CHAPTER XVII. A SOLDIER'S TURKEY HUNT.
The armies of the North and the armies of the South had been concentrating for months prior to the battle of Bull Run, resulting in the defeat of the Northern troops and in heavy loss to both sides; after collision came recoil, as of mighty waves dashing against a rock bound coast. Predatory bands of disorganized soldiers from both sides roamed the country, and, in many instances, not plundering merely, but ruthlessly destroying what they could not seize.
Mr. Diggs had found his company the day after the battle, and narrated to his comrades his hair-breadth escape and the many heroic deeds which he had performed, among others, the deadly attack on the Confederate cavalryman, who had wounded him in the shoulder. He became quite a hero in Corporal Grimm's eyes, his experience at Bull Run reminding the corporal of incidents that had happened in his ten days' military service under General Preston, also recalling to the mind of Sergeant Swords details of his own service under Captain Strong, all of which was circumstantially narrated for the edification of Mr. Diggs, who again rejoiced that he had not carried out his rash threat of leaving the army. Laurels yet, he knew, must crown his brow. Already he had become a hero. True, when faced by danger and death and sorely tried, he acknowledged to himself that he wavered; but, in the quiet of camp, his patriotism returned and he again felt ready to meet the foe.
The day after the battle, the body of Willie Thornbridge was consigned to its last resting-place. There were but two mourners gathered over that little mound of earth—his captain and Uncle Dan, the scout, who felt, not only grief for the brave young life so early ended, but a deeper pain for the widowed mother at home, now childless.
Colonel Holdfast's regiment was falling back toward the Junction, its old head-quarters. Their movements were necessarily slow, as they were constantly recruiting, and they were compelled to be wary, for small parties of stragglers were occasionally picked up by independent companies of Confederates.
One evening Corporal Grimm suggested to Sergeant Swords that they form an independent foraging corps of half a dozen and make a raid on the turkeys of an old rebel, about a mile from the camp, that night. The sergeant acquiesced—we never knew a sergeant who would not acquiesce in such a plan, even at the risk of being reduced to the ranks—and they were not long in finding plenty of volunteers. The corps must not exceed six, as the secret could not be so well kept among more, and a larger force could not be so well handled.
Our friend Diggs was easily persuaded to enter into the project. For the last two days he had been contemplating writing a book, to be entitled "Camp Life," narrating his own experiences. This freak, he thought, might afford a diverting incident.
Great caution and secrecy were necessary, for, if knowledge of their project reached head-quarters, it would have put an end to their sport. At dark, having provided themselves with a dark lantern, they passed the guard and wended their way over the long hill toward the barn-yard of the old rebel. The night was very dark with a rainy mist or fog, which made darkness and discomfort more intense.
"Now, boys," said Sergeant Swords, "this is an old rebel, and we have a perfect right to confiscate his turkeys; but let us be quiet about it, so as not to disturb the old man."
"Of course," said Corporal Grimm, "let him rest in peace, and dream sweet dreams of the coming glory of the Southern Confederacy."
They stole noiselessly over the damp ground, occasionally chuckling with delight at the thought of their coming feast. The long hill was passed over and the barn reached, where the unsuspecting rebel turkeys were roosting.
"This is delightful," thought Mr. Diggs, his short legs moving rapidly, in order to keep up with the rest of the company. "What an entertaining, amusing, and instructive chapter this will furnish for my book! This is one phase of soldier life. Night so black, so intensely black—hem—that one might write his name in chalk upon it. Dark, wild clouds and howling winds with thick banks of fog almost blocking the way, as six resolute, determined, dare-devil soldiers, of whom the modest writer was one—He, he, he!" chuckled Diggs to himself. "I'll make it capital."
His ruminations were brought to a close by arriving at the tall, dark barn, where Sergeant Swords called a halt and solemnly informed his command that the desired turkeys were inside.
"I say—hem, hem, hem!" began Mr. Diggs.
"Well, don't make so much noise about it!" whispered Corporal Grimm, clutching him by the arm, "or we will have the old rebel and his five hundred niggers on us in no time."
The door of the barn was locked, but this slight obstacle was soon overcome.
"Quick!" whispered Sergeant Swords, and the men glided in.
The loud barking of a dog from the house came to their ears, and the sound of angry voices. Tom Scott closed the large double door just as the nose of a ferocious dog came thump against them.
"Hist!" said the sergeant. "I believe we are discovered."
"What is it, old man?" came in shrill accents from the house.
"Some one's in the barn stealing hosses."
At this moment the turkeys, becoming alarmed at the very evident expressed intentions of the intruders, set up a loud "Quit, quit!"
"They're stealing the turkeys. It's some of them thievin' Aberlitionists," said the old woman.
"You bring the lantern, and I'll see," answered a deep voice, evidently that of the cross old rebel himself.
"We're in for it now, boys," said Sergeant Swords, turning on the light from his dark lantern. "Hunt holes somewhere."
Tom Scott had enough to do to hold the doors against the dog, which seemed determined to force an entrance. Corporal Grimm sprang into a meal chest, which he saw at the far end of the barn, and the lid closed down on him; two others found concealment behind a hay-mow, and Sergeant Swords and Mr. Diggs sprang up among the rafters, where the turkeys were roosting.
"Oh, Lordy! I shall be killed, I know I shall!" wailed poor Diggs, as he scrambled up.
The turkeys were now remonstrating loudly.
"Stop your chin music!" said the sergeant.
Tom Scott was still holding the doors when the old man and his wife came to them.
"Some one is in the barn," said the voice of the old man. "See here, the lock is broken off."
In a moment, in spite of Tom's efforts, the door was pushed open, and the bull dog, with loud, deep yelps, sprang in.
Tom kept well behind the door, and pulled it close against him. The old woman held up a lantern, and the sergeant and our friend Diggs were both discovered by the man and the dog at the same time.
The dog announced his discovery by angry growls, and his master, a man about fifty years of age, by closely examining an old, ugly musket in his hand.
"Hulloa, you thieves; I've cotched you now?" he said, advancing.
"Good evening, sir," said Swords.
"What are you doing up there, you scamps?"
"Roosting," was the cool response.
"Shoot them!" said the old woman, holding up the lantern.
"Oh, no! don't, grandpa," said the sergeant.
"Oh, Lordy! I'll be killed!" wailed Diggs, trying to screen himself behind a turkey.
Click went the old musket.
"Quit, quit," peeped the turkeys.
"I second the motion," said Sergeant Swords.
"Shoot them, old man; shoot 'em dead," repeated the woman, whose eyes were blazing with fury at sight of the blue-coats.
"I intend to," he said, bringing his musket to his shoulder, which movement made Diggs fairly howl with fear.
"Hold on, grandpa; give a fellow a chance to say his prayers afore you pop him over," said Sergeant Swords. "If you don't turn away that old popgun you may hurt some of these turkeys. Besides, I've got a battalion of men here all around you, and I can raise the devil."
At this moment the dog, which had been prowling about, discovered Tom Scott behind the door, and renewed his attack upon him. Tom fired two shots from his revolver, one of which silenced the dog forever. The two men in the hay-mow now came rolling down, much like two huge balls, each snatching a turkey as he came.
Corporal Grimm sprang from the meal-chest, white as a snowball.
"Look there, old man; thar's a ghost!" cried the woman, pointing at Corporal Grimm. The old man leveled his musket and fired, but the shot flew wide of its mark, and Corporal Grimm advanced.
The old man and old woman took to their heels, and the next moment was heard the sound of many voices and the tramp of many feet.
"Secesh, by hokey!" cried Sergeant Swords, leaping from his perch with a gobbler's neck in each hand. "Git up and git!" and all made a rapid exit, leaving poor Diggs still perched on the rafters, bewildered and confused. In their haste they left the dark lantern in the barn with the slides open, by the side of the old woman's lantern, which she had dropped in her haste.
"Oh, Lordy, I shall be killed; I know I shall," wailed poor Diggs, frozen to his perch by his terror.
Bang! bang! bang! went a dozen shots, their blaze lighting up the intense darkness. It came from the new arrivals firing at the flying soldiers, who were rapidly retreating with their prizes. Tom Scott lost a thumb by a random shot, but he did not lose either of the two turkeys he had started with.
"Who were they, Seth?" Diggs heard a voice outside ask.
"I don't know; abolition soldiers, probably, stealing chickens," replied another voice.
Diggs thought he had heard both voices before, but in his terror he was not sure.
"Guess they got no chickens," said a third voice, and Diggs could hear the speaker ramming a load down his gun.
"Let's take a look in the barn," said the first speaker. "Halloa! if they ain't left their lanterns burning; left in a hurry, I guess."
The blood fairly froze in the veins of our friend Diggs, as he heard several steps approaching the barn door. Flight was now impossible, if it had not been before.
Several men, dressed in the gray uniform of Confederates, appeared at the barn door.
"Halloa!" cried one, in the uniform of a lieutenant, "here is a dead dog. Can that be what those three shots were fired at which brought us here?"
"By Jove, Lieutenant Snapemup, there's a queer rooster," and the speaker pointed to our friend Diggs, who sat trembling astride the rafter.
"Who are you and what are you doing up there?" cried Lieutenant Snapemup.
"Oh, Lordy, Lordy, Lordy!" groaned Diggs.
"Come down there, Stumpy," cried Diggs' old tormentor and former companion, Seth Williams, entering.
As Diggs showed no sign of an intention to obey his order, Seth adopted a summary method for bringing him down. Taking a musket from a soldier, he fired a shot which passed about a foot above the small, round head. With a howl of fear and desperation, Diggs, who verily believed he was killed, let go his hold and fell from the beam, head first into the open meal-chest that was just beneath him.
"Williams, what do you mean? You have killed him!" cried Lieutenant Snapemup.
"No, I have not touched him," replied Seth.
"Who is it?" asked Howard Jones entering the barn.
"A Yank," replied Williams, and, walking forward to the chest, where Diggs was floundering and sneezing in the meal, he seized him by the nape of the neck, pulled him out and deposited him on the floor, where he stood, white with meal, and his eyes and ears full.
"Who are you?" asked Seth, peering into the face of his victim, who stood digging his fists into his eyes.
"I—I—hem—that is—I don't know," stammered Diggs.
"Let me see," said Williams, giving him a shake so vigorous that the meal flew in white clouds from his hair and clothes. "I do. I know you. You are Patrick Henry Diggs, by all that's wonderful! Where have you been, corporal?"
"I—hem—I—I—that is to say, I don't know," gasped Diggs.
"You don't hey? Well, collect your ideas," replied Seth.
"Well, yes—hem—that is to say—hem, hem—I have been a prisoner."
The men now crowded around Diggs, who, having collected his faculties, told them how he had been taken prisoner at Carrick's Ford, how he had tried again and again to escape, how he had joined the foraging party with the full intention of escaping; he told a moving story of the compulsion which had been used to force him to put on the uniform of a Union soldier.
Seth Williams told him that they were very glad they had found him, for they were going back to Snagtown, and he knew Crazy Joe would mourn if his mud man did not return with the rest. Diggs flew into a fury as of old; but the barn and premises having been explored, the word of command was given, and Mr. Diggs found himself again on the march, but this time with other matter for thought than a diverting chapter for his contemplated book.