!’ he shouted. ‘It is for me he wants to die. This is the second
time to-day. Take that!’ and before the astonished colonel could
comprehend or step aside, the infuriated boy struck him twice sharply in
the face.

A look as though he were possessed came into the colonel’s eyes, and his
fingers closed nervously upon his revolver; but ere he could use it, if
indeed it were his intention to do so, Ephraim stooped suddenly, and
catching him round the legs, flung him sprawling on his back. Then, with
a wild yell of ‘Run! Luce, run!’ he rushed for the shelter of the woods.

After him dashed Lucius, hard upon his heels, as the colonel, foaming
and spluttering, staggered to his feet and discharged his revolver at
random.

‘Follow them!’ he roared. And the men, alarmed at what might be the
consequences to themselves if they refused, hastened in pursuit. But
they had no heart for the game, and once out of sight among the trees,
halted or scattered, and presently the fugitives, doubling like hares in
and out of the dark boles, heard the noise of following footsteps die
away, and sank, panting and exhausted, on the mossy carpet beneath an
aged oak.

[Illustration]



                              CHAPTER VI.
                           A FREE BREAKFAST.


‘By time!’ gasped Ephraim, struggling to recover his breath. ‘Thet war a
narrow squeak. Hi! Luce, how ye plugged him.’ He chuckled gleefully.

Lucius only nodded. He was too short of wind to attempt to speak.

‘If I’d on’y had my gun, I’d hev gin him ez good ez he gin me and
better,’ went on Ephraim. ‘D’ye reckon he war in ’arnest, Luce, with his
talk about hangin’, or war it on’y jest ter skeer us ’cause we riled
him?’

‘Just—as—well—got—away—think he—meant it,’ panted Lucius, still
breathless.

‘Ah! waal, maybe he did. Sorter knocks out one’s belief in one’s
feller-critters, though, runnin’ up agin a pestiferous calamity like
that cunnel. Howsumever, we got the bulge on him, we did. My! Luce, ye
air a man right down ter yer boots!’

‘I’m a miserable coward, that’s what I am,’ said Lucius passionately.
‘After the way I behaved in the balloon, I wonder you would do anything
for me.’ He shuddered, though, as he spoke, at the frightful
reminiscence.

‘Ez ter thet,’ returned Ephraim, ‘nobody could say a word agin ye fer
bein’ sot back. ’Twar an onusual kind er stomachful fer a young man jest
out fer a picnic.’

‘That’s all very well,’ lamented Lucius, ‘but I disgraced myself. You
know I did.’

‘Shucks!’ remarked Ephraim. ‘Look at what ye did jest now. But say,’ he
went on, wishful to close the discussion, ‘we can’t stay here after what
that red-faced old lump er mischief said.’

‘What did he say?’ inquired Lucius. ‘I was so busy getting away that I’m
afraid I was rude enough not to pay any attention.’

‘Same here,’ grinned Ephraim; ‘but I heard him ‘tween whiles. “Foller
them up,” he yells ter the soldiers. “Ye’ll drive ’em straight inter our
lines.”’

‘What did he mean by that?’ asked Lucius. ‘I should have thought we were
within the Yankee lines when we were taken prisoners.’

‘Waal, we kinder war, and we kinder warn’t,’ said Ephraim. ‘This is the
way I put it up,’ he went on to explain with considerable shrewdness. ‘I
’magine thar must hev been a fight somewhar around hyar, and the cunnel
thar, whatever his name is, has lit out er harm’s way. He started off
ter make his way back ter the camp, gatherin’ up men ez he went along,
and unfortnitly fer us, he happened ter cross the clearin’ et the
precise moment we came down in it.’ Which, as the reader knows, is just
what had happened.

‘Well, he’ll have a fine story to tell when he does get back to camp,’
laughed Lucius.

‘Won’t he?’ laughed Ephraim back. ‘Ye may resk your last dime he won’t
make no small thing of it. My! I wish we could be thar ter hear him.’

‘Oh, thank you,’ said Lucius hilariously. ‘I’ve had enough of him for
one day. I shall be quite content to read his speech in the papers.’

‘Ho! ho! ho!’ guffawed Ephraim. ‘Ain’t ye jest ticklish, Luce!’

They were both so overjoyed at their escape from the double danger of
the morning that they had no room left for further apprehension. But
presently Ephraim was recalled to a sense of the gravity of the
situation by the distant notes of a bugle.

‘Hear thet!’ he exclaimed. ‘Thet tells ye. Say, Luce, it won’t do fer us
to set still hyar. Don’t ye know this kentry’s full er Yanks. It’s bound
ter be. We must try and make our way ter old Stonewall’s lines.’

‘Where are they, I wonder,’ said Lucius.

‘I wish I knew. Fact is, I’d no idee we could hev come so fer. I thort
we must be close home.’ He called it _hum_.

‘So did I,’ agreed Lucius. ‘Old Blue Bag, as you call that horrible
balloon, must have travelled far and fast.’

‘I wish we war in her now,’ said Ephraim disconsolately.

‘Oh! no, no, no,’ exclaimed Lucius vehemently. ‘I’d rather be hanged a
hundred times than go through that horrible experience again.’

‘Waal, ye wouldn’t feel the ninety-nine, after ye’d got comfortably done
with the first,’ said Ephraim with one of his quiet grins. ‘But it don’t
foller, because we got into one rumpus up in the clouds, thet we’d
immediately git inter another. We wouldn’t go so high for one thing.’

‘No, no, I tell you,’ cried Lucius, almost as terrified at the prospect
as he had been at the reality. ‘I wouldn’t get into the awful thing
again to save my life.’

Ephraim looked at him silently for a moment. Then he said with a little
sigh: ‘Waal, Luce, I reckon ye won’t be put ter it ter make the choice,
fer by this time I should say old Blue Bag has either been busted by
thet pesky cunnel, or took inter camp by the men.’

‘Oh!’ said Lucius regretfully, ‘I am real mean, Grizzly, after all the
trouble you took to make it.’

‘Waal, waal, I ain’t keerin,’ answered Ephraim hastily. ‘It’s gone now,
and thar’s an end er it. Ye’ll oblige me, Luce, if ye don’t say no more
about it.—Hark!’ as the bugle sounded once more. ‘Thet tells us we’d
better quit.’

‘I wonder what it means,’ pondered Lucius, rising to his feet.

‘What, thet call?’ answered Ephraim. ‘Breakfast, I ’magine. I know _I_
feel it must be somewhar about that time. Got yer watch?’

‘No,’ replied Lucius; ‘I forgot that, like everything else, in my hurry
to leave home.’

He thought for a minute and added: ‘Say, Grizzly, how are we to know but
what that bugle is being blown in our own lines somewhere? It’s as
likely as not.’

‘Thar’s suthin’ in what ye say,’ answered Ephraim. ‘We sutt’nly don’t
know whether old Stonewall is ahead of us, or behind, or to the right or
to the left. We don’t know nuthin’, and we can’t see nuthin’ fer this
pesky wood shuttin’ out the sky. Ef we could see the sun, we might git
an idee of the lay of the land. We’ll move on, anyway.’

‘In what direction then?’

‘It don’t matter. All roads is alike sence we don’t know the right one.
We’ll move towards the music. On’y we must feel our way cautious.’

‘And keep a sharp eye for the colonel,’ observed Lucius.

‘By time! yes. I wouldn’t give much fer our chances ef he gripped holt
on us now after that smack in the face ye gin him. Ef he warn’t in
’arnest before, he will be ef ever he ketches us agen.’

‘He owes you one as well, Grizzly, for the tumble you gave him,’ laughed
Lucius.

‘I reckon,’ answered Ephraim. ‘But then he war down on me right from the
beginnin’, ’cause he got it inter his thick head I meant ter be impident
ter him.’

They walked along for half an hour or so, entirely ignorant of their
direction, until at last the trees began to thin out, and it was evident
that they were approaching either the edge of the wood or another
clearing. Past experience had taught them caution, and they were wise
enough not to break cover until they had very carefully surveyed their
surroundings. It was as well. Stealing from tree to tree and treading as
softly as they could, they at length reached a point where they could
see into the open.

What a sight! Grand, impressive, but just then particularly alarming to
our two boys, for right in front of them, upon a small hillock, frowned
eight black-muzzled cannon, while a lane which led from a handsome house
to a mill beside the stream was packed with Federal troops. Camp-fires
were blazing and crackling cheerily in the open, and the grateful odour
of coffee was wafted to the noses of the hungry boys. Ephraim signalled
silently with his hand, and as quietly as they had come, the two glided
back into the friendly shelter of the deep woods. ‘By time!’ whispered
Ephraim, when they had reached a safe point, as they thought, ‘thet was
a mighty nasty sight. Ef we’d walked inter the open, we’d hev been
goners shore enuff.’

‘It looked as if they were expecting something,’ whispered Lucius back.

‘It’s maybe old Stonewall they’re waitin’ fer,’ said Ephraim. ‘Shucks!
ef we git between their firin’, we’ll be a heap wusser off’n we war in
Blue Bag.’

‘That’s not possible,’ affirmed Lucius, with another shudder. The
impression left upon him was evidently not likely to fade in a hurry.

‘My land, Luce!’ exclaimed Ephraim, who had been thinking so deeply that
he failed to hear his companion’s remark, ‘I tell ye we’re in a pretty
mess.’

‘Why, what’s wrong now?’ asked Lucius.

‘I’ll tell ye. Thar’s the Yankee army, or a right smart slice of it, way
aback yander, frontin’ the wood. Now it ain’t likely that if they’re on
the lookout for old Stonewall—and I reckon they air—thet they’d leave
this wood unguarded jest for him to pop right out on ’em and give ’em
howdy while they war drinkin’ their coffee. Is it, now?’

‘No, it isn’t,’ admitted Lucius. ‘Well?’

‘Waal, ye may be ez shore ez ye air standin’ whar ye air that the wood
is full er their pickets; likely enough the last line er ’em is almost
techin’ noses with Stonewall’s men. Anyway, we’ve got ’em all round us,
and between us and our own boys, wharever they may be. Ye kin make yer
mind easy on thet. And it’s a mercy we han’t come plump on some er ’em
before now.’

‘Then we’re about done for,’ said Lucius. ‘It’s only a question of time
before we light on some of them if we keep on walking.’

‘Hold on, sonny,’ returned Ephraim cheerfully. ‘It ain’t so bad ez thet
yit. It’s pretty tough, this situation is, I’ll allow; but we ain’t
goin’ ter Fortress Monroe ’thout a worry ter git back ter Staunton. Ye
see,’ he went on, ‘they’re bound to be pretty thick in the wood; but et
the same time they can’t be everywhar. We’ll keep on going cautious, and
maybe we’ll out-flank ’em yit. Come on!’

‘I wish we had a couple of pots of their coffee,’ sighed Lucius. ‘My!
didn’t it smell good?’

‘We’ll forage ez we go along,’ said Ephraim. ‘Ye never know what ye’ll
find ef ye keep on looking.’

The truth of this bit of philosophy presently became unpleasantly
manifest, for after they had wandered on for a quarter of an hour,
Lucius suddenly pulled up short with a smothered exclamation of disgust.

‘What is it?’ muttered Ephraim. ‘D’ye see any one?’

For answer Lucius pointed with his right hand, averting his face, which
was very pale. Ephraim followed the guiding finger. ‘By time!’ he
exclaimed, ‘they’ve got it shore enuff.’

A few paces away and close together were the dead bodies of two Federal
soldiers, lying on their backs with white, upturned faces, and sightless
eyes that stared fixed up into the dense foliage that swept above them.

‘Pore critters!’ said Ephraim sympathetically, all feeling but that of
humanity banished for the moment from his breast. ‘Thar’s somebody
lookin’ for them ez will be sorry they don’t come home. Thar must hev
been a rumpus round hyar lately, Luce.’

‘I don’t see any more,’ answered Lucius, looking round; ‘and there are
no signs of a struggle anywhere about.’

‘Why, thet’s so,’ admitted Ephraim, also surveying the ground. ‘Waal
then, how do they come ter be lyin’ thar?—I’ll tell ye, Luce, most
likely thar war a fight yesterday, and they got wounded. Then they sot
out ter fetch up ter their own lines agen, and death follered ’em up and
overtook ’em before they could git thar. See hyar,’ he continued,
kneeling down by the fallen men, ‘this one has a hole in the right side
er his coat. He must hev bled ter death inside. And the other one hez
got it in the leg. See, his trousers is all over blood, and he’s tied
his handkerchief round the place ter try and stop the bleedin’. The
wonder is thet he war able to walk at all. Maybe he crawled. Pore
critters! pore critters!’

‘How can you bear to touch them?’ said Lucius faintly. ‘They look
dreadful.’

‘Ah!’ returned Ephraim sententiously, ‘it’s a pictur er the war thet
didn’t strike us afore we set out, or maybe we wouldn’t hev been in such
a hurry to come. Ye kin see now, Luce,’ he finished grimly, ‘what we’d
hev looked like ef the cunnel bed got his way.’

‘Don’t!’ exclaimed Lucius. ‘Come on. Let us get out of this. We can’t do
them any good by staring at them.’

‘Thet’s so,’ acquiesced Ephraim, rising to his feet.—‘By time! thet’s a
good idee,’ he suddenly ejaculated. ‘I tell ye what it is, Luce. Ye air
right when ye say we can’t do them no good, pore men; but I reckon it
won’t do ’em enny harm nuther, ef we make use of ’em fer our own
benefit.’

‘Why, what do you mean?’ inquired Lucius, bewildered. ‘How can we make
use of them?’

‘See their clothes?’ answered Ephraim. ‘Ef we git inside ’em, it’ll be
ez good ez a free pass ter us anywhar about the Yankee lines. Come now,
Luce,’ as the boy made a gesture of horror, ‘this ain’t no time fer
bein’ squeamish. We’re in a muss, and we’re bound to git out of it the
best way we kin. Besides, it can’t hurt them, remember.’

‘It’s too awful!’ gasped Lucius. ‘It’s robbing the dead.’

‘It ain’t nuthin’ of the kind,’ retorted Ephraim. ‘It’s on’y their coats
and trousers we want, and their caps. I reckon Uncle Sam paid fer thet
lot. And we’ll cover ’em up with our own. Come now, Luce, do be
reasonable.’

He knelt down again and with no irreverent touch began to remove the
outer garments from one of the fallen men. ‘This one’s not much taller
than ye air yourself, Luce,’ he said, throwing the coat and trousers
towards the reluctant Lucius. ‘Ye kin take this lot. The other man’s
about my height. Not so lanky, maybe; but it’ll do, I reckon. Ah! now,
Luce, make up yer mind and put ’em on. We han’t got so much time ez all
thet.’

He threw off his own clothes and assumed the uniform he had chosen, and
in a moment or two Lucius, bowing to the stronger will, did likewise.

‘Feel in the pockets. Luce,’ suggested Ephraim. ‘Ef thar’s ennything
they set store by, I reckon we don’t want to take it away from ’em.’ But
search revealed nothing. The dead Federals had evidently been both poor
and friendless. Probably they had enlisted as substitutes, or as bounty
men, no one caring where they went to or what became of them. Arms and
accoutrements they had none, for these had been flung away for
lightness’ sake when they started on their last sad march. Quietly and
carefully Ephraim laid the clothes they had discarded over the corpses,
and then, turning to Lucius, who still remained distressfully silent,
took him by the arm and led him away from the dismal spot.

‘I wish we’d got their guns,’ said the Grizzly, a few moments later.
‘I’d hev felt safer thet way; but I reckon they throwed ’em off
somewhar. No matter, we’ve found so much already thet we may run up
against some in good time.’

‘I hope we shall not run up against any more dead men,’ said Lucius
dismally.

‘I’m with ye thar,’ answered Ephraim. ‘’Tain’t the purtiest sight in the
world, I’ll allow.—My! Luce, ye do look a spruce young soldier, I tell
ye.’

‘Do I?’ said Lucius, smiling faintly. ‘I’m afraid I don’t feel very like
one just now. That poor man was taller than you thought, Grizzly. The
coat is all right, but the trousers are dreadfully long.’

‘Roll ’em up a bit, then,’ advised the Grizzly. ‘Set your cap a leetle
more ter wan side. Thar, now ye’ll do. Say, ain’t we a pair er
fust-class invaders when all’s said and done?’

‘You seem to have forgotten one thing,’ said Lucius lightly, for he was
beginning to accommodate himself to circumstances.

‘And what might that be, bub?’

‘Why, though no doubt we shall be all right if we meet any Federals so
long as we have these uniforms on, yet, suppose we run against our own
men, where shall we be then?’

‘Safe, I reckon,’ answered Ephraim promptly. ‘I guess in thet case we’ll
be took prisoners, and if we’re not, why, we’ll give ourselves up ter
the fust Confederate we set eyes on, and arsk him ter be obligin’ enuff
ter arrest us.’

‘But supposing they shoot before they ask?’ went on Lucius.

‘I’ll be durned ef I suppose ennything er the kind,’ retorted Ephraim.
‘I’ll wait till it happens and then tell ye both what I think of
it.—Thar’s wan thing, though, Luce,’ he added. ‘Ye look all right in wan
way, smart and spry and all thet; but ye’re too young by a long sight.’

‘I can’t help that,’ giggled Lucius, ‘unless you’ll lend me a bit of
your beard.’

‘I would and willin’,’ answered Ephraim seriously, ‘ef it would stick
on.—Hi! I’ve got a notion. Hold up a minnit, Luce. Ye mustn’t mind ef I
spoil yer beauty a bit.’

He grubbed up a handful of loose soil as he spoke, and catching hold of
the astonished Lucius, rubbed it well into his face and neck.

‘What’s that for?‘cried Lucius indignantly, starting back.

‘Reckon thet’s taken some er the bloom off’n ye,’ grinned Ephraim. ‘Hold
on! I han’t finished with ye yet. Plague take it, I wish I hadn’t lost
my knife. By time! hyar’s one in the corner er this yer coat pocket.
What a good thing! I never felt it before. Now, lend us yer
handkercher.’

‘Why,’ said Lucius, handing him the required article, ‘whatever are you
going to do?’

‘I’ll show ye afore ye kin turn round,’ replied the Grizzly, and opening
the clasp-knife, deliberately cut his finger.

‘Grizzly!’ cried Lucius. ‘Are you gone mad?’

‘Not me,’ retorted Ephraim coolly. ‘Never felt more level-headed in all
my life, thank ye. See thet now.’

He let the blood from his finger drip upon Luce’s handkerchief until the
latter was thoroughly spotted with the bright red stains.

‘Now then, up she goes,’ he cried; and plucking off Luce’s cap, with a
deft turn he bound the blood-soaked handkerchief about the boy’s brow.
‘Thar,’ he chuckled, as he replaced the cap, and stepped backwards to
survey his handiwork. ‘Ye’ll do now, I should say. Why, don’t ye know,
thet puts three or four years onter ye at once. Not ter speak er it
givin’ ye a look ez ef ye’d come through some tar’ble hard fightin’. We
kin move along now ’thout worryin’ ourselves, Luce, fer thar ain’t a
Yank ez is likely ter stop us, ’ceptin’, ef course, ef we’re seen tryin’
ter pass the pickets.’

‘You’re a genius, Grizzly, as I’ve said before,’ remarked Lucius. ‘But I
wish you hadn’t cut your finger like that.’

‘Pooh! ’tain’t nuthin’,’ answered Ephraim, vigorously sucking the
wounded member. ‘I tell ye what it is, Luce, ef we don’t git suthin’ ter
eat pretty soon, I’ll hev ter begin on my boots. I’m thet low, ye can’t
imagine.’

‘Can’t I?’ replied Lucius. ‘Ever since I got that whiff of coffee in my
nostrils, I’ve been sighing for some. Seriously, though, we must get
food somewhere. We can’t go on walking all day upon nothing.’

‘The cunnel ’lowed he war goin’ ter teach us ter dance upon nuthin’,’
said Ephraim, chuckling at the reminiscence. ‘The very fust Yank I come
across, I’m goin’ up ter him to arsk him fer a bite er suthin’.’

‘And suppose he hasn’t got anything?’

‘Oh! drap yer supposin’, Luce. I tell ye it’s a sartinty. But ’sposin’
he han’t, since ye will be always ’sposin’, then I’ll eat him ez he
stands, and make no bones about it.’

‘Supposing it’s the colonel,’ laughed Lucius.

‘Aw, yah! No, I wouldn’t tech his pesky carcass with a forty-foot pole
with an iron spike on the end er it.’

‘I’d give something to know whereabouts we are,’ said Lucius. ‘How do we
know we are in the valley at all?’

‘Pho!’ answered Ephraim, ‘I ’low I never thought er it in thet light. Er
co’se we mought hev been blown across the Blue Ridge during the night;
but I reckon not. I should say we’re in the valley right enuff, somewhar
’twixt Staunton and Winchester.’

‘That’s a wide range.’

‘Waal, I know thet; but it’s the best I kin do fer ye till we git outer
this wood and strike up agin some spot that’ll serve us as a
landmark.—Hello! Hyar we come ter the edge er the wood agen. Hist! now.
Let’s go cautious.’

Had they but known it, they were not a quarter of a mile from the spot
where they had observed the Federal cannon planted, for they had simply
been wandering round and round among the trees, and before long would
probably have found themselves back again in view of the Federal camp.
They had simply changed their direction slightly without ever getting
very far from the open country, and now they halted to hold a short
council of war.

‘I tell ye what it is,’ began Ephraim. ‘Thar’s no sense in our moochin’
round through the woods like this, never beginnin’ anywhar, and always
endin’ up nowhar. We’ll go now and take a squint inter the open, and ef
the kentry seems cl’ar, we’ll march along the edge of the woods instead
of through ’em. That’ll be a lump better, and et the fust sign er danger
we kin slip back among the trees.’

‘That sounds a good idea,’ agreed Lucius.

‘Well, come and let us survey the ground right hyar.’

They advanced together, cautiously still, but more boldly than before,
for their disguises gave them confidence, and they were not now so
concerned at the prospect of meeting a stray Federal or two, provided
they could keep clear of the pickets.

‘Thar’s not a soul in sight, Luce,’ said Ephraim, peering through the
trees.—‘Hello! I see a house.’

‘Where?’ asked Lucius, edging up to him.

‘Thar, a hundred yards or so away ter the left. That is, ef ye call it a
house, fer I reckon it’s on’y a log cabin.’

The cabin, for such it really was, to which Ephraim drew his comrade’s
attention, stood folded in, as it were, between two out-jutting arms of
the wood. The long arm, the actual trend of the wood in the same line as
the boys, swept so close to the back of the house as to almost touch it.
Certainly not more than ten paces separated the one from the other. The
second arm, formed by a spur of the wood springing off almost at right
angles to the main forest, bounded a clearing in front and at the far
side of the house. Looked at from the boys’ point of view, the back of
the house with a solitary window was in full view, one side partly
visible, while the front and far side were quite out of their line of
sight.

‘Thar don’t seem no one ter stop us,’ said Ephraim, after they had
studied the position for a few minutes. ‘I vote we go up ter thet cabin,
and ef the owner’s ter hum, we kin arsk him fer some breakfast.’

‘I like the notion,’ answered Lucius, smacking his lips. ‘I suppose we
may take it for granted that it isn’t a Yankee who inhabits the house.’

‘In the valley! I should smile!’ remarked Ephraim with fine scorn.
‘Anyway we’ll be all right, fer ef by any accident it is a bunkum Yank
thet lives thar, our uniforms will fetch him. He can’t help hisself when
it comes to feedin’ a wounded comrade.’ He glanced at the handkerchief
on Luce’s head and grinned. ‘But thar,’ he went on, ‘what’d a Yank be
doin’ farmin’ in the valley? I guess it’ll be all squar. Come and let’s
see.’

They re-entered the wood and worked their way along, keeping well within
the trees until they came opposite to the back of the cabin. The window,
or rather hole in the wall which did duty for such, was destitute of
glass, and the shutter which served to close it swung idly on creaking
hinges in the light morning breeze.

‘Smell that!’ said Ephraim, sniffing the air. ‘The old man, whoever he
is, has got hot coffee fer breakfast. This ain’t no fat thing, I reckon.
Oh, no!’ He rubbed his hands together gleefully.

‘On you go, then,’ urged Lucius. ‘Only go easy. We don’t want to put our
heads into a hornet’s nest.’

They left the cover of the woods, and crossing the narrow strip of
ground, approached the window and looked into the cabin.

It was a one-roomed affair, built entirely of logs, with no flooring and
no ceiling. Only under the roof three or four strong rafters ran from
end to end, and across these at one end were laid half a dozen stout
planks or slabs, forming a makeshift loft. The remainder of the roof
space was vacant and unboarded. Not quite opposite to the window was the
door, which was closed, and in the middle of the solitary chamber
stood—oh! gracious and appetite-inspiring sight!—a rough-hewn table,
covered with all manner of delicacies. A pot of steaming coffee was
flanked by three or four tin cups full of milk, and a fine cut of ham
stood royally among tinned meats of sorts, broken biscuits, and last,
but not least, a jar of jam. And all this spread of dainties stood
unheeded. Apparently there was no one to enjoy it.

‘By time!’ whispered Ephraim. ‘Did ever ye see the like? The old man is
goin’ ter hev a good time fer once, I ’magine. Step right in, Luce. We
won’t wait till he comes in. I’m sartin he’d like us to make ourselves
at home.’

‘Hush!’ whispered Lucius back warningly. ‘I am sure I hear some one.’

‘Keep still, then, till I go and reckoniter,’ breathed Ephraim. ‘I won’t
be a minnit.’

He stole away round the hut, and presently returned, his face purple,
and the sleeve of his tunic stuffed into his mouth to prevent the inward
laughter which convulsed him from finding outward expression. ‘By time!’
he chuckled softly, as soon as he had regained his self-command. ‘Sech a
joke! Lay low, Luce. Say nuthin’; but laugh!’

‘Why, what is it?’ whispered Lucius. ‘What did you see?’

‘Ye’d never begin ter believe it,’ responded Ephraim in the same soft
undertone. ‘Who d’ ye think thet breakfast’s fer? Why, fer the Yankee
gin’ruls theyselves. There’s a knot of ’em way yander in the clearin’
’sputin’ ’bout suthin’; and there’s a sentry marchin’ up and down before
the door as stiff as a ramrod. By time! it’s lucky they didn’t think of
guardin’ the window.’

‘It was the sentry I heard,’ said Lucius.

‘I reckon. No matter. In with ye, bub. We’ll help ’em through with some
er thet ham and them crackers, and be off again before ye kin say
knife.’

Lucius needed no second invitation, and followed closely by Ephraim,
climbed noiselessly through the window. Without loss of time they drank
off the mugs of milk, leaving the coffee untasted, because it was so
very hot, and delays were dangerous. Then, while Lucius stuffed his
pockets full of crackers, Ephraim employed his clasp-knife to better
purpose than cutting his own fingers by slicing off a goodly wedge of
the ham.

‘Ready, Luce?’ the Grizzly whispered, his face beaming with delight at
the humour of the thing. ‘’Twon’t do ter wait fer our hosts. There’d be
a leetle too much ter pay.’

Lucius nodded. He had just absorbed an enormous mouthful of jam, and was
consequently unable to speak. But he sneaked to the window after
Ephraim.

‘Bring the jam along,’ whispered the latter. ‘It’ll go fine with the
crackers.’

He thrust his head out of the window, preparatory to climbing out, but
instantly drew it in again with a low exclamation of intense disgust.

‘What is it?’ asked Lucius, who naturally could not see.

‘Thar’s a whole posse of soldiers jest ter the right at the edge er the
woods,’ replied Ephraim. ‘They’re settin’ on the ground, so I reckon
they mean ter stay. We’re trapped, Luce, and thet’s a fact. Ef it warn’t
fer thet pesky sentry outside the door with his gun and all, we’d make a
dash fer it, and never mind the gin’ruls. Ez it is, we’re done. No
matter; we’ll jest hev ter brazen it out the best way we kin. They’ll
take us fer two of their own men, and they can’t shoot us fer keepin’
ourselves from starvin’.’

‘Why not get up there and hide? It’s as dark as night,’ suggested
Lucius, who in looking round the hut had discovered the improvised loft
mentioned above.

‘Git up whar?’ inquired Ephraim, who had not noticed it. ‘By time! The
very place. Up with ye, Luce. They’re comin’ up. Hear their talk.’

Lucius replaced the jam upon the table, and making a leap from the
ground, caught hold of one of the rafters and swung himself up on to the
planking. Ephraim only waited to scatter a few crackers by the window
and fling a couple more outside, and then he too sprang up and joined
his comrade.

‘What did you do that for?’ asked Lucius.

‘Ye’ll see when they come in. Mum’s the word! Hyar they air.’

They retreated to the farthest extremity of the planking, against the
gable of the hut, where they threw themselves down at full length; for,
as Grizzly remarked, they might have to stay there for some time, and it
would not do to run the risk of becoming cramped.

Their faces were towards the open space where the table was set, and
themselves completely hidden, not only by their position but by the
surrounding gloom, they could see clearly all over the room, except
immediately underneath them.

Scarcely had they taken their positions when the door swung open, and
with a loud clatter of voices and jingling of swords, three Federal
officers entered the hut.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]



                              CHAPTER VII.
              NO. XX. COMPANY D OF THE ‘TRAILING TERRORS.’


‘Ha!’ exclaimed the foremost of the three officers, who wore the uniform
of a general, ‘I don’t know about you, gentlemen, but I am quite ready
for my breakfast.—Eh! What! Who? The dickens!—Here, sergeant!
Orderly-sergeant Cox!’

‘Sir!’ answered the orderly-sergeant, dashing into the hut at the loud,
imperative summons.

‘What is the meaning of this?’ demanded General Shields, for it was he.
‘What is the meaning of it, sir?’ he thundered, as Sergeant Cox simply
stared at him without attempting to reply.

‘Meaning, sir? Meaning of what, sir?’ stammered the bewildered orderly
at last.

‘Of this,’ vociferated the general, pointing to the table. ‘Look at that
ham! Look at those crackers! Observe the jam! Where is the milk?’

‘Ham, sir! Yes, sir. Jam, sir! No, sir. Milk—crackers, sir,’ stuttered
the unfortunate Cox, ruefully regarding the denuded table, the lacerated
ham, and the empty mugs, which but a few moments before he had himself
seen filled with rich creamy milk.

A loud snort burst from Lucius, who, between the angry face of the
general and the utter amazement of the orderly, found the situation too
much for him, and would simply have suffocated had not this timely
explosion of mirth suddenly relieved him. Fortunately the sound was
swallowed up in the shout of laughter which, at the same moment, broke
from the other two officers, in the midst of which Ephraim found time to
whisper hurriedly:

‘It’s too funny, Luce. But hold up. Don’t ye do that agen, or we’re
ruined shore and certain.’

‘Ha! ha! ha!’ roared one of the officers, a stout, good-humoured-looking
brigadier. ‘Evidently a foraging party has been beforehand with us. By
George! general, it’s a mercy they left us so much as a single cracker.
You had better have taken my advice and had breakfast outside,
notwithstanding the tendency of the bugs to drop uninvited into the
coffee. Ha! ha!’

The angry look died out of General Shields’s eyes, the wrinkles at the
root of his nose smoothened out again, and after a momentary struggle he
gave way and joined heartily in the laughter of his subordinates. ‘Well,
well, it can’t be helped now,’ he said—‘it is the fortune of war; but if
I can lay hands on the rascal who has played us this trick, I’ll—I’ll
feed him on jam till he’s so sick of it, he won’t be in a hurry to
plunder his general again.’ He broke into fresh laughter, till,
remembering the presence of the orderly, he restrained himself, and
inquired sharply, ‘What are you doing there?’

Orderly-sergeant Cox, who, now that his terror and confusion had been
sent to the right-about by the hilarity of the officers, would have
given a good deal to be able to express his own feelings in the same
way, saluted silently, swung on his heel, and made for the door.

‘Stop!’ ordered the general, and Cox swung round again, managing by a
violent effort to dismiss the grin which he had allowed to overspread
his features the moment he had turned his back.

‘Any news of Colonel Spriggs?’ asked General Shields.

‘Can’t say, sir.’

‘Very good. My compliments to him, when he returns, if he returns, and I
wish to see him at once.’

‘Here, sir?’

‘Anywhere. Wherever I happen to be. I can be found, I suppose.’

‘Very well, sir,’ and with another salute Orderly-sergeant Cox withdrew.

‘I believe that beggar knows more of this than he cares to say,’
observed General Shields, mournfully regarding the remains of the ham.

‘Oh, not he,’ laughed the fat brigadier; ‘I never saw a fellow look so
utterly flabbergasted. No, no, general, your thieves have come and gone
through this window. See, here are some of the spoils dropped both
inside and out.’

Ephraim nudged Lucius gently, as much as to say: ‘Now you see my object
in scattering the crackers there. It was to distract attention from our
hiding-place.’ And Lucius answered by a responsive nudge, which
signified comprehension.

‘There are the thieves, or I am much mistaken,’ continued the brigadier,
as his eye fell on the soldiers who were resting on their arms at the
edge of the wood. ‘But I imagine it would be hopeless to try and get an
admission out of them.’

‘Better make the best of what is left,’ said General Shields. ‘Fall to,
gentlemen. It is half-past six now, and news from the bridge should soon
reach us.’

Only half-past six! The boys heard this announcement with surprise.
True, they had dropped from the clouds very shortly after daybreak; but
the long light of the summer morning, and the crowding of so many events
into a short space, had confused their sense of time, and they had
imagined it to be much later.

The day had begun early for more than Lucius and Ephraim. Movements were
afoot which were destined to bring about very important results, and the
news from the bridge, which the Federal general so calmly anticipated,
was likely, when it arrived, to disturb his equilibrium a good deal more
than the loss of his breakfast.

For the last four and thirty days, Stonewall Jackson had been making
matters very lively for the northern invaders. He was considerably
outnumbered, but with such consummate skill did he handle his forces,
that he was able to attack and beat the Federal generals in detail, one
after another; nor, chase him up and down as they would, could they ever
succeed in effecting a combination of their entire armies against him.
Indeed, the rapidity of Jackson’s movements astounded the Federals, for
scarcely did they receive reliable news of him in one place than he was
upon them in another, and considering the number and vigour of their
marvellous forced marches, it is no wonder that his brigades proudly
christened themselves ‘Stonewall Jackson’s Foot Cavalry.’

After defeating Milroy, Jackson had rushed through the valley to
Winchester, where he fell upon General Banks so fiercely and suddenly
that the latter was driven in the wildest confusion clear across the
Potomac. The dashing Confederate leader then retreated up the valley by
the great turnpike, hotly pursued by Frémont, who could not, however,
succeed in bringing him to bay. Shields, meanwhile, had moved up the
south-eastern bank of the Shenandoah, and, by co-operation with him,
Frémont thought at last to crush the daring rebel. But by a
master-stroke Jackson burned the bridge at the mouth of Elk Run Valley,
over which Shields would have led his troops—for owing to heavy rains
the Shenandoah was not fordable—and took up his position at Port
Republic, a little village situated on the south fork of the river.
Shields, therefore, advanced to Lewiston, the farm of a General Lewis,
and there awaited instructions from Frémont, who was but a few miles off
at Harrisonburg. But he might as well have been a thousand miles away,
for between the two generals rolled the impassable Shenandoah, and the
building of bridges in face of an enemy so vigilant and daring as
Stonewall Jackson was a proposition that could not be seriously
considered. Nevertheless, communication had been somehow effected, and
it so happened that, on the very night that Ephraim and Lucius left
Staunton in the balloon, the Federal generals had arranged a combined
attack upon the restless Jackson for the next day. Frémont was to
advance from Harrisonburg to Cross Keys and engage the Confederate left
under Ewell, while at the same moment Shields, by a successful dash
across the bridge at Port Republic, was to carry the little town and
crumple up the rebel right. But Jackson’s cool head and war-trained mind
had foreseen this combination, and his own plans had been formed to keep
Shields just where he was on the south-eastern bank of the river until
Frémont had been disposed of. When therefore the boys took refuge in the
loft, and the Federal officers turned their attention to their
desecrated breakfast, Frémont and Ewell were already confronting one
another at Cross Keys, while Shields’s cavalry were on their way to rush
the bridge at Port Republic and clear the road for the passage of the
infantry and artillery. For some time the officers devoted themselves
exclusively to their breakfast, but at last General Shields broke the
silence by observing, ‘I think we shall fix Jackson this bout.’

‘If the bridge at Port Republic can be carried,’ agreed the brigadier
cautiously.

‘If!’ repeated Shields with some irritation. ‘There is no _if_ about it,
sir. It must be carried. It cannot fail to be. The whole attention of
the enemy will be by this time centred on their left to repulse
Frémont’s demonstration at Cross Keys. By ten o’clock my headquarters
will be at Port Republic.’

The brigadier did not answer, but he thought his own thoughts. He was
not above learning a lesson, even from an enemy, and his experience of
Stonewall Jackson as a leader and strategist led him to believe that
this confident, even boastful tone was not justified in the face of
recent happenings in the valley. However, he was silent in the presence
of his commanding officer.

‘Jackson will not expect an attack on the bridge,’ went on Shields,
enclosing a slice of ham between two biscuits. ‘He will know nothing of
the movement until he finds himself driven out of Port Republic, and
then it will be too late.—By the way,’ he broke off, ‘that
reconnaissance yesterday was shamefully muddled.’

‘It was,’ agreed the brigadier; ‘and if you will excuse my saying so, I
thought it rather an error of judgment to entrust it to Colonel Spriggs.
You remember his appearance at Bull Run.’

‘His disappearance, you mean,’ corrected General Shields with a grim
smile. ‘Well, perhaps it was; but I couldn’t well help myself.’

‘I am at a loss to know why we are bothered with such a fellow,’ put in
the third officer, a staff colonel.

‘Yes, heartily confound all these political generals and colonels,’ said
Shields. ‘If those meddling carpet warriors would only mind their own
business, and leave us to manage ours in the field, instead of
incessantly pulling the ropes, we should have another story to tell.
This fellow Spriggs and others like him are pitched into colonelcies and
even higher commands by their friends the politicians, while the real
soldiers go begging for a place, or, rather than do nothing, serve their
country unostentatiously in the ranks.’

‘He has good stuff in his regiment, too,’ said the brigadier. ‘The
“Trailing Terrors,” or whatever ridiculous name he calls them by, are
stark fighters when they get a chance, or are properly led.’

‘Which they never will be, so long as Spriggs is in command of them,’
answered Shields testily. ‘I’ve made the most urgent representations
about the fellow, and no notice has been taken. I daren’t relieve him of
his command on my own responsibility, though I am supposed to be at the
head of this army.’ He laughed rather bitterly.

‘Such a fellow is a disgrace to us all,’ remarked the brigadier
emphatically. ‘A bully, a fire-eater, and a’——

‘A dirty coward,’ finished Shields for him. ‘You may as well say it at
once. I agree with you. He is a disgrace to us—he and a few more like
him—a discredit to the whole North. The actions of the ruffianly crew of
whom he is a most admirable example do more to inflame the South against
us than anything else. Confound them!’ he fumed; ‘it is beyond their
comprehension that even war may be waged in a gentlemanly fashion.’

‘You’ve got to start with a gentleman, though, you must remember,’
laughed the brigadier.

‘I know,’ said Shields discontentedly. ‘Oh, hang him! I wish I were well
rid of him. He is reported missing since last night, and it may be that
some obliging rebel has done what I have not the power to do—relieved
him of his command by a timely and well-aimed bullet.’

‘Not while there was a tree between him and Johnny Reb,’ chuckled the
brigadier. ‘I am afraid you must not look forward to any such easy
solution of your difficulties with him.’

‘Pah!’ ejaculated General Shields in deep disgust. ‘I’——

The sentence was never finished, for at that moment the door was flung
open, and Orderly-sergeant Cox, advancing into the hut and saluting,
announced:

‘Colonel Spriggs!’

Closely following on the orderly’s heels came the subject of the above
instructive conversation, and it was with something like a thrill of
dismay that the watchers in the loft recognised in him the red-faced
tyrant from whose clutches they had so recently escaped. Ephraim gave
Luce’s arm a warning squeeze, and if they had been quiet before, they
lay doubly still now.

General Shields returned the colonel’s salute with exceeding stiffness
and the scantiest courtesy. ‘You were reported missing, sir,’ he
observed drily. ‘I congratulate you on your reappearance after the
fight.’ At which the brigadier put up his hand to his mouth to conceal a
smile.

Colonel Spriggs, however, did not appear to perceive the sarcasm. ‘Yes,
general,’ he replied, ‘it was pretty warm work while it lasted. The Rebs
got us in a tight place, and I fear that a considerable number of my
poor lads have stayed behind on the field. But no matter, sir. The
“Trailing Terrors,” with Josiah B. Spriggs ahead, will go on till the
last man is annihilated.’

‘I wish you might be annihilated to start with,’ thought General Shields
within himself. Aloud he said: ‘Your reconnaissance was a complete
failure, colonel.’

‘It was, sir,’ acknowledged the colonel. ‘I admit it. But it was not my
fault. I made the most superhuman efforts to induce the men to advance
in the face of the most withering musketry fire it has ever been my lot
to stand up to. But they refused.’

‘I thought you said they would follow you anywhere,’ remarked General
Shields caustically.

‘Oh! Ah! yes, certainly; so I did,’ answered Spriggs, a little
flustered. ‘But the circumstances were exceptional. All that men could
do they did. I myself’——

‘I see,’ interrupted the general. ‘How many men do you suppose you
lost?’

‘Company D was pretty well cut to pieces, and of the rest—but really at
present I cannot give you accurate information. In leading a charge
through the woods I was struck by a spent ball, which yet had sufficient
force to stun me. My men passed over me as I lay, and when I came to
myself I was alone. What came of that charge I cannot tell you; but,
doubtless, the men, deprived of their leader, and convinced already of
the desperate nature of the enterprise, would naturally fall back.’

‘No doubt,’ acquiesced General Shields; ‘and, no doubt also, your
failure to rejoin your regiment completed the disaster, while at the
same time it gave rise to the report that you had been killed.—And may I
be forgiven for devoutly wishing you had been,’ he added mentally.

‘My failure to rejoin my regiment was due to the fact that I could not
find it, sir,’ answered the colonel with some heat, for thick-skinned as
he was, he could not fail at last to detect the undertone of contempt in
the general’s voice. ‘Am I to understand, sir, that you imply that I
have in any way failed in my duty?’

‘I imply nothing, colonel,’ replied General Shields. ‘I may be permitted
to say this, though, that I wish most earnestly that your “Trailing
Terrors,” as I understand you call your men, would now and again trail
in the direction of the enemy instead of so persistently keeping their
backs turned to them.’

‘General,’ began Spriggs, but General Shields held up his hand.

‘And I am not to be taken as implying,’ he went on, ‘that your men are
any less courageous than others under my command. Bad soldiers, properly
led, may win a battle. Good soldiers, improperly led, will very usually
lose one.’

At this stinging speech Colonel Spriggs’s red, bloated face became
purple. Here was an implication with a vengeance, and there was but one
inference to be drawn from it. Moreover, Spriggs dared not attempt to
reply, for he knew well enough that General Shields detested him, and
only waited for the opportunity of direct and irrefragable proof of his
cowardice to make short work of him. Therefore he swallowed his wrath
and merely mumbled something about having done his best. But he
registered a vow in his heart that four and twenty hours should not pass
without a letter from him to his friends the politicians, in which
General Shield’s name should figure with a very black mark indeed
against it.

‘I do not doubt that you do your best, sir,’ returned the general; ‘I do
not doubt it at all.’

The irony of the tone was sharp almost to fierceness, and Colonel
Spriggs judged it wiser to give the conversation a rapid turn. It was
with something like humility that he remarked:

‘I have a report to make, general, concerning an incident that occurred
as I was making my way back to the lines this morning.’

‘Proceed, sir,’ said the general stiffly.

‘I had fallen in with some of our fellows,’ began the colonel, ‘not my
own men, and we were just casting about for some means to provide
ourselves with some breakfast—which I may tell you we did not succeed in
getting,’ he added, casting a longing look at the table.

‘Help yourself, sir,’ said General Shields with cold courtesy. Spriggs
did not require any urging, but rapidly made an attack upon the remains
of the feast, talking as he ate.

‘We had approached one edge of a clearing on the other side of these
woods,’ resumed Spriggs, ‘when an exclamation from one of the men called
my attention to a singular, I may say, a phenomenal sight. It was
nothing less than a balloon, descending into the clearing.’

‘A balloon!’ echoed the three officers.

‘Yes, gentlemen, a balloon. It instantly became clear to me that this
was a device of the enemy for the purpose of reconnoitring the position
of the national forces, and I thanked my stars that I was on the spot
with a handful of brave men to stop their treasonable devices.’

The brigadier’s hand again went up to his mouth, and General Shields
inquired in a dry voice: ‘Am I to understand, colonel, that what you saw
was a species of air galley, filled with desperate rebels?’

‘Ah! no,’ replied the colonel, considerably taken aback; ‘I told you it
was a balloon. Its occupants were two in number.’

‘Two!’ interjected General Shields. ‘You and your brave handful would
make short work of them, eh?’

‘We did, sir,’ answered Spriggs with a ferocious grin. ‘No sooner had
they landed than I rushed up to them, and after a determined struggle,
during which I was once thrown to the ground, succeeded in overpowering
them.’

At this extraordinary farrago of truth and lies, the two boys
interchanged nudges.

‘The ruffians were armed to the teeth,’ went on Spriggs, ‘and in the
balloon car we found a perfect armament. They had evidently meant
mischief. I had them searched, and on the person of one of them were
found plans of our positions, and papers loaded with accurate statistics
of the number and disposition of our forces.’

Ephraim’s mouth pursed up as though he were about to whistle, so great
was his amazement; and as the colonel paused to take a drink of coffee,
General Shields said interrogatively: ‘You doubtless have those papers
with you now?’

‘Ah! no,’ answered Spriggs in some confusion. ‘I destroyed them at once,
lest by any inadvertence they should fall into the hands of the enemy.’

‘You did wrong, sir,’ said General Shields with asperity. ‘Those papers
should have been brought to camp and handed to the provost-marshal.
Well, go on with your story.’

‘It is finished in a word,’ resumed Spriggs. ‘I regret to say that owing
to the extreme carelessness of the men, the two prisoners took to their
heels and escaped into the woods, while I was absorbed in the contents
of the papers.’

General Shields gave vent to an exclamation of impatience. This man
tried him almost beyond his powers of endurance.

‘Of course I sent the men in pursuit of the spies,’ said the colonel,
concluding his surprising statement. ‘They did not belong to my
regiment, and they did not reappear; so I finally made my way to the
camp to report the circumstances to you.’

General Shields thought for a moment. Then he said brusquely: ‘Thank
you. I do not think there is any more to be said. If you have finished
your breakfast, you will oblige me by joining the remains of your
command, which you will find some two miles to the rear of Lewiston.’

Spriggs rose and saluted. ‘General,’ he said, ‘I do not like to admit
myself beaten. The woods are full of our men, and it is well-nigh
impossible that those two spies should have passed our pickets. With
your permission I will take half a company and thoroughly beat the
woods. As likely as not I shall run them down.’

‘Certainly, colonel, you have my full permission,’ answered General
Shields with great alacrity. ‘You have probably heard,’ he added, with
curling lip, ‘that an advance on Port Republic is just now in progress.
But I will not allow a little thing like that to interfere with your
laudable desire to volunteer for a dangerous service.’

Colonel Spriggs bit his lip, and down went another black mark against
General Shields. But his desire for revenge, and a chance to exhibit his
petty tyranny, assisted him to accept the snub in silence, and he simply
replied: ‘I am obliged to you, sir. I will start as soon as possible.’

‘By the way, what did you do with the balloon?’ inquired Shields.

‘Left it where it was,’ answered the colonel. ‘I could not very well do
otherwise.’

‘Hm!’ said Shields. ‘Well, I’ll see about it later. Good-morning, sir.’

Spriggs saluted again, but at the door he turned. ‘I suppose, general,’
he inquired, ‘that if I come up with those two spies, you give me full
discretionary powers?’

General Shields, who was already deep in thought, heard the question
without grasping its significance, and muttered absently, ‘Yes, oh yes,
of course,’ whereupon Spriggs immediately left the hut.

Three or four minutes later, the general, coming out of his reverie, and
having still the sound of the question in his ears, exclaimed suddenly:
‘Discretionary powers! What do you mean by that?’

‘It is very evident,’ answered the brigadier. ‘And you have given him
full permission to hang the two fellows out of hand.’

‘Confound the man!’ muttered the general, walking quickly to the door.
But Spriggs was already out of sight. ‘Well,’ he said, returning, ‘it
does not matter much, for after all they are spies, and it is a hundred
to one that he never finds them.’

To the two listeners in the loft it mattered a good deal, but
unfortunately their position made protest out of the question.

‘The sight of that red-faced bully always sets my right foot tingling,
so great is my desire to kick him,’ went on the general, irritably.

‘His incompetence is on a par with his cowardice. Imagine now his
allowing those two men to escape.’

‘His anxiety to retake them was very genuine,’ said the brigadier. ‘It
seems to me,’ he commented shrewdly, ‘that there is a personal motive
underlying his zeal, though what, or why, it is difficult to say.—What
are you staring at, general?’ he broke off. ‘Why, good gracious!’

Alas and alas! From the loft was proceeding a most singular shower.
Plop! Plop! Plop! Plop! one after another in regular succession, a
cascade of biscuits descended from the planking to the floor, each as it
fell shivering into fragments after the fashion of the renowned Humpty
Dumpty. No wonder that the general stared.

‘Ha! ha! ha! ho! ho! ho!’ roared the jovial brigadier. ‘I never thought
of that. That is where your breakfast vanished to, general. And where
the crackers are, there also is the ham, I’ll bet a trifle.’

‘Come out of that, whoever you are!’ ordered the general sternly. ‘Come
out of that at once.’

This denouement was due to the unfortunate Lucius, who, in wriggling
into a more comfortable position, had burst open the front of his tunic,
in which a quantity of biscuits had been bestowed. As the first of these
touched the floor, Ephraim grasped his comrade by the back of the neck
and pinned him down as in a vice. Then as the general’s loud command
rang out, he put his mouth close to Luce’s ear, and just breathed into
it: ‘Lie low, Luce, lie low. I see a way out er this muss. Don’t move
now for the life of ye, whatever ye see me do.’

‘Come out of that, I say,’ repeated the general. ‘Do you want me to come
and fetch you?’

This being the very last thing that Ephraim desired, he slowly uncoiled
his long length, and swinging upon the rafter, dropped to the floor,
where he stood the very picture of sheepishness, his mouth wide open,
and a most comical expression—half-humorous, half-terrified appeal in
his big gray eyes. But he took care to leave the piece of ham behind
him.

The fat brigadier retreated to the wall of the hut, and laughed till the
tears ran down his cheeks.

‘Well, if this doesn’t beat everything I ever saw or heard of!’ he
gasped. ‘What will you do with him, general? Shall I take him to the
provost-marshal for a round dozen, or will you have him shot right away?
For my part, I think he deserves the rest of the breakfast for his
impudence.’

‘Silence!’ said the general severely, though his eyes twinkled.—’ What
were you doing there?’ he demanded of Ephraim.

The Grizzly drew himself up and saluted. ‘I beg yewr parding, ginrul,’
he answered in a weak, whining tone; ‘I war jest parsing the windy, and
when I looked in and see that right down, first-clarse spread, I tell
yew I jest felt I had ter hev some.’

Lucius quivered with amazement. The Grizzly was coming out in a new
line. The soft Southern voice with its clipped syllables was gone, and
in its place was the slow drawl and marked nasal twang of the New
Englander. The very expression of the face was changed, though this
Lucius could not see. The natural shrewdness was gone out of it, and
only good-humoured, dull vacancy reigned in its stead.

‘Upon my word, you are a nice young man,’ said the general, smiling in
spite of himself at Ephraim’s ridiculous appearance. ‘What do you mean,
sir, by making free with my breakfast? Don’t you know I could have you
court-martialed and shot for this?’

‘Oh lordy, lordy! don’t you do that, ginrul,’ whined Ephraim, seemingly
in a paroxysm of terror. ‘I’ll never dew it again. Yew don’t know how
hungry I war. Lemme off, ginrul! Lemme off!’ He clasped his hands
supplicatingly.

The brigadier exploded again, and Shields, with a good-natured laugh,
said: ‘Well, we’ll consider what is to be done with you. Who are you,
and to what regiment do you belong?’

‘Number twenty, Company D, the “Trailing Terrors,”’ drawled Ephraim.

‘What! You are one of Spriggs’s “Trailing Terrors,” are you? By Jove!
you look it. Why did you not come out just now when your commanding
officer was here?’

‘Bekase he war telling lies!’ boldly answered Ephraim to the supreme
astonishment of Lucius; ‘and I never could abide lies.’

‘Lies!’ echoed General Shields. ‘What do you mean, sir? Are you aware
that you are speaking of your superior officer?’

‘I know that, ginrul,’ replied Ephraim, adding with a subdued grin: ‘I
ain’t saying nuthing worse about him than I’ve heard this morning. All
the same, he war telling lies about that balloon. I war thar, so I guess
I should know.’

‘You were there!’ repeated General Shields. ‘I understood the colonel to
say that none of his men were on hand.’

[Illustration:

  ‘Upon my word, you are a nice young man,’ said the general.
]

‘Waal, I war thar, whether he saw me or not,’ insisted Ephraim.

‘Well, what happened?’ asked the general, interested.

‘Part of what he said, a good deal he didn’t say, and a heap less than
he did say,’ returned Ephraim oracularly. ‘The balloon came down right
enuff, and thar war two folk in it. They got out and were surrounded
instanter. They never raised a finger tew resist. How could they when
there war ba’nets agin their chests, and they war nuthing but a couple
of boys.’

‘Boys!’ exclaimed the general in a tone of incredulity. ‘What could boys
be doing sailing about in a balloon?’

‘I guess that’s their business,’ answered Ephraim. ‘Anyhow, thar they
war, and what they said and what they stuck tew war that they had made a
balloon, and jest came out fer a bit of a spree.’

‘But the arms and the plans?’ interrogated the general.

‘Waal, I allow they had a leetle gun and a pepperbox; but who wouldn’t
these days?’ said Ephraim. ‘And as tew the plans, they warn’t nuthing
but a road map of the valley and a small bit of paper with the news of
the war so far as it’s got. I saw that, so I know.’

‘But what about the struggle?’ put in the brigadier.

‘I’m coming tew that. Ye see, the kernel he questioned the two boys, he
did. One of them war about nineteen and the other sixteen, I should say,
or tharabouts. Fact is, they told him so; but he could git nuthing out
of ’em but that they war jest out fer a spree. The leetle one up and
told him straight, says he: “Southern gentlemen don’t lie.” That’s what
he said.’

The officers all smiled. ‘Well?’ said the general as Ephraim paused.

‘Waal, sir, he wouldn’t begin tew believe ’em, and because he couldn’t
find out nuthing agin ’em, he says: “Cut a couple of ropes from that
balloon and string these cubs up tew the nighest tree.” That’s what he
said.’

‘What!’ vociferated the general. ‘Do you mean to tell me he gave orders
for them to be hanged?’

‘Jest that,’ nodded Ephraim; ‘and they war nuthing but boys, I let yew
know. Waal, the men didn’t like the job, and thar war some hanging back
instead of hanging up; and the kernel he got madder than ever, and when
the older boy up and arsked him ter let ’em orf, he up and kicked him.’

‘The brute!’ interjected the general, and Ephraim went on:

‘With that the leetler boy got mad, and he runs up tew the kernel and
ketches him one, two, right in the face, and before he could turn, the
other boy grabbed him round the legs and laid him on his back; and
before yew could say “Abe Lincoln,” the two of ’em war off tew the
woods.’

‘Bravo!’ exclaimed the brigadier. ‘I am glad of it. Were they followed?’

‘They war,’ replied Ephraim; ‘but I guess the men didn’t want tew ketch
them, for they got clean off.’

‘That is a very different story,’ commented General Shields, when
Ephraim had brought his narrative to a close. ‘Still, there are some
things to be explained. The presence of the balloon is itself
suspicious, and it is incredible that they should have made it
themselves.’

‘That’s what they said, anyhow,’ remarked Ephraim.

‘Quite so; I understand that,’ said the general. ‘I suppose,’ he added
after a pause, ‘you would have no objection to repeat your story if
brought face to face with Colonel Spriggs?’

‘Nary a objection,’ replied Ephraim with alacrity; ‘if ye fetch him
back, I’ll say it all over agen.’ For, seeing the general’s mood, and
having heard his avowed detestation of Spriggs, he began to wish that he
had thrown himself upon the former’s generosity to start with. However,
he thought within himself that there would be no difficulty about that
when the time came.

General Shields scribbled a few lines in his pocket-book and tore out
the leaf: ‘Colonel Spriggs, if you come up with the two men who escaped
from the balloon this morning,’ he read out to his officers, ‘you will
detain them as prisoners and bring them before me, without taking
further action.’

‘I’ll send that on to him in the first instance,’ he said, signing the
paper.—‘Orderly!’ But there was no answer. Cox had, for the time being,
disappeared.

‘Confound the fellow!’ said the general. ‘What does he mean by going out
of call?—No matter,’ he continued to Ephraim, ‘you can take the note
yourself. Your regiment—what is left of it—is a couple of miles in rear
of Lewiston. It will not be in action to-day.—Well, why don’t you go?’
as Ephraim took the note, but made no effort to depart.

‘Ef ye please, ginrul,’ replied the Grizzly with his most sheepish air,
‘I’d be obleeged tew ye, if ye’d let me take the ham. I guess you won’t
want it now, and I left it up thar.’ He pointed to the roof.

General Shields burst out laughing. ‘Well, you are a “Terror,” indeed,’
he said. ‘Take your ham, by all means. I don’t want it, as you say.’

Ephraim instantly swung himself up on the rafter, and while making a
great clattering among the planks, as though looking for his ham,
contrived to whisper: ‘Lie low, Luce. I’ll come back fer ye, wanst they
go away. We’re close ter our own lines.’ Then he dropped down again, and
with his precious burden hugged close to his breast, saluted awkwardly
and turned to the door.

‘Stay!’ cried the general. ‘Before you go, perhaps you can give me your
version of yesterday’s skirmish, in which the “Trailing Terrors” were so
knocked about.’

‘Waal, I didn’t see much of it,’ drawled Ephraim with perfect truth. ‘Ye
onderstand’——

What he would have said was interrupted by a loud clatter of hoofs
outside. A horse was pulled up short, and a courier, hot and perspiring,
rushed into the hut.

‘General!’ he panted. ‘The advance has begun. The cavalry are forward,
as well as the two batteries. The cavalry have reached the fords without
serious opposition.’

‘Orderly!’ shouted General Shields, scribbling again in his pocket-book.

‘Sir,’ answered Cox, stepping inside.

‘Send that note to General Tyler.—My horse outside?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Good! Come, gentlemen. If all goes well, we shall sup with Frémont
to-night. If not, we have a strong position at Lewiston, and there we
will await the attack which is sure to be made to-morrow, if we fail in
our plans to-day. Come!’

Without another word to or thought of Ephraim, he dashed out of the hut.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]



                             CHAPTER VIII.
                     A PAIR OF RELUCTANT RECRUITS.


Ephraim followed the officers to the door of the hut and looked out. For
five minutes he maintained this position without moving or speaking;
then he turned inwards again, and with his usual quiet grin on his face,
hailed: ‘Ye kin git down now, Luce. I reckon the coast is cl’ar.’

Lucius swung down to the floor and burst out laughing. ‘How well you
managed that, Grizzly!’ he said. ‘Do you know, at one time I thought
that you were going to make a clean breast of it, and tell the general
that we had been in the balloon.’

‘I ’low I had some thorts er it,’ answered Ephraim; ’fer he seemed dead
sot agin the cunnel himself; but ye never know what’ll happen. After
all, they war all Yanks in hyar, and though the ginrul seemed inclined
ter be perfeckly fair and squar ’bout them two escaped balloonists, ye
carn’t tell how his complexshun might hev changed ef wanst he knew he’d
got his claws onter ’em.’

‘That’s so,’ agreed Lucius. ‘It was best to be on the safe side. And you
told him the simple truth.’

‘’Ceptin’ ’bout the “Trailin’ Terrors,”’ chuckled Ephraim. ‘Ye see thet
came inter my hed and sorter slipped out before I could stop it. I ’low
I war rather sot back when he purposed ter put me up agin the cunnel;
and ef it hed come ter thet, I’d hev owned up at once. But it’s jest ez
well,’ he went on, ’fer ef the ginrul hed known who we war, he’d hev
been bound ter rope us in fer a while, till he’d got the rights er the
story, and thar’s no tellin’ when we’d hev got home.’

‘We’re not there yet,’ said Lucius dubiously.

‘I know thet, sonny; but we’re on the way; fer now we know whar we air,
and we won’t be long in gettin’ out er this, I tell ye.’

‘Where are we?’ asked Lucius. ‘Somewhere about Port Republic, I gathered
from what was said.’

‘Right, bub. We’re on’y ’bout three miles from thar, and that’s whar old
Stonewall is, holdin’ the bridge. But the road and the woods between
this and thar is choke-full er Yanks; so, ez ye rightly remark, we ain’t
thar yit. On our right is the Shenandoah, ez full er water ez an egg is
er meat, and on our left is the Blue Ridge, so we carn’t do nuthin’ but
go straight on.’

‘We can’t go by the turnpike either,’ said Lucius, ‘for I fancy there
would be a pretty to do if two Federal soldiers were caught walking in
the direction of the enemy.’

‘Thet’s so,’ returned Ephraim. ‘We must keep ter the woods and make the
best of it. It won’t do ter git lost in ’em agen, though, and come
wanderin’ back upon Lewiston. We must hold close by this edge.’

‘Where is Lewiston?’ inquired Lucius. ‘It’s a name I don’t know.’

‘I reckon it’s thet fine big house way back thar, what we saw when we
fust came out er the woods, or nearly—whar the Yankee cannon wuz
planted. And I tell ye what it is. Ef old Stonewall whips Frémont
to-day—and I reckon he will—thar’s goin’ ter be the biggest kick-up thar
ter-morrer you ever heard on. Shields expects it, that’s cl’ar; fer
didn’t ye hear him say he’d wait the attack thar?’

‘I did,’ answered Lucius; ‘but if the bridge is carried, it may make a
difference.’

‘Shucks!’ exclaimed Ephraim with contempt. ‘I reckon ef the Yanks hes
actually got across, they’ll be glad enough to git back agin. Why, old
Stonewall, he’s thar himself.’

Such was the confidence that this general inspired that it never
occurred to Ephraim or to any one else in the valley to doubt that where
Jackson was, there also would the victory be.

‘Well, then, what do you propose to do?’ asked Lucius.

‘Waal,’ replied Ephraim, ‘ez they war so onmannerly ez to plump in upon
us before we could git well started with our breakfast, and ez we hev
the whole day ter git thar, I p’intedly advise thet we fortify our
stummicks fust thing we do.’

‘Right!’ cried Lucius. ‘I’m with you there.’ And with much laughter the
two boys fell to work upon the provisions, and made a hearty meal.

‘I feel better now,’ said the Grizzly, wiping his mouth a few minutes
later. ‘Come along and let us take a squint at what’s goin’ on outside.’

They peeped, the one through the window, and the other through the door,
and no one being in sight, issued from the latter into the open.

‘This hyar is mighty pleasant,’ remarked Ephraim, like the epicure,
serenely full, and enjoying the warm June sunshine; ‘but I s’pose we’d
better make fer the woods in case any wan comes along.’

‘I think so,’ agreed Lucius. ‘There’s no use running unnecessary
risks.—Quick, Grizzly, quick! Here come some soldiers.’

‘Run, Luce, fer all ye’re wuth!’ cried Ephraim, setting the example.
‘Maybe we’ve not been seen.’

It was a foolish proceeding, for they had been seen before they took
flight, and had they remained perfectly still, they would have had a
better chance of escaping unfavourable observation. As it was, their
hasty action condemned them. Around the short arm of the wood, described
above, swept a column of infantry, and as soon as the officer in command
saw, as he supposed, two Federal soldiers in full flight, he very
naturally roared out ‘Halt!’ at the top of his voice. Ephraim and
Lucius, however, paid no attention to this courteous invitation, but
continued their race towards the friendly shelter at top speed.

But they were soon brought up standing. ‘If you don’t stop,’ shouted the
officer, ‘I’ll fire on you. Halt!’ And thus adjured, the fugitives
unwillingly checked their flight and stood still.

‘Never mind, Luce,’ muttered Ephraim; ‘we kin bluff ’em, I reckon.’

‘Why didn’t you stop when I ordered you?’ demanded the officer roughly
as he came up.

The boys were silent. To give the true reason was not at all to their
taste, and no other seemed just then to fit the circumstances. However,
the officer went on without waiting for a reply to his first question:

‘Where were you running to?’

‘Makin’ fer our lines, major,’ replied Ephraim, recognising the
officer’s rank.

‘So. What is your regiment?’

‘The “Trailing Terrors.”’

The major laughed. ‘As usual,’ he said, ‘with their backs the wrong way.
Fall in here, both of you.’

‘Oh, I say, major,’ whined Ephraim, ‘our regiment’s three miles back of
Lewiston.’

‘Is it?’ answered the major. ‘I know. Well, I’ll start you three miles
in front of Lewiston, and show you a little fighting for a change.’

‘General Shields told us the “Terrors” warn’t ter be in action ter-day,’
protested Ephraim, still hanging back.

‘Rubbish! None of your cock-and-bull stories for me. Fall in!’

‘But my comrade’s wounded,’ declared Ephraim desperately. ‘How kin he
fight?’

The major was a good-humoured man, but he began to lose patience. ‘What
do you mean, sir, by arguing with me?’ he cried, striking Ephraim with
the flat of his sword. ‘Do you suppose I don’t know a couple of
confounded skulkers when I see them? There’s nothing wrong with your
comrade’s legs, I should say. I’m not going to stand here all day. Fall
in!’

‘But we han’t got no guns,’ whimpered Ephraim as a last resource.

‘Fall in!’ roared the major.—‘Sergeant Pierce, draft these two cowardly
skulkers into the middle of the column, so that they can’t run away; and
keep your eye on them during the action. If they try to bolt, cut them
down.—Column, forward!’

The sergeant thrust Ephraim and Lucius into the ranks, and the column
moved forward at the double to atone for the short delay.

To exchange ideas on this unpleasant development was impossible; but
Ephraim glanced at Lucius as they trotted along, as much as to say: ‘We
are in for it this time, and, for the life of me, I don’t see how we are
going to get out of it.’ The column was marching two deep, and the
sergeant kept abreast the file formed by the two boys. Presently, as the
men fell by order into the quick step once more, Ephraim addressed the
grizzled warrior in plaintive accents.

‘See hyar, sergeant,’ he said; ‘it ain’t thet we don’t want ter fight.
We feel powerful like fightin’ ef we git the chance; but how air we
goin’ ter do it ’thout nary a gun or a ba’net?’

‘You’ll git ’em before long,’ answered the sergeant. ‘You bet.’

‘Whar air we gwine ter?’ next inquired Ephraim.

‘Oh, shet yer head,’ retorted the sergeant. ‘You’ll know when ye git
thar. Yew two “Trailing Terrors” is going ter hev one day’s gunning this
time, I tell yew.’

Ephraim glanced again at Lucius. The boy’s head was erect, and his face
was flushed; but though his eyes glittered with excitement, he met his
comrade’s look boldly and confidently as he marched along with easy
swinging step. He certainly had not the appearance of one who was
afraid.

Grizzly heaved a breath of relief. Despite his loyalty, his thoughts
would recur to that scene in the balloon; but now, though full of fears
for his friend’s safety, the old pride in him revived in full force, and
he knew that, whatever desperate move their dangerous position might
necessitate, he would be able to count upon Luce’s cool and hearty
co-operation. His feelings insisted upon expression, and slily grasping
Luce’s arm, he gave it a fervent squeeze. In return, the boy smiled up
at him.

‘I dunno what’s goin’ ter happen,’ thought Grizzly; ‘but I ’low it’ll be
funny ef they kin persuade Luce and me ter shoot our own friends. By
time! Luce war sot on seein’ a battle, and I reckon he’s goin’ ter hev
his way this time, same ez always. On’y, things hes got twisted upside
down most outrageous. And it’s all along er me, too.’ A sharp pang of
generous self-reproach shot through him; but the current of his
reflections was rudely turned aside by the loud, abrupt command:

‘Column, halt!’

The blue ranks stood fast, awaiting the next order.

It rang out, followed by others in rapid succession. ‘Form line on the
leading company! Remaining companies four paces on the right
backwards—wheel! Quick march! Number one, eyes right—dress! Eyes front!
Number two, halt—dress! Eyes front! Form line! Quick march! Number one,
number two, number four, right—wheel! Halt—dress up! Eyes front!
Steady!’ And so the column moved into line.

Lucius was the front man of his file, Ephraim the rear, and when the
rush and hurry of the movement were past, and they had opportunity for
observation, their eyes rested upon a strange and unfamiliar scene.

They had reached Port Republic, the streets of which were swarming with
Federal cavalry, the advance of Shields’s army, who had dashed into the
village by the fords of the South Fork; while a couple of field-pieces
rumbled along to take up an advantageous position. Right in front, over
the rolling Shenandoah ran the long wooden bridge, so much coveted by
the Federal commander as the key to Jackson’s position, and one of the
field-pieces had nearly reached the end which abutted on the village. On
the heights upon the opposite side of the river could be seen
Confederate horsemen and the pickets who had been driven in, fleeing for
their lives upon their supports. From the other end of the village came
the crackling rattle of musketry, telling that a stand of some sort was
being made, though what or where they could not see. Only, overhead the
bullets sang with angry, venomous _wheep_! And Lucius, unaccustomed to
the fearsome sound, felt his head duck of its own accord, so close did
the fatal singing seem to his ear.

The boys’ hearts sank within them. To their inexperienced eyes it looked
as if old Stonewall must be caught at last. The terrible field-piece had
reached the head of the bridge, unlimbered, and now commanded the narrow
way. And other approach there was none. The second cannon, planted below
them in the village, already roared its angry defiance and hurled its
iron messengers of death upon the wooded heights, where the enemy was
supposed to be.

Flash! A bright streak of light far up on the heights. A curling wreath
of smoke. Then boom! A shell hurtled through the air, shrieked for an
instant like a fury in their ears, then bang! crash! it exploded in
front of the line, hurling frightful jagged fragments right, left,
front, rear—in all directions.

An involuntary moan burst from Lucius. The file next him and Ephraim on
their right had gone down, and the two men who had composed it lay a
blood-stained heap upon the ground, all semblance of humanity gone, and
only a few twitchings of the shattered limbs to tell that the wretched
atom of life left in them was hastening fast away.

‘Hold up, Luce!’ whispered Ephraim, all his thoughts upon his friend,
though he felt sick with the horror of the ghastly sight.

Lucius nodded to the heights in front of him. He could not turn round.
His tongue had slipped forward between his teeth, and he bit it till the
blood flowed into his mouth. A vague wonder possessed him as to where
the salt taste came from—came and passed through his brain like
lightning. Then his head went up again and he stood still—so still that
he excited the admiration of his left-hand man, who muttered, ‘Ye stood
that well!’ Whereas, as a matter of fact, Lucius was simply stiffened
into immobility. Then something seemed to give way in his brain. The
swift thought crossed him, ‘It’s soon over, anyway;’ the tension of his
limbs relaxed, and all fear fled. He had received his baptism of fire,
and his heart grew strong within him. Another puff of smoke from the
battery on the heights. Another screaming shell. And Lucius found
himself idly wondering where it would fall, and careless where it fell.

‘How odd,’ he thought within himself, ‘that I should feel so cool now in
this unknown, terrible situation, while in the balloon’—— Fatal
recollection! The dreadful memory fell upon him like a bolt, and his
knees shook under him so violently that he nearly fell to the ground.

His neighbour looked curiously at him, unprepared for the sudden change,
while from Ephraim came again the warning whisper, ‘Hold up, Luce!’

Recovering himself, Lucius turned and laughed in Ephraim’s face. ‘I was
thinking of Blue Bag just then,’ he muttered.

Utterly taken aback by this singular statement, Ephraim weakly
ejaculated, ‘Oh!’ and finding nothing more to say, relapsed into
silence.

Sergeant Pierce stepped through the broken file to the front, and
stooping down, picked up the rifles from the road and removed the belts
with their ammunition pouches from the two dead men.

‘Hyar, yew two “Terrors,”’ he said, ‘ketch hold on these. Yew can’t say
yew haven’t got anything to fight with now. I thought it wouldn’t be
long before yew war provided.’ Lucius received the rifle and belt with a
little giggle which he could not entirely suppress. He was feeling
strangely light and cheerful. Tragedy was turning to comedy. He was
wearing the clothes of one dead man; why should he not receive the arms
of another? He longed to speak, to say something—anything. He had the
greatest difficulty in repressing a hilarious shout of ‘Hi! Grizzly,
isn’t it a joke—two young Rebs asked to shoot their own men?’ His
feelings found vent at last in the admonitory remark to Pierce, ‘Mind
you keep your eye on us, sergeant.’

The air was full of flying missiles, but Lucius no longer ducked his
head. He seemed not to hear them. The sergeant looked down at him from
his superior height and grinned. ‘I guess we misjudged yew,’ he said.
‘Yew’re’—— He stopped suddenly. The pupils of his eyes, still fixed upon
Lucius, dilated; the upper lip, drawn up by the action of the genial
smile, drooped down upon the lower in a pout. For an instant his sturdy
frame kept its position, martial and erect to the last, and then without
a word or a groan he fell dead, shot through the heart.

Lucius looked at him and did not blench, but his neighbour growled
discontentedly, ‘This air gitting too hot, I guess. Ain’t we never tew
git the word to fire?’ Then that man, too, fell suddenly dead. It was,
as he had said, getting remarkably hot. All at once on the crest of the
heights three more batteries appeared, the black-muzzled cannon grinning
down upon the village. But the guns were silent, though the cannoneers
stood beside them, ready to teach them their one deadly monosyllable.
They were waiting for something. What was it? Ah! here it comes.

Down the hill, marching by the flank in a strong, steady gray line, came
a regiment, and as they caught sight of the bridge, the supreme point of
advantage, the men, carried away by enthusiasm, roared out the Rebel
yell, and rushed towards it at double quick. Alongside them, directing
every movement, rode their general, erect upon his horse, calm and
serene as though his troops were passing him in review order. To be led
by him! To go in under the eye of Stonewall Jackson! Ah! there was not a
man there but would have died where he was rather than face about and
flee. There was not a regiment upon the hill that did not envy the 37th
Virginia, marching to take the bridge.

Ephraim bent forward and grasped Lucius by the arm. ‘By time! Luce,’ he
hissed into his comrade’s ear, ‘it’s old Stonewall himself! Lie low, fer
goodness’ sake.’ For he feared lest a shout of joy from Luce should
betray them to the Federals for what they were.

On came the 37th, and now all down the long Federal line ran the one
word ‘Ready!’ and the gunners at the bridge sprang to the gun.

Then Jackson was seen to stop, and from his lips rang out a sharp, stern
word of command. The boys could not hear what he said, but they watched
his every movement with blazing eyes. Standing in his stirrups,
Stonewall waved his sword towards the bridge, and cried in ringing
tones: ‘Fire one round upon those people at the bridge. Then charge and
give them the bayonet! Fire!’

He dropped the reins upon his horse’s neck, and all the light of battle
dying out of his face, raised his hands and eyes to heaven in mute
supplication.

Down the hill swept the 37th, and without pausing to wheel into line,
fired one volley and charged. Before that withering fire the gunners
melted away from the gun like snow in the sun, and with a yell that set
the old hills ringing, the Virginians rushed across the bridge.

‘Fire!’ roared the Federal commander, and one thin sputtering volley
rattled from the ranks where Luce and Ephraim stood. But ere they could
reload, from every cannon on the height burst forth an iron hail, from
the streets in rear of them came crashing deadly volleys, from the
bridge in front of them the Virginians poured upwards, mad, vengeful,
resistless. That flashing line of steel, that terrible ear-piercing
yell—they were more than mortal man could stand. The gun by the bridge
was taken, the gun in the streets was deserted. It was hopeless to wait,
for their supports had not come up. Panic seized the Federal infantry,
and as the cold steel gleamed in their eyes, they broke and fled.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]



                              CHAPTER IX.
        HOW GENERAL SHIELDS SENT A DESPATCH TO GENERAL FRÉMONT.


When the stampede before the onrush of the Virginians occurred, Ephraim
and Lucius would have been heartily glad to bolt in the opposite
direction—namely, towards their friends; but two circumstances precluded
the possibility of such a course. The one, that without any consultation
on the subject, they both recognised the danger they ran of being shot
down or bayoneted by the men of the 37th, if they ventured to run
towards them, dressed as they were in Federal uniforms. For in the fury
of that charge but little opportunity was likely to arise for either
offering or receiving explanations. Another and even more potent reason
was that, however their inclinations might have prompted them to such a
step, it was absolutely impossible for them to carry it out, for the
rush of the Federal troops behind them swept them forward with such an
irresistible impulse that they had no choice but to take to their heels
in the direction of Lewiston. And this they did with a hearty good-will
which the roar of cannon and rattle of musketry behind them kept very
fully alive.

The retreat was not conducted in what is called good order. It was a
regular _sauve qui peut_, and it was not until the fugitives ran into
the fresh troops coming up to their support that a stand was made and
something like a rally effected. But even these were of no avail, and
the advance was promptly checked by the well-directed shot from the
Confederate batteries, which were now all in position upon the opposite
heights across the river; and the supporting columns, shattered by the
murderous discharge, wavered, recoiled, broke, and in their turn bolted
back to the shelter of the woods near Lewiston. As they fled, the
Confederates limbered up and pursued them, keeping, of course, to the
north side of the river, till at last the discomfiture of the Federals
was complete; and Shields, recognising the futility of any further
attempt upon a position so well defended, and which he could only attack
at such absolute disadvantage to himself, was compelled to remain quiet
all day, actually within sound of the cannonade which told of the
struggle in which Frémont was engaged alone at Cross Keys.

When the second repulse and consequent flight took place, Ephraim and
Lucius followed the example of most of their comrades by compulsion, and
sought the shelter of the woods, where they were at least safer from the
cannonade than in the open. Looking up the valley from Lewiston towards
Port Republic, a bird’s-eye view would have revealed three marked
topographical features, roughly speaking, parallel to one another. On
the right was the Shenandoah River; next to this, and to the left of it,
open country and cultivated fields; and farther still to the left, the
dense forest, three miles wide, which extended to the base of the Blue
Ridge. When forced to descend in the balloon, the boys had entered the
wood on the side next the mountain, and their flight from the colonel
and subsequent wanderings had carried them clear across it to the side
facing the river, where they had fallen in with the little hut in the
clearing, which was really a woodsman’s cabin on the Lewiston estate.
They were now, therefore, still on the same side as the hut, but a mile
or so above it.

‘I tell ye what it is, Luce,’ said Ephraim in his companion’s ear, as
they hurried along, ‘we air goin’ too fast. We’ll be in the Yankee camp
at this rate before many minnits is over. Let’s hang back a bit.’

They did so, gradually slackening their pace, and allowing the stream of
fugitives to roll past them, till at last being, so far as they could
see, alone, they sat down under a tree to take breath.

For a moment they looked at one another in silence. Then Ephraim said
with a good deal of emotion in his voice: ‘I am the most or’nery fool in
a town whar there’s a good few er the sort. I thort ter let ye hev a
piece er funnin’, and now I’ve nearly been the death er ye twice, and
gracious knows what’ll happen yit before we git through with this
one-horse adventure.’

‘I don’t call it a one-horse adventure,’ replied Lucius. ‘A whole team
would be more like it. I imagine this is what you might call a pretty
crowded day. Eh, Grizzly?’

‘Waal, I ’low it is so fur,’ admitted Ephraim with the ghost of a smile.
‘Same time, I dunno what I’d hev done ter myself ef ennythin’ had gone
wrong with ye in thet rumpus jest now. I’d never hev got over it or
fergiv myself. By time! ter see them two pore men go down like thet
alongside us all in a moment. It might jest ez well hev been you.’ He
blew his nose loudly, and furtively knuckled his eyes.

‘But it wasn’t, you see,’ returned Lucius cheerfully. ‘A miss is as good
as a mile, Grizzly. And I wish you wouldn’t blame yourself, for I came
with you of my own free will.’

‘Ye didn’t bargain fer all this, though,’ said Ephraim mournfully. ‘Ye
didn’t ’magine ye were ter be stuck up ez a target fer our own boys.—By
gracious!’ he added with animation, forgetting his troubles in the
glorious recollection, ‘didn’t they give the Yanks howdy in fine style?
See ’em comin’ across thet bridge! Didn’t they jest nat’ally tear
along?’

‘They did,’ answered Lucius with glistening eyes. ‘It was splendid.—So
we’ve seen a battle after all,’ he went on, with a low laugh of
satisfaction.

‘Ah!’ replied Ephraim. ‘And ye warn’t sittin’ on the ring fence nuther.’

‘No,’ chuckled Lucius, ‘and thet bull er Holmes’s is powerful
servigerous.’ He laughed out again.

‘Garn away! What air ye givin’ me?’ said Ephraim. ‘But I ’low, Luce, ter
see ye standin’ thar in the ranks like a bit er rock, it war
marvellious.’

‘I can tell you I felt badly enough at first, when those two men were
killed alongside us,’ said Lucius. ‘I might have been a thousand miles
underground for all the power I had to move. I was simply stiffened
where I stood. Then it all seemed to go away and leave me, and I felt
quite cool. How did you feel?’

‘Pretty bad,’ admitted Ephraim. ‘But I war so taken up with thinkin’
about you thet it soon went orf.’ He made this remark in the most
matter-of-fact way, not in the least to draw attention to his own
unselfishness, but as if it were the most natural thing in the world
that Lucius should be his first concern.

‘Well, I’m afraid that I was thinking of myself,’ said Lucius; ‘but
after the first burst I only grew more and more interested in the
fight.’

‘Oh yes,’ exclaimed Ephraim, struck by a sudden recollection. ‘What made
ye turn round and say thet about old Blue Bag?’

The fire went out of Luce’s eyes; the glow faded from his cheeks and
left them pale. Again the memory of those awful moments in the air
overcame him. His voice was unsteady as he answered: ‘I don’t know what
set me thinking of it; but all of a sudden the thought crossed me, and I
felt as if I should die. I never shall forget it. I never can forget it
as long as I live.’

He shuddered violently. He was not exaggerating. The impression made
upon him by his adventures in the air had been supreme. It had taken
fast hold of some corner of his brain in a manner which perhaps the
doctors could explain, and whenever imagination or memory called it
forth, it threatened to unman him.

Ephraim considered him curiously. He could not understand the almost
simultaneous exhibition of such opposite states of mind. However, he had
wit enough to let the subject drop, and only answered: ‘Waal, we won’t
talk about thet any more; I guess it’s over now. See hyar, Luce, I think
our best plan will be to make fer thet little cabin agen and lie low
thar till evenin’, when we kin make a break fer our lines.’

‘I don’t think that we ought to venture into that loft a second time,’
said Lucius. ‘If the general caught us there again and recognised you,
there would be trouble.’

‘Thar would, shore enuff,’ agreed Ephraim; ‘but ye misonderstand me,
Luce. I didn’t mean to hide in the loft, but ter walk right inter the
cabin, lie down and take a snooze till it gits dark enuff ter be orf. Ef
any one comes in we kin jest walk out agin. We kin always say we’re
makin’ fer our lines.’

‘I see,’ said Lucius. ‘Very well. Besides, it doesn’t follow that the
general will return. But are you sure that you can find your way there?’

‘Why wouldn’t we?’ returned Ephraim. ‘It’s on this side er the wood, and
not so far away et thet. Come on.’

They hugged the edge of the wood, and after walking for twenty minutes
or so, again reached the clearing in which the log cabin stood. No one
was in sight; but still, instead of approaching it from the open side,
they preferred to skirt the wood a little further and reconnoitre
through the window in case of accidents.

At last they stood opposite to the window, and here Ephraim pulled
Lucius back.

‘You stay hyar, Luce,’ he said. ‘I’ll go forward and see ef the coast is
cl’ar.’

‘Not at all,’ answered Lucius; ‘you’re always doing that sort of thing.
I’ll go for a change.’

‘No, lemme go,’ protested Ephraim. ‘What’s the use er runnin’ yerself
inter danger ’thout any reason?’

‘The danger is the same for you as for me,’ retorted Lucius. ‘I tell you
I am going.’

‘Then we’ll both go,’ said Ephraim decidedly, and accordingly they went.

Cautiously approaching the window, they peeped in and surveyed the
cabin. To their great relief it was empty; but before Lucius knew what
he was about, Ephraim stole quietly round the hut and surveyed the open
space.

‘It’s all cl’ar, Luce,’ he said in a tone of satisfaction. ‘I don’t see
nary a Yank. They’re not fur orf, though, fer the camp is jest beyond
the woods thar.’

‘Then shall we go in here?’ asked Lucius. ‘You think that is the best
thing to do?’

‘I reckon,’ returned Ephraim laconically, and slipped in through the
window by way of illustration. ‘By time!’ he exclaimed when he was
fairly in, ‘thar’s been some one in hyar sence we made tracks out er
it.’

‘How do you know?’ inquired Lucius, scrambling in to join him.

‘Why, all the food is gone,’ sighed Ephraim, pointing to the table with
a sigh. ‘I war looking forward ter a fresh supply er them crackers after
all this runnin’ around.’

‘I’ve got plenty here,’ said Lucius, slapping his pockets; ‘and you’ve
got the ham.’

‘It won’t do ter gobble up thet jest yet, Luce,’ explained cautious
Ephraim. ‘Ye kin hev jest wan slice ef ye’re sharp set, but we must keep
some fer ter-night in case we run dry.’

‘No, I’m not very hungry,’ answered Lucius; ‘but I’ve turned most
unaccountably sleepy all of a sudden.’

‘Nuthin’ onaccountable about thet,’ said Ephraim, ‘seein’ ye never went
ter bed at all last night, and hev been up all ter-day. Lie down in the
corner and take a snooze. I’ll look after things.’

‘Why,’ asked Lucius, surprised, ‘aren’t you sleepy, too? You said you
were just now.’

‘Ez ter thet,’ responded Ephraim, ‘I kin hold old man Nod orf a bit yit,
I reckon. It’ll maybe suit better ef we don’t go ter sleep at the same
time.’

‘I see,’ said Lucius with a huge yawn. ‘Well then, you lie down, and
I’ll take the first watch.’

‘Shucks!’ ejaculated Ephraim. ‘What does it matter? Ye air half over
already. Go ter sleep. I’ll git my allowance by-and-by.’

‘But,’ began Lucius drowsily, ‘you always do everything. I—I—don’t
see—why’——. He mumbled on for a second or two, nodded heavily, started
into semi-wakefulness, nodded again, and rolled over fast asleep.

Ephraim looked down at him with an expression in which tenderness for
his friend and self-reproach were blended. ‘Pore Luce,’ he murmured, ‘ye
air jest nat’ally tuckered out. I wish I hadn’t been sech a or’nery fool
with my notions. I’d give suthin’ ter see ye back agen safe and sound in
the old home et Staunton. Pray God I’ll git ye thar yit, though.

He stole to the door, and going outside, planted himself with his back
against the logs of the cabin, so that he could command a view of all
approaches by the front or sides. For he rightly judged that only
skulkers would be likely to enter by the window, and for them he did not
care.

‘“Carry me back to old Virginny,”’ he hummed softly to himself, as he
glanced up and down; up to where he knew the Federal camp lay concealed
behind the bend of the woods; down to where, though he could not see
them either, he knew that the Confederates were still standing to arms,
expecting a fresh attack on the part of Shields, and wondering why it
never came. But Shields was too astute. It was as if he had heard the
remark made by Jackson to his chief of staff, when the latter expressed
the opinion that Shields would make a more determined attack on the
bridge at Port Republic before the day was out. ‘Not he,’ said
Stonewall, waving his hand towards the heights. ‘I should tear him to
pieces. Look at my artillery.’

Boom! boom! boom! came the sound of the heavy guns at Cross Keys, and
Ephraim’s face brightened as he pictured the struggle, in which he made
not the slightest doubt Frémont was getting very much the worst of it.

‘Old Stonewall will be hyar ter-morrer,’ he thought, ‘and then thar’ll
be big doin’s.’

Boom! boom! The monotony of the sound, fraught with no matter what
deadly meaning, began to weary him. He straightened up and walked slowly
up and down in front of the cabin. He was fearfully tired, and the
desire for sleep threatened to overcome him even as he walked. But he
shook it angrily off, pinching himself into wakefulness, until at last
the desire fled from him.

The hours wore on to mid-day, mid-day passed to afternoon, afternoon
dragged towards evening, and still he kept his self-imposed vigil,
pacing up and pacing down, leaning against the wall of the cabin, or
occasionally stepping discreetly inside, when a messenger or a patrol
hurried by, or when blare of bugle or roll of drum in the Federal camp
beyond the trees seemed to indicate a movement in the direction of the
bridge.

It never occurred to him to wake Lucius, who still lay wrapped in
profound slumber, only every now and then he stole in to look at him as
though to satisfy himself that the boy was safe, and then out again to
his sentry go.

About four o’clock he had just stepped outside after one of these little
visits, which consoled him a good deal for the trouble he was taking,
for even to look at Lucius was always a delight to Ephraim—he had just
stepped outside, when his watchful eye, turned in the direction of the
Federal camp, observed two persons coming round the bend of the woods.

One he instantly recognised as General Shields; but with the features of
the other, who was in civilian dress, he was unfamiliar. Like a flash
Ephraim was back again in the cabin, peering round the corner of the
door at the advancing couple. ‘I wonder ef he’s comin’ in hyar,’ he
thought. ‘I should say not, but it’s better to be on the safe side these
days. I hate ter wake Luce; but I reckon it’ll have ter be done.’

He sped to Luce’s side, and bending over him, shook him strongly. The
boy stirred, moaned uneasily, but did not open his eyes. Ephraim rushed
to the door and back again.

‘Wake up, Luce!’ he called, shaking him more violently than ever. ‘Wake
up! The ginrul’s outside, and ef he comes in and ketches me hyar,
thar’ll be trouble, ez ye said. Wake up!’

This time Lucius opened his eyes, but only to close them instantly, and
fall once more heavily asleep.

‘By time!’ muttered Ephraim, glancing at the window, the desperate
thought occurring to him that the best thing to do would be to heave
Lucius straight out, as the most effectual way of awakening him. Then he
shook his head. ‘No,’ he said to himself, ‘thet’ll not do. He might
yelp, and then we would be spotted shore and certain. Whar air they
now?’ He took another squint from his vantage point. The general and his
companion were approaching, sauntering slowly along, deep in earnest
conversation.

Once again Ephraim repeated the shaking process, and this time with such
good effect that Lucius sat up, rubbed his eyes, stared at the Grizzly
in a bewildered fashion for an instant, and concluded by asking where he
was.

‘Wake up!’ returned Ephraim. ‘Ye’ll soon know. Through the window,
quick! Ah!’ as voices were plainly heard outside, ‘it’s too late. We
must just face it out. Maybe they won’t come in.’

His next glance relieved his apprehensions. Evidently the unwelcome
visitors did not intend to enter. They were walking wide of the hut, not
looking at it, and in a moment or two would have passed it by. Ephraim
made a warning sign to the now wide-awake Lucius, as fragments of the
conversation floated to them.

‘So you see,’ General Shields was saying, ‘it is of the highest
importance that what we could not do for him to-day, General Frémont
should do for us to-morrow. Whatever be the result of to-day’s fight at
Cross Keys, he must effect a junction with me to-morrow, and to that end
those despatches, detailing my plans, must be in his hands to-night. I
know it is difficult; but do you not think’—— The rest of the sentence
was lost in the distance, as the two passed on.

‘Shall we get through the window now?’ asked Lucius, as the voices died
away.

‘I reckon not,’ returned Ephraim; ‘they might see us from the other
side. Better stay whar we air till they air out er sight. They’re not
thinkin’ er us jest now.’

‘What were they talking about?’ inquired Lucius, who, having been
further from the door, had not heard the conversation so perfectly.

‘I dunno rightly; but it’s suthin’ about gittin’ word over ter Frémont
about ter-morrer’s fight. Sh! Hyar they come back again. Now, lemme do
the talkin’ ef they come in.’

This time it was the voice of the civilian that reached them. ‘I’ve done
it before in the boat, general,’ he was saying, ‘and I don’t know what
is to hinder me doing it again.’

‘Well, I don’t want to confuse you with suggestions,’ said General
Shields in reply. ‘You know your own business too well for that. You are
sure the boat is there?’

‘It was there two hours ago, snug under the bank. I don’t see why it
shouldn’t be there now.’

‘You know our new word, of course?’

‘Oh yes; and theirs too, unless it has been changed since this morning.’

They came to a halt opposite the door of the cabin, behind the door of
which Ephraim instantly flattened himself, while Lucius stood stiffly
erect in a corner.

The general began to laugh. ‘If you can take a dip down, and learn
anything of Jackson’s intentions before you return, you admirable
civilian, I shall be all the more pleased,’ he said. Then noting the
look of surprise on his companion’s face, he added hastily: ‘I was
laughing at the recollection of a ridiculous incident which happened in
there this morning. I’ll tell you as we go along.’ And taking the
civilian by the arm, he continued his walk in the direction of the camp.

Ephraim stole a cautious glance round the post of the door. ‘By time!’
he grinned, when they were out of earshot. ‘Ef he’d come in and
suspected we’d heard thet pretty bit of news, I reckon he’d hev larft
the wrong side of his mouth.’

‘Tell me, what does it mean?’ asked Lucius eagerly.

‘I reckon it means thet the admire-able civilian, as the ginrul called
him, is a pesky spy,’ replied Ephraim.

‘As Colonel Spriggs said you and I were,’ laughed Lucius.

‘Ezackly! On’y this yer’s the real article, wharas we war on’y
imitashuns. Anyway, this is the way I put it up. The civilian thar—who
most likely ain’t a civilian at all—hes got a pocketful er despatches
fer Ginrul Frémont. Likewise, he hes got a boat somewhar over thar under
the river bank. Likewise, he perposes to row across above our pickets
and hand ’em ter Frémont. Likewise, his intention is, the orn’ery skunk,
ter take a stroll down ter Stonewall’s camp, and find out all he kin.
Likewise’——

‘Likewise,’ interrupted Lucius, ‘you’ve got an idea into your head that
those despatches would be better in General Jackson’s hands than in
General Frémont’s, and you are wondering if we couldn’t somehow manage
to get hold of them.’

Grizzly made a step forward and caught Lucius by the hand. ‘Right ye
air, Luce!’ he cried, beaming upon his friend. ‘Ye hev struck it. Thet
war my idee, on’y I don’t ezackly see how it’s gwine ter be done.’ He
paused to put on his considering cap.

‘I’d like to have a try for it,’ said Lucius with a grimace. ‘You see,
I’ve been thinking a good deal what an awful row there’ll be when I get
home—that is, if I ever do get home; but if we could show that we’d done
some real service to them, why, they wouldn’t have so much to say,’ he
finished, having become rather mixed in his pronouns. ‘Why shouldn’t we
make for the river and head him off, Grizzly?’ he continued, after a
pause. ‘We’ve got guns and ammunition now. I believe we could do it.’

‘Ef we on’y knew ezackly when he’d start, and how fur away his boat is,’
said Ephraim dubiously.

‘Well,’ said Lucius, who had gone to the door, ‘there is a civilian
walking towards the river now. See, he has just come round the bend of
the woods from the camp. Of course, I don’t know whether it’s your
admirable civilian or not, for I didn’t see him, but’——

‘By time! It’s him, shore enuff,’ broke in the Grizzly excitedly. ‘Now,
Luce, ef we’re goin’ ter do ennythin’, we must do it sharp and quick. We
carn’t foller straight in his tracks, thet much is cl’ar. He’s got a
start, and we must allow him a leetle more. What we got ter do is, to go
down the woods a space, and then make a bee-line fer the river. We kin
steal up the bank through the belt er trees thet fringes it, and ef we
carn’t head him orf, maybe we kin stop him before he gits across.’ He
tapped his rifle significantly.

They set off running as hard as they could through the trees for a
hundred yards or more, and then Ephraim stopped to spy out the land.

‘He’s goin’ very slow, Luce,’ he said. ‘I reckon we shall head him off
if we kin git thar ’thout bein’ stopped. Now, bub, across the first
field fer all ye’re wuth.’

Three wide fields intervened between them and the river, and the risk
that they would be seen was very great. They were forced to incur it,
though; and, besides, they hoped that their blue uniforms would divert
suspicion from them if any one should catch sight of them. However, they
crossed the first and second fields in safety, and concealed themselves
in a ditch while making a survey of the third. The man was out of sight
now, but it was only the conformation of the country which concealed
him. As a matter of fact, the boys were nearer the river than he was.

‘Thar’s one thing, though,’ said Ephraim, as they sat in the ditch.
‘Thet belt er wood by the river is bound ter be full er Yankee pickets.
We han’t got the countersign. What’s ter be done ef we air stopped?’

‘Let’s go on until we are stopped,’ urged Lucius the bold.

Ephraim shook his head. ‘No,’ he said; ‘that’ll not do. We should on’y
be turned back agen.’ He thought deeply for a moment, the blue vein
coming out in the middle of his forehead, as it always did when his mind
was concentrated. All at once he slapped his hand upon his thigh. ‘By
time! I’ve got it!’ he exclaimed, and burst out laughing.

‘What have you thought of?’ asked Lucius eagerly.

The Grizzly made him a rapid communication, the effect of which upon
Lucius was to cause him to throw himself flat upon the bank of the ditch
and roll about with delight.

‘Come on!’ cried the Grizzly. ‘Now mind ye do ezackly ez I do, and when
ye run, keep a sharp eye fer the boat.’

They set off again at a quick pace, until they had cleared the field and
entered the broad belt of trees which fringed the water. Here they
slowed down, and made a bee-line, so far as they could, for the river.
In five minutes or less they heard the splash of the swollen current
against the bank, and turning their faces sharply down stream, moved on
for two or three minutes more, making all the noise they could.

‘Halt! Who comes there?’

No sooner did the sharp challenge ring out than, as if at a signal for
which they had been waiting, the two boys burst into wild,
panic-stricken yells: ‘The Rebs! the Rebs! They’re on us! The pickets
are driven in!’ Shouting which they charged madly down upon the sentry
who had challenged them. Seeing, as he supposed, two Federal sentries in
full flight, the man never doubted for a moment that the alarm was
genuine, and discharging his rifle in the air, set off as hard as his
legs could carry him through the belt of trees towards the fields,
beyond which lay the camp.

And now all along the river bank the cry was taken up, ‘The Rebs! the
Rebs!’ and everywhere could be heard the sound of feet crashing through
the undergrowth, as the pickets bolted in upon their supports.

Bursting with laughter, Ephraim and Lucius watched the disappearance of
the man immediately in their front; but the sharp call of a bugle and
the noise of the long roll upon the drums, as the Federal regiments
sprang to arms in anticipation of the threatened attack, warned them
that there was no time to lose, and they continued their race down the
bank.

‘There’s the boat!’ panted Lucius, after a few minutes. ‘I see her nose
just peeping out.’

‘Down in the underbrush, then!’ said Ephraim sharply, ‘and don’t git up
unless I call ye, or ye see thar’s need.’

‘What are you going to do?’ asked Lucius, obeying the order.

‘Give ’em a taste of their own sauce, I reckon! Hush! Hyar he comes. Lie
low!’

He flung himself in front of Lucius, with his rifle at the port, and
waited.

Hurrying footsteps drew nearer. Some one was coming on at express speed.

Ephraim gripped his rifle tight, and set his teeth.

Swish! The bushes parted, and the civilian stood before him.

‘Halt!’ shouted the Grizzly, bringing his bayoneted rifle down to the
charge. ‘Halt! Who comes thar?’

[Illustration]



                               CHAPTER X.
                   HOW THAT DESPATCH WAS INTERCEPTED.


‘Halt! Who comes thar?’ repeated Ephraim, as the civilian paused,
regarding him with an expression of supreme astonishment.

There was reason for the stranger’s amazement. He had moored his boat
well above the chain of sentries—a good quarter of a mile, indeed—for no
attack could be expected from the river, and naturally none could come
from the north below Lewiston, and therefore only the sentries whom
Ephraim and Lucius had scared had been posted in the former place, and
none at all in the latter.

Consequently the civilian was puzzled. His first thought was, that he
had struck a point too low down for his boat; his second, that he
remembered every detail of the appearance of the spot, and that he could
not possibly be mistaken. However, when, for the third time, the
peremptory challenge sounded in his ears, he put as good a face as he
could upon the matter, and answered distinctly and with confidence,
‘Friend!’

‘Advance, friend, and give the countersign,’ ordered Ephraim, to the
huge delight of Lucius, with whom he had many a time and oft rehearsed
just such a scene in the workshop, little imagining it would ever be
carried out in actual practice. The stranger advanced till the point of
Ephraim’s bayonet was within six inches of his chest.

‘Halt!’ cried Ephraim once more. ‘That’s close enough. Now stand and
give the countersign.’

The civilian hesitated an instant. He could not tell where the
suggestion came from, but somehow the thought flashed into his brain
that all was not as it should be. ‘Potomac,’ he answered steadily.

Ephraim saw the momentary hesitation, and read it aright. His own danger
made him alert. ‘Go back the way you came,’ he said, keeping his rifle
at the charge.’ That ain’t the word.’

It was a bold move, but it told; and the Grizzly, to his own relief,
noticed the expression of mingled surprise and satisfaction on the
stranger’s face.

‘Shenandoah,’ said the civilian. ‘Will that suit you?’

‘That’s better,’ answered Ephraim, but without shouldering arms. ‘Why
did you give me the wrong one fust?’

‘I—I was thinking of yesterday,’ replied the stranger rather confusedly.

‘Ah!’ retorted Ephraim drily. ‘Waal, I’m put hyar tew think on to-day.
What d’ye want?’

‘What do I want, you fool?’ replied the man angrily. ‘Why, I want to
pass, of course. Shoulder arms.’

‘Who air yew orderin’ about?’ snapped Ephraim. ‘And yew keep a civil
tongue in yewr head, mister. Don’t yew be so ready tew call names.’

‘Well, I didn’t mean that,’ said the stranger, wishful to conciliate
him. ‘I was anxious to pass, that is all. I am sorry. Let me pass,
please, for I am in a hurry.’

‘Hurry or no hurry,’ returned Ephraim stolidly, ‘ye don’t pass hyar. Go
back, or I’ll run ye through.’

He looked so fierce as he said it, that the stranger actually did recoil
a pace or two. But he recovered himself instantly, and said smoothly:

‘Look here, my good friend, what is your objection to letting me pass? I
gave you the word.’

‘But yew gave me the wrong one to start with,’ answered Ephraim,
glowering at him.

The stranger bit his lip. He saw he had made a mistake, and, in
endeavouring to explain it, he appeared to offend the sentry still
further.

‘I said it in jest—to try you—to see if you were a smart fellow,’ he
said, with a little laugh.

‘Oh, did yew?’ Ephraim frowned upon him. ‘Waal, yew’ll find I’m smart
enuff fer the like of yew, I guess. Quit now. I ain’t got no time or
inclernashun fer more fooling.’

‘Nor I, either,’ answered the civilian haughtily. ‘So let me pass at
once—or’——

‘Or what?’

‘Or I’ll report you.’

‘Yew’ll report me!’ sneered Ephraim, advancing upon the man until the
ugly-looking bayonet just touched his coat. ‘I tell yew, ef yew ain’t
out of that afore I count ten, thar won’t be much left of yew to report.
Quit, I say.’

The civilian made another backward step. ‘Look here, sentry,’ he said,
‘this is getting beyond a joke. I tell you, I have important business,
and I must pass. I’ve given you the word, and that gives me the right.
Come, now,’ he wheedled; ‘don’t be obstinate.’

‘And I’ve the right, and, what’s more, it’s my duty tew stop any one I
consider a suspishus character, word or no word,’ replied Ephraim. ‘Yew
come here, a soldier dressed up ez a civilian; yew gimme fust the wrong
word, and then the right word; and then yew try tew git round me tew let
yew pass. I say yew shan’t pass.’

The man started during Ephraim’s speech. ‘How do you know that I am a
soldier?’ he asked.

‘By the set of yewr shoulders and yewr walk,’ replied Ephraim. ‘Any one
could see ez much ez that.’

‘Then, perhaps, you know who I am as well?’

‘No, I don’t; but I guess I have a fairly good notion what yew air ez
well.’

‘And what may that be?’

‘A spy,’ answered Ephraim gloomily. ‘I don’t know but what I orter run
yew through whar yew stand ef I done right. But I’ll give yew one more
chance. Quit, or take the consequences.’

‘Look here,’ said the man suddenly. ‘I know you are only doing your duty
according to your lights; but if you knew everything, you’d find you
were rather exceeding it. I tell you what, I am all right. There’s
nothing wrong about me. I don’t want a fuss, or to lose time. Here are
ten dollars for your trouble. Now stand aside.’

‘Thet’s enough!’ replied Ephraim. ‘Thet about sizes yew, I should say.
Now, I’ll not only not let yew pass, but I’ll detain yew hyar till the
rounds comes along. Yew’re my prisoner.’

The man looked this way and that, flushing and paling with rage. ‘You
time-honoured thickhead!’ he cried at last. ‘I’ll tell you who I am, and
then maybe you’ll alter your mind. I’m Captain Hopkins of the “——
Massachusetts.”’

‘Ho!’ drawled Ephraim. ‘Fust yew’re a civilian, and then yew’re a
soldier, and naow yew’re a capting. Waal, I han’t altered my mind. I
guess ef yew kin bluff, why, so kin I.’

‘Very much better than the captain can,’ thought Lucius in his
hiding-place.

‘Let me pass, or take the consequences,’ cried the captain, and quick as
thought he drew a revolver and presented it at Ephraim.

Like lightning the glancing bayonet swept upwards, met the dull blue
tube with a clank, and away went the captain’s weapon ten feet into the
air behind Ephraim, splash into the river.

‘Yew see,’ drawled Ephraim. ‘I guess I didn’t come down in the last
shower of green mud.’

‘Confound you!’ said the captain, laughing in spite of his evident
vexation. ‘You are too smart. I see that I shall have to tell you
everything. Pay attention to what I say now, and hold your tongue about
it when you get back to camp.—By the way,’ he broke off, ‘why didn’t you
run in with the rest of them just now, when there was that scare?’

‘Ef I war to go runnin’ fer the camp every time thar war a skeer
ter-day, I’d never be done,’ answered Ephraim. ‘My post is hyar, and
hyar I mean tew stay. What’s this yew want tew tell me?’

‘Simply this,’ replied the captain. ‘Mind now, hold your tongue. I am
the bearer of despatches from General Shields to General Frémont.’

Ephraim’s face was a study. He shouldered arms at once, and gasped out:
‘What! Then why in thunder didn’t yew say so before?’

‘For very good reasons,’ smiled the captain. ‘Come, now, I’ve put off
time enough already. My boat is waiting there, and’——

Down came Ephraim’s rifle to the charge again. ‘Boat!’ he echoed. ‘Yew
hev a boat?’

‘Certainly,’ said the captain. ‘You didn’t suppose I was going to walk
across the river, did you?’

‘Back with yew!’ cried Ephraim, feinting to lunge. ‘Good land! yew
nearly fooled me, Mister Secesh. So yew thort yew war going tew git in
yewr boat ez easy ez that, and jine yewr friends the Rebs.’

‘Frankly,’ said the captain, ‘your idea of duty is an extreme one; but I
suppose, in these days of slipshod soldiers, you ought to be commended
for it. Look here,’ he unbuttoned his coat, ‘I’ll show you the despatch,
and may be that will convince you.’ He pulled out a large envelope,
sealed, and addressed to General Frémont. ‘There,’ he said. ‘Now, are
you satisfied?’

With a sudden, unexpected movement, Ephraim snatched the packet, cast it
to the ground, and set his foot upon it. ‘Keep off!’ he cried, as the
captain made a rush to recover his precious document. ‘Another step, and
yew’re a dead man. Yew must think me green, ef yew ’magine I couldn’t
see through that game. Why, any one could write Frémont’s name outside
an envelope. I’ll bet a trifle thar’s things in that yew wouldn’t keer
fer Frémont tew see, all the same.’

‘Give me my letter!’ shouted the enraged officer.

‘It’s my letter now, and yew’re my prisoner. I’ll give it and yew up
tergether when the grand rounds come.’

Captain Hopkins changed his tone again. ‘I never knew such a fellow as
you,’ he said. ‘You mean well; but you have no idea what an amount of
valuable time you are wasting. I swear to you I am not a rebel spy, but
what I told you—the bearer of a despatch to General Frémont. As a last
resource, if you will let me go, I will return to the camp, and bring
back some one who will identify me. Will that do?’

Ephraim appeared to meditate. Finally he said: ‘How am I tew know yew
ain’t fooling me? I might ez well have a prisoner, naow I’ve got one.’

‘You have only my word for it, of course,’ said the captain.

‘Oh, waal, I guess I’ll trust yew,’ answered Ephraim after another
pause. ‘Off with yew, and come back ez soon ez yew kin git. I’ll keep
the despatch safe.’

The captain needed no second telling, but turned and ran. Ephraim hailed
him when he had gone a little way.

‘Well,’ demanded the captain, turning round, and fearful of a bullet, by
way of a keepsake, from this very officious sentry. ‘What is it?’

‘Ef yew air reely Captain Hopkins,’ said Ephraim—‘and mind, I’m not
saying yew ain’t—yew won’t git me inter trouble fer this. Yew’ll tell
’em I only did my dewty.’

‘Confound you and your duty!’ shouted back the captain, and sped out of
sight among the trees.

‘Sh! Keep quiet!’ said Ephraim warningly, as a curious explosive sound,
half snort, half cough, came upwards from the undergrowth. ‘Wait till he
gits well out er the road, and then ye kin larf. Hold on till I track
him down.’

He stole through the belt of trees, and, to his great satisfaction,
observed the captain hurrying as fast as he could across the fields. The
commotion in the camp, too, had died away, now that it had been
ascertained that the alarm had been a false one—like so many more on
that eventful day. But Ephraim’s common sense told him that it would not
be very long before fresh sentries were placed along the river; and,
moreover, the outraged bearer of despatches would lose no time in
returning, to prove his identity and reclaim his precious letter.

The Grizzly, therefore, made all haste back to Lucius, whom he found
sitting up in the brushwood, apparently the picture of distress, for
tears were streaming down his cheeks, and deep, labouring sighs escaped
his chest.

‘What’s the matter? What’s wrong?’ exclaimed Ephraim in real concern.
‘What ye cry in’ for?’

‘Crying!’ snorted Lucius. ‘Ough! ough! Is he gone? Ough! ough! Oh! ho!
ho! ha! ha! ha! I can’t help it! Ough! ough! I must laugh if I’m killed
for it! Ough! Oh, Grizzly, I never saw anything so funny in my life.’

He went off into fresh paroxysms, while Ephraim, to whom the affair had
been serious enough in all conscience, grinned quietly in sympathy.

‘Waal, I ’low it might hev sounded funny ter ye, listenin’ thar, Luce,’
he said. ‘Somehow it didn’t strike me in thet light et the time. I war
so sot on gittin’ thet letter.’

‘Sounded funny!’ echoed Lucius, his laughter exhausted to a helpless
giggle. ‘It wasn’t only that. You _looked_ so funny. Oh! oh! oh! if you
could only have seen your own faces.’

‘I ’low he looked a bit sot back when I got the ba’net agin his chest,’
chuckled Ephraim.

‘Ah! but your own face,’ put in Lucius. ‘Don’t forget that. And the way
you talked to him. My! It was the ‘cutest thing in the world. What put
it into your head?’

‘It come thar ez we war runnin’ along,’ returned Ephraim; ‘an fer the
rest, it jest argued itself out ez it went. But come, thar ain’t too
much time. We must be orf out er this before he gits back.’

‘In the boat, of course,’ said Lucius, rising.

Ephraim nodded. ‘Yas, sir!’ he answered with a light laugh. ‘And I do
think it war mighty nice of ’em ter hev thet boat hyar fer us jest ez we
wanted ter git away and all.—In with ye, Luce.’

Lucius scrambled down the bank, and catching hold of the painter of the
boat, drew her in to the shore and leaped aboard; while Ephraim, with
the all important document in his hand, stood for a moment to consider.

‘It won’t do to run no risk er losin’ this, after all the trouble we’ve
been at ter git it,’ he said. ‘Whar d’ye reckon I’d better put it?’

‘Stow it in your cartridge pouch,’ suggested Lucius. ‘That will be as
safe a place as any other.’

‘Right!’ said Ephraim, folding the letter up small and placing it in his
pouch. ‘Haul her in, Luce.’

‘What are you going to do?’ asked Lucius, bringing the boat’s nose again
to the bank. ‘If we pull out into the river, we shall be seen.’

‘Likely, ain’t it?’ inquired Ephraim cheerfully, as he gathered up the
rifles. ‘No; we’ll head her up stream and glide along the bank till we
git below their outposts. Ketch hold er the guns.’

‘But they may search along the bank,’ demurred Lucius, laying the rifles
in the bottom of the boat.

‘Nary a doubt er that,’ replied Ephraim, stooping to unloose the knot of
the painter from the sapling round which it was tied. ‘But et first
they’ll be in sech a confusion thet I ’low they won’t be able ter think
er everything et once. And the fust idee’ll nat’ally be thet we hev gone
down stream and then headed fer the opposite side.’

He untied the rope, and jumping down the bank, slung it aboard and
scrambled in after it. Instantly the boat swung round, obedient to the
current, and with her nose to the north, drifted rapidly down stream.

‘Out oars, Luce!’ cried Ephraim, fumbling in the bottom of the boat.
‘Head her round. By time!’

He stopped suddenly and straightened up. At the same instant Lucius
grasped the facts, and they stared at each other with white, scared
faces.

There were no oars in the boat!

[Illustration]



                              CHAPTER XI.
                     LUCIUS BRINGS THE BOAT ASHORE.


For a moment Ephraim was, as he would himself have expressed it, ‘sot
back,’ but he was not one to remain so long, and seizing his rifle, he
grasped it by the barrel, and using the butt as a paddle, endeavoured to
guide the course of the boat.

‘Quick, Luce!’ he exclaimed. ‘Take yourn, and we’ll see what kin be
done. The pesky Yank! Of co’se he’d hid the oars somewhar in the bresh,
so as nobody could steal his boat. By time! What an or’nery fool I war
not ter hev thort er thet before.’

‘No; it was I who was the fool,’ corrected Lucius, labouring away with
his makeshift oar. ‘You had quite enough to do with the letter and the
rifles. I should have looked to see if everything was right.’

‘Waal, thar’s a pair of us, then, ef ye will hev it so,’ returned
Ephraim gloomily. ‘Ennyway, it don’t matter a corn cob now whose fault
it war. The mischief’s done. I wouldn’t so much keer,’ he added, beating
the water furiously with his rifle-butt, ‘on’y when that clever captain
comes back and finds the oars whar he left ’em, he’ll nat’ally know we
must be down stream, and they won’t be long gittin’ on our trail.’

Twilight was fast settling over the valley; for the high mountains which
surrounded the cup of land in which this living drama was being enacted,
effectually shut out the sun as the day declined, and Lucius remarked
hopefully that it would soon be dark.

‘It’ll not be so dark ez all thet comes ter on a June night,’ responded
Ephraim in a cheerless tone. ‘Thar’ll be plenty er light fer them ter
take potshots et us ez we drift along. Yit it ain’t so much fer thet I’m
keerin’. I’m thinkin’ er the despatch and the importance it ’ud be ter
old Stonewall ter git it before mornin’.—I’m afraid we ain’t doin’ much
good with the guns, Luce.’

The crafty captain had removed not only the oars but the rowlocks, and
consequently they had no support for their extemporised oars, but were
obliged to paddle with them Indian fashion, holding the barrel high and
sweeping the butt through the water on either side of the boat. But the
rounded, highly polished wood offered little resistance to the rushing
stream, and the current swept them steadily down, all their efforts to
turn the boat’s head proving ineffectual.

‘We’ll make the Potomac at this rate, ef we go on long enough,’ said
Ephraim grimly, the sweat pouring off his face as he strove desperately
with his clumsy implement; ‘and then all we hev ter do is ter float
gracefully down and give ’em howdy in Washin’ton city.’ He laughed in
the very bitterness of his spirit.

They were swirling along only about twenty yards from the south bank;
but as Ephraim remarked, they might as well have been a mile away, for
by no possibility could they reach it, and he looked longingly at the
boughs that dipped into the rushing waters, thinking how different
matters would be if only he could lay hold of them.

Suddenly there was a spurt of flame, followed instantly by a loud crack.
Ephraim’s cap soared into the air, mounted for a moment and then fell
with a dull splash into the river, while its owner, with a shrill yell,
tumbled over into the bottom of the boat.

As Ephraim fell, his gun slipped from his nerveless fingers and sank
instantly out of sight, and Lucius, hastily drawing his on board, bent
terror-stricken over his friend.

‘Oh, Grizzly!’ he cried in piteous tones. ‘What is the matter? Are you
shot?’

An inarticulate gurgle from Ephraim was the only reply.

‘Speak to me!’ Lucius almost shrieked. ‘Oh! oh! Surely you are not
killed. Speak to me, Grizzly! Speak to me! Oh! oh! Whatever shall I do?’

Thus adjured, Ephraim slowly opened his eyes and looking up into the
anxious face bent over him, remarked quaintly, though without the least
intention of being humorous: ‘Hello, Luce! Is thar a hole right through
my head, or what?’

So great was his relief that Lucius broke into a joyous laugh.
‘Grizzly,’ he demanded with mock severity, ‘if you were not shot, what
did you mean by tumbling over; and if you are not killed, what are you
lying in the bottom of the boat for?’

‘Ye may say thet, Luce,’ returned Ephraim, uncoiling his long length and
struggling into a sitting posture. ‘It war a mighty close thing, I
reckon. Look at thet.’

He lifted his face as he spoke, and Lucius, with an exclamation of
dismay, saw that his forehead was blackened with powder, and that one of
his eyebrows and part of his front hair were singed off.

‘Ye see,’ said Ephraim, gingerly touching the raw and tender skin, ‘a
leetle more and ye’d hev had ter steer yer way home alone. I reckon it’s
a powerful frightenin’ sort er thing, a gun bustin’ off et ye when ye
least expect it.’

‘But what happened?’ asked Lucius. ‘I wasn’t looking. That is, I looked
up in time to see your cap go off and the gun slip out of your hand. The
next I knew you were on your back.’ He gripped Grizzly’s hand and added
earnestly: ‘I’m so glad you weren’t killed, old Grizzly.’

‘I’m obleeged ter ye,’ answered Ephraim, still very white about the
lips. ‘So am I.’ His voice shook a little as he tried to explain the
matter to his comrade. ‘Ye see,’ he went on, ‘this is how I put it up.
Ez I war splashin’ around with the gun-butt in the water, the trigger
must hev got caught, or the hammer drawn back by a bolt and let go agen.
The next thing I knowed war a rush er blindin’ light past my eyes, a
wave like the breath er a bit of iron from a blacksmith’s furnace on my
forehead, and thet’s all. I went down et thet, and didn’t feel like
stoppin’ ter arsk questions.’

‘Was that the way of it?’ said Lucius. ‘At first I thought that somebody
had fired at you from the bank.’

‘By time!’ exclaimed Ephraim, the colour rushing back into his face, and
his nerves steeling again as he heard this. ‘I tell ye, bub, that’s
ezackly what they will be doin’ before very long. Why, don’t ye know,
the sound er that rifle-shot’ll bring the Yanks down on us quicker ’n
ennything. Luce, we must do suthin’.’

‘What are we to do?’ asked Lucius helplessly. ‘If we could not manage
the boat when we had both guns, what shall we do now that we have only
one?’

‘Waal, then,’ inquired Ephraim drily, ‘do ye want ter set still hyar
while the Yanks make a target er ye? I tell ye I don’t feel that way
myself.’ He made a wry face at the thought of his recent experience.

‘I don’t either, you may be sure,’ answered Lucius. ‘But something must
be done.—I have it, Grizzly; I have it.’

‘What hev ye struck?’ queried Ephraim, roused by the hope in his voice.

‘Why, of course,’ replied Lucius, ‘let us swim ashore and leave the ugly
old boat to take care of herself.’

‘Bullee!’ cried Ephraim, unbuckling his cartridge belt and flinging it
into the bottom of the boat. ‘Bullee! So we will. Let’s——Thar’s just one
thing agin it, though, Luce,’ he broke off dismally.

‘What’s that?’ demanded Lucius, who had already removed his belts and
taken off his coat. ‘What’s against it?’

‘Why,’ answered Ephraim, looking as shamefaced as if he had been
confessing to a grievous sin, ‘it ain’t much, maybe; but I reckon it’s
enuff. I can’t swim.’

At this plain statement of an unpleasant fact, Lucius looked aghast.
‘Why, of course you can’t,’ he said. ‘I’d forgotten that.’ Then
recovering himself, he added cheerily: ‘Well, never mind, Grizzly; I’ll
do the swimming. You just grab me lightly round the back and kick out
well behind, and I’ll get you there. Tisn’t far.’

Ephraim shook his head. ‘It isn’t ez fur ez all thet, Luce, I ’low,’ he
said; ‘but thar’s a tur’ble strong current. Ef I drew ye under by my
weight and felt myself drownin’, I might ketch hold on ye and drown ye
ez well. A man couldn’t well know what he war about in sarkumstances
like thet, ye see. So I’m obleeged ter ye fer thinkin’ er it; but ef
it’s all the same, I’d ruther not resk it.’

‘There’s no risk,’ urged Lucius. ‘All you have to do is to hold on
tight.’ But Ephraim was obdurate.

‘Well, what are we to do, then?’ asked Lucius disconsolately. ‘Every
minute is precious.’

‘I know thet,’ answered Ephraim, ‘and the best thing ter be done is
this. Ye swim ashore ez soon ez ye kin. I’ll drift on in the boat, and
maybe it’ll be dark afore they find me, and I may run agin a spit or
suthin,’ and so git ashore. Thar’s no use lettin’ ’em cotch the two er
us. Now, is thar?’ But he looked down as he made the suggestion.

‘I don’t wonder you are ashamed of yourself to propose such a
disgraceful thing,’ cried Lucius indignantly. ‘To think for a moment
that I would leave you in the lurch just on the chance of saving my own
skin, after all you’ve done for me. Oh, Grizzly, what a shame to suppose
I would do it!’

‘I didn’t think ye’d do it, Luce,’ mumbled Ephraim, looking a very
crestfallen Grizzly indeed. ‘On’y I thort’——

‘I don’t want to hear what you thought,’ interrupted Lucius, who was
undressing himself while he talked. ‘I’ve made up my mind what to do,
and I’m going to do it. So there.’

‘What mought thet be?’ inquired Ephraim, eyeing him curiously.

‘I’ll show you fast enough,’ answered Lucius, now stripped to his shirt.
‘If you are afraid to trust yourself in the water along with me’——

‘Fer fear of drownin’ ye, Luce; fer fear of drownin ye,’ put in Ephraim
deprecatingly.

‘Of course. What else? I didn’t suppose you were thinking of yourself.
I’ve had teaching enough to know that’s not your way. If you’re afraid
of drowning me, then there’s only one thing to be done—I must swim
ashore myself and tow the boat after me, with you in it.’

‘See hyar,’ began Ephraim, but Lucius cut him short.

‘Come on, now. Don’t waste time in talking. Fasten the painter round me.
You can tie a better knot than I can.’

‘It’ll hurt ye monstrous, Luce,’ said Ephraim.

‘Nonsense! It will not hurt at all, tied around my shirt; and if it
should, what matter? It’s better than being shot, I should say. Oh, do
be quick! Don’t you see this gives the best chance to both of us to get
off scot-free? Tie it tight now. Don’t be afraid.’

Under this incessant urging, Ephraim fastened the rope round Lucius with
fingers that trembled a good deal from excitement and apprehensions for
the safety of his young comrade. But at last it was done, and Lucius
turned and faced him.

‘Now,’ he said, ‘you can see that the current is very strong by the rate
at which we are travelling. We are not far off the shore; but it may
take a long time to get there. I think that I can do it, though; but if
not, if I call out to you, or if I should sink, haul me on board again.
That’s all you have to do, besides helping as much as you can with the
butt of my rifle.’

‘I wish ye wouldn’t, Luce,’ implored Ephraim. ‘The light is goin’ fast,
and thar’s no rumpus yit, ez fur ez I kin hear. Ef we hev good luck,
they’ll miss us altogether. But ef they come and pop at ye while ye’re
in the water’——

‘Pooh!’ interrupted Lucius, ‘I shall be all right. Just you keep a sharp
lookout along the bank, and be ready to haul me in if necessary.
Good-bye! I’m off!’ He waved his hand, and slipped noiselessly off the
gunwale of the boat, feet foremost, into the river.


Meantime a very different scene was being enacted at the Federal camp.
Hardly had General Shields informed himself that the scare created by
the boys was a false one, and that he had at present nothing to fear
from the dreaded and ubiquitous Jackson, than his attention was arrested
by the sudden appearance of his ‘admirable civilian,’ Captain Hopkins,
who with disordered dress, flushed features, and breathless from
running, rushed unceremoniously into the presence of his commanding
officer.

‘Captain Hopkins!’ exclaimed General Shields in astonishment. ‘Back
already. Why, you’ve been gone little more than an hour.’ Then as his
eye fell upon the captain’s untidy dress and general look of
tribulation, he added anxiously: ‘There is nothing wrong, is there?’

‘The despatch!’ panted Hopkins. ‘I ‘——

‘Don’t tell me anything has happened to that,’ interrupted Shields
vehemently. ‘Surely not. Surely not.’

‘No,’ got out the captain between his struggles for breath; ‘only a
leather-headed sentry—a question of identity—won’t let me pass—send some
one back with me.’

‘Take time to breathe, sir, and you will be better able to explain
yourself,’ fumed General Shields, adding inconsistently: ‘Go on, sir.
Don’t keep me waiting all day. Let me hear your news.’

The captain drew a few deep inspirations and felt better. ‘General,’ he
said, ‘there is nothing wrong; only a little provoking delay. I found a
sentry just about where I had moored my boat, and because I was in
civilian dress, he refused to allow me to pass.’

‘Found a sentry alongside your boat!’ repeated General Shields. ‘I
thought you had moored it well above the line.’

‘So I thought myself, sir,’ answered Hopkins; ‘but evidently I was in
error, for there the sentry was.’

‘But you had the word,’ said Shields in a puzzled voice.

‘Of course, sir; but I’m afraid I behaved rather foolishly, for, having
an idea that all was not right, I gave the wrong word, and that made the
fellow so suspicious of me, that even when I gave him the right word
afterwards, he would have none of me.’

‘You might have explained your business, then,’ suggested the general,
‘rather than have incurred this aggravating delay.’

‘That is just what I did sir,’ protested Hopkins. ‘I even went the
length of showing him the despatch, and when he seized it’——

‘What!’ vociferated the general. ‘Do you mean to say that the despatch
is no longer in your possession?’

‘Hear me out, sir,’ said Hopkins uncomfortably, for he felt that at the
very best he made a ridiculous appearance in the affair. ‘I merely held
the despatch before his eyes, when he instantly seized it and declared
that it must be a bogus document, and I myself a rebel spy.’

‘Then why did you not recover the document by force?’ demanded the
general sternly.

‘He had already disarmed me, sir. I was completely at the mercy of his
bayonet.’

‘Well, well,’ muttered the general irritably. ‘Go on.’

‘He was for detaining me until the arrival of the rounds; but I gave him
my word that I was not a rebel spy, and, with great reluctance, he at
last permitted me to depart to obtain evidence of my identity.’

‘Retaining the document,’ mused General Shields. ‘Why did you not appeal
to some of the sentries higher up?’

‘You forget, sir, they imagined themselves driven in, and had all
returned to the camp.’

‘Then why had this fellow not followed their example?’ inquired General
Shields sharply.

‘I asked him the same question, sir, and his reply was that there he had
been placed, and there he meant to stay.’

General Shields reflected. ‘I will go with you myself, captain,’ he said
at last. ‘You have either been dealing with a very staunch soldier, or a
most accomplished rogue. Pray Heaven you have not been fooled in this
business.’

‘Oh, I should say not,’ answered Hopkins confidently. ‘The fellow was
staunch, as you say, and a bit pig-headed—indeed you might call it
thick-headed—but he was not fooling me.’

‘We shall see,’ answered the general drily. ‘It is an awkward business,
very.—Major Wheeler,’ he added, turning to a staff officer, who stood
close beside him, ‘order a corporal and ten men to follow me, fifty
paces in the rear.—Now, Captain Hopkins.’

They walked rapidly across the fields, followed by the corporal and his
men, and as they neared the river belt the general said: ‘You are sure
you can go straight to the place?’

‘Certain, sir,’ was the reply. ‘See, here is where I broke cover on my
way back. We have only to follow the trail I made as I ran.’

‘Humph!’ muttered the general as they pushed through the trees. ‘It is
not a little odd that your pig-headed sentry does not challenge
us.—Halt!’ he called to the corporal. ‘We will go on alone. March
forward when I hail you.’

They went on for another twenty paces, and still remained unchallenged,
which was not so very odd after all, considering that there was no one
there to challenge them.

‘It is very singular,’ murmured poor Captain Hopkins. ‘I can’t have
mistaken the place.—General! General!’ he cried, ‘you were right. I have
been fooled. The boat is gone!’

General Shields uttered a fierce exclamation. ‘I’ll be hanged if I
didn’t think so from the very first,’ he shouted: ‘Here, corporal, bring
up your men.—You should not have moved from this spot, sir, when once
you lost possession of those papers,’ he thundered at the unfortunate
Hopkins. ‘You should have died rather than let them fall into the hands
of the enemy, and as you once suspected trickery, there is no excuse for
you.’

‘That was at first, sir,’ stammered Hopkins. ‘Afterwards I had every
reason to believe that’——

‘Silence!’ raged Shields. ‘Your carelessness has effected enough already
without your offering lame explanations. Heaven only knows what the
consequences of this wretched fiasco will be to us.—Corporal!’

‘Sir,’ answered the corporal, saluting.

But before the general could issue his order, whatever it was, Hopkins,
who had been groping about in the undergrowth, shouted excitedly: ‘Here
are the oars and the rowlocks, general, just where I hid them. If the
fellow has cut the boat adrift and gone in her, he can’t be far off.’

‘Can’t he?’ sneered Shields. ‘And how do you know, sir, that the rascal
had not a boat of his own under the bank, and simply cut yours adrift to
lessen the chances of pursuit?’

The bitter suggestion appeared to confound Hopkins for a moment, but he
answered humbly: ‘Of course, general, we must allow for possibilities;
but if I may be permitted to say so, if the fellow had no boat of his
own, and swung out into the stream in mine before he noticed the absence
of oars, the current would carry him rapidly down stream. He could not
land either on one side or the other.’

‘No,’ sneered the general again; ‘and with a current like that, I think
we might as well look for him at Harper’s Ferry by this time. Further,
you seem to forget, sir, that the man had the use of his hands, and by
clinging to the trees alongside the bank, might very well work the boat
up stream in the direction of the enemy.—Moreover,’ he muttered vexedly
to himself, ‘we have no proof that he ever left dry land. Such a fellow,
in Federal uniform, too, might pass anywhere.—And I’ll be bound, sir,’
he flashed out at the miserable Hopkins, ‘that your carelessness has put
him in possession of the countersign. Gad! I shall have him mounting
guard outside my quarters to-night if I don’t take care. This must be
seen to.—What was he like, sir? What was he like? Describe him.’

‘He was a tall, loosely made young man, sallow complexioned, and with a
quantity of black, curling hair upon his cheeks and chin,’ answered
Hopkins feebly, utterly taken aback by this new view of the situation.

General Shields started as if he had been stung. ‘By George!’ he said
under his breath. ‘If I don’t believe that was the identical fellow I
spoke with this morning, and who told me that rigmarole about the
balloon. Perhaps I have been too hard upon Spriggs. I have been, if my
suspicions are correct. And if so, this is a dangerous fellow. We must
lay him by the heels without delay.—Corporal!’

‘Sir,’ said the corporal again.

But once more the general’s order was stayed upon his lips, for at that
moment a solitary rifle-shot rang out, far down the river. It was that
caused by the accidental discharge of Ephraim’s gun.

‘There he is! there he is!’ began Hopkins excitedly; but the general
silenced him with a wave of his hand.

‘We have no proof of that, Captain Hopkins,’ he said coldly. ‘I do not
suppose that if your friend wishes to escape, he is likely to go
gunning on the Shenandoah. However, we will take measures to
ascertain.—Corporal!’

‘Sir,’ answered the corporal once more, and this time he received his
order.

‘Send five of your men up the river to thoroughly search the bank. Take
the other five with you down the river in the direction of that shot.
Lose no time, and leave no stone unturned to secure the man whom Captain
Hopkins has just described. You noted the description?’

‘Yes, general.’

‘Very good. Be off, then. Remember the fellow is—or was—in Federal
uniform.—Now, Captain Hopkins, attend to me, if you please. You will
return to camp at once, give Major Wheeler my compliments, and repeat
your description of this man. Then add that it is my order that he at
once send out search parties in all directions, up the river, down the
river, and in and about the woods, with instructions to bring before the
provost-marshal every stray Federal soldier they can pick up. We shall
recover a lot of stragglers that way, even if we do not get our man.
And—er—one thing more,’ as Hopkins moved away. ‘When you have executed
this order, you will’——

‘Yes, general?’ said Hopkins, quailing under the former’s withering
look.

‘Report yourself to your colonel as under arrest, sir,’ snapped the
general, and turned upon his heel.

Left alone, General Shields made a careful survey of the river and the
bank in his immediate vicinity, but finding nothing for his pains,
returned without further delay to the camp, where he at once gave orders
that the pickets should be doubled along the line next the enemy, and
also, as might have been expected, changed the countersign for the
night.


The moment Lucius took the water, it became plain to him that he had
entered upon no light undertaking, and looking round, he informed the
Grizzly of this.

‘Say, Grizzly,’ he cried, ‘this is going to take me all my time. The
current is tremendous. Watch out now, and the moment you see that the
rope is taut, work your paddle for all you’re worth, so as to bring her
nose round.’

He drew a deep breath, and turning half over, cleft the water with a
powerful side-stroke, in order to bring the greatest possible force to
bear on the nose of the boat, and suddenly. It told. She stopped with a
shiver, the water churning at her bows, and slowly her nose began to
come round. Ephraim worked madly with his rifle-butt, hissing at every
splash like a stable-boy grooming a horse.

‘She’s round!’ he cried joyously. ‘She’s round, Luce! Her nose is ter
the bank!’

On hearing this satisfactory piece of intelligence, Lucius turned over
on his chest and swam with frog strokes towards the shore. He was wise
enough not to attempt this in a bee-line, but moved diagonally, content
to progress if it were but an inch at a time, so long as, aided by
Ephraim’s paddle, he could keep the boat’s nose in the right direction.
It was fortunate for him that he was young and strong, and that he knew
how to husband his strength, for he needed it all in that chill, swiftly
flowing stream.

Presently Ephraim hailed him with encouraging words: ‘Ye’re gittin’
thar, Luce. Ye’re gittin’ thar. Air ye tired, bub? Let yerself drift ef
ye air. Thar’s not a sign er any wan on the bank above or below. My! I
wish I could swim, Luce. Ye wouldn’t be long in thar. Keep it up, sonny.
Ye’re gittin’ us thar.’ And so on, with many soothing, senseless words
that fell gratefully upon the ear of the almost exhausted Lucius.

The boy lifted his eyes and glanced ahead. The bank was now but thirty
feet away; but at the rate he was making it, it was not unlikely that
ten minutes more in the water awaited him. He could not bear to think of
it, for already his limbs felt numb, and his breath began to fail him.
He shut his eyes, set his teeth hard, and struck out blindly. He heard
the plashing of Ephraim’s sorry paddle behind him, and the sound was as
the noise of thunder in his ears. His strokes became feebler and less
frequent, his body swayed more and more to the rush of the current, and
for all that he could do, the rope slackened every now and then. Still
he kept on, beating down that wild desire to hail Ephraim, who he knew
would haul him in at the first call, and slowly struggling towards the
goal of all their hopes, the shore. Suddenly his heart gave a great
leap, seeming to turn over in his chest and stop dead. A great roaring
filled his ears, his head seemed to split asunder with the force of the
pain that racked it; a shriek which made but a bubbling in the water
about his mouth burst from his throat; and as a dead-weight seemed to
drag him downwards, he threw his hands above his head.

Something touched them, and he grasped wildly, clawing at the yielding
support. Joy! It was a branch. He hung on with all his remaining
strength, and in another instant Ephraim had made fast and dragged him
into the boat.

For some minutes he lay down there, unable to speak or move, but
gradually, as the Grizzly rubbed and chafed him, the power came back to
his limbs and the sense to his brain.

‘Thet’s well!’ cried Ephraim, overjoyed. ‘Oh, Luce, it made me sick ter
see ye so done. By time! ye did thet pull in grand style. Air ye all
right now?’

Lucius nodded.

‘‘Cause ef ye air,’ went on Ephraim, ‘I hev got an idee. Ye see thar,
right in front er us, is a cave. It’s not very deep. Fact is, it’s
nuthin’ but a hole in the bank, but it’ll serve fer a restin’-place till
we kin git some notion er what is goin’ ter happen. Git up thar. I’ll
send up the things.’

Standing on the seat of the boat, the hole was just on a level with
Luce’s chest, and with a little assistance from Ephraim he easily
climbed in.

The Grizzly had passed up the clothes, the rifle, and the two belts,
when something arrested his attention. He listened intently for a
moment, and then clinging to the floor of the hole, gave a backward kick
with his feet that sent the boat spinning out into the stream, and
sprang in beside Lucius.

Scarcely had he done so, when a loud voice, not far away, shouted
exultantly: ‘I see him, corporal! There he is!’

[Illustration]



                              CHAPTER XII.
                          A DUEL IN THE DARK.


As this alarming shout rang in their ears, Lucius, forgetting his
fatigue, sprang to the mouth of the hole and made as if he would dive
again into the water. But Ephraim held him back.

‘Steady, Luce!’ he exclaimed. ‘Lie low! It’s the boat he sees—not us.’

Thus restrained, Lucius withdrew, shivering with cold, to the farthest
extremity of the hole, where he proceeded to rub himself down and dress.
Ephraim, meanwhile, took his stand at the entrance, and listened
intently for any indications of the whereabouts of the enemy.

They were not long in coming, for presently footsteps resounded on the
bank above, and a voice eagerly questioned: ‘Where? Where did you see
him?’

‘Well, I didn’t exactly see him,’ answered the first voice, much to
Ephraim’s relief; ‘but there’s the boat, and I guess he won’t be far
off.’

The corporal strained his eyes after the boat through the gathering
darkness. ‘I guess it’s empty,’ he said after a long look. ‘However,
squad, attention! At one hundred yards, fire a volley! Ready! Present!
Fire!’

Bang! crash! splinter! sputter! as some of the balls struck the boat,
and the rest fell like hailstones in the water round about her.

Ephraim chuckled softly, and rubbed his hands together in delight. ‘We
air jest ez well out er thet, Luce,’ he whispered. ‘I reckon wan or two
er them Yanks kin shoot straight.’

‘Load!’ ordered the corporal above. ‘You four,’ addressing his men,
‘follow that boat along the bank, and see if you can discover any signs
of life in her. Fire at discretion.—You, Whitson,’ to the man who had
first caught sight of the boat, ‘stay here and show me where you think
that boat came from. It was not in sight two or three minutes ago.’

Whitson pushed through the trees to the verge of the bank. ‘It seemed to
come out of the bushes just here,’ he said, peering over; ‘but I don’t
see anything.’

‘You don’t suppose the fellow is going to rise right up and look at you,
do you?’ inquired the corporal with fine scorn, adding: ‘Did you hear
anything?’

‘Not a sound,’ admitted Whitson.

‘Then it’s pretty certain there was no one in her,’ said the corporal.
‘Most likely she got caught on a snag and turned in here, broke loose,
and drifted off again. The general was right—the fellow has either gone
up the bank or struck inland. All the same, we’d better search the bank
hereabouts.’

But the projecting roof of the hole offered a sure protection to the
boys; and though more than once they could distinguish the trampling of
the feet of the soldiers above their heads, their hiding-place remained
undiscovered, and presently the search was discontinued.

‘It’s no use,’ said the corporal. ‘He is not here. Never was, I should
say. We ‘re only wasting time. Let us go back to camp.—Hello! What do
you suppose that is?’

_That_ was Ephraim’s cap, which, supported by its own lightness and the
water beneath it, hove in sight, floating gracefully down stream, some
forty yards away.

Ephraim saw it at the same moment, and softly whispered to Lucius to
come and see the fun.

‘It looks like a cap,’ answered Whitson, peering through the gloom.
‘Blamed if I don’t believe it is a cap.’

‘With a head inside it?’ pursued the corporal, also doing his best to
see.

‘I can’t say. Shall I try and find out?’

The corporal nodded, and Whitson, throwing forward his rifle, fired. The
ball struck the water some feet beyond the cap, which still moved
unconcernedly along.

‘Missed!’ cried the corporal, firing his own rifle immediately
afterwards. ‘That’s better. That wiped your eye.’

His bullet had struck the cap slantwise on the crown, turning it over,
so that it immediately filled and sank to the bottom.

‘My!’ whispered Ephraim gleefully. ‘It’s ez good ez shootin’ et bottles
et a fair.’

‘I guess it was only a cap,’ said the corporal, reloading his rifle;
‘but we can’t be sure. We’ll report the circumstance, anyhow.—Hello!
What did you find?’ This to the four men who had returned.

‘No one in the boat, corporal,’ answered one of them. ‘We followed her
down to the bend, and she ran on a shoal and turned over on her side. We
could see right into her.’

‘We’ll report that too,’ said the corporal with military brevity.—‘Fall
in! Squad, attention! Shoulder arms! Slope arms! Quick march!’

‘Thet’s one more down ter us,’ said Ephraim, with an air of relief, as
the noise of footsteps died away in the distance. ‘Thet old boat served
our turn well, after all. They won’t worry ter hunt up in this direction
any more. Thar’s been a fuss, though, Luce. Did ye hear what he said
about the ginrul? My! I reckon them Yanks will be ez lively ez a
Juny-bug ter-night, looking fer us and all.’

‘So lively,’ returned Lucius, ‘that I think we may as well give up all
hope of placing that packet in General Jackson’s hands. It is enough
that we, or rather you, have prevented it from reaching Frémont.’

‘I reckon not,’ said Ephraim thoughtfully. ‘Shields is pretty sure ter
try and git a message over ter him now thet this wan’s failed.’

‘Even so, he may change his plans,’ argued Lucius.

‘He han’t the time,’ answered Ephraim with considerable shrewdness.
‘Thet is, ef he’s on the lookout fer an attack to-morrer, and I reckon
he is. Of co’se, he may alter ’em hyar and thar, jest ter try and bluff
old Stonewall; but in the main I b’leeve he’ll hev ter abide by ’em.’

‘Well, what is it to be, then?’ asked Lucius, yawning. ‘I’m out for the
day, so I may as well take a hand in the fun. If we’re caught with that
despatch about us, we’re as good as done for. However, I suppose we may
try for the sheep now that we’ve got the lamb.’

‘But we ain’t goin’ ter let them ketch us,’ said Ephraim. ‘Ye see, we’re
a heap better off than we war this mornin’ or this afternoon, for we
know the countersign, and ef with thet we don’t manage ter slip past
their sentries, it’s a wonder. All the same, though,’ he went on, ‘we
may ez well take a couple er hours’ rest. I’m about done, I own up ter
thet, and I should say thet you wouldn’t be the worse fer it.’

‘Considering that I had four hours’ sleep this afternoon, thanks to
you,’ answered Lucius, ‘I’m not so bad. I could eat something, though;
so if you’ll produce the ham, we’ll lay the table.’

Ephraim laughed, and opening his coat, extracted the wedge of ham which
he had carried there since the morning, and which, whatever it might
have been at first, did not look very inviting now. However, hunger is
the best sauce, and nearly dark as it was, the dishevelled appearance of
the ham did not count against it; so between it and the biscuits the two
boys made a very hearty meal, chatting merrily all the while, as if they
had not a care in the world.

‘Now,’ said Lucius, when they had finished, ‘I feel as fresh as a daisy.
You lie down and sleep for the first hour, and I’ll keep watch.’

‘Air ye shore ye kin hold out?’ asked Ephraim, who did indeed feel
terribly sleepy.

‘Certain. Lie down, old Grizzly. I’ll wake you when I think the hour is
up.’

Ephraim took off his coat, and making a pillow of it, went to sleep
almost instantly, so worn out was he; while Lucius, going to the mouth
of the cave, sat down and looked over the river into the night.

It was almost dark, for the sky had clouded over, and every now and then
a few drops of rain fell, but the soft light of the summer night
prevailed to some extent, and Lucius, who could see the outlines of the
steep heights across the river, fell to picturing the battle which had
been waged beyond them that day, and wondering which side had gained the
victory. He lost himself in his musings for a quarter of an hour, and
then fumbled mechanically for his watch. ‘I wonder if the hour is up,’
he said to himself; ‘I’m beginning to feel drowsy now. Oh, I forgot. I
left it at home.’

The word gave his thoughts a new turn, and in fancy he saw his mother
grieving over his absence, and despairing of ever seeing him again. The
idea distressed him, and presently conscience began to add her stings,
and strive as he would to excuse his disobedience, his mood grew
gloomier and gloomier. ‘I hate the dark,’ he muttered; ‘it always makes
me feel so lonesome. Surely the hour must be up.’

As a matter of fact, he had kept watch but for twenty-minutes, but those
who have tried it know how slowly the minutes drag themselves along in
the dark, when the sense of time is, as it were, abolished, and the
attention, with nothing else to attract it, is firmly fixed on the
hours, whose wings seem to have been clipped for the occasion. It is the
watched pot that never boils.

At last the lonesome feeling overcame Lucius to such an extent that he
could bear it no longer; so rising to his feet, he stole softly across
the cave and sat down beside the snoring Grizzly, for company, as he
expressed it to himself. Sitting there in the deeper darkness, a gentle
drowsiness fell upon him. He made one or two not very vigorous efforts
to shake it off, and then, yielding to its delicious influence, sank
into a refreshing sleep.

Scarcely a moment later, as it seemed to him, he was awakened. A hand
was laid upon his shoulder, and another pressed lightly over his mouth.

‘Hush, Luce,’ whispered Ephraim’s voice close to his ear. ‘Git up
softly. It’s time we war out er this. They’re huntin’ fer us.’

‘Where?’ whispered Lucius back.

‘Thar’s a boat comin’ down the river. I jest caught sight er the flash
of a lantern. They’re searchin’ the banks. Come, quick!’

They groped about in the dark until they found the rifle and their
belts, which they put on, and stole to the mouth of the cave. Far up the
river they saw a little twinkling light, which, as they watched it, grew
slowly larger. Very slowly, for the search was a careful one, and the
hunters were taking their time.

‘What a good thing you saw it!’ said Lucius in a low voice. ‘They might
have walked right in upon us if you hadn’t. Oh, Grizzly,’ he added in a
tone of deep self-reproach, ‘I went to sleep without waking you!’

‘Ye rolled over on me wanst ye war asleep, and thet woke me,’ answered
Ephraim. ‘I let ye snooze ez long ez I dared. Never mind thet now. Let’s
consider how we’re ter git out er this.’

At first sight it appeared to be no easy matter, for the bank shelved
away on each side of them, and the overhanging roof of the cave
projected so far over the floor that it was impossible to reach it,
while to attempt to leap for it in the darkness would infallibly result
in a ducking, if nothing worse, in the river.

‘Ef we on’y had a light,’ muttered Ephraim.

‘I have,’ said Lucius. ‘There are some matches in the pocket of these
trousers.’

‘Ah, but we dassn’t show it,’ returned Ephraim. ‘We must think out some
uther way.’

‘Could we not just drop into the stream?’ suggested Lucius. ‘It’s so
close to the bank, we could not fail to reach it.’

‘We’ll do thet if the wust comes ter the wust,’ replied Ephraim; ‘but
not ef thar’s enny uther line; fer we might git separated in the dark,
and besides, we don’t know the depth.’

‘Be quick and think of something, then,’ said Lucius. ‘They are coming
nearer.’

Ephraim was lying down at the mouth of the cave, leaning out as far as
he could without overbalancing himself, and feeling along the face of
the rock in all directions for a ledge. At last he uttered a low grunt
of satisfaction.

‘What is it?’ asked Lucius.

‘The face of the rock jest underneath us is rough and projecktin’,’
answered Ephraim. ‘I b’leeve we could work along it. Anyway, I’m goin’
ter try. Ketch hold er the gun.’

Lucius felt for the rifle with which Ephraim had been making
investigations, and took charge of it, while the Grizzly placed his
hands upon the ledge formed by the floor of the cave, and cautiously
swung himself over.

With dangling legs he explored the rocky wall until his feet struck the
projection he thought he had felt, and resting them there, began to worm
his way along. When he had reached the extreme angle of the cave, he
stopped, and, clinging with one arm, thrust out the other to continue
his explorations. It met the stout bough of a tree overhanging the
river. Ephraim pulled with all his might. It held, and he determined to
risk it. Letting go his hold of the ledge, he threw all his weight upon
the bough, grasping it with his disengaged hand as he swung off into
space. The bough bent beneath his weight, and his feet dipped into the
river as he hung, but he struggled blindly on, and in another moment
felt the firm earth under him as he struck the shelving bank.

‘Bullee!’ he said, as with an effort he regained his balance.—‘Luce! Air
ye thar?’

‘Yes,’ answered Lucius. ‘Have you managed it?’

‘You bet,’ returned Ephraim cheerfully. ‘All ye hev ter do is ter hang
on ter the ledge and feel with yer feet till you kin git a hold. Then
work yerse’f along till ye come ter the end of the hold and grab fer a
branch. Hang on ter thet, and ye’ll be safe.’

‘But the gun,’ said Lucius. ‘Shall I leave it behind?’

‘By time, no!’ exclaimed Ephraim. ‘It’s all we’ve got, and we don’t know
when we may want it. Hyar, I’ll come back fer it, and ye kin pass it
along.’

He felt for the friendly bough, and presuming that he had found it,
threw his weight upon it. Instantly it cracked across, and down he went
into the water with a great splash. Fortunately he fell close under the
bank, and wildly grasping, caught a clump of bushes and dragged himself
out.

‘It’s all right, Luce,’ he called up to the boy, who was listening
anxiously. ‘I must hev caught the wrong one. I’m on’y wet about the
legs.’

‘It’s all wrong,’ replied Lucius under his breath; ‘those fellows have
heard the splash: I’m sure of it by the way the lantern is being moved
about.’

‘Half a breath,’ said Ephraim. ‘We won’t leave the gun ef we kin help
it. I’ll hev anuther try.’

He went to work again more cautiously, and this time got hold of the
right bough.

‘Send her along, Luce,’ he said. ‘Careful now. We don’t want her goin’
orf like the first wan.’

Lucius cautiously extended the gun, which, after one or two ineffectual
attempts, Ephraim caught and landed safely. For an active boy like
Lucius the rest was easy, and in a very short time he joined the Grizzly
on the bank.

‘Which way now?’ inquired Lucius, when once they had attained the level
ground above.

‘Oh, up the river,’ answered Ephraim. ‘We must keep our faces towards
old Stonewall’s camp. We’re all right now, I reckon, with these uniforms
and the countersign. It’s lucky we’ve got thet.’

Alas, poor Ephraim! He did not know of General Shields’s order, nor how
anxiously his arrival was expected by every sentry along the line.

‘I wonder what time it is,’ said Lucius in the low tones they had
learned of necessity to adopt.

‘It orter be about nine o’clock,’ answered Ephraim; ‘but we’ve no way of
knowin’. Thar’s a moon, too, about midnight, I’m sorry ter say; but
p’raps the clouds won’t let her through. I’m fond er the moon; but jest
this wan night I’d do without her and willin’.’

‘It won’t be as dark outside this belt of trees as it is here,’ said
Lucius, as they moved along.

‘All the wuss fer us,’ said Ephraim; ’fer outside ’em we must go. This
belt is shore ter be full er sentries all along the river line. We must
work our way down ter them fields we crossed this afternoon, and grub
along through the ditch. That’ll be——Hush! Some one’s comin’. Lie down.’

He sank noiselessly to the ground among the underbrush as stealthy
footsteps were heard approaching. Lucius followed his example, and the
two lay side by side, scarcely daring to breathe.

General Shields had left nothing undone to recover his all important
despatch, and the search was being vigorously prosecuted in every
direction. A couple of boats had been procured, one being sent up and
the other down the river, while, at the same time, land parties
patrolled the bank, so that the fugitive, if discovered, would be
caught, as it were, between two fires. Such a fate would have been
inevitable for the boys, had not the vigilance of the Grizzly averted
it, and Lucius blushed in the darkness as a pang of shame shot through
him at the thought of the danger to which his self-indulgence in going
to sleep upon his post had exposed them. He burned with affection at the
recollection of Ephraim’s quiet self-abnegation in calmly accepting the
inevitable and rising to take a double share of watch, and roundly
resolved that when the next time of trial came he should not be found
wanting. As it was, their position was precarious enough, for the
footsteps drew nearer, and their eyes could catch the gleams of a
lantern as it swung to and fro, while up from the river came the soft
splashing of oars, dipped gently by careful rowers.

Nearer and nearer came the lantern, and now by its light the anxious
watchers could distinguish dimly the outlines of half a dozen soldiers,
who stealthily followed their guide. Now and again a beam of the lantern
light flashed upwards and was reflected back from the fixed bayonets of
the party, and an uncomfortable thrill passed through Lucius as he
wondered how it would feel to be skewered to the ground like a beetle
with a pin stuck through it. He was rather fond of collecting things,
and for the first time in his thoughtless existence he realised what
must be the feelings of the ‘bugs,’ as he called them, which he was in
the habit of treating so unceremoniously. However, he was quite content
to realise it in imagination, and having no desire to experience the
sensation in actual fact, kept his place as immovably as a statue thrown
to the ground.

The search party was almost abreast of them now, keeping pace with the
men in the boat, and the two lanterns, one flashing upwards, and the
other downwards, made a pool of light which came uncomfortably close.

Another moment of breathless suspense and the party had passed by and
darkness once more swallowed up the trembling watchers.

But they were not out of danger yet, and Ephraim’s hand stole out and
gripped Luce’s shoulder as a soft hail came from the river.

‘Above there!’

‘Here!’ came the muttered reply.

‘This should be about where we heard that splash.’

‘A little farther on, I think.’

‘Forward, then, and keep your eyes open.’

Tramp! tramp! The soft tread was resumed, and Ephraim put his mouth
close to Luce’s ear.

‘They’ll find the cave in anuther minnit,’ he whispered, ‘and when they
do, we must move off. Thar’s shore ter be a hullaballoo.’

He was right. In a few minutes more another hail arose from the river,
this time louder, more imperative, more confident.

‘Above there!’

‘Here!’

‘Halt! Close up towards our light. There’s a hole of some sort here.
Maybe he is inside.’

Silence for a little space, and then an exultant shout from the bank.

‘What have you found?’ This from the boat.

‘Nothing in the way of a man. But a broken branch and a sloppy mess all
around.’

‘Hold on till we pull under. If he’s in there, we’ll soon have him out.’

‘Mind you don’t get your head blown off.’

This very probable consequence to the first man who should put his head
into the mouth of the hole caused a corresponding diminution of
enthusiasm, and low mutterings arose from the boat.

‘Private Storks, stand up in the boat and flash the lantern into that
hole.—You above there, throw the light down as far as possible, and be
ready.’

Great alacrity on the part of those on the bank. Considerable hanging
fire on the side of Private Storks.

‘Now then, Storks, look sharp. You ‘re not afraid, are you?’

A muttered disclaimer from the reluctant Storks.

‘Private Flemming,’ in a very angry voice, ‘lift up that lantern and
show this fellow Storks what a man is made of.’

A noise of scrambling in the boat, the twinkling of the lantern for an
instant through the trees. Then bang! and a roar of laughter, followed
by a storm of angry execrations. Private Flemming, by way of showing
Private Storks how to be brave, had raised the lantern in one hand, his
gun in the other, fired into the hole in order to make safety sure, and
incontinently tumbled backwards into the boat to the imminent danger of
his trusty comrades.

‘Confound you!’ shouted the officer in charge. ‘Who told you to fire.
You’ve given the fellow warning now, if he’s not there. Up with you,
some one, and see if this fool has been firing at a blank wall or not.’

The laughter above ceased at the angry command of the officer, but long
ere it died away, and under cover of the friendly noise, the two boys,
wriggling on their stomachs like a couple of great snakes, had put a
good fifty yards between themselves and the men on the bank.

‘By time!’ muttered Ephraim. ‘Thet’s mighty good fun fer them; but it’s
jest ez well you and me war out er thar, Luce.’

They rose to their feet, and moving warily, soon passed out of the
fringing belt into the open. Then, at Ephraim’s direction, they ran as
fast as they could, till a multitude of twinkling fires told them that
the Federal troops lay close upon their left hand.

‘Five minnits fer refreshments,’ whispered Ephraim, ‘and then the next
act’ll begin. See hyar, Luce, it’s all Virginny ter a sour apple thet
they’ve got a chain er sentries right across from the camp to the
river-side. We must dodge ’em. Ef wanst we kin git ter the ditch, we’ll
be safe—so fur.’

They stole back just inside the belt of trees, and moved on, a step or
two at a time. Sure enough, presently they could hear the measured tread
of a sentry as he paced backwards and forwards upon his short beat.

‘It won’t do to try the countersign just here,’ whispered Lucius. ‘It’s
too close to the camp.’

‘No,’ answered Ephraim. ‘We must crawl past him, one at a time. You go
first. Ef he sees ye, thar’s this.’ He touched Lucius with the rifle.

Once again Lucius cast himself down flat upon the ground, and
progressing by fractions of an inch, approached to within a few feet of
the sentry. So close was he as the man passed him, that by stretching
out his hand he could have caught him by the leg. But the darkness
favoured him, though it was light enough to see ten paces away, and the
man walked past unsuspiciously. Before he could turn again, Lucius had
writhed beyond his beat and ensconced himself among the trees, where he
waited for Ephraim.

The Grizzly had stood with his finger on the trigger, ready to fire if
occasion arose; but now judging that Lucius must be past the human
obstruction, he noiselessly lowered the hammer of his gun and prepared
to make the effort on his own account.

It was more difficult for him than for Lucius, encumbered as he was with
his rifle; but Fortune favours the bold, and in ten minutes’ time he
found himself once more beside his comrade. They waited till the sound
of footsteps told them that the sentry’s back was once more turned to
them, and then crawled farther away. In this way they passed a second
and a third sentinel, and at length the end of their labours presented
itself in the shape of the field which they had crossed in the
afternoon. They dared not rise, however, for fear of being seen, and a
final crawl of nearly a hundred yards had to be accomplished before they
found the safe retreat of the ditch.

‘Thet’s well,’ said Ephraim, contentedly placing his back against the
side of the ditch and thrusting his long legs out in front of him. By
the time we git ter the end er this, we’ll hev got over a right smart
piece er the way.—How d’ye feel, Luce?’

‘I’m all right,’ answered Lucius. ‘Have a cracker? I’ve got a few left.’

‘We may ez well eat ’em,’ said the Grizzly, accepting his share and
beginning to munch; ’fer it’s pretty sartin thet ef we don’t breakfast
in our own camp ter-morrer, we will in the Yanks’. Ef we don’t reach
Stonewall ter-night, we never will.’

‘Come on, then,’ urged Lucius. ‘Another mile and a half ought to take us
there.’

‘Right!’ said Ephraim, rising to his feet. ‘Wait a minnit, though.’
Something clanked in his hand as he spoke.

‘What’s that?’ asked Lucius. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Fixin’ my ba’net,’ quoth Ephraim. ‘Ye never know what’ll happen, and
it’s best ter be ready. We’ve gone along and come safe through up ter
now; but wan er my books says somewhar “the darkest hour’s before the
dawn,” and maybe jest ez we think we’re safe the bust’ll come.’

Prophetic words, though Ephraim knew it not. The ditch in which they
were had been marked by General Shields as a possible means of exit for
any one lurking in the fields, and a thorough search of it had been
made. This, of course, led to no result, as the boys were far away at
the time; but the general’s astuteness had not ended there, and a sentry
had been placed at the end of the ditch remote from the camp—that is,
nearest the Confederate lines, with definite orders to shoot any one
issuing out of it if he could not give a good account of himself, and
that, even though he wore the Federal uniform.

Sharp orders these, and liable to make any Federal skulker realise that
there were other paths beside those of glory which led to the grave.
Moreover, there was but slender chance that they would be disregarded,
for the sentry chosen for this special duty was a grizzled sergeant, who
had smelt powder in the Mexican campaign, and by reason of years of
training on the frontier, was up to every dodge of those masters of
deceptive strategy, the redskins. Small hope, then, that honest Ephraim,
with his simple cunning, would, notwithstanding his victory over the
green Captain Hopkins, be able to beat to windward of so astute a
warrior as Sergeant Mason. The darkest hour which Ephraim had hinted at
was at hand. And yet not quite the darkest.

The ditch down which the boys were travelling intersected, as has been
said, two fields—that on the right, some two hundred yards from the
river; that on the left, about four hundred from the wood. These two
spaces on a line with Sergeant Mason were destitute of sentries, though
four hundred yards behind the sergeant, who stood expectant, but
unconscious of the approach of his prey, ran a double line of pickets,
right across from river to mountain. These were the outposts, and kept
their watch almost cheek by jowl with Jackson’s men, not half a mile
beyond. Thus the outlet of the ditch had but this solitary defender, but
in placing Sergeant Mason there, General Shields had shown his wisdom;
and, moreover, the alarm of the sergeant’s rifle, should he see fit to
discharge it, would within five minutes bring him support from a dozen
different points.

Sergeant Mason stood with his rifle resting easily in the hollow of his
right arm, more in the attitude of an expert backwoodsman than in that
of a sentry on guard, but his keen eyes glanced continually right and
left over the dim, yet not absolutely dark, meadows, or straight ahead
into the black funnel that intersected them. He had been there three
long hours already, and was beginning to feel a little out of temper.
And when Sergeant Mason was out of temper, it boded ill for whoever
should cross his path at that inauspicious season.

Suddenly the sergeant started slightly. His quick ears, intently
strained, had caught a faint sound, as of some one moving in the ditch.
His ill-humour vanished, down came his rifle with its sharp bayonet to
the charge, and he was at once the veteran soldier, used to war’s
alarms, and ready for any emergency.

He leaned forward striving to pierce the gloom of the ditch; but he
could see nothing. Only once again that soft rustling sound, as of the
wind gently blowing over reeds. Then it ceased.

Ceased so suddenly that the sergeant’s suspicions were at once
redoubled. Evidently it was not the wind. But Mason was too old a hand
to act rashly, so he did not challenge, for fear of scaring his game,
but waited patiently for the end.

Again the rustling. This time surely a little louder, a little nearer.
The sergeant’s heavy moustache bristled with anticipation, and his lips
parted in a cruel smile, as he tightly grasped his rifle.

Not a sound he made as he stood there, silent and stiff as if carved out
of ebony. But he had been seen for all that, and even now the boys,
crouching low in the ditch, were holding a whispered consultation.

‘I think thet he hes heard us, Luce,’ said Ephraim. ‘Listen ter me and
do jest ez I tell ye. Crawl out er the ditch on yer left and make a wide
leg ter git behind him. Ez soon ez ye start, I’ll up an’ face him so ez
ter cover any noise ye make. Wait fer me until I git past him—and I will
git past him one way or anuther—and when ye hear me run, foller ez hard
ez ye kin.’

The first part of this well-laid plan was carried out to the letter; but
as to the second—ah! there Ephraim had reckoned without Sergeant Mason.

Lucius made off as he had been told to do, for after what he had seen,
his faith in Ephraim’s strategic powers was absolutely unbounded, and as
soon as he was clear of the ditch, the Grizzly, with much rustling of
his feet and a great outward show of confidence, advanced towards the
outlet of the ditch.

From his superior height upon the slight embankment Sergeant Mason
looked down and smiled grimly. He never suspected the presence of
Lucius, wriggling along to attain a point behind him. His whole mind was
intent on the solitary figure, advancing towards him.

‘Halt! Who comes there?’ he challenged, and Ephraim brought up standing,
halted within six paces of the bayonet’s point.

‘Friend!’ he answered laconically.

‘What’s your business?’ demanded Mason, wishful to make sure of his
ground and his man.

‘Speshul,’ returned Ephraim, also feeling his way.

‘That so? What mought be the natur of it? I’m hyar tew find out, yew
know.’

‘Out after a man wearin’ a Federal uniform, and supposed ter be a rebel
spy. Kin I pass?’

‘I guess so. If yew have the countersign.’

Alas, poor Grizzly, the fighter of redskins is going to be too much for
you! Ephraim advanced a pace or two.

‘Halt!’ said the sergeant again. ‘Is that yewr idee of giving the
countersign?’

‘Shenandoah!’ replied Ephraim boldly, and never before had been so near
death as at that minute.

Had Sergeant Mason, smiling grimly behind his thick moustache, obeyed
orders strictly, he would have fired then and there, for the word was
not Shenandoah, and Ephraim’s account of himself had not been good; but
two reasons restrained Mason. If the man turned out to be a brother
Federal, he did not wish to have his blood upon his hands, skulker
though he might be in view of the morrow’s expected fight; and,
secondly, if the man were proved to be the rebel spy, Mason considered
that a capture would redound more to his credit than an execution.

Therefore Sergeant Mason held his hand, and bringing his rifle up to the
port, said briefly: ‘Pass, friend!’

On came Ephraim, his shambling gait and loose-jointed frame contrasting
ridiculously with the square, well-knit, soldierly figure in front of
him; but just as he had set one foot on the bank to leap out of the
ditch, being so far at a disadvantage, the sergeant suddenly altered his
position, and bringing his rifle to the low guard, said sharply:
‘Surrender, my man. You’re my prisoner.’

On the lookout for surprises, Ephraim’s heart yet seemed to leap into
his mouth at this; but he was quick to act. Jumping back from the steel
that almost touched his neck, he grasped his own rifle with one hand by
the breech and with the other by the barrel, and before the sergeant
could realise his intention, rushed madly at him up the bank.

Their bayonets met with a clash; but so furious was the assault, and so
utterly unexpected, that even Sergeant Mason, man of iron though he was,
gave back before it, and Ephraim springing from the ditch, found
himself, so far at least as the ground went, at an equal advantage with
his foe.

For an instant they stood fronting each other, their bayonets crossed,
and only the space of their rifles between them.

The sergeant breathed hard and drew back the hammer of his gun.
‘Surrender!’ he said, ‘or you’re a dead man.’

Ephraim heard the click, and his answer was another rush. Swift as
thought he turned his wrist, and by sheer force tossed the barrel of the
sergeant’s rifle in the air, just as the latter’s finger touched the
trigger.

Bang! The bullet soared away high over the tops of the trees in the
wood, and once more the sergeant recoiled before his impetuous
antagonist. He began to wish that he had fired first and made inquiries
afterwards.

‘Surrender, you fool!’ he hissed through his clenched teeth; ‘that shot
will bring a hundred men down upon you.’

For answer, Ephraim cocked his own rifle and fired. There was a slight
fizzle as the cap snapped, but no report. The various uses to which the
rifle had been put that day had not improved its quality as a
‘shooting-iron,’ and the powder was thoroughly wet.

The rifles were the old-fashioned, muzzle-loading pattern. There was no
time to reload, and like lightning Ephraim rushed forward to renew the
attack.

Then began a battle royal. Sergeant Mason was a strong man, and knew the
use of his weapon; but the Grizzly was a living instance of the truth of
the saying, that a man who knows nothing of rule will very often puzzle
an expert. So it was now, as Ephraim, fired with unaccustomed fury,
lunged and thrust, parried and recovered, or swept his bayonet in
narrowing circles round his antagonist’s head, to the utter
mystification of Mason, accustomed to the one, two, three of the
regulations.

Clink! clank! rattle! crash! The sharp steel met and parted, parted and
met again. The fighters could but just distinguish each other in the
gloom, even as they stood now with bayonets locked, breathing hard in
anticipation of the next rally.

Clank! The sergeant disengaged, and lunged straight and swiftly out. The
bayonet passed under the Grizzly’s left arm; but he brushed it aside
with a wild swirl of his rifle, and thrust in return so close to the
sergeant’s heart, that but half an inch further would have settled the
question for good and all.

Mason sprang backwards just in time, now hotly pressed by the furious
Grizzly. Here was a foeman of a temper he had not bargained for when he
made that light arrest.

‘Help!’ he roared at the top of his voice. ‘A spy! a spy! Over hyar by
the ditch.’

Clank! clank! clink! clink! Fierce thrust and sudden parry. Another
fiery rally. This time the sergeant felt the wind of Ephraim’s bayonet
past his neck, and a hot spurt of breath upon his face, as the Grizzly,
almost overbalanced by his frenzied rush, stumbled forward.

With a mighty effort he recovered his footing. Clink! clank! Down swept
Mason’s glittering steel. Another lock. A rapid disengagement; and, ere
Ephraim could retreat, the long blade lunged straight at his face.

The Grizzly dodged; but the sharp point, driven by the strong, angry arm
behind it, found its way through his coat, and ploughed up the muscles
of his shoulder. The pain drove him wild, and with a roar of rage he ran
in upon his foe, careless of his own exposure, and raising his long
rifle by the barrel, brought it smashing down upon the bare, defenceless
head.

Under that frightful stroke Sergeant Mason dropped his weapon, reeled
from side to side like a drunken man, and dropped to earth as one dead.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]



                             CHAPTER XIII.
           HOW THE DESPATCH WAS BROUGHT TO STONEWALL JACKSON.


While this frightful battle raged, Lucius stood some little distance
off, in an agony of apprehension for the safety of his friend. At the
first clank of the meeting steel he had risen to his feet, and strained
his eager eyes to see what was about to happen; but, even though he drew
a little nearer, he could distinguish nothing clearly. Only in the dusk
a pair of tall forms dashed from right to left, or bounded from side to
side, meeting, recoiling, and meeting again. But if he could not see, he
could hear; and at each jarring clank of the clashing bayonets his heart
leaped, and his hair rose on his head, for he could not believe that
Ephraim would win the fight. Oh for a gun! he thought, as he ran wildly
backwards and forwards, groping along the ground, in the hope that he
might come upon some straggler’s discarded piece. All at once he heard
shouts and the noise of rushing footsteps. From the river bank, from the
woods, from the pickets behind him—from every direction—men were
hastening to the scene of the conflict. Then that furious cry from the
Grizzly, and the dull crash as the sergeant fell under his powerful
stroke. Finally silence for a little space around the combatants.

Lucius did not know which had fallen: he could just see that one was
down—that was all—and his fears told him that it must be Grizzly. A
dull, apathetic feeling stole over him. He did not try to move. He knew
that in a few minutes more he must be a prisoner, and he did not care. A
mournful voice seemed to chant in his ears, slow and solemn as a dirge,
‘The Grizzly is dead! the Grizzly is dead!’ And all concern for himself
vanished in the presence of this overwhelming sorrow.

Then, as he stood, the sound of the well-known voice thrilled him like
an electric shock, jarring his whole frame with the one pregnant
monosyllable, ‘Run!’ And, without stopping to question or to reason, he
turned his face and fled. Fled at first madly, unthinkingly, right in
the teeth of the advancing enemy. He had no knowledge of Ephraim’s
whereabouts—whether he was ahead of him or behind him. He was alive—that
was just enough then—and on went Lucius like the wind.

When two people are running at top speed in the same line, but from
opposite extremes, it stands to reason that, sooner or later, they will
meet. And this is exactly what happened now. They met, Lucius and the
leading man of the racing sentinels—met with a crash, like two charging
footballers—with the result that both went down in a heap upon the
ground.

Lucius was the first to recover himself, and the shock seemed to clear
his brain, so that he realised sharply what he was doing in thus
throwing himself into the arms of his foes. He was a slow thinker as a
rule—or, rather, he seldom troubled himself to think at all; but now his
plans were formed upon the instant, such a stimulus is necessity.

Tearing himself free from the man upon the ground, he leaped to his
feet, and running a few paces, still towards the advancing crowd,
wheeled round suddenly, and with a loud shout of ‘This way! Over here!’
rushed back by the way he had come, only at a much slower pace.

Fortunate it was for him that it was so dark. Guided by his voice, the
soldiers hurried after him, surrounded him, noted him running in their
midst in the same direction as themselves, and—passed him by.

Still Lucius held on, slowing down at every stride, till the last man of
the supports, puffing and blowing, shot ahead of him, and then he turned
in his tracks once more, and sped like a deer towards the Confederate
lines.

He took a diagonal path, making by instinct for the corner of the wood,
which more than once that day had been their means of salvation, and
reaching it after a tearing run of nearly a mile, plunged just inside
its border and flung himself face downwards to recover his wind.

All at once, as he lay, a sharp pang shot through him. The Grizzly!
Where was he? Was he, too, running for his life in the open? Had he
reached the wood? Or, bitter thought, had he been captured after all?
The bare possibility stung Lucius into action, and he leaped again to
his feet, glaring wildly round him in the dark.

What would they do with him if he were taken? Would they shoot him then
and there? Or would they take him back to the camp, and after a mere
formality of a trial, hang him like a dog? Lucius strained his ears
until they pained him, listening for the fatal shot. But he heard
nothing. ‘Oh, Grizzly,’ he thought bitterly, ‘if you are taken, if you
are shot, and I have run away and left you to your fate!’

He was hardly fair to himself in his sharp self-upbraiding. To run had
been the Grizzly’s own command, and he had obeyed implicitly. He began
to take a little comfort. Perhaps they had only missed one another in
the dark. Perhaps the Grizzly was even now in safety, waiting
opportunity to make a dash for the Confederate lines. He would go on.
Then again the cruel thought, ‘What if he be a captive while I am free?’
‘Go on and save yourself, at all events,’ whispered self-preservation.
‘It is what he himself would have you do.’

‘And just because it is what he would have me do,’ answered the spirit
of manliness in the boy’s breast, ‘I will not do it. I will go back and
find him, if I have to march right into the Federal camp.’

He was almost beside himself with pain and grief, but the one idea took
possession of him, and in his brain the words repeated themselves over
and over again: ‘Go back and find him! Go back and find him!’

‘Oh, if I had but a gun!’ he sighed, ‘I would make somebody pay for
this.’

His hands struck against his cartridge belt. ‘Pah!’ he said in disgust,
opening the pouch. ‘What is the use of you without a gun?’ Then a gasp
of astonishment escaped him. His fingers, idly groping in the pouch, had
encountered a piece of folded paper—two pieces.

For a moment he could not understand it, and then the meaning flashed
across him, and everything became clear. In the dark of the cave he had
picked up and assumed Ephraim’s belt instead of his own. The papers were
General Shields’s despatch to General Frémont, and the written order to
Colonel Spriggs regarding the escaped prisoners.

Luce’s first feeling was one of joy that, even if the Grizzly were
taken, at all events nothing compromising would be found upon him. His
second, a wild impulse to fling away the despatch, and rid himself of
its dangerous companionship. But something restrained him in the very
act, and the thought crossed him: ‘The fate of an army may depend upon
that paper, and that army your own. You must carry it to General
Jackson.’

Poor Lucius! He was on the horns of a dreadful dilemma. If he were
caught with that paper upon him, it would be short shrift, he knew, and
few questions asked. Yet if he did not deliver it, the consequences to
the Confederates might be fearfully disastrous. And yet again, if he did
attempt to carry it through, he must turn his back upon his friend,
presuming him to be a prisoner, and after the thoughts of
self-preservation in which he had indulged, how could he do that without
laying himself open to the charge of grasping an excuse to ensure his
own safety by an attempt to reach the Confederate lines?

He wrung his hands together in the extremity of his despair. Which was
the right thing to do? Who would help him in this desperate strait?

He leaned against a tree, his head throbbing and his whole mind
bewildered in the presence of the most serious problem he had ever had
to face. Then once again came to him one of those mysterious, silent
promptings, so frequent in the last anguished quarter of an hour. And
this time it was as if Ephraim spoke: ‘Do yer duty, Luce, and never mind
me.’

‘I will,’ he cried aloud, dashing the tears from his eyes. ‘I will. But
I’ll come back and find you afterwards, Grizzly, if I die for it!’

He braced himself up to consider the best means to carry out his dual
resolve. He knew very well that, no matter how many men might have been
detached to the aid of the sentry at the ditch, the Federal outposts
would still remain in their place, with beyond them the last line of
sentinels on the side of Jackson’s army. To reach his goal he must first
pass this obstacle, and he realised that in the ferment raised by the
present crisis, the time for further stratagem had passed, and that his
only hope lay in making a rush for it.

A sense of uneasiness was everywhere, and the outposts were especially
alert. Not only had the rumour spread of the presence in camp and
subsequent escape therefrom of a supposed rebel spy, but there was a
pretty well defined feeling that the morrow would not pass without an
attack on the part of Jackson, though exactly how or where the blow
would be delivered, no man could say. Therefore the outposts kept even
stricter watch than usual, ready at the first sign of the advance of the
enemy to give the alarm and fall back upon the camp, where, on that
night, the Federal soldiers lay on their arms.

The uneasy feeling was justified by what was happening in the
Confederate camp. The night had descended upon another Federal repulse.
The veteran Ewell had hurled back Frémont at Cross Keys, and driven him
from the field after a long and desperate conflict. Then, when the
darkness put a stop to the operations, Jackson recalled the troops of
Ewell, and leaving a strong rearguard in front of Frémont, returned to
Port Republic. Here he hastily constructed a foot-bridge, by means of
wagons placed end to end, over the south fork of the Shenandoah, and
gave orders that at dawn his infantry were to cross and try conclusions
with Shields at Lewiston. He then retired to snatch a few hours of
well-earned repose. Shields, meanwhile, had managed to get a second
despatch conveyed to Frémont, laying before him a plan of operations
which differed little from those set forth in the lost despatch; for as
Ephraim had shrewdly surmised, there was but scant time to alter the
disposition of an entire army; and, moreover, Shields, sanguine to the
last, could not bring himself to believe that, from a camp so strongly
guarded, the spy had really been able to make good his escape. He was
convinced that if accident did not deliver the bold rebel into his hands
during the night, his capture would certainly be accomplished in the
morning. That there were two people concerned in this escapade he had
never fully realised, and that the despatch had passed from one hand to
another, he never even dreamed.

Fully alive to the dangers of the situation, Lucius moved cautiously
along, feeling the edge of the wood lest he should lose himself in its
gloomy depths, and every moment drawing nearer to the Federal outposts.
A white glow on the hill-tops warned him that the moon was rising, and
he prayed earnestly that the clouds which were driving across the sky
would form up and shut behind them the silver light which would make the
difficulties of his perilous advance so much greater.

Suddenly he pulled up short. Not far away he heard a sound, a suppressed
cough. There it was again, its owner evidently doing his best to stifle
it. Lucius surmised clearly enough from whom the sound proceeded. It was
one of the communicating sentries between the outposts and their
reserves. He felt rather than heard that the man was walking in his
direction, and with the painful thought troubling him, ‘What if I were
to cough or sneeze?’ drew close behind a tree to wait till he had passed
by. Standing there, he heard another sound—the measured tramp of feet,
as if a body of men were stealthily approaching him. The sentry heard it
too, for he halted a few paces from Lucius and prepared to act.

‘Halt!’ he challenged in a guarded voice, at the same time bringing his
rifle to the charge. ‘Who comes there?’

‘Patrol!’ was the reply, also given in an undertone.

‘Stand, patrol! Advance one and give the countersign!’

Some one stepped forward to the point of the sentry’s bayonet, and
answered in a tone so low as to be almost a whisper: ‘Winchester!’

‘So,’ thought Lucius, who caught the word, ‘the countersign has been
changed. That is how Grizzly came to be stopped at the ditch. Well, it
won’t do me any good, for I dare not try it on now.’

‘Pass, patrol! All’s well!’ said the sentry, still keeping his rifle at
the charge.

The patrol moved on, the officer in charge turning back to inquire: ‘Any
sign of the spy?’

‘No, sir,’ replied the sentry, and Luce’s heart thrilled with joy at the
word.

Presently the sentry resumed his beat, and Lucius slipped past and
continued his heedful advance. The most difficult part of his work lay
before him, for the outposts were in strength, and their advanced
sentries had also to be negotiated. Still he thought that, once past the
outposts, he would be able to show the sentinels a clean pair of heels.
But there was one thing on which he had not reckoned, and presently he
came upon a sight which took his breath away. A line of light lay right
across his path—the bivouac fires of the pickets.

They extended as far as he could see on either hand, and the boy’s heart
sank within him as he wondered how he should pass across that line of
radiant light without being discovered. However, on closer
investigation, he saw to his intense relief that, though the fires were
not very far apart, yet between each was a dark space, and through one
of these he trusted to be able to slip. Moreover, he noted that, while
most of the men were lying down, some few were standing up or walking
about, and so was led to hope that his upright figure, if observed at
all, would not attract attention.

There was no help for it—it had to be done; so drawing a long breath he
set his teeth hard, and making carefully for the dark path between two
of the fires, advanced with firm and deliberate step.

Some one spoke to him as he came on. He did not hear the question, but
he was conscious of returning an answer of some sort, though a moment
afterwards he could not have told what he had said.

He reached the coveted path between the two fires, and again a soldier
who was reclining by one of them hailed him.

‘That yew, Dick?’ asked the man. ‘Why can’t yew keep still? I believe
yew’re a funk.’

Lucius spared a thought to bless the restless Dick, and strode on.

‘Dick,’ said the man again, ‘did yew hear that?—Why, Dick! Look at him!
By’——

For Lucius had passed beyond the line, and casting all idea of further
concealment to the winds, leaped forward like a startled hare.

In a moment all was bustle and confusion. The pickets sprang to arms,
orders were shouted in rapid succession, and twenty men darted upon the
track of the fugitive, while the advance sentries, hearing the
commotion, stopped on their beat, eagerly waiting the explanation of the
unusual disturbance, which, so far as they were concerned, seemed to
come from the wrong quarter.

The very energy of the pursuit saved Lucius; for sentries, pursuers, and
pursued were all mixed up in one inextricable tangle in the darkness,
and the noise the soldiers made in following him of itself prevented
them from getting any clear idea of his whereabouts.

On he dashed. Shots were fired here and there at random; but if any one
was hit it was not Lucius, and in less than five minutes he plumped into
the middle of a Confederate picket, under arms, and ready for an affair
of outposts, if that were what the noise presaged.

‘I surrender! I surrender!’ panted Lucius. ‘Take me prisoner! Quick!’

‘I reckon ef thet’s what ye’ve come fer, ye’ve got yer way,’ said a
Confederate soldier gruffly, at the same time seizing him by the arm.
‘Air thar enny more er you uns on the road?’

‘No,’ gasped Lucius; ‘there’s only me. Take me to the General. Quick!
Oh, do be quick!’

‘Take ye to the Ginrul! Thet’s good! Ho! ho!’ The men around broke into
loud laughter; but an officer, coming up at that moment, sternly ordered
silence, and raising a lantern to look at Lucius, demanded who he was,
and what he meant by running into them like that.

‘I want to see the General,’ repeated Lucius, who just then could think
of nothing else to say.

‘State your business to me,’ said the officer. ‘I will be the judge as
to whether it is of sufficient importance to justify the granting of
your request. Are you a deserter from the enemy? Do you bring news of
his movements?’

‘No—yes,’ replied Lucius hurriedly. ‘I mean I am not a deserter, but I
bring important news,’

‘If you are not a deserter, what do you mean by wearing that uniform?
Explain yourself,’

‘Captain,’ answered Lucius earnestly, ‘believe me, I am telling the
truth. I found this uniform, and put it on to disguise myself. I have a
despatch from General Shields to General Frémont, and I will give it to
the General, if you will take me to him.’

‘Give it to me,’ urged the captain, holding out his hand. Lucius
hesitated. If he gave up the despatch and then asked leave to return,
the captain would become suspicious of a trick, and perhaps detain him
there till the rounds passed by, and so valuable time would be lost. He
felt that his only resource lay in an appeal to some one in authority
who would grant him the required permission, and the memory of Jackson’s
face at Staunton on that last Sunday suggested that the appeal should be
made to him, and him alone. ‘He will understand me,’ thought Lucius;
‘these other fellows will not.’ Aloud he said: ‘Captain, I’ve gone
through a good deal—in fact, I’ve risked my life—to bring that despatch
here, and I beseech you to let me give it to the General with my own
hands. More depends upon it than you think.’

The captain considered. The earnest pleading moved him. ‘Who are you?’
he asked at length.

‘I belong to Staunton,’ answered Lucius. ‘My fa——I have a relative in
this army.’

‘Who may that be?’ inquired the captain, for it was no uncommon thing
for different members of a family to be fighting on opposite sides of
the line.

‘I’d rather not say,’ answered Lucius. ‘Oh, captain, let me go. I am
sure that the General will tell you you have done right if you do.’

‘Corporal,’ said the captain, after another moment’s reflection, ‘take
this fellow to headquarters. Report the affair to the adjutant, and hear
what he has to say.’

[Illustration:

  A candle was burning on a table by the window.
]

Lucius thanked him gratefully, and presently started for the village
between two men, the corporal leading the way.

‘Hi!’ shouted the captain after him. ‘Was there any sign of movement on
the part of the enemy when you left?’

‘No,’ answered Lucius; ‘all was quiet. It was me they were after.’

To all the numerous questions of the corporal, as they marched along, he
maintained a rigid silence, and at last they reached the house where
General Jackson had taken up his quarters for the night.

Leaving Lucius in charge of the two soldiers, the corporal slipped past
the sentry and rapped up the adjutant-general, who occupied a room in
the same house, and who at once rose and came down-stairs on hearing
what was the matter.

To him Lucius repeated his story, winding up with a supplication that he
might be allowed to give his message to the General himself.

‘Corporal, remain on guard here.—You, fellow, follow me,’ said the
adjutant.

The corporal saluted, and Lucius, his heart thumping with excitement,
followed his guide upstairs.

The adjutant paused at a door and knocked softly. As there was no reply,
he turned the handle, and entered the room with Lucius at his heels.

A candle was burning on a table by the window, and by its light Lucius
discerned the figure of an officer, fully dressed, even to his sword and
jack-boots, lying face downwards across the bed. He stirred uneasily at
the noise, turned over, and then sat up, yawning and rubbing his eyes.
It was General Jackson.

‘Pendleton!’ he exclaimed, starting from the bed and standing erect upon
the floor. ‘You! What is the matter?’

‘All is quiet, General; and I would not have ventured to disturb you;
but this fellow here avers that he brings important news of the enemy,
which he will communicate to no one but you. So far as I can judge, he
is telling the truth, so I brought him up.’

‘What is your news?’ asked Jackson quietly of Lucius.

Lucius glanced at the adjutant. It was possible that if he heard the
story he might throw his influence into the scale against a return to
the Federal camp. It would be easier, he thought, to manage General
Jackson alone. So he answered: ‘I would rather speak to you alone,
General.’

‘Leave us, Pendleton,’ said the General.

‘But, sir,’ protested the adjutant, ‘I—he’——He made a step forward and
ran his hands all over Lucius to see if by any chance he carried hidden
weapons. Finding none, he saluted and withdrew.

Jackson smiled at his subordinate’s excess of caution, and turning to
Lucius, addressed him again with: ‘Now then, my man, what is your news?
Out with it.’

Lucius drew a breath of relief. The General did not recognise him, which
was scarcely wonderful, for they had met but once, and then Lucius had
presented a very different appearance.

He made no verbal answer, but drawing the soiled and crumpled despatch
from his pouch, handed it silently to the General. Equally in silence
Jackson received the package, and withdrawing to the table, sat down to
examine it. No sooner had he read the superscription than he glanced
sharply round at Lucius, but restraining himself, broke open the
envelope and began to peruse the contents. He smiled as he read on, for
the plans of Shields were so exactly what he had hoped and even
prognosticated they would be. He did not look up again, though, until he
had finished his scrutiny of the document. Then he rose, and holding the
paper in one hand, laid the fore-finger of the other upon it, and fixing
his keen blue eyes upon Lucius as if he would read his very heart, asked
sharply: ‘How did you come by this?’

Lucius was prepared for the question. While the General had been busied
with the despatch, he had been debating with himself how to explain his
position. He was sharp enough to know that if once his identity with
Lucius Markham were revealed, all hope of being able to rejoin Ephraim
would be at an end. His one chance lay in allowing the general to
suppose him an ordinary citizen of the valley. He concluded, therefore,
that while suppressing his name, his best and wisest course would be to
furnish a plain and simple statement of facts. So he answered at once:

‘I will tell you, General. Early this morning my companion and
myself—both of us live in the valley—were taken prisoners by a number of
Federal stragglers. We were roughly handled, but escaped, and concealed
ourselves in the wood between this and Lewiston. There we found two dead
Federal soldiers, and disguised ourselves in their uniforms. Presently
we were seen and forced to march to the attack upon the bridge this
morning. When the Yankees ran away, we were obliged to run with them,
and once more took refuge in a hut in the wood. While there we overheard
a conversation of General Shields with a Federal scout, and determined
to try and intercept the despatches he carried. We were successful, and
tried to get up the river in the spy’s own boat, but as we had no oars,
the current carried us down, and we only got ashore after a great deal
of trouble. We were getting along all right, when we were challenged.
There was a fight in which my companion got the best of the sentry, and
then we broke and ran, and lost each other. I had the despatch in my
pouch, and came on with it at once. I was nearly caught at the last
post.’

Jackson listened in silence to Luce’s explanation, and when he had
finished, remarked drily: ‘That sounds a very plausible story; but how
am I to know that it is a true one?’

Lucius flushed through the dirt which encrusted his cheeks. He was about
to reply in his usual haughty and imperious style, but remembering his
assumed character in time, choked back the words and said instead: ‘You
have only my word for it, General, of course; but the despatch itself is
a proof of what I have told you.’

‘Not at all,’ was the unexpected retort; ‘for even that may not be
genuine. The whole thing, including your assumption of the Federal
uniform, may be merely a device to impose upon my credulity and lead me
into a trap.’

At this Lucius was so completely taken aback that for a moment or two he
had nothing to say. Then, as Jackson regarded him with his shrewd, dry
smile, he burst out passionately: ‘General, we have risked our lives all
along the line to bring you that despatch. One of us is, for all I know,
a prisoner, or perhaps dead. We could have got away easily enough by
simply stopping in our hiding-place if we had not tried to do you this
service. If you don’t believe me, I can’t help it; but I declare upon my
honour as a Southerner that I have told you the truth.’

The last words came out with so proud a ring that Stonewall eyed him
curiously.

‘Who are you?’ he demanded by way of reply.

‘I live in the valley,’ answered Lucius vaguely. ‘So does my chum.—Oh,
sir, sir,’ he broke off wildly, ‘do believe me and let me go! They may
be killing him even now.’

Jackson started in astonishment, and took a step forward. ‘You don’t ask
me to believe,’ he said, ‘that you contemplate returning to the Federal
lines to look for him?’

‘I do, I do!’ cried Lucius. ‘Why should I not? Twice or thrice already
to-day he would have given his life to save mine. How can I desert him
now? It would be too base.’

The utter simplicity of the thing carried its own conviction with it. No
professional trickster would delude himself into the belief that, coming
from the Federal lines, he would be at once allowed to return there on
the strength of his own story. The genuine emotion of the young man, as
he supposed him to be, went straight to Jackson’s warm heart.

‘Do not distress yourself, my young friend,’ he said kindly; ‘I believe
you. But as regards your comrade, what do you imagine you can effect by
going back?’

‘This,’ answered Lucius, as the recollection of the hut in the forest
came to him like an inspiration: ‘if he has not been taken, and has not
been able to break through their line, I know where he will go to look
for me. I will go there. I can find out that way whether he is dead or a
prisoner, or alive and free.’

‘No,’ answered Jackson; ‘for he might reach our lines just while you
were looking for him. You could do no good, and for your own sake, if
for no other reason, I cannot allow you to return. I do not suspect your
honesty,’ as Lucius made a passionate gesture; ‘but it would serve no
useful purpose. To-morrow, if God blesses our arms as He has hitherto
done, we shall sweep Shields from the field, and your comrade, if he has
not managed to escape, may be recovered in the struggle. At the worst he
will be sent north with other prisoners, and exchanged in due course.’

‘Oh, but you are forgetting that he is a civilian,’ urged Lucius, ‘and
that if they find out that he took the despatch, they will kill him for
it.’ His voice trembled so that he could hardly enunciate the words.

‘They would serve you the same way if they got hold of you,’ answered
Jackson.

‘But they shall not get hold of me, General,’ said Lucius. ‘I know their
word, I wear their uniform, and I know the way. Once I get to the wood I
shall be all right. Besides,’ he added cunningly, ‘as soon as I have
found out what has become of him, I will return and give you fresh
information about the troops—all I can collect.’

‘My scouts are out already,’ answered Jackson, ‘and there is little
likelihood that you would be able to accomplish more than they will with
their trained powers of observation.’

‘Have they brought you a despatch like that?’ asked Lucius, with a
certain pride in his voice.

‘A fair hit,’ returned Jackson, smiling. ‘No; but I may tell you that
the information I have received through them tallies exactly with the
contents of the despatch, which is perhaps fortunate for you. So you see
that you have but confirmed the knowledge I already possess. In saying
that, I do not wish to underrate the value of the service you have
performed. If you were a soldier, I should know how to reward you. As it
is’——

‘General,’ broke in Lucius, ‘I never thought of reward. Something told
me it was my duty, and I tried to do it. But if I have really been of
service, give me leave to go back. That is all I ask.—Oh, General, if
you knew what friends we are! If you knew what he has done for me! And I
stand here talking while perhaps he——Oh, General, let me go! let me go!’
He sprang forwards with clasped hands, his chest heaving, his breath
coming and going in quick, short gasps, while great tears, which only
pride kept from falling, rose in his eyes.

‘You are a devoted friend, young man,’ said Jackson, moved by his
passionate appeal. ‘If I thought you could do any good——You know the
country?’ he broke off.

‘Oh yes, yes,’ cried Lucius. ‘That part of it, at least. Haven’t I been
running around there all day?’

‘When you broke away from the sentry who stopped you, and took to
flight, I suppose you would both be likely to take the same direction?’
queried General Jackson.

‘I imagine so,’ answered Lucius. ‘Why?’

‘Because if your friend succeeded in making our lines, he would most
likely enter them at or near the point that you did. Come,’ he added
kindly; ‘to relieve your anxiety, we will go together and make
inquiries.’

He caught up his hat, and beckoning Lucius to follow him, strode out of
the room.

Outside, the adjutant-general was anxiously awaiting him, and Jackson
stopped a moment to whisper a few instructions.

‘Tell them to meet me here in three-quarters of an hour,’ he
concluded.—‘Now, young man, come with me.’

They walked on for some distance in silence; but at last Lucius said
shyly: ‘I beg your pardon, General, but we could hear the firing as we
lay in the woods. Would you mind telling me whether you whipped Frémont
to-day, or yesterday, for I don’t know what the time is?’

‘By the blessing of God we were victorious,’ answered Jackson devoutly.

‘Hurrah!’ cried Lucius. ‘We were certain you would be. It will be the
same to-day, or to-morrow, or whenever it is. Oh, General, when we stood
among the Yanks this morning and watched you on the hill when our
fellows carried the bridge, we felt we wouldn’t mind being killed, so
long as our side won. It was glorious!’

‘You ought to have been soldiers, you two,’ said Jackson, laughing at
his enthusiasm; ‘but I suppose you prefer your ploughs and harrows.
Farmers, aren’t you?’

‘Oh, well, some one must look after the crops, I suppose,’ answered
Lucius evasively, glad of this loophole to escape the inconvenient
question of identity.

‘Quite so,’ admitted the General with a sigh; ‘but I fear that before
long you will have to beat your ploughshares into swords, for we shall
need all the stout hearts and strong arms we can muster in the trouble
that is coming upon us.’

‘You shan’t have to wait long for me,’ exclaimed Lucius fervently. ‘Once
I get home again, nothing shall keep me from joining, and so I’ll tell
them.’

‘Halt! Who comes there?’

It was a sentry on the inner line of pickets who challenged them, and as
in answer to the General’s question he reported all well, they passed
beyond him and hurried towards the outposts.

Here, too, all was quiet. There had been no further scare, and presently
they reached the picket in charge of the captain who had forwarded
Lucius to headquarters. He saluted the General, and glancing in some
surprise at Lucius, whom he recognised, observed that he hoped he had
been right in what he had done.

‘Perfectly,’ returned Jackson. ‘No one else has come in since this young
man, I suppose?’

‘Only one of our scouts, sir,’ replied the captain. ‘He is on his way to
you now. He reported a scrimmage somewhere between this and Lewiston. He
couldn’t tell what it was about; but there was a great fuss, and some
one, he presumed a prisoner, was being taken to the Federal camp. He was
unable to ascertain whether it was one of his brother scouts or not.’

At this doleful communication, Lucius felt his heart leap, and like
lightning a plan flashed through his brain. He sprang to Jackson’s side,
and caught his hand in both his own.

‘General,’ he cried in piercing tones, ‘that must have been my friend. I
am sure of it. I will go, if I die for it. Do you remember you spoke to
me in Staunton that Sunday? I am Lucius Markham. If I never come back,
tell my father it was I who brought in the despatch.’ And before the
astonished General could move a finger to stop him, he had darted away
and sprung beyond the outpost.

‘Stop him! Fire on him!’ shouted the captain, who was very far from
comprehending the meaning of the scene.

‘Order arms!’ commanded the General loudly, as some of the soldiers
levelled their guns at the rapidly disappearing Lucius. ‘Let him go. You
will never catch him now. No pursuit, captain. Good-night.’ He turned
away and walked quickly back to his quarters. ‘Lucius Markham!’ he
muttered to himself as he hurried along. ‘Well, somehow I thought I knew
his face. The plucky little rascal! I remember he was burning to be
allowed to join. What with his dirt and his bandages, he looked so much
older that it is no wonder I did not recognise him. Who is this friend
of his, and what have they been up to between them? Well, well, I can do
nothing but pray that no evil may befall him, for his father’s sake. He
is in the hand of God. I can do nothing—nothing.’

A solitary shot from the direction of the Federal outposts. General
Jackson stopped and listened anxiously. Then as all was still, he shook
his head sadly, and turning once more upon his heel, went slowly on.

[Illustration]



                              CHAPTER XIV.
                         GRIZZLY IN THE TOILS.


Ephraim was not long in following out his own recommendation to Lucius,
but unfortunately, instead of bearing away to the left, he took a
straighter line, and before he had gone fifty yards, found himself
surrounded by a dozen men, who had approached the scene of conflict with
more caution and less noise than their fellow-soldiers. The Grizzly,
indeed, was among them before he was aware of their presence, and ere he
could attempt to resist or break through the circle, was firmly seized
and held fast.

‘I guess we’ve got some one,’ said a rough voice. ‘Who may yew be, and
whar air yew running to?’

Ephraim did not answer at once. His first thoughts, as usual, were of
Lucius, and he was listening intently for any sign which might indicate
his capture. Presently he heard the boy’s voice shouting misleading
directions as he practised his simple _ruse de guerre_, and once more at
rest upon this point, gave attention to the question, which was now
repeated in a more peremptory tone.

‘Waal,’ answered Ephraim slowly, feeling, as it were, for his words, ‘I
heard a fuss, and I was runnin’ to see what the trouble was.’

‘I reckon yew must have an outrageous fine bump of locality,’ said
another man sneeringly, ‘seeing that yew’re making tracks in a
teetotally wrong direction.—Hi! Pete, hurry up with the lantern, and
let’s have a look at this coon.’

‘Ef I don’t keep a level head,’ thought Ephraim, as he heard this, ‘I’m
a goner, shore. Waal, it don’t matter much, ez long ez Luce is safe, and
I reckon he is, so fur, fer I don’t hear any row.—Oh! Ugh!’

The expression of pain was wrung from him as the grasp of one of his
captors tightened upon his wounded shoulder.

‘What’s the matter with yew?’ inquired the man. ‘My land! My hand is all
wet. So’s his shoulder. Quick with the light! Why, it’s blood! I guess,
corporal, he war running _from_ the trouble, not towards it. No wonder
he war in sech a hurry.’

The corporal stepped up and examined Ephraim’s torn coat and lacerated
shoulder by the light of the lantern.

‘Humph!’ he ejaculated. ‘A nasty rake, and a fresh wound, too. How did
you come by this?’

‘I reckon something must hev struck me,’ returned Ephraim, as though he
were now receiving news of his wound for the first time. ‘Thar’s sech a
heap er things flying around these days, ye can’t tell whar they come
from or whar they go ter.’

‘This is no bullet wound, though,’ said the corporal, examining it
again. ‘It’s been done by a bayonet.—Come, you, tell us what happened.
Did you meet the Reb?’ For he noted that Ephraim was clad in the Federal
blue.

‘I ’magine it must hev been suthin’ er thet sort,’ replied Ephraim
cautiously. ‘Ennyway, I run up agin suthin’ or somebody, and thet’s the
fact.’

‘Where did it happen?’ asked the corporal.

‘Somewhar round. It mought hev been hyar and it mought hev been thar. I
can’t ezackly say.’

‘Did your assailant bolt after wounding you?’ was the corporal’s next
question.

‘I didn’t stop ter see,’ began Ephraim, when a loud shout close by
announced that the question had received a practical answer by the
discovery of the body of Sergeant Mason.

‘Hi! Help!’ shouted a voice. ‘Thar’s a dead soldier over hyar. No, he
ain’t dead; but he’s got it pretty bad. Help!’

The corporal rushed in the direction of the hail, and the soldiers
hurried Ephraim after him. Presently they came to the scene of the late
scrimmage, where the sergeant still lay upon his back, moaning faintly.

‘Why, if it isn’t Sergeant Mason!’ cried the corporal, bending over the
prostrate man.—‘Did you do this?’ he demanded fiercely, straightening up
and facing Ephraim.

The Grizzly recognised that further concealment was useless, so he
answered firmly: ‘It war in fair fight, corporal. I reckon ef it hadn’t
been him lyin’ thar, it would hev been me, so maybe it’s ez well ez it
is.’

‘Then I guess you’re the man we want,’ cried the corporal.—‘Boys, this
is the pesky Secesh, what’s given so much trouble to-day, going round in
Federal uniform. I bet it is.—We’ve got you now, Johnny Reb, so you may
as well own up. Who are you, any how?’

‘I reckon you make me tired with your questions,’ answered Ephraim. ‘I
shan’t answer no more. Ye ain’t the provost-marshal, air ye?’

‘Ho! if it’s him you want to see,’ mocked the corporal, ‘I guess we
won’t be long gratifying your desires.—Hey, boys?’

A low muttering among the men swelled suddenly into a shout, and there
was an ugly rush in the direction of Ephraim. The corporal threw himself
in the way of it.

‘No, no, boys,’ he cried. ‘I guess his time is short enough without your
cutting it shorter. Besides, fair’s fair, and the fellow that could get
the best of Sergeant Mason in a tussle must be a stark fighter and a
pretty average kind of a man. Let him take his chance with the
provost-marshal. I reckon it’s his business, not ours.’

The men, appealed to in this soldierly fashion, fell back, and at the
corporal’s direction four of them raised the fallen Sergeant Mason and
started for the camp, bearing him between them.

‘Now, you,’ said the corporal, ‘since you’re in such a hurry, step out,
and we’ll call on your friend the provost-marshal. I shouldn’t wonder if
he was waiting up to receive you.—Fetch him along, boys.’

‘Corporal,’ asked the Grizzly in a weak voice, ’ kin I hev a drink er
water? I’——The words failed on his lips, he staggered and would have
fallen, but for the supporting arms of the two men who held him.

‘My land!’ exclaimed the corporal. ‘I’d forgotten his wound. Lay him
down on the ground.—Hyar, drink this. We may be Yankees, Johnny Reb; but
we are not brutes by a good deal.’ He held his canteen to Ephraim’s
lips, and when the latter had satisfied his thirst, rapidly cut away his
coat and made a fresh examination of the wound.

‘There,’ he said, arranging his own handkerchief as a pad over the gash,
and binding it in its place with another which one of the men handed to
him—‘you’ll do now till the surgeon can get his paws on you. It’s only a
scratch, though it’s a pretty deep one. Feel better?’

‘I’m obleeged ter ye,’ said Grizzly, sitting up. ‘I’m all right agen
now. It war water I wanted.—No,’ as he rose to his feet, ‘ye needn’t
carry me. I kin walk well enuff.’

‘Are you sure?’ demurred the corporal, who was prepossessed in Ephraim’s
favour on account of his prowess in having overthrown such a mighty man
of valour as Sergeant Mason. ‘It’ll be easy enough to have you carried.’

‘I’ll walk while I kin walk,’ returned Ephraim with grim humour. ‘Ye kin
carry me after the shootin’. Or I reckon it’s hangin’ when ye’re ketched
spyin’ around; ain’t it?’

‘I’m afraid it is,’ answered the corporal as they moved along. ‘And I
wish it wasn’t, for you’re a brave man, and I’d sooner see you with an
ounce of lead in your brain than dangling at the end of a rope.’

‘That’s real kind of you, corporal,’ said Ephraim. ‘The selection is
very ch’ice; but I ’low the result won’t make much difference ter me.’

The corporal seemed to feel the force of this, for he made no reply, and
they continued their way in silence until the groups of smouldering
bivouac fires showed that they had reached the outer line of the camp.
Passing through the long rows of slumbering soldiers, they came at last
to the guard tent, and here the corporal, on making inquiries, was
referred to the officer of the day, who in his turn directed them to the
provost-marshal.

They found that this dreaded functionary had left word that, in the
event of the capture of the spy, he was to be awakened at once, no
matter what the hour; but as a matter of fact he arrived upon the scene
in a very bad humour, for after waiting up till considerably past
midnight, he had thought that he might safely turn in, and now his first
sweet, refreshing sleep had been rudely broken. That this was due to the
strictness of his own orders did not tend to soothe him, for there was
nobody to shift the blame upon, and to be reduced to grumbling at one’s
self is a state that offers little consolation. Yes, there was some one,
though, upon whom the vials of his wrath might be legitimately emptied,
and the provost-marshal determined that the spy—if spy he really proved
to be—should have nothing to complain of on the score of undue leniency.

‘Bring that prisoner in here,’ he said, appearing at the entrance to his
tent.—‘Now, corporal, is this the spy?’

‘Can’t say, sir,’ answered the corporal; ‘but I shouldn’t wonder if it
were. I captured him as he was attempting to escape after clubbing
Sergeant Mason.’

The provost-marshal, who had seated himself at a small table with a
note-book before him and a pencil in his hand, looked up in surprise at
this. ‘Do I understand you to say,’ he asked, ‘that this weedy creature
actually got the best of Sergeant Mason?’

‘It’s a fact, sir,’ replied the corporal. ‘Mason has got a crack on the
head that will keep him quiet this long time. Of course I didn’t see the
fight myself, but this fellow here don’t deny that he is the man, and he
has a bayonet wound in the shoulder to speak for the truth of what he
says.’

‘Humph!’ muttered the provost-marshal. ‘I shouldn’t have thought it
possible. Well, I’ll question him.—By the way, corporal, did you hear or
see anything of those other two fellows?’

‘No, sir,’ answered the corporal, understanding the reference; ‘but I
heard, sir, that Colonel Spriggs was still out on the hunt for them.’

The provost-marshal’s moustache was slightly agitated. So grim a person
could not be expected to smile; but his amused thought was evidently:
‘Spriggs will take precious good care not to return to camp until
Jackson moves from Port Republic, or we move from here.’

For Ephraim, too, the announcement had a special interest, for it showed
him that his identity with one of the escaped aeronauts was not, so far,
suspected, and hence the provost-marshal could have no idea that any one
else had been concerned in the affair of the despatch. Lucius, he hoped,
was by this time out of harm’s way; but at all events Spriggs was not
there to complicate matters by referring to him. The Grizzly was quite
prepared to take the onus of the theft of the despatch upon his own
shoulders, and he awaited calmly the discovery of the packet. Casting
his eyes downwards to his cartridge pouch, he saw with some slight
surprise that the flap was unfastened. He had been very particular about
the fastening, lest by any chance the papers should be lost, and he
wondered whether it had come undone during his combat with Sergeant
Mason. He was roused from his meditations by the voice of the
provost-marshal questioning him.

‘Are you a soldier or civilian?’

‘Civilian, sir. I am a factory hand at the ironworks at Staunton. I came
into your lines by accident, and ’cause I wanted ter git out agen
without comin’ ter grief, I put on these clothes thet I found in the
wood.’

‘Ah! I suppose it was also by accident that, thus disguised as a Federal
soldier, you played the part of sentry, and became fraudulently
possessed of a despatch belonging to General Shields and addressed to
General Frémont? And I imagine that if, by another and very lucky
accident, you had fallen in with your friends, the enemy, you would have
felt compelled to hand the despatch over to them. It is fortunate that
we got hold of you first.’

This was a shot on the part of the provost-marshal, for he had as yet no
means of knowing that Ephraim and the man who had stopped Captain
Hopkins were one and the same. As Ephraim did not answer, he went on:
‘Have you got the despatch, corporal?’

‘No, sir,’ replied the corporal. ‘I was busy attending to his wound and
bringing him here.’

‘Search him, then.’

The corporal searched Ephraim literally down to his skin, and to the
surprise of no one more than the Grizzly himself, discovered nothing.

‘They must hev dropped out while the row war goin’ on,’ thought Ephraim;
for it never crossed his mind that by an accidental exchange of belts
the papers had come into Luce’s hands. Had he suspected this, he would
have felt miserable indeed.

‘What have you done with that despatch, you fellow? What is your name?’
asked the provost-marshal angrily.

‘Ephraim Sykes,’ answered the Grizzly, paying no attention to the more
important question.

‘Psha! Where is the despatch?—Well, do you not intend to answer?’ For
still Ephraim held his peace.

‘I told ye the truth jest now,’ said Ephraim at last. ‘I war tryin’ ter
git out er your lines, whar I come without any wish er my own. I hevn’t
got any despatch, ez ye kin see.’

‘What have you done with it, then?’ inquired the provost-marshal
impatiently.

‘I hevn’t said I ever had it,’ answered Ephraim, anxious to gain time.
‘Ef ye air so ready ter accuse me, ye’d better start in and prove me
guilty. I’m not supposed ter do it fer ye, I reckon.’

The officer eyed him sternly. ‘Justice shall be done, my man; don’t you
be afraid of that,’ he said significantly.—‘Corporal!’ He gave an order
in an undertone, and the corporal immediately left the tent.

In a few minutes he returned, followed by Captain Hopkins, who entered
with a look of eager expectation on his face.

‘Do you recognise this man, captain?’ asked the provost-marshal.—‘You,
Sykes, come forward into the light.’

‘Recognise him! I should think so,’ exclaimed Hopkins, as Ephraim obeyed
the order. ‘That is the rascal who personated a sentry by the river
bank, stole the despatch by means of a trick, and set my boat adrift.’

‘You are certain that you are not mistaken, captain?’

‘Absolutely. The interview was too fruitful in consequences to allow me
to forget the interviewer. I would have picked this man out of a whole
regiment.’

The provost-marshal looked at Ephraim. ‘You hear the charge,’ he said
briefly. ‘What have you to say?’

‘Waal, I han’t denied it,’ answered Ephraim.

‘You mean that you admit that you took the despatch from Captain
Hopkins. I understand you to admit that.’

‘It ain’t much use my doin’ anythin’ else, so fur ez I kin see,’
returned Ephraim. ‘Yes; I stopped him and took the despatch.’

‘Good! Your intention, of course, was to deliver it to the enemy?’

‘Nary a doubt er thet,’ admitted Ephraim.

‘By whom you were commissioned to enter our lines and collect whatever
information you could?’

‘Not at all,’ answered Ephraim sharply. ‘It war jest ez I told ye. I war
a civilian tryin’ to escape out of yer lines. But the chance came ter
me, and I took it.’

‘I need not tell you in return that the taking of that chance will cost
you your life; for civilian though you may be, you are probably
acquainted with the punishment incurred by a spy. It matters not at all
that the paper has not been found upon you, since you have been
identified and have confessed your guilt’——

‘Guilt!’ put in Ephraim quietly. ‘I han’t confessed to any guilt ez fur
ez I know. I don’t call it a crime ter try and serve my country,
whatever ye may do.’

‘We won’t go into the question of patriotism either,’ returned the
provost-marshal. ‘Unfortunately for you, when a man is caught serving
his country in the particular fashion in which you have elected to serve
yours, there is only one thing to be done with him.’

‘I’d like ter be allowed ter ask ye, Mister Marshal,’ said Ephraim, ‘ef
thar air none er your men prowlin’ around our lines jest ter see what
they kin pick up? What’s the difference between them and me? Ain’t they
servin’ their country, too, accordin’ ter their lights?’

‘I’ll allow that,’ answered the provost-marshal. ‘And if your fellows
can lay them by the heels, they will serve them as we shall serve
you—namely, hang them. But now, my man, seeing that you can’t get off,
and that there is but one end in store for you, you may as well tell me
what you have done with the despatch.’

‘It’ll make no difference to me, ye say? Ter the hangin’, thet is?’
queried Ephraim.

The provost-marshal shook his head. ‘Not the slightest,’ he said.

‘Then hang away and welcome. Ye’ll git no more out er me.’

The provost-marshal considered for a moment. It was important to
ascertain if possible whether the despatch had reached the enemy or not.
Finally he said: ‘Understand me, my man: I am empowered to deal
summarily with cases like yours. I might condemn you out of hand; but if
you will tell me truly what you have done with the despatch, I will give
you this further chance, that I will refer your case to the general in
the morning. Speak out now.’

Ephraim considered in his turn. He did not give much for the grace of
being brought face to face with General Shields, who he did not doubt
would instantly recognise him as the purloiner of his breakfast and the
_soi-disant_ ‘Trailing Terror,’ and so the matter would become more
hopelessly complicated than ever. But life was sweet, and if he could
gain a respite of only a few hours, there was no saying what might
happen in the interval. He had risked his life, and would have done so
again, to carry the despatch to the Confederate General; but seeing that
it was lost and he could by no possibility discover it, why should he
not simply say so and take the proffered advantage?

‘Well,’ said the provost-marshal at last, ‘have you made up your mind?’

‘I hev, sir,’ answered Ephraim. ‘But if I tell ye the truth ye’ll maybe
not b’leeve me.’

‘Say your say, and we shall see,’ returned the other; ‘but I seriously
advise you not to attempt to put me off with any cock-and-bull story.’

‘Waal,’ began Ephraim, ‘I ’low I might bluff ye by tellin’ ye thet I’d
got thet despatch across the lines, fer I reckon thet’s the idee thet’s
makin’ ye oncomfortable; but if I’d got thet fur with it, I wouldn’t hev
been sech a born fool ez to come back jest fer the pleasure er bein’
hung. The plain truth is, I don’t know whar it is any more than ye do
yerself.’

‘Do you mean that you have lost it?’

‘Nuthin’ less. I had it hyar in this pouch jest before thet rumpus with
the sergeant at the end of the ditch, and I reckon it must hev fell out
somewhar thar.’ Ephraim did honestly believe this to be the case.

‘If you had had an accomplice, it would have been a simple matter to
pass the paper on to him,’ said the provost-marshal, regarding him
doubtfully.

‘Ye may be easy on thet score,’ replied Ephraim firmly. ‘I got hold er
the despatch by myself without the help er any one. I carried it in this
pouch, ez I war tellin’ ye, and I know thet I had it jest before the row
began. Maybe it’s lyin’ around loose on the ground somewhar thar. I’m
tellin’ ye the truth and no lies,’ he added earnestly. ‘B’leeve me or
not, thet’s my last word.’

The provost-marshal rose to his feet, ‘Captain Hopkins,’ he said,
‘return to your quarters. I will send for you when I require you.’ Then
as the captain went out: ‘Corporal, place this man under guard.
Afterwards take your men and return to the spot where you arrested this
spy. Make a thorough search of the ground in the vicinity. If you find
the despatch, bring it at once to me. If not, come back here with the
prisoner at dawn.’

‘Very good, sir,’ answered the corporal.—‘What shall I do about the
man’s wound, sir?’

‘Oh, thet’s nuthin’,’ put in Ephraim. ‘I don’t know it’s thar sence ye
tied it up.’

‘The sentry can be told to send for a surgeon if it becomes necessary
during the night,’ said the provost-marshal. ‘Remove the prisoner.’

The corporal retired with Ephraim, whom he immediately conducted to an
empty tent, before the door of which he set a sentry. Then he unslung
his canteen and laid it down on the ground beside the prisoner, and a
moment later forced a great handful of biscuit upon him.

‘There,’ he said good-naturedly, ‘you won’t starve now, and if your
shoulder troubles you, hail the sentry and he’ll send for a surgeon.
I’ve told him.’

’Tain’t wuth it fer all the time I’ll know I’ve got an arm,’ said
Ephraim gloomily.

‘Oh, maybe it’ll not be so bad as that. If we find the despatch, you may
get off I don’t say you will; but I hope so, for I like your pluck in
standing up to a giant like Sergeant Mason.’

‘I’m obleeged ter ye,’ said Ephraim more heartily. ‘I hadn’t looked fer
so much kindness from a Yank.’

‘Ah, we’re not so black as we’re painted down South,’ laughed the
corporal. ‘And we’re all Americans, if it comes to the pinch, and don’t
you forget it.’

He nodded kindly and went out, leaving Ephraim alone with his
reflections.

They were not pleasant, as may well be imagined. The lad was brave, but
it takes a considerable supply of somewhat unusual fortitude to enable
one to wait through the dark watches of the night, looking forward to
the death which is to come with the dawn, and strive as he would,
Ephraim found it hard to put the dismal prospect from him.

‘I wish they’d hung me out er hand,’ he said to himself. ‘It would hev
been over by now. It’s the thinkin’ what’s ter come thet makes me sick.’
He rose and paced backwards and forwards in his narrow prison. ‘God be
thanked, Luce warn’t with me,’ ran his thoughts. ‘Ef he’s had any luck,
he’ll be safe in our lines by now. But I wish I knew. I wish I knew.
Luce’ll be sorry when he comes ter hear er this. We’ve always been sech
friends. Thar’s on’y him and Aunty Chris. Luce’ll take keer on her; I
bet he will. I’d like ter see him once more before I die; but I wouldn’t
hev him hyar fer thet. By time! no. I wonder will it hurt. I dunno, but
I’d ruther they’d shoot me; but I s’pose I ain’t good enuff fer thet.
Waal, I reckon it won’t take long either way. Funny, ain’t it, ter hev
ter die? I reckon I orter be thinkin’ about heaven, ‘stead er which I’m
hankerin’ a good deal after this old earth. Anyway, I’ll try and fix my
thorts above, ez the minister said last Sabbath. Maybe it’ll do me good
and make me brave; but I reckon it’s none too easy.’

He knelt down upon the ground and covered his eyes with his hand, as if
with the sight of earth he would shut out all thoughts of it. Then from
his simple heart there welled a passionate prayer to God, not for his
own safety, for he considered that as a thing past praying for, but that
he might be able to look Death bravely in the face, and meet him as a
man should do—that God would take care of Aunty Chris, and bless and
keep Luce from harm—‘Let him git home! Let him git thar!‘—and he was
done.

He rose to his feet, refreshed in spirit and steadier in his nerves.
Hope seemed to have returned to him, and there was something like a
smile upon his lips as he stowed away the biscuit which the corporal had
given him in his pockets.

‘Ye never know when they might come in handy,’ he muttered.—‘Hello! What
do ye want?’

For the sentry had put his head through the opening of the tent,
obscuring the faint light that entered there.

‘‘St!’ whispered the sentry. ‘Don’t make a noise. By time! Grizzly, I’m
sorry ter see ye fixed up like this.’

[Illustration]

[Illustration]



                              CHAPTER XV.
                          ANY PORT IN A STORM.


To say that Ephraim was astonished as this sympathetic remark fell upon
his ear, would be to convey a very faint idea of his sensations. For the
moment he was simply bewildered. The voice was the voice of a friend,
and where in all that great army should he look for a friend just now?

‘Who air ye?’ he attempted to say; but his tongue clove to his mouth,
and no sound came from his lips.

He groped for the corporal’s canteen and took a drink. ‘Who air ye?’ he
said at last. ‘Who air ye thet speak ter me like thet?’

His legs began to tremble under him. He sat down upon the ground and
took another sip of water from the canteen. It refreshed him, and he
listened eagerly for the reply.

‘A friend,’ answered the sentry. ‘Don’t ye be down in the mouth, Eph
Sykes. I’m hyar ter help ye. On’y we must go cautious, ye know.’

‘Who air ye?’ repeated Ephraim. ‘Who air ye?’ He said it over and over
again monotonously, like a parrot repeating the words.

‘Sh! What’s the matter with ye? Don’t ye know me? I thort ye would. I’m
Jake Summers. Ye know me now, don’t ye?’

‘Ah! I do thet,’ answered Ephraim with cold contempt. ‘Jake Summers, the
Southern Yankee. The man who quit old Virginny when the war broke out,
and took sides agin her. I know ye well enuff now. And ye call yerself a
friend. Yah! Git out and leave me alone.’

‘Oh, shet yer head, Grizzly,’ was the retort, given without a spice of
ill-humour. ‘What do you know? I reckon we’ve all got our own opinions,
and may be allowed ter keep ’em. I’m not the on’y one by a long sight ez
couldn’t make up his mind to cut loose from the old Union, ez ye know
well enough. I ’magine ye won’t deny a man the right ter foller the call
er his conscience in this onnatural war.’

‘Couldn’t ye hev hung on ter the Union ’thout firin’ bullets inter old
Virginny, ef thet’s the way ye felt about it,’ answered Ephraim.
‘Anyway, ye kin settle up with yer conscience the best way ye please, so
long as ye git out er thet. Quit!’

‘Eph,’ said the man earnestly, ‘don’t make sech a pizen noise, onless ye
want ter wake up them ez doesn’t feel fer ye ez I do. I tell ye I want
ter be yer friend ef ye’ll let me, and not be a fool.’

‘Garn away,’ replied Ephraim dismally, but not so roughly as before.
‘What kin ye do?’

‘I’ll show ye ef ye’ll git up and come over hyar, whar I kin talk ter ye
’thout bein’ heard all over the camp,’ said the man.—‘Eph, d’ye remember
little Toots?’

‘Ah, I remember him,’ answered Ephraim. ‘What ye bringin’ him up fer?’

‘Little Toots, my little b’y Toots,’ went on the man with a catch in his
voice. ‘The on’y one me and Jenny ever had. D’ye remember, Eph, after we
thort he war gittin’ well from the dipthery, how ye useter come and see
him, and bring him toys ye’d made yerself. One time it war a little gun,
one time it war a Noah’s ark ye’d cut him outern a block er pine, and
another time it war a Jack-in-the-box thet useter frighten him every
time it come out, and then make him larf till we thort he’d never stop?’
The rough voice died away in a sob.

‘I don’t see what yer meanin’ is,’ said Ephraim uncomfortably, for he
hated to be reminded of his little charities.

‘Don’t ye? I’ll larn ye soon. When we quit Staunton, Jenny and Toots and
me, the little b’y he sorter sickened after the old home, and he got
weaker and weaker. We’d lost everything, Eph, and we couldn’t git him
the little comforts he wanted, the pore lamb, and thar we hed ter sit
and see him wastin’ before our eyes, me and Jenny. Eph, I tell ye, he
war always singin’ out fer you. “I want Grizzly,” says he. “I want him
ter bring me a toy.” And when he died, Eph, he war jest huggin’ yer old
Jack-in-the-box ter his breast, ez ef he loved it too much ter leave it
behind him. So we put it in with him, Eph, fer we couldn’t bear ter take
it from him.’ His voice choked again, and he stopped abruptly.

‘Pore little Toots!’ murmured Ephraim sympathetically. ‘And so ye lost
him, Jake?’

‘We did,’ answered Jake; ‘and we thort our hearts war broke, we did, me
and Jenny. And then ter-night, jest now when the corporal brought ye
along and sot ye in thar with me ter look after ye, I couldn’t believe
it fer a spell. And then I thort how good ye’d been ter little Toots,
makin’ his little life thet happy, and how fond he war er ye and all.
And I sez ter myself, I dunno what Eph Sykes hez been up ter; but I
reckon ef harm comes ter him while I’m hyar ter keep it off’n him, I’ll
never be able ter look little Toots in the face when wanst I meet him
again. Now ye kin tell, Grizzly, ef I’m yer friend or ef I ain’t.’

Ephraim made no answer; but in the dark he groped for Jake’s hand and
wrung it hard.

‘I’ve got a plan, Eph,’ said Jake, returning the pressure. ‘It’s ez
simple ez hoein’ a row. On’y we must be quick.’

‘No, Jake, I can’t let ye do it,’ answered Ephraim at last. ‘Ye can’t
help me ’thout hurtin’ yerself, and I can’t save my life et the price er
another man’s, ’ceptin’ in a fair fight. It’s good er ye, Jake, and it’s
like what I remember ye in the old days. But I can’t let ye do it;
though I’m obleeged ter ye, all the same.’

‘Shucks!’ exclaimed Jake impatiently. ‘Don’t ye consarn yerself over me.
I reckon I like a whole skin ez well ez any man. Thar’ll be a
court-martial and thet; but they won’t be able to prove anythin’. Don’t
waste time. Hev ye got a knife?’

‘On’y a little wan,’ replied Ephraim, yielding to his persuasion.

‘Then take mine, and open the big blade. Now then, rip a great hole in
the back er the tent. Do it soft, now. Don’t make no noise. Hev ye done
it?’

‘Yes,’ answered Ephraim. ‘Am I ter git out thet way?’

‘My land! no. Ye’d be stopped before ye’d gone ten paces. It’s on’y fer
a blind, thet. Now come over hyar. Put yer hands behind yer back ez ef
they war tied, and step out alongside me. See hyar, Eph, this has got
ter be smartly done, fer I must git back ter my post without loss er
time. I’ll take the resk. I can’t do everythin’ I’d like ter do; but
I’ll pilot ye through the camp, and then ye must make a break fer the
woods on yer own account. Ef ye let ’em nab ye agen, ye’re not the man I
take ye fer. Air ye ready? Then come along.’

With considerable difficulty Ephraim clasped his hands behind his back,
owing to the stiffness in his shoulder; but he set his teeth and bore
the pain, and while Jake grasped him by the arm, the two of them set out
with soft but rapid steps through the slumbering camp.

Here and there a head was sleepily lifted; but the sight of a prisoner
at any hour of the day or night was altogether too common to attract
serious attention, and only once did Jake open his mouth to inform a
sentry that he was taking his charge to the provost-marshal.

Presently they reached the tent where the stern dispenser of martial law
slept in blissful unconsciousness that his prey was on the point of
slipping through his fingers. Needless to say they did not enter his
tent, which was at the extreme end of the camp near the river, but
making a slight detour, slipped past it, and almost immediately
afterwards Jake came to a halt.

‘Thet’s all I kin do fer ye, Grizzly,’ he whispered. ‘Ye must trust ter
luck fer the rest. God send ye git safe in. Give a kind thort ter Uncle
Sam sometimes fer this night’s work.’ And before Ephraim could utter a
word of the thanks that rushed to his lips, his benefactor had turned
and left him.

‘Waal,’ thought Ephraim, as he cast himself at full length upon the
ground in order to escape observation, ‘thet Jake Summers is a man down
ter his boots. To think of the few toys I give little Toots bringin’
about all this. I never thort when I made him thet Jack-in-the-box thet
it war ter be the savin’ er my life. My land! I kin sca’cely onderstand
it.’

As he lay, he rapidly revolved plan after plan for his further
procedure, rejecting them all, till at last he made up his mind to
attempt to reach the hut in the forest, and conceal himself therein
until the day broke.

‘It’s resky,’ he thought to himself; ‘but then everythin’s resky jest
now. And it’s better than wanderin’ round in the dark, when I might
plump up against a Yank before I knew whar I war. Thet window is so
handy, too. Onless they come on me from all sides at wanst, I kin slip
through it nicely and away inter the woods.’

He stole across the fields, bending almost to the ground lest any
prowling Federal or lynx-eyed sentry should catch sight of him; nor did
he pause to take breath until he reached the long ditch, at the far end
of which he had waged that memorable battle with Sergeant Mason, which
had, after all, resulted so disastrously for himself.

‘I wonder whether the corporal has found the despatch,’ he thought, as
he rested his back against the sloping side of the ditch. ‘It must hev
dropped out somewhar thar. He’s a good man, thet corporal, and ef I git
cl’ar of this scrape, I won’t hev so many hard things ter say agin the
Yanks after ter-night. ’Ceptin’, of co’se, that pesky Cunnel Spriggs.
But then, I reckon, he sorter stands alone, bein’, as Ginrul Shields
said, a disgrace ter everybody. I wonder whar he is, the critter! Layin’
on ter be lookin’ fer us, when all he wants is ter be quit er the fight
ter-morrer, or ter-day, for I guess it’s been ter-day this two hours
back. I wonder ef thar will be a battle. It’ll simplify matters a good
deal fer me ef thar is, fer the Yanks will hev enuff ter do ’thout
huntin’ me. I wonder whar Luce kin be? I hope he’s made our lines all
right. My land! I’d jest better quit wonderin’ and ‘tend ter business.’

He started off again, going warily, and anon reached, without accident,
the short arm of the wood, through which he groped cautiously until he
came opposite to the back of the hut. Here he paused again, and throwing
himself down, crawled on his hands and knees across the short strip of
intervening ground. At the window he raised himself up cautiously and
listened intently. Not a sound broke the stillness, and satisfied at
last, he edged his way round to the front.

‘All cl’ar,’ he thought. ‘Thet’s well. Now I’ll set down jest inside the
door, and then ef anybody comes I kin slip in and away through the
window, or out across the open ez the case may be. It’s oncomfortably
nigh the camp, this cabin; but I ’magine it’s the safest place till the
mornin’ breaks.’

He sat down at the door of the cabin, and pulling out a piece of the
corporal’s biscuit, ate it with relish. Half an hour passed, and the
deep stillness acting soothingly upon his tired nerves, he began to feel
drowsy, and actually nodded once or twice.

‘This won’t do,’ he muttered. ‘I must keep awake; it’——Another nod, and
then he sprang noiselessly to his feet, wide awake and quivering in
every limb. He heard, or thought he heard, a scratching sound at the
window of the hut.

He strained his ears to listen, ready the instant that doubt became
certainty to flee across the open into the fields once more.

Again that faint scratching sound, this time a little louder, and
accompanied by a gentle tapping.

‘It’s a squirr’l, I reckon,’ thought Ephraim, much relieved. ‘He has
maybe got a knot hole on the roof.’

‘Whippo-wil! whippo-wil! whippo-wil!’

Ephraim stiffened into attention again. There was nothing extraordinary
about the sound. It was night, or rather very early morning, the time
when the whip-poor-wills took their exercise and screamed out their
loud, clear notes; but there was something else. In the old days at
Staunton, which the startling events of the last four and twenty hours
had crowded so far into the background that they seemed removed by a
distance of years from the present, it had been Luce’s custom to come
whip-poor-willing down the little back street where Ephraim lived, to
give his friend timely notice of his approach. Therefore the sound had a
greater significance for the Grizzly.

‘Hear thet bird!’ he said to himself. ‘It’s jest what Luce use ter do.
My! I wonder will I ever git back to the old home again.’

‘Whippo-wil! whippo-wil! whippo-wil! Tap, tap, tap!’

Now a whip-poor-will may sing its song at night, but it does not usually
perch upon a window-sill and lightly tap to attract attention, and this
was borne home to Ephraim when for the third time the cry was repeated,
followed by the mysterious rapping.

Ephraim’s heart gave a great leap. ‘It can’t be!’ he said, in the
silence of his brain. ‘It can’t be! I reckon I must find out, though.’

He crept noiselessly round the cabin and peered beyond the angle of the
wall in the direction of the window.

The space at the back of the hut was darker than that at the front, for
the nearness of the woods threw an additional gloom; but Ephraim,
staring into the dark, could just make out a figure standing at a little
distance from the window with outstretched arm, which rose and fell
rhythmically, and at every movement came the light tap, tap of a switch
upon the sill.

‘Whippo-wil! whippo’——

‘Luce!’

‘Grizzly!’

There was a rush through the darkness, the shock of a violent meeting,
and panting, trembling, almost sobbing with joy, the two friends clung
to one another in a fervent embrace.

‘Luce!’ whispered the Grizzly, the words falling in broken syllables
from his lips. ‘What ye doin’ hyar? I thought ye would be safe and fur
away.’

‘I didn’t know what had become of you,’ whispered Lucius back; ‘but I
imagined that if you had got away you would make for the cabin. It
seemed the most likely place. Oh, I’m so glad! I’m so glad!’

‘I’m glad too; but I’m sorry ez well, fer I thought ye would be well
within our lines. Ugh! Ah!’

‘What is the matter?’ asked Lucius in alarm, as at another friendly hug
Ephraim uttered a low cry of pain.

‘It’s nuthin’, bub. On’y I got it in the shoulder, and ye gripped me
thar. Come into the cabin. We’ll be safer thet way.’

‘What! Are you wounded?’ inquired Lucius anxiously, as he followed
Ephraim in through the window.

‘Jest a scrape on the shoulder. Never mind it. Tell me what happened
after ye left me. I reckon ye ran back the way ye had come. I heard ye
shoutin’.’

‘No, I didn’t,’ answered Lucius. ‘At least, only for a few steps, and
then I made a break clean away. And I got through,’ he added proudly.

‘Through the ring thet was round ye?’ queried Ephraim, not
understanding.

‘No,’ replied Lucius; ‘through their lines and into ours.’

‘What! Ye—got—through—inter—our—lines?’

‘Yes; and gave the despatch to General Jackson.’

‘The despatch? Ginrul Jackson? Luce, what air ye sayin’?’

‘I am telling you just what happened,’ answered Lucius. ‘Didn’t you miss
it? The despatch, I mean. I found it in my pouch. We must have changed
belts without knowing it in the darkness of the cave.’

‘Ye found the despatch, and ye got inter our lines, and ye gave it ter
old Stonewall, I onderstand ye ter say!’ said Ephraim, still bewildered.

‘I did, all three.’ He laughed a low laugh of satisfaction.

‘Then why in thunder didn’t ye stay thar?’

‘Grizzly! Did you suppose that after all you have risked for me I would
run away and leave you without trying to find out what had become of
you? I had such a time with the General. He didn’t know me, not a little
bit, and he wouldn’t hear of my coming back. But he was so kind, and
when he saw how anxious I was about you, he actually came with me
himself as far as the outposts to find out if any one had seen you come
in where I did. And then’——He paused and gave another little laugh.

‘And then?’ queried Ephraim, who had listened to the recital in absolute
silence.

‘Then I gave him the slip and bolted for the Federal lines. Some one
gave the order to fire; but the General—I had told him who I was by that
time—called out “Order—arms!” and I got clean away.’

‘And how did ye git ez fur ez this?’

‘I sneaked through somehow. No one saw me. I heard a shot; but it was
not fired at me, and I made for this cabin as fast as I could; for I
thought you would be here if anywhere.’

The Grizzly bent forward with his head upon his arms and groaned aloud.

‘What is it?’ asked Lucius sympathetically. ‘Does your wound hurt you?’

‘Wound!’ moaned Ephraim. ‘D’ye s’pose I’m thinkin’ about thet et sech a
time ez this? No, Luce, it’s you. That ye should git off safe and all,
and then start out to come back fer me. Oh, bub, why did ye do it? Why
did ye do it?’

‘Why shouldn’t I?’

‘And ye don’t seem ter know thet ye’ve done anythin’ out er the way,’
said Ephraim in a wondering tone.

‘Grizzly, old stick, wouldn’t you have done as much for me?’

‘Thet’s different. I brought ye out, and it war my duty ter git ye home
agen ef it war anyways possible. Ye got yerself the best part er the
way—inter our lines, thet is—and now ye’ve been and run yer head inter
the hornet’s nest agen. And all fer me—all fer me. Luce, ye didn’t orter
hev done it. I warn’t wuth it, Luce.’ He sprang to his feet and groped
in the darkness for his friend. ‘I’ll never fergit what ye’ve done fer
me this day. Never ez long ez I live.’ His voice faltered, and he wrung
the younger boy’s hand in silence.

‘Shucks!’ exclaimed Lucius. ‘It’s nothing to talk about, and here I am
now. It doesn’t come up by a long measure to what you’ve done for me
from the time you broke into the pile till now. Besides, what’s the use
of being a friend if you don’t act friendly?’

‘Hear him!’ muttered Ephraim feebly. ‘It’s all very well, Luce. But I
can’t fergit it, and I’m not goin’ ter hev ye makin’ light er it.’

‘Well, here I am now,’ said Lucius; ‘and you are safe, I am thankful to
say. Tell me what has happened to you since last I saw you. I tell you,
while that fight was going on at the end of the ditch, I didn’t know
what to do, I was so frightened. I thought at first that the miserable
Yank had got you down.’

‘Don’t ye talk so airy er the miserable Yanks,’ said Ephraim
emphatically. ‘I’ve had more kindness ter-night from one or two of ’em
than I kin well begin ter say. Ef it warn’t fer a miserable Yank, I
wouldn’t be hyar jest now.’ And taking up his story, he poured into
Luce’s astonished ear a graphic account of his adventures since his
arrest.

‘Well,’ commented Lucius when the tale was finished, ‘you have had a
time of it, and no mistake. I hope Jake Summers got back before it was
found out that you were missed. He must be a good man. You see now what
it is to be a kind old Grizzly, and go around making little folks feel
happy. I remember little Toots. And so he’s dead?’

‘Yes,’ answered Ephraim, ‘and pore Jake took on orful when he war
tellin’ me about him. Yes, I do hope it will go well with Jake.’

‘I believe they won’t be likely to pry into that tent before dawn,’ said
Lucius. ‘There’s no reason why they should. They want light to hang a
man, I should say.’

‘It don’t foller,’ replied Ephraim drily. ‘But thar’ll be light enuff
soon,’ he added, moving to the door and looking out; ’fer the sky is
beginnin’ ter brighten. It’s time fer us ter quit this establishment.’

‘Why shouldn’t we stay here?’ demurred Lucius. ‘I should think it would
be as safe a place as any.’

‘Not when the day dawns,’ answered Ephraim. ‘Ye don’t s’pose that when
they begin ter hunt fer me that they’re not likely ter give a look in
hyar ez they pass by.’

‘I imagine that they will have enough to think about without losing time
on your trail,’ said Lucius. ‘I saw certain signs as I came through our
camp with the General that something was about to happen.’

‘Maybe,’ returned Ephraim quaintly; ‘but ef they lay hold er me before
thet suthin’ happens, I wouldn’t be able ter take so much interest in it
ez otherwise. No; we musn’t stop hyar.’

‘Where shall we hide, then?’ asked Lucius. ‘I tell you I’ve had enough
of trying to break through lines.’

‘I agree with ye thar,’ assented Ephraim. ‘Thar must be no more er that
sort er fun. We must make a push across the woods and try and reach the
mountain. We kin hide thar well enuff, or make our way along it,
whichever seems most reasonable.’

‘We shall only lose ourselves in the wood again,’ protested Lucius.
‘What is the good of that?’

‘Even so, we’ll hev a better chance ter dodge out er sight among the
trees,’ argued Ephraim. ‘Honestly, I think it ain’t safe ter stay hyar.’

‘Well, go ahead,’ said Lucius. ‘I am with you whatever you do. You’ve
got the longest head.’

‘I couldn’t manage ter git the despatch through, fer all my long head,’
exclaimed Ephraim admiringly.—‘Come along, then.’

They slipped through the window, and entered the wood in Indian file,
Lucius holding on to the skirt of Ephraim’s tunic, lest by any chance
they should get separated in the intense darkness, for though the dawn
was beginning to break, it would be some time yet before the light would
be powerful enough to illuminate the recesses of the forest.

As the stars paled in the sky before the approach of morning, two things
happened, both fraught with importance to our fugitives, though they
plunged along, steering blindly through the wood, trusting to Providence
to guide them aright, and ignorant meanwhile of the turn of events.
First, Stonewall Jackson’s infantry began to move across the foot-bridge
which he had thrown over the South Fork; and, secondly, Colonel Spriggs,
tired of the ineffectual pursuit, and resting his wearied men under the
mountain not far from the Confederate lines, sullenly turned his angry
face once more in the direction of his own camp. Not that he intended to
reach it just yet. His plan—a very simple one—was to lose himself in the
wood until the growing day should have revealed to him what the enemy
were about. If a battle should begin, he would thus be able to keep
clear of it; while, if otherwise, he could fall back upon the camp
quietly and at his leisure. But Colonel Spriggs had reckoned without
General Jackson, whose plans included the advance of Brigadier-general
Taylor’s Louisiana troops through the woods by the side of the mountain,
and it was therefore not improbable that Colonel Spriggs would find
himself in a very warm corner for once in his life before the day was
much older.

Of all these facts and probabilities, however, the boys knew nothing as
they held steadily on through the pathless woods, hoping and trusting
that their luck would lead them out upon the mountain-side, and at the
same time keeping a wary eye for possible surprises or openings in the
forest where an enemy might lurk.

The light grew stronger and the woods brighter, and suddenly they came
upon just such a place, a natural clearing, where the trees grew thinly
and the ground was covered with logs and underbrush. To walk across this
did not seem the right thing to do; but to their joy they saw the
mountain looming in front of them, and knew that at least their faces
were in the right direction.

‘It’ll not do ter cross over thar, Luce,’ said Ephraim in a low voice.
‘We must skirt it. Sh! I hear a sound. Down ter the ground! Thar’s some
one comin’ up.’

The wood, indeed, at that part was full of soldiers. The Louisiana men
were well forward, but unfortunately the boys had no suspicion that
their own men were so close at hand, and only reckoned that they had to
deal with their enemies, the Federals, who now appeared to be
surrounding them. Far away, but rapidly drawing nearer, they could hear
the tramp of stealthy footsteps, and now and again the low hum of
subdued voices. Nearer and nearer came the terrifying sounds, and lower
and lower they crouched, scarcely daring to breathe.

‘It’s no use trying to skirt it, Luce,’ whispered Ephraim, his mouth
close to the boy’s ear. ‘They seem ter be all about us. They’ll crowd us
out before we know. We must make a dash across the open before they git
up, and try and reach thet other belt er wood. We’ll be safer thar.’

‘There may be more on the other side,’ answered Lucius.

‘I know. We can’t help thet. We’ve got ter make a break fer freedom, and
chance the rest.’

They crawled to the edge of the clearing, and after one moment of
anxious listening, rose to their feet and stole swiftly into the open.

But no sooner had they broken cover than Ephraim, who was leading,
pulled up short, and with a sharp exclamation of surprise dashed back
again.

‘What is it?’ cried Lucius, following his friend’s example.

‘Look! look!’ whispered Ephraim excitedly. ‘Look over thar up in the
left angle er the clearing.’

‘Where?’ asked Lucius, peering out. ‘Oh!’ as his eyes encountered an all
too familiar object. ‘That horrible balloon.’

‘Bullee!’ exclaimed Ephraim excitedly. ‘This is whar we came down
yesterday, and thar’s old Blue Bag ready and willin’ ter carry us out er
this pesky difficulty. Bullee!’

However willing Blue Bag might be, it was a question whether she would
be able to aid her enthusiastic inventor, for what between her travels
and the time which had elapsed since she had been hauled down and
fastened to the log, a considerable quantity of gas had leaked out of
her, not to speak of that which Ephraim had deliberately set free in
order to bring about the descent. Still, she floated with a certain
amount of buoyancy, and Ephraim believed and hoped that when lightened
of every remaining scrap of ballast, she would be capable of rising to a
certain height, and of floating them out of the dangerous proximity of
the contending forces.

‘She wobbles a bit,’ said Ephraim, eyeing the balloon critically; ‘but I
reckon she’s good enuff yit ter take us past the Yanks, and thet’s all
we want. It don’t matter whether we come down in Staunton or in
Winchester, s’ long ez we git cl’ar er Lewiston. Come on, Luce. Thar
couldn’t be a better way than this. We’ve all the luck this mornin’.’

He had forgotten Luce’s little peculiarity in the matter of balloons,
and with another joyous ‘Come on!’ darted again into the open. The next
instant, finding himself alone, he stopped and looked back.

Lucius, deadly pale, with a queer strained look in his eyes, his knees
knocking together, and his body swaying from side to side, was standing
where Ephraim had left him, apparently unable to proceed.

‘What has struck ye, Luce?’ asked Ephraim anxiously. ‘Why don’t ye
come?’

‘I can’t,’ gasped Lucius. ‘I daren’t. It makes me sick to think of it.
I’d rather die.’

‘Waal,’ returned Ephraim, hugely disappointed, ‘ef ye can’t, ye can’t.
I’d fergotten how ye felt about it. No matter, we’ll make fer the woods
on the other side.—Ah, by time!’

He rushed back to Lucius and seized him by the hand. ‘Thar’s no help fer
it, Luce,’ he cried. ‘Ye _must_ come onless ye reely want ter die. I kin
see the gleam er bay’nets through the trees on the other side. We shall
be headed off. Thar’s no other way.’

He dragged Lucius forward with all his might; but the boy hung back,
sliding his feet over the ground like a jibbing pony.

So they went until rather more than half the distance had been covered,
and then all at once a loud shout was raised behind them, and Ephraim,
looking hastily round, uttered a groan of despair.

Out from the coverts at the far end of the clearing rushed Colonel
Spriggs, his face aflame with excitement, and waving his sword as he
drew near.

[Illustration]



                              CHAPTER XVI.
                        OLD GRIZZLY’S SACRIFICE.


As Ephraim saw their terrible enemy running towards them, followed by a
number of soldiers, his heart, stout as it was, sank within him; for
Lucius, in the spasm of unreasoning terror which the mere sight of the
balloon had induced in him, hung back, a dead-weight, and refused to
move in response to either force or persuasion. It is said that a person
in the grip of severe sea-sickness would, if informed that the ship was
about to sink under him, calmly accept the fact, and welcome the change
as a blessed relief from present suffering. If this be true, then Lucius
was in very much the same state of mind. The recollection of his balloon
experiences filled him with a hideous, incapacitating fear. To ascend,
he believed, meant death. Death was behind him in another shape, but
compared with the former it seemed absolutely enchanting. These were his
thoughts, if he thought at all, and in answer to Ephraim’s wild entreaty
that he would hurry on, he did but hang back the more, while he muttered
huskily words which fell in broken, meaningless syllables from his pale
and trembling lips.

While this struggle was going on, the colonel and his men drew nearer
and nearer. Spriggs had not recognised the boys at first, but observing
from his place of concealment two Federal soldiers, as he supposed,
entering the open, had fixed his attention somewhat idly upon them. It
was not until the argument began, and he got a good, though distant,
look at Ephraim’s hairy face, that it was borne in upon him who these
seeming Federals really were. A fierce joy filled his cruel heart. He
should not have to return to camp empty-handed after all. ‘Don’t fire!’
he ordered his men. ‘Run them down and take them alive.’

Relaxing for a moment his efforts to drag Lucius to the balloon, Ephraim
cast a glance over his shoulder. The colonel and his men were still a
couple of hundred yards away, but coming on at top speed. Thirty paces
ahead was the balloon—a veritable city of refuge. One vigorous spurt,
and they could reach it and be safe. Life was very sweet, and Ephraim
could save his—if he went on alone.

But that was not the Grizzly’s way. No such coward thought even entered
his brain. Stooping down in front of Lucius, he drew the boy’s arms
around his neck, humped him on to his back like a sack of potatoes, and
staggering to his feet again, stumbled forward, his body bent almost
double under the heavy weight and the effort to preserve the equilibrium
of his well-nigh senseless burden.

‘Throttle me round the neck, Luce,’ he cried wildly. ‘Twine yer legs
around me. Don’t give in, sonny! Keep up yer sperrits, and I’ll git ye
thar!’

Scarcely conscious of what he was doing, Lucius obeyed, and Ephraim,
straightening up under this better distribution of weight, rushed madly
on with long, swinging strides.

On came the colonel. Another hundred yards and they were lost; but
gasping and groaning, Ephraim had reached the car, and with scant
ceremony tumbled Lucius into its friendly shelter.

His eyes were bulging out of his head, and the sweat poured in big drops
from off his face. His shoulder, too, was paining him terribly, and the
tremendous exertion had caused the bandages to slip, and set the blood
flowing again. But his nerves were steady and his wits clear, and he ran
swiftly from side to side of the car, deftly unloosing the knots in the
ropes that detained it.

Ping! ping! Two balls from the colonel’s revolver sang through the
cordage, and passed clean through the balloon; but with a yell of
triumph Ephraim scrambled into the car, and having cast off the loosened
ropes, began madly to fling out the bags of ballast.

Out went the sand-bags, one after the other, till but one remained, and
then, as if in response to Ephraim’s frantic invocations, old Blue Bag
put forth all her remaining strength, and though she rose but slowly,
yet after all she rose. Ephraim was wild with delight. He shouted and
sang, without knowing in the least what he was doing, and regardless of
the bullets, shook his fist at Spriggs as he came panting along. Then
there was a slight jerk, and the shouts died away upon the Grizzly’s
lips, as the balloon stood still. The grapnel, which Ephraim in his
eager haste had only torn from its hold and flung to one side, had
dragged again under the log, and now held fast.

Ephraim sprang at the rope where it was attached to the car, and tore at
the fastening; but the knot was stiff and badly tied, and in spite of
all his efforts, it refused to come undone.

Colonel Spriggs took in the situation at a glance. ‘Ha! ha!’ he laughed
savagely; ‘I’ve got you this time. You don’t escape me again.—Hurry up
there!’ he called to his men. ‘A dozen of you haul down this confounded
balloon. The rest stand ready, and if the rope gives, fire a volley
through the car.’

A rush was made towards the balloon, in which a number of men, who had
suddenly issued from the woods under the command of a young captain,
took part. The remainder of the colonel’s forces halted, and a row of
deadly, gleaming tubes was instantly levelled at the car, where Ephraim,
lost to all sense of personal danger in his anxiety to save Lucius,
tugged and strained at the knot till his nails were split, and blood
oozed from the points of his fingers. In vain: it would not yield.

‘Never mind,’ said a voice beside him. ‘We are as good as dead, anyway.
Better face them and have done with it.’

Ephraim looked round, bewildered. Lucius was standing by his side, pale,
certainly, but with a look rather of relief than otherwise upon his
face.

‘By time!’ cried the Grizzly, losing patience for once. ‘I can’t
onderstand ye, Luce. One moment ye’re as limp ez a lump er jelly, and
the next ye’re ez stiff ez the rammer er a gun. Oh, ef I’d on’y kept
Jake Summers’s knife!’

‘Haul them down!’ shouted the colonel, grinning like an ugly imp.

He was standing immediately underneath the car, looking up at the boys.
A wild storm of rage shook Ephraim from head to foot, and desisting from
his useless struggle with the knot, he stooped to the bottom of the car,
and raising the one heavy bag of ballast that remained, sent it with
unerring aim full down upon his mocking enemy.

The sand-bag struck the colonel between the neck and shoulder, and
felled him like a log; but as he measured his length upon the ground,
the car sank to earth; strong hands seized and held it fast, and the
young captain, who had been looking on in bewilderment at the singular
scene, stepped forward, and parting the ropes, ordered the boys, not
unkindly, to get out.

‘Whatever does this mean?’ he began. ‘Are you Federal soldiers, or’——But
Colonel Spriggs, rising from the ground, advanced with a face that was
absolutely contorted with rage.

‘Hold your tongue, sir!’ he shouted rudely to the captain. ‘I don’t know
who you are, nor what you want here.—As for you, you scoundrel,’ he
foamed at Ephraim. ‘You filthy rebel, you; I’ll teach you! You’ve played
your last prank.’ Then, maddened by the quiet smile upon the Grizzly’s
face, he raised his arm and thrust his fist, guarded by the heavy hilt
of his sword, violently in the lad’s mouth.

‘Take that, you dog,’ he cried. ‘What do you mean by grinning at me?’

Lucius uttered a cry of rage, and struggled violently with the men who
held him on either side; but Ephraim, spitting out a mouthful of blood,
coolly replied: ‘’Twould hev made a cat laugh ter see ye sprawlin’ thar.
I on’y wish it had broken yer neck, ye or’nery skunk.’

‘Colonel!’ exclaimed the young captain, stepping to the front. Then,
seeing that his superior was temporarily out of his senses with wrath,
and fearful of some dire catastrophe, he turned sharply upon the crowd
of soldiers, and ordered them to fall in.

The men, drilled to prompt obedience, obeyed at once; even those who
were holding the balloon loosing their grasp and joining their comrades,
the colonel’s men in one group, the captain’s in another. Instantly the
balloon rose in the air, and the grapnel having been freed in the
commotion, soared higher and higher, till at last, caught by a current
of wind, it floated over the tree tops towards the south. An hour later
it astonished Jackson’s rearguard by descending suddenly among them, a
collapsed and miserable wreck.

The colonel was striding up and down, muttering furiously to himself.
Now, when he looked up and saw the balloon drifting away, his wrath
broke out afresh.

‘What did you let that balloon away for, you fools?’ he shouted. ‘Now we
have no ropes to hang these dogs with. What did you do it for?’ He
glared at the men, who naturally made no reply.

‘It was by a mistake, colonel,’ the young officer hastened to explain.
‘It was my fault. I gave the order to fall in.’

‘And who are you, sir, to give your orders while I am on the ground?’
stormed the colonel.

‘I addressed my own men,’ replied the officer respectfully; ‘I
understand that I command my own company. Your men heard the order, and
obeyed it at the same time. Hence the escape of the balloon.’

‘Who are you, sir?’ repeated the colonel. ‘Who are you with your “I
command my own company?” You won’t command it much longer if you presume
to take so much upon yourself in the presence of your superior officer.
I tell you I won’t be answered back. I believe you let that balloon away
on purpose.’

The captain flushed deeply. ‘My name is Peters, sir,’ he answered,
‘Captain Peters of the —— Vermont. I received orders to make a detour of
these woods, to feel for an advance of the enemy. The scene which has
just passed has considerably surprised me. I know nothing of these
people, though, from the presence of the balloon, and the fact that they
are wearing Federal uniforms, I am led to believe that they are those of
whom all the camp is talking. I have no wish to hinder you in the
execution of your duty. If you conceive it to be your duty to arrest
these fellows, do so, by all means.’

‘I conceive it to be my duty,’ retorted the angry colonel, ‘to let you
know that you are too free with your speech, young man. You don’t
command anything or anybody while I am on the ground, and just you
remember it.’

Captain Peters reddened again, but held his peace. He was a volunteer
with little experience, and he really did not know whether he ought to
be at the orders of a stray colonel, just because he was a colonel.

‘We’ve got a friend in the captain,’ whispered Ephraim to Lucius. ‘We
won’t come to harm ef he kin git the whip hand.’ But this it did not
seem that Captain Peters was likely to do.

‘He’ll kill us if he can,’ replied Lucius. ‘Look at his face.’

‘I reckon,’ returned Ephraim simply. ‘The old blunderbuss is mad.’

The colonel resumed his march up and down, probably wrestling with
himself; for brute though he was, what manhood there was left in him
could not but recoil from the deed he contemplated. For several minutes
there was silence, the men standing at ease, and the captain
meditatively poking holes in the ground with the point of his sword, and
ever and anon casting furtive glances at the two prisoners.

The stillness became oppressive. Only the colonel’s hurried footsteps
broke it irregularly, and the sound jarred so much upon Ephraim’s tense
nerves that he felt he must speak at whatever cost.

‘See hyar, cunnel,’ he called out. ‘It’s cruel ter keep us standing
hyar. What ye goin’ ter do with us? Remember we ain’t done ye any harm,
’ceptin’ thet whack I ketched ye jest now, and any wan would hev done ez
much, makin’ a break fer freedom.—Cunnel!’

Captain Peters made Ephraim a swift sign to be silent; but the colonel,
after one prolonged and malevolent stare, continued his march as though
he had not heard a word.

‘The pesky critter!’ muttered Ephraim. ‘Hold up, Luce. He dassn’t do
nuthin’, and he knows it too, right well. Thet’s what’s makin’ him so
mad. He’d like ter chaw us up inter little bits, on’y he dassn’t.’

He stopped obedient to the captain’s signals, but the next moment his
roving eye caught the gleam of gun-barrels in among the trees in the
section of wood they had left when they ran for the balloon, and here
and there a face peeped out and was rapidly withdrawn; so rapidly that
the Grizzly rubbed his eyes and asked himself whether they had not
deceived him. ‘It looked like ’em,’ he said to himself; ‘but it can’t
be. How can it be? Oh, I reckon it’s some more Yanks comin’ ter see the
fun.’ He held his tongue, however, and, for want of something better to
do, took a piece of string from his pocket, and twisted it nervously
round and round his fingers, the while he kept his eyes steadfastly
fixed upon the forest opposite. But if he had seen anything, there was
nothing to be seen now. Suddenly the colonel halted in his walk, turned,
and approached them.

‘Now it’s comin’,’ thought Ephraim, twirling his string more rapidly
than ever. Lucius stood perfectly still and erect, his hands locked
behind his back, and his eyes staring straight in front of him. Whatever
his feelings, they did not appear upon the surface.

The colonel’s swarthy face was deeply flushed, his black, deep-set eyes
glittered menacingly under their bushy, overhanging brows, and he gnawed
persistently at his long moustache. It was evident that in the struggle
which had been going on in his mind, the evil had conquered the good.

Captain Peters drew himself up as the colonel neared him, and waited
silently at attention.

‘Captain Peters,’ began Spriggs, speaking rapidly in a husky voice,
whether the result of shame or of his still blazing wrath it would be
hard to say, ‘since you seem to have taken a more proper view of your
position, I will condescend to explain matters to you. You were right in
your surmise that these fellows are those who arrived yesterday in that
balloon for the purpose of making observations of our position. They
escaped, as you have doubtless heard, and they have been retaken, as you
now see.’

Captain Peters bowed.

‘Well, sir,’ went on the colonel, ‘I presume you know the punishment in
these cases, though your experience is probably not very great.’

He sneered out the last words, and still Captain Peters did not reply,
though his brown face became a shade paler.

‘We will take that for granted, then,’ pursued the colonel. ‘Very well,
sir, as, owing to your hasty assumption of the command, that punishment
cannot be carried out in the usual manner, you will take a firing party
fifty yards to the right, set these two rascals twenty paces in front,
and—shoot them.’ The word came out with a snap as though the demon which
possessed the man had forcibly expelled it.

‘Colonel!’ ejaculated the astounded Captain Peters. ‘Shoot them!
Why—why——Has the charge been proved?’

‘Your duty is to obey, sir, not to ask questions,’ said the colonel with
a hang-dog look. ‘Call your men forward at once.’

‘But, colonel,’ protested Captain Peters, ‘I beg your pardon, but I
think I should be informed why I am ordered to do this. You have your
own men, and’——

‘Obey your orders, sir. It is just to teach you that lesson, and for
nothing else,’ thundered the colonel, now more violently inflamed than
ever, because of the captain’s evident reluctance. ‘Obey your orders,
and at once, or I’ll have you disrated. Do you know who I am, sir?’

But Captain Peters held his ground like a man, and ventured on another
protest.

‘One of them is a mere boy, colonel,’ he said.

‘Boy or no boy,’ returned the colonel sullenly, ‘take him out, and shoot
him along with that hairy-faced baboon there. He knew what he was doing
when he turned spy, I’ll be bound.’

‘But I don’t see’——began Captain Peters.

‘Never mind what you see, or what you don’t see, sir,’ vociferated the
colonel. ‘I tell you that they are a couple of rascally spies. I had the
proof of it in my hand.’

‘Thet’s a lie,’ interjected Ephraim most injudiciously at this point.
‘We came down here because we couldn’t help it, not because we wanted
ter. He didn’t find any proof.’

Captain Peters looked hesitatingly at the colonel, who hastened to say:
‘From the pocket of that fellow was taken a paper covered with details
of our movements. That of itself is proof enough.’

‘Thet’s another,’ cried Ephraim. ‘Thar warn’t nuthin’ but stale news on
thet paper. Don’t ye listen ter him, captain. Ye take the resk. We han’t
had any trial. He dassn’t shoot us ’thout’n a trial.’

‘Silence!’ commanded the colonel.—‘It may satisfy you, Captain Peters,
since you require so much satisfying, that I have General Shields’s
express orders to deal summarily with these persons, when and wherever I
might find them. Now will you do your duty? I don’t choose to be kept
waiting here all the morning.’

This was decisive, and though the captain turned a sympathetic eye upon
the prisoners, he had no further objections to advance. ‘Company!
Attention!’ he shouted; but Lucius broke from the men who were standing
on either side of him, and rushed forward.

‘Captain,’ he cried, ‘that man is a liar. Here is General Shields’s own
order.’ He thrust a paper into the captain’s hand.

‘Bullee!’ chuckled Ephraim. ‘So ye got thet, too, Luce. By time! thet’ll
upset him.’

Captain Peters took the paper and read aloud: ‘“Colonel Spriggs—If you
come up with the two men who escaped from the balloon this morning, you
will detain them as prisoners, and bring them before me without taking
further action.”—This appears to be addressed to you, colonel,’ he
finished, looking up.

Spriggs advanced upon him, and simply tore the paper from his hand. ‘You
impertinent puppy,’ he raved, ‘if it is addressed to me, what do you
mean by reading it?’ He glanced over the paper and his countenance
changed, but he recovered himself. ‘You greenhorn,’ he continued
bitterly, ‘did it never occur to you to ask yourself how this precious
document came into that rascal’s hands? Are you familiar with General
Shields’s handwriting?’

‘No,’ answered the captain; ‘but’——

‘Well, I am, sir, and I declare this thing to be an impudent forgery.
Pah! You call yourself a soldier, and allow yourself to be taken in by
such a trick.’

‘It is not a forgery,’ cried Lucius. ‘Certainly, the general did not
know that we were the escaped prisoners, but he gave my chum the paper,
all the same. It’s the truth, upon my honour.’

Captain Peters looked puzzled, as well he might. ‘I don’t understand
you,’ he began, when the colonel at a white heat broke in again.

‘Captain Peters,’ he roared, ‘do your duty.’

Captain Peters hesitated for the last time. He was very young, very
sympathetic, and he did not know his position with regard to Colonel
Spriggs. But he did know what would be the consequences to himself of
disobedience on what was practically the field of battle. Finally he
said: ‘Colonel, this appears to be a very curious and unusual case.
Would it not be better, if I may say so, to refer it back to the
provost-marshal?’

For an instant the colonel paused. It appeared that one chance more was
to be given him. Then his good angel turned away and left him, and a
black lie dropped from his lips. His voice became dangerously calm. ‘I
do not know that I am bound to make explanations to you, Captain
Peters,’ he said; ‘but I have done so out of consideration for your
extreme youth and inexperience. It may be enough for you to know that I
carry the provost-marshal’s order, countersigned by General Shields, and
dated 1 A.M. to-day, to hang these fellows as soon as possible after
their capture, should I succeed in taking them; and that document, sir,
is not bogus like the one you have just read. Now, for the last time,
will you obey orders?’

Captain Peters wheeled round and faced his men.

‘Company!’ he cried. ‘Attention! You will remain drawn up in line. Your
orders are to keep a sharp lookout for the enemy. You will take no part
in this business, if you are men. That is my last word to you as your
captain.’ He turned about and faced the infuriated colonel. ‘No, sir; I
will not obey your orders,’ he said with flaming cheeks. ‘Do your
murderous work yourself, if you must do it. I am a soldier, not an
executioner. There is my sword. I am prepared to take the consequences.’

‘Bullee!’ burst from Ephraim, while a low murmur of approval ran down
the line of Vermonters. But the colonel, livid with rage, said as he
almost snatched the sword from the young officer’s hand: ‘Very good,
sir. Fall back! I shall know how to deal with you when the time
comes.—Sergeant Plowes!’ A low-browed, thick-set fellow stepped forward
and saluted. ‘Carry out the orders which Captain Peters has refused to
execute, and be sharp about it.’

In every company of men there are some souls of the baser sort, ever
ready to curry favour with those above them. The colonel had made a
careful selection from his regiment, when he set out to hunt the
fugitives down, and he knew that there was no fear of his orders being
disobeyed, whatever their character. Had not Captain Peters appeared
upon the scene it would have been all over with Ephraim and Lucius long
ago, but the presence of the junior officer had inspired Colonel Spriggs
with the mean idea of forcing some one to share the responsibility of
the execution with him. Foiled in this, he fell back upon the men he had
brought.

The sergeant also knew his men, and having named six, ordered them to
step to the front. They did so. The remainder of the company stood at
attention. Their sympathies were with the prisoners, but the fear of the
provost-marshal was before them, and as the colonel had absented himself
from them for about an hour after midnight, they could not know that he
had lied in saying that he had seen that dreaded functionary.

‘Fall in between the second and third file,’ said the sergeant to the
prisoners.

Lucius stepped forward and took his place. His head was held proudly up,
and on his pale lips was a set smile. His hands were still locked behind
his back, so no one saw how convulsively his fingers were twined
together.

‘Now then, you,’ said Plowes roughly to Ephraim, catching him by the
arm.

But the Grizzly broke from his hold, and rushed up to the colonel.
‘Cunnel!’ he cried, in heart-rending tones, ‘stop before ye do this
bloody deed. I ain’t keerin’ what ye do ter me, ez I told ye before. But
thet boy thar, thet Luce, he’s ez innercent ez a lamb. I made the
balloon jest fer ter pleasure him, and he didn’t want ter come; but I
fetched him along. He’s done nuthin’. Cunnel, ez God is above ye, don’t
harm him.’ His voice rose to a shriek. ‘Cunnel! cunnel! Hold yer hand.
Don’t shoot him. He’s his mother’s only son. He’s my friend, and I love
him. And I’ve brought him ter his death.’ He covered his face with his
hands and sobbed.

‘Take him away,’ said the colonel abruptly.

‘Cunnel!’ screamed Ephraim, struggling with the sergeant. ‘Spare him!
Spare him! Ef ye will, I’ll jine yer army and fight against my own side
till I drop. Ye’ll git one man more thet way.—Oh, what am I sayin’? I
don’t want ter git off myself. On’y let him go! On’y let him go!’

‘For shame, Grizzly!’ called Lucius. ‘Don’t degrade yourself by talking
to the ruffian.’

‘Oh, Luce, Luce!’ wailed Ephraim, suffering the sergeant to lead him
away. ‘What shall I do? What shall I do? I brought it on ye. Oh, fergive
me! Fergive me!’

‘Files! ‘Shun!’ cried Plowes, shoving Ephraim into his place. ‘Right
face! Fifty paces to the front! Quick—march!’

The melancholy procession started, Lucius still holding his head high,
and Ephraim crying and whining like a child that has been whipped.

‘Don’t cry, Grizzly,’ said Lucius, taking him by the arm. ‘They’ll think
you’re a funk. I know better; but don’t give them the chance to say so.
Don’t worry over me. It’s not your fault. I ought to have remembered
what my General said. It’s a big price to pay for being disobedient; but
it’s my fault, not yours. Oh, don’t cry so, dear old Grizzly!’

Their positions were curiously reversed. The soft, young southern voice
was calm and clear, there was no shrinking in the bright blue eyes, and
the quivering coward of half an hour before now marched to his death
with a step as steady and bearing as firm as that of any of the
cavaliers whose blood ran in his veins; while his comrade, all his
steadfast courage gone, shuffled along, his gaunt frame seeming to
shrivel in his clothes as he went, and his queer, old-looking face drawn
with the agony of his fear and self-reproach. Only there was this
difference—Lucius was thinking of himself, and that nerved him. Ephraim
was thinking of Lucius, and that unmanned him.

‘Files! Halt! Front! Order—arms!’ shouted the sergeant, and the men
stood still.

‘Now then, you two,’ said Plowes, ‘come with me.’ His rough heart was
touched for once in his life by what he had just heard, and he muttered
as they marched along: ‘I’ll make it thirty paces, and ye kin take yer
chance.’ Such a favour! And having said thus much, he placed them and
went back without another word.

Lucius straightened himself up and once more locked his fingers behind
his back. ‘Hold up, Grizzly!’ he said. ‘Don’t let them think that you’re
afraid.’

Ephraim bent his lank body and kissed Lucius on the cheek.

‘Good-bye, Luce,’ he said. ‘Maybe God’ll let me meet ye by-and-by.’

He raised his head, and swift as lightning a change came over his face,
and a flame of joy sparkled in his eyes as he stared over the heads of
the firing party at the woods beyond them.

Plowes had reached his men. ‘‘Shun!’ he called. ‘At thirty paces—prepare
to fire a volley! Ready!’

‘Ef I kin on’y gain an ounce of time,’ muttered the Grizzly, with a sob
in his throat.—‘Hold on!’ he shouted suddenly. ‘I can’t abear it. Wait
till I blind our eyes.’

‘Blind ’em, then, and be quick about it,’ returned Plowes sullenly; for
he was getting heartily sick of the job he had taken in hand.

‘I’ll not have my eyes bound,’ declared Lucius, pushing Ephraim’s hand
away.

‘It’s the last thing I’ll ever ask of ye,’ stammered Ephraim, scarcely
able to speak, and Lucius submitted.

‘Now then, sharp with your own,’ called Plowes.

Ephraim drew out his handkerchief and fumbled with it in his hands, but
all the time he scanned the opposite woods. Then the light died out of
his eyes again, for save for the waving boughs that swept gently to and
fro in the morning breeze, there was nothing to be seen.

‘Now then,’ shouted Plowes; and Lucius muttered: ‘Have you got your
handkerchief on?’

‘Yes, sonny,’ answered Ephraim soothingly, as he glanced once more
towards the woods. ‘Thar they air, the boys in gray,’ he murmured. ‘Why
don’t they come out? Am I dreaming? It’s too late! too late! One of us
must go under. I reckon it’ll hev ter be me.’ Then dashing the
handkerchief to the ground beside him, he placed his right arm round
Luce’s shoulders and roared at the top of his voice: ‘Fire, boys! Fire!’

‘Ready!’ called Plowes, astonished at this mode of address, for he
supposed it to be meant for him. ‘Present!‘——

But ere the fatal word could cross the sergeant’s lips, Ephraim swung
suddenly round in front of Lucius and clasped him in his arms. The
Grizzly’s broad back was turned to the platoon, and his body covered the
friend he loved from the deadly volley.

But it never came. For before a trigger of the six rifles could be
drawn, a line of flame spurted from the opposite woods, and a frightful
roar of musketry swallowed up all other sounds. Lucius felt a sharp
agony of pain in his right ankle, and then, with a dead, heavy weight
bearing him irresistibly backwards, fell fainting to the ground with the
wild rebel yell ringing in his ears.

The battle of Port Republic had begun. For the second time Lucius and
Ephraim had stood up to the fire of their own men, and this time they
had gone down.

[Illustration:

  ‘Fire, boys! Fire!‘
]

[Illustration]



                             CHAPTER XVII.
                          WHAT CAME OF IT ALL.


When we found him, he was lying completely covered by the body of the
elder boy, and if we had not come up when we did, he must have been
suffocated. The sergeant of the firing party, a rough brute, who was
captured, and who explained the matter to us and pointed out the boys,
said, with tears in his eyes, that he had never seen such a piece of
heroism. Ephraim had evidently caught sight of some of our men in the
wood, and knew that in a moment or two the fight must begin. At the same
time he believed that the movement would be too late to stop the fire of
the platoon, and even as the word was upon the sergeant’s lips, flung
himself in front of Lucius, deliberately offering his own life to save
that of his friend. As a matter of fact, all his wounds are from our men
and in the back; but for all that, they are as glorious as any received
in front by our brave fellows to-day.’

‘“Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for
his friend.” It was splendid!’

The full, earnest voice stirred a faint memory in Luce’s dull brain. He
looked wearily up into the kind face bent anxiously over him. ‘My
General!’ he murmured, and closed his eyes again.

Stonewall Jackson laid his hand caressingly upon the fair, curly head.

‘Poor fellow!’ he said. ‘Will he pull through, doctor, do you think?’

‘Oh yes; I trust so,’ replied the surgeon. ‘His ankle is badly
shattered, and he will limp for the rest of his days; but I think we
shall be able to save the foot.’

‘And Ephraim?’ asked the General.

‘Ah!’

The mournful sigh smote heavily on Luce’s ear. He was still drowsy and
stupid from the combined effect of shock and the chloroform which had
been administered to him before the ball had been extracted from his
leg; but at the sound of that dreary monosyllable his senses quickened,
he opened his eyes again, and looked vacantly round.

For an instant the unfamiliar surroundings of the field hospital
confused him; but in a flash full consciousness returned, the whole of
the terrible scene in which he had lately borne a part rose before him,
and with a shriek he struggled up on his mattress, supporting himself
upon his hands.

‘Ephraim! Ephraim!’ he wailed. ‘Where are you? You are not dead. You
can’t be dead. Oh, and you died for me!’

Then, as his eyes fell upon something stretched beside him, very calm
and still, he writhed round, regardless of the pain of his wound, and
flung himself upon the quiet form, raining tears and kisses upon the
white, pathetic face.

Was it a dream? The pale lips parted in a feeble smile, and a weak
voice, almost drowned in the groans of the wounded and dying, whispered
faintly: ‘Hold up, Luce! Keep up yer sperrits! I’ll git ye thar!’

                  *       *       *       *       *

It was the fall of 1862, and the tender light of the exquisite Indian
summer lay on the deep Virginian woods and glorified the rolling hills
of the Blue Ridge. In a secluded part of the beautiful grounds of
Markham Hall, a tall, thin young man, with a white, wasted face,
reclined in a comfortable wheel-chair, dreamily enjoying the warm
sunshine, and inhaling the fragrance of the ripe, red apples that hung
from the laden boughs in the orchard.

Presently a fair-haired boy came through the trees. In one hand he bore
a bowl of broth, and with the other he supported himself upon a stick as
he limped along.

‘Hello, Grizzly!’ cried the new-comer. ‘How do you feel now? Here’s your
soup. Aren’t you ready for it?’

‘I reckon!’ answered Ephraim, smiling in his own old way. ‘Ef this
weather holds, I’ll be around agen in no time. My! It’s jest glorious
ter be hyar. But what a lot of trouble I’m givin’ ye all, Luce. I ain’t
wuth it, ye know.’

Still thinking of others and careless of himself, the grand old Grizzly.
Lucius flushed deeply.

‘See here, Grizzly,’ he said, setting down the bowl upon a rustic table,
and placing his arm affectionately round his friend’s neck, ‘don’t you
ever say that again. If there is anything good enough for you in the
wide world, the Markhams have got to find it out. Just you remember
that. Where should I be to-day if it hadn’t been for you? Lying under
the ground alongside that pesky colonel, as you called him.’ Then as
Ephraim was silent, he went on: ‘I can’t do much, you know, Grizzly, for
I’m only a boy, and a lame one at that; but I’ve got a piece of news for
you, just to show that we are not ungrateful. Father has arranged with
Mr Coulter that, as soon as you are able for it, you are to go into the
works as assistant mechanical engineer. Then, when the war is through,
he’s going to send you to college, so the loss of the pile doesn’t
matter after all. Meantime, till you go to college, you are to live with
us.’

Ephraim’s great eyes swam in tears. He caught Luce’s hand in both his
own and fondled it.

‘Shucks! Luce,’ he muttered brokenly. ‘What a fuss ter make about a
little thing. I han’t never took any count er thet, seein’ it war done
fer you.’


                                THE END.

------------------------------------------------------------------------



                          TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES


 1. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling.
 2. Archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings retained as printed.
 3. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.





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