A Lieutenant at Eighteen

by Oliver Optic

A LIEUTENANT AMONG THE "MISSING"

Major Walthal was very gentlemanly and very polite; but it appeared at once that he was not willing to permit the escape of the platoon, good-looking and well-dressed as were the officer and the men. He could not help observing the contrast between the Riverlawns and the Confederate company near them. Captain Gordon, who had been the principal instructor of the squadron, was very neat and precise about his person, and had always required the troopers to keep their uniforms and arms and their horses, with their equipments, in good condition.

On the contrary, this particular company of the enemy presented a slovenly appearance; quite in contrast, also, with some other regiments of their army. The major was a soldier of the highest type, and he could not fail to see the neatness of the Riverlawns. Very likely he was sorry to prevent the young lieutenant from carrying out his intention to leave the camp; but his ideal as a military officer was to do his duty.

Deck's troopers had drawn their sabres; and, with Life Knox in front, they made an impetuous rush towards the entrance. The sergeant was even more in earnest than usual; his horse was well trained, and when his rider pressed his knees against his flanks, he darted off with fury enough to satisfy the determined horseman.

"Halt!" shouted the major; but he might as well have addressed the wind or the rain. "Surround them, Captain Staggers, as you did on the field! Cut off their retreat if there is any manhood left in you!"

He led the way himself, though he could do nothing more, for he had no sabre; nothing but his dress sword. Perhaps the captain felt the necessity of redeeming himself after the number of lies he had told; and he gave the order to charge the impetuous platoon, leading the onslaught in person. The position of his company was nearer to the entrance than that of Deck's command; but Life had spotted him, and rushed upon him.

In spite of his shouting, there was little vim in the movement of the captain. He made an awkward cut at the sergeant, who easily parried it, and brought the sharp edge of his sabre down upon his shoulder, near the neck, and the officer dropped to the ground as though a bullet had gone through his brain. His horse turned, and had nearly upset the major in his flight, and it was evident that the animal was not accustomed to this kind of business. If the major could have obtained a sabre, he would have done better work, and perhaps the platoon would have been checked in its onward movement.

Deck, mindful of the many lessons in prudence he had received from his father and his captain, had taken a position on the left of his command; but the enemy were not there at that moment, though the Confederate troopers, under the second lieutenant, were surrounding the Riverlawns from the rear as they advanced. Deck realized that whatever was done must be accomplished in a moment or never, and he could not restrain himself, but galloped to the front.

Ceph, his horse, began to put his education into practice, and stood up on his hind feet before the first trooper that came in front of him. At that moment the lieutenant cleaved the skull of the man in twain. The enemy did not fight like the Texan Rangers with whom the young officer had been pitted before. In fact, they fell back, and began to use their pistols. One of the Riverlawns dropped from his steed with his face covered with blood.

The lieutenant saw with intense regret that this man was Sergeant Fronklyn; but he was apparently only stunned partially by the bullet, for he sprang to his feet with the aid of a comrade, though his horse had gone with the forward movement of the platoon, and was out of his reach. At about the same moment the second lieutenant of the Southern company, who was a gigantic Tennesseean, led his platoon to the left of the Riverlawns, and pushed on towards their front.