RETURN TO THE CAMP
The moment Somers was recognized, Hapgood and his party rushed forward, rightly judging, from the rapidity of his motions, that he was pursued. The sharp eye of the veteran sergeant was the first to perceive the ferocious Mississippian, who, undaunted by the appearance of the Union soldiers, continued the pursuit as long as there was even a gleam of hope that he could overtake his intended victim. He was only a few paces behind the lieutenant when the latter was discovered.
Hapgood raised his musket and fired, just as the implacable pursuer abandoned the chase, and turned his steps back to the rebel line. He staggered for a few paces more, and fell just as a dozen other muskets were leveled at him. He appeared to have been hit in the leg; for he did not fall flat upon the ground, as he would if he had been struck in a vital part, but sank down to a sitting posture.
The Union men rushed up to him, and found that the supposition was correct; the ball had passed through the fleshy part of his thigh, disabling, but not dangerously wounding him. The ruffian—we do not call him so because he was a rebel, but he was naturally and by education just what the term indicates—was as savage and implacable as before.
“Better leave me where I am, Yanks,” said he; “’case, if I get well, I shall be the death of some of you. You kin shoot me through the head if you like.”
“Don’t consarn yourself about us, reb,” replied Hapgood. “We’ll take good care that you don’t hurt yourself, or any one else, while you are in our hands.”
“Mebbe you will, Yanks; but, just as sure as you was born, I’ll hev the heart’s blood of that younker as fotched Tom Myers down.”
“Who’s Tom Myers?” demanded the veteran.
“The man that you Yanks killed this forenoon.”
“Whose heart’s blood do you want?”
“That younker with the badge on his shoulder; the un I chased in.”
“He didn’t kill Tom Myers, or any other man.”
“Show me the man, then,” growled the rebel, now beginning to feel the pain of his wound.
“I’m your man. I brought Tom Myers down,” replied Hapgood, anxious to remove any cause of peril from his protégé.
“Did yer?”
“Sartin I did; saw him drop when I fired.”
“Then, stranger, yer kin make up yer mind to die like a hog within ten days. I tell yer, Yank, there ain’t bolts and bars enough in Yankee land to keep me away from yer. You kin shoot me if yer like now, and that’s all the way yer kin save yerself.”
“Well, reb, you are great at blowing; but I’ve seen a good many jest sich fellers as you be. I’ve fit with ’em, and fit agin’ ’em; and I tell you, your uncle can take keer of just as many of you as can stand up between here and sundown. Put that in your hopper, reb; and the sooner you dry up, the sooner you’ll come to your milk. We’ll take keer on you like a Christian, though you ain’t nothin’ but a heathen. Here, boys, make a stretcher, and kerry him along. Take that jack-knife out of his hand fust, and keep one eye on him all the time.”
Having thus delivered himself, Sergeant Hapgood hastened to the spot where Somers had seated himself on the ground to recover his wind and rest his weary limbs. The terrible excitement of the last hour seemed to fatigue him more than the previous labors of the whole day; and he was hardly in condition to march to the division headquarters, where he was to report the success of his mission.
“Oh, Tom—I mean Lieutenant Somers—I’m glad to see you!” exclaimed the veteran as he grasped both the hands of the young soldier.
“Thank you, uncle; I’m just as glad to see you as you can be to see me,” replied Somers.
“You’re all tuckered out, Somers.”
“I had to run for some distance, with the odds against me; but I shall get rested in a little while.”
The sergeant began to ask questions; and, as soon as he had recovered his breath, Somers gave him a brief sketch of his adventures, dwelling mainly on the last and most thrilling event of the day.
“I can hardly believe that I am alive and well after all that has happened,” said he in conclusion. “That was the most bloodthirsty villain I ever encountered in the whole course of my life.”
“If you say shoot him, leftenant, it shall be done quicker’n you can say Jack Roberson,” added Hapgood, indignant at the conduct of the savage rebel.
“Of course, I don’t say anything of that kind. It would be murder to do anything of that sort while he is our prisoner.”
“He desarves hanging more’n Kyd the pirate did; and if I had my way, he’d swing afore sunrise to-morrow. He’s a consarned heathen!”
“Never mind him; only keep him safe, and where he can’t do any mischief; for he is wicked enough to kill the man that feeds him.”
“I’m only sorry I didn’t hit him a little higher up, where I hit the other feller this mornin’,” added the veteran. “How do you feel now, leftenant?”
“I am improving. I shall be ready to go with you in a few moments more.”
After sitting on the stump half an hour longer, he was in condition to march; but the danger was past, the tremendous excitement had subsided, and his muscles, which had been strained up to the highest tension, seemed to become soft and flaccid. The party passed the Union pickets, and reached the headquarters of the division general, who had just finished his supper.
“Somers! by all that is great and good!” exclaimed the general, who probably never expected to see the scout again.
“I have come to make my report, sir,” replied the lieutenant.
“You are all used up. You look as though you could hardly stand up.”
“I am very tired, sir,” added Somers languidly.
“Sit down, then. Here, Peter,” he added, addressing his servant, “bring in a glass of whiskey for Lieutenant Somers.”
“Thank you, general; I never drink anything stronger than coffee.”
“But a little whiskey would do you good in your present condition; you need it.”
“I thank you, general; I never drink whiskey, as I had occasion to say to a rebel general of division to-day.”
“Eh? ’Pon my conscience! Were you asked to drink by a rebel major-general?” demanded the officer, greatly surprised at the statement of the scout
“Not exactly, sir. About the first question he asked me was, how much whiskey I could drink without going by the board.”
“Who was he? Bring coffee, Peter.”
“General M——.”
“So I supposed. He is a jovial, good-hearted fellow; but I’ll wager my shoulder-straps he was tight at the time,” laughed the general.
“Very tight, sir.”
“Well, he is a fighting man, drunk or sober; but I should rather lead than follow him in action. Where have you been all day?”
“Shall I tell my story in full, or only give you the information I obtained?”
“Tell the story, so that I can determine whether the information is good for anything or not.”
Somers drank the tin cup of coffee which the general’s servant brought to him, and then proceeded to relate the incidents of the day in the rebel camp. His distinguished auditor, who, in the Army of the Potomac, had well earned the title of “the bravest of the brave,” listened with eager interest to the details of the lieutenant’s story, asking occasional questions upon points which were not only calculated to elicit particular information, but to display the skill and intelligence of the scout. The interview was prolonged for several hours; and at its close a staff-officer was despatched to the corps commander; for what purpose, of course, Somers had no intimation.
“Lieutenant Somers, you have earned your promotion; and if you don’t have it, it will be because I have not influence enough to procure it. You have done well.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Your friend, Senator Guilford, shall hear of you within forty-eight hours.”
“I beg your pardon, sir; but, grateful as I am to Senator Guilford for the interest he has expressed in me, I don’t care to be patronized by any man in civil life.”
“Whew!” laughed the general. “I wish some of our colonels and brigadiers would take a lesson from you. Never mind, Lieutenant Somers; you will deserve all you ever get.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Go to your quarters now. Here,” he added, dashing off a note at his table, in which he desired that Somers might be excused from duty for the next two days, to enable him to recover from the fatigues of his arduous expedition.
I need not inform my readers how soundly our hero slept in his shelter tent that night, nor how his slumbers were disturbed by a horrid rebel with a bowie-knife, and a horrid feminine monstrosity which seemed to be called Sue by her attendant demons; but he slept as a tired boy only can sleep.
The next morning the brigade was relieved from picket duty, and the regiment returned to its camp. Captain de Banyan had neither seen nor heard from his young friend since his departure on the forenoon of the preceding day. Of course he was overjoyed to see him, as well as intensely curious to know where he had been, what he had done, and whether he had been promoted. Somers told his adventures to the mess, omitting such military information as was “contraband” in the camp.
“Somers, my dear fellow, you are a man after my own heart!” exclaimed the captain, grasping his hand, and wringing it with all the enthusiasm of his fervid nature. “Somers, my boy, did you ever hear of a man having his double?”
“I have read of such things in old legends.”
“I believe in it, Somers. You are my double! You are my second self! You are as near like me as one pea is like another! Just before the battle of Magenta——”
At this interesting point in the conversation, the officers of the mess burst into an involuntary roar of laughter, ending up Magenta with a long dash.
“Not exactly like you, Captain de Banyan,” added Somers.
“You can’t tell half so big a story,” said Lieutenant Munroe.
“Gentlemen,” interposed the captain with dignity, “you interrupted me at the wrong moment. I was about to prove to you wherein Lieutenant Somers was my double; and with your permission, I will proceed with my argument. Just before the battle of Magenta, I was sent out on a scout; and I went at the particular request of the Emperor Napoleon, who—permit me to add, in the presence of a company which seems to be inimical to my antecedents, if not to me—had unlimited confidence in my ability to perform this delicate duty with skill and success. Well, gentlemen, I passed our pickets; of course I mean the French pickets; for I was, as you are all aware, a colonel in the French infantry at that time.”
“We are all aware of it,” laughed Munroe—“over the left.”
“That is a slang phrase, and repulsive to the ears of a cultivated gentleman. As I was saying, gentlemen, I passed our pickets, and soon encountered a Russian general of division.”
“Russian?”
“Austrian, I should have said; and I thank you, Somers, for the correction. I suppose he was making the grand rounds with the officer of the day. Be that as it may, he considered it his duty to stop me; and I was under the disagreeable necessity of putting a bullet through his head. He was a count, and the father of a large family; however, I could not help it, though I was sorry to make orphans of his children. I stepped into his uniform without the delay of a moment.”
“Where was the sergeant of the guard, the officer of the day, and the sentinels?” demanded Lieutenant Munroe.
“I beg you will not interrupt me, Lieutenant Munroe, with these ill-timed remarks, which are merely intended to throw discredit on my character for truth and veracity. I remarked, that I stepped into the uniform of the defunct major-general. To abbreviate the narrative somewhat, I walked through the Austrian lines for three hours, till I had discovered the position of the infantry, cavalry and artillery. But the most singular part of the affair was, that, when the long roll was beat once during that eventful night, I placed myself at the head of the departed general’s division, and maneuvered it for an hour on the field, intending to place it in such a position that the French could capture it. Unfortunately, no attack was made by the Emperor’s forces, and I could not carry out my plan.”
“Can you talk the Austrian lingo, captain?” asked Munroe.
“Of course I can,” replied De Banyan with dignity.
“Here, Schrugenheimer, let us have a specimen of the lingo!” said the tormentor, appealing to a German officer. “Ask him some questions in your own language.”
“Gentlemen, if my word is not sufficient, I shall not condescend to demonstrate what I have said. You will notice the similarity between the adventures of Lieutenant Somers and my own.”
The officers of the mess all laughed heartily at the conclusion of the comparison; for the story, like a fairy tale, was pleasant to hear, but hard to believe. But weightier matters than these were at hand for these gallant men; and before night the gay laugh had ceased, and they had nerved themselves for the stern duties of the hour. Cannon had been thundering to the right of them for three days; and in the afternoon they had seen the smoke of burning bridges, which assured them that their communications with White House had been cut off. At night, orders were given to have the men ready to move, and to prepare for a hurried march. Extra stores were destroyed, clothing thrown away, and tents were cut in pieces, or otherwise rendered useless to the next occupants of the ground. Everything to be transported was reduced to the smallest possible compass.
These orders were ominous of disaster; but on the following morning a general order was read, to the effect that all was right. The troubled expression on the countenances of officers and men indicated their incredulity; for the destruction in which they had been engaged belied the words of the order. The brigade was then moved back three miles from the camp. A portion of the regiment was posted near a house, in which was a bedridden old woman, attended by her daughter. The rebels were advancing by the Williamsburg road, and soon had a battery of artillery in position to shell the vicinity of the house.
It was an intensely hot day. Captain de Banyan sat asleep on the fence near the house. He was very much exhausted by the labors of the two preceding nights on picket, and at the destruction of the stores; and while Somers was watching the progress of the battle on the right, where a sharp fight was in progress, a shell screamed between them, and struck the house about a foot from the ground.
“That reminds me of the night before Magenta,” said the veteran, opening his eyes, without even a start. “A hundred-pounder shell knocked my hat off, and then passed through the two open windows at each gable of a house, without even breaking a pane of glass.”
“A narrow escape for you and for the house,” replied Somers with a languid smile.