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AT THE BATTLE OF ANTIETAM.—Page 143.

FIGHTING JOE;

OR,

THE FORTUNES OF A STAFF OFFICER.

A Story of the Great Rebellion.

BY

OLIVER OPTIC,

AUTHOR OF “THE SOLDIER BOY,” “THE SAILOR BOY,” “THE YOUNG LIEUTENANT,”

“THE YANKEE MIDDY,” “RICH AND HUMBLE,” “IN SCHOOL AND OUT,”

“WATCH AND WAIT,” “WORK AND WIN,” “THE RIVERDALE

STORY BOOKS,” “THE BOAT CLUB,” ETC.

BOSTON

LEE AND SHEPARD PUBLISHERS

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1865, by

WILLIAM T. ADAMS,

in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.

Copyright, 1893, by William T. Adams

FIGHTING JOE

TO

F. ORMOND J. S. BAZIN

This Book

IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED,

BY HIS FRIEND

WILLIAM T. ADAMS.

PREFACE.

This volume, the fifth of “The Army and Navy Stories,” is not a biography of the distinguished soldier whose sobriquet in the army has been chosen as its principal title, though the prominent incidents of his military career are noticed in its pages. The writer offers his humble tribute of admiration to the energetic and devoted general who will be recognized under the appellation given to this work; but perhaps the object of the volume may be better represented by the second title. It follows Tom Somers, “The Soldier Boy” and “The Young Lieutenant,” in his brilliant and daring career as a staff officer, through some of the most stormy and trying scenes of the late war.

As in the volumes of the series which have preceded it, the best sources of information upon military events have been carefully consulted; and to the extent to which the book is properly historical, it is intended to be faithful in its delineations. But the work is more correctly a record of personal adventure, no more complicated, daring, and romantic than may be found in the experience of many, who, through trial and tribulation, through victory and defeat, have passed from the inception to the gigantic failure of this gigantic rebellion.

More earnest than any other purpose in the production of the book, it has been the object of the writer to exhibit a character in his hero worthy the imitation of the boy and the man who may read it; and if it does not inculcate a lofty patriotism, and a noble and Christian morality, it will have failed of the highest aim of the author.

With the still stronger expression of gratitude which the increasing favor bestowed upon previous efforts demands of me, I pass the fifth volume of the series into the hands of my indulgent friends, hoping that it will not fall short of their reasonable expectations.

WILLIAM T. ADAMS.

CONTENTS.

FIGHTING JOE.

FIGHTING JOE;

OR,

THE FORTUNES OF A STAFF OFFICER.

CHAPTER I.
A FIGHTING MAN.

“WELL, Alick, I don’t know where I am,” said Captain Thomas Somers, of the staff of the major general commanding the first army corps of the Army of the Potomac, then on its march to repel the invasion of Maryland, which had been attempted by the victorious rebels under General Lee.

“Well, massa, I’m sure I don’t know,” replied Alick, his colored servant. “If you was down ’bout Petersburg, I reckon I’d know all ’bout it.”

“We must find out very soon,” added Captain Somers, as he reined in his horse at a point where two roads branched off, one to the north-west and the other to the south-west.

“Day ain’t no house ’bout here, massa.”

“I don’t want to lose my way, for I have no time to spare.”

“Dar’s somebody comin’ up behind, massa,” said Alick, who first heard the sounds of horses’ feet approaching in the direction from which they had just come.

Captain Somers, after receiving the agreeable intelligence of his appointment on the staff of the general, in whose division he had served on the Peninsula, hastened to Washington to report for duty. He had hardly time to visit his friends, and was obliged to content himself with a short call on Miss Lilian Ashford, though he had an invitation to spend the evening with the family, extended for the purpose of enabling the young gentleman to cultivate an acquaintance with the beautiful girl’s grandmother!

Lilian’s father’s mother was certainly a very estimable old lady, and her granddaughter loved and reverenced her with a fervor which was almost enthusiastic. It was quite natural, therefore, that she should wish Captain Somers,—for whom she had knit a pair of socks, which had been no small portion of his inspiration in the hour of battle, and for whom she had contracted a friendship,—it was quite natural that she should wish to have the captain well acquainted with her grandmother. She loved the old lady herself, and of course so brave, handsome, and loyal a person as her friend had proved to be, must share her reverence and respect. Besides, the venerable woman remembered all about the last war with Great Britain. Her husband had been one of the firemen sent out with axes to cut away the bridges which connect Boston with the surrounding country, when an invasion of the town was expected. She could tell a good story, and as Somers was a military man, it was highly important that he should know all about the dreaded invasion which did not take place.

Captain Somers was obliged to deprive himself of the pleasure of listening to the old lady’s history of those stirring events, for more exciting ones were in progress on the very day of which we write. He was sorry, for he anticipated a great deal of pleasure from the visit, though whether he expected to derive the whole of it from the presence of the grandmother, we are not informed; and it would be wicked to pry too deeply into the secrets of the young man’s heart. We are not quite sure that Lilian was entirely unselfish when she described what a rich treat the old lady’s narrative would be; but we are certain that she was entirely sincere, and that it was quite proper to offer some extra inducement to secure the gallant captain’s attendance.

The captain did not need any extraordinary inducements, beyond the presence of the fair Lilian herself. We even believe that he would have cheerfully spent the evening at No. — Rutland Street, if there had been no one but herself to give him a welcome, and aid him in passing away the hours. Nothing but a high sense of duty could have led him to break the engagement. The rebel hordes, victorious before Washington, and elated by the signal successes they had won, were pouring into Maryland, menacing Washington, Baltimore, and Philadelphia. It was a time which tried the souls of patriotic men—a time when no man who loved his country could rest in peace while there was a work which his hands could do.

The young staff officer called upon the lady and stated his situation. She blushed, as she always did in his presence, and gave him a God-speed on his patriotic mission. She hoped he would not be killed, or even wounded; that his feeble health would be restored; and that God would bless him as he went forth to do battle for his treason-ridden land. She was pale when he took her hand at parting; her bosom heaved with emotions, to which Somers found a response in his own heart, but which he could not explain.

He went to Washington; but the gallant army, still suffering from the pangs of recent defeat, but yet strong in the cause they had espoused, had marched to the scene of new battles. Somers had already provided himself with his staff uniform, and he remained in Washington only long enough to purchase two horses, one of which he mounted himself, while Alick rode the other, and started for the advance of the army. The roads were so cumbered with artillery trains and baggage wagons that his progress was very slow, and the corps to which he now belonged was several days in advance of him. By the advice of a general officer, he had made a détour from the direct road, and passed through a comparatively quiet country.

The rebels were at Frederick City, and their cavalry, in large and small bodies, was scattered all over the region, gathering supplies for the half starved, half clothed men of Lee’s army. Thus far Somers had met none of these marauders, nor any of the guerillas, who, without a license from either side, were plundering soldiers and civilians who could offer no resistance. Somers had ridden as rapidly as his feeble state of health would permit; but his enthusiasm had urged him forward until his horse was more in danger of giving out than the rider. But when he reached the cross-roads, at which we find him, doubtful about the right way, he had slept the preceding night at a farm-house, and horse and rider were now in excellent condition.

“Are your pistols ready for use, Alick?” asked Somers, as he heard the sounds of the horses’ feet.

“Yes, sar; always keep the pistols ready. But what you gwine to do wid pistols here?” replied the servant, as he took his weapon from his pocket.

“The country is full of rebels and guerillas; they may want our horses, and perhaps ourselves. I can’t spare my coat and boots very well at present.”

“Guess not, massa,” laughed Alick, as he examined the lock of his pistol.

“I have never seen you in a fight, Alick. Do you think you can stand up to it?”

“Well, massa. I don’t want to say much about that, but I reckon I won’t run away no faster’n you do.”

“If I get into trouble with these ruffians, I shall want to know whether I can depend on you, or not.”

“Golly, massa! You can depend on me till the cows come home!” exclaimed Alick. “I doesn’t like to say much about it, but if these yere hossmen wants to fight, I’m not the chile to run away.”

“They don’t look much like rebels or guerillas,” added Somers, as he obtained his first view of the approaching horsemen. “But you can’t tell much by the looks in these times, for the villains have robbed us till half of them wear our own colors. Those people certainly wear the uniform of our army.”

“Dar’s only two of ’em, massa. I reckon they don’t want to fight much.”

“I only wished to be cautious; very likely they are loyal and true men,” replied Somers, as the strangers came too near to permit any further remarks in regard to their probable character.

Both the travellers were evidently officers of the army, though, as Somers had suggested, it was impossible to tell what anybody was by the looks, or even if he was seen to take the oath of allegiance. As they came round a bend of the road, and discovered the captain and his servant, they reined up their steeds, and seemed to be disturbed by the same doubts which had troubled the first party. But they advanced, after a cautious survey, and each of them touched his cap, when they came within speaking distance. Somers politely returned the salute, and moved his horse towards them.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” said he. “Can you inform me which is the road to Frederick City?”

“The left, sir. If you are going in that direction, we shall be glad of your company,” replied one of the officers.

“Thank you; I shall be glad to go with you.”

“I see by your uniform that you belong on the staff,” added the officer who had done the talking.

“Yes, sir;” and Somers, without reserve, informed him who and what he was.

“Somers!” exclaimed the stranger. “I have heard of you before. Perhaps you remember one Dr. Scoville, of Petersburg?”

“Perfectly,” laughed Somers.

“Well, sir, he is an uncle of mine.”

“Indeed? I took you to be an officer of the United States army.”

“So I am; but my father married a sister of Dr. Scoville.”

“Dr. Scoville is a very good sort of man, but he is an awful rebel. I suppose he bears no good will towards me and my friend Major de Banyan.”

“Perhaps not; but the affair was a capital joke on the doctor. And since he is a rebel, and a very pestilent one too, I enjoyed it quite as much as you did.”

“I feel very grateful to him for what he did for me. I went into his house without an invitation; he dressed my wound, and nearly cured me. When the soldiers came upon us, he promised to give us up at the proper time, and pledged himself for our safety. We left him, one day, rather shabbily, I confess; but we had no taste for a rebel prison, for the rebs don’t always manage their prisons very well.”

“I have heard the whole story. It’s rich. If you please, we will move on.”

“With all my heart, major,” replied Somers, who read his rank from his shoulder-straps.

“I am Major Riggleston, of the —nd Maryland Home Brigade, on detached duty, just now.”

“I am glad to know you, Major Riggleston, especially as you are a relative of my friend Dr. Scoville, and on the right side.”

“This is Captain Barkwood, of the regulars.”

Somers saluted the quiet gentleman, who had hardly spoken during the interview. Major Riggleston was dressed in an entirely new uniform, and rode a splendid horse, which led Somers to believe that he belonged to one of the wealthy and aristocratic families of the state which so tardily embraced the cause of the Union. On the other hand, Captain Barkwood looked as though he had seen hard service; for his uniform was rusty, and his face was bronzed by exposure beneath the fervid sun of the south.

The party were excellently well acquainted with each other before they had ridden a mile. After the topics suggested by the first meeting had been exhausted, Somers mentioned his fear of the guerillas and rebel marauders, who kept a little way in advance of the invading army. The travellers were now farther north than Frederick, and some distance from the advancing line of the Union army. The road they had chosen was not one of the great thoroughfares of the state; consequently it was but little frequented.

“I don’t object to meeting a small party of guerillas,” said Major Riggleston; “for, gentlemen, if you are of the same mind that I am, we should show them the quality of true Union steel.”

“I hope we shall not meet any; but if we do, I am in no humor to lose my horse or my boots,” replied Somers. “But we may meet so many of them that it would be better to trust to our horses’ heels than to the quality of our steel.”

“True—too many would not be agreeable; but, say a dozen or twenty of them. We could whip that number without difficulty. The fact is, gentlemen, I am a fighting man. There has been too much of this looking at the enemy, and then running away. I repeat, gentlemen, I am a fighting man.”

“I am glad to hear it, and glad to have met you, for I am told there are a good many of these small plundering parties loose about this region; and I would rather fight than lose my boots,” laughed Somers.

“Three of us can do a good thing,” added the major.

“Four,” suggested Somers.

“Four?”

“My man can fight.”

“But he is a nigger; niggers won’t fight.”

“He will. By the way, he came from your uncle’s, at Petersburg.”

“Alick!” exclaimed the major, glancing back at the servant.

He did not seem to be well pleased to discover one of his uncle’s contrabands at this distance from home; for, with many other chivalrous southrons, he believed it would be a good thing to preserve the Union, if slavery could be preserved with it. He spoke a few words to Alick, but did not seem to enjoy the interview.

“Yes, we can whip at least twenty of the villains,” added the major, as he resumed his place between Somers and Captain Barkwood. “What do you think?” he continued, turning to the regular.

“I hope we shall not meet any. I am a coward by nature. I would rather run than fight, any time,” replied the captain. “Of all things I dislike these small skirmishes, these hand-to-hand fights.”

“I like them; I’m a fighting man,” said the major.

“I’m afraid you will have a chance to test your mettle,” said Somers. “Those fellows are guerillas, if I mistake not,” added he, pointing to half a dozen horsemen who were approaching them.

CHAPTER II.
A SKIRMISH ON THE ROAD.

THE horsemen who had attracted the attention of Captain Somers were hard-looking fellows. They were dressed in a miscellaneous manner, their clothes being partly civilian and partly military. Portions of their garb were new, and probably at no distant period had been part of the stock in trade of some industrious clothier in one of the invaded towns; and portions were faded and dilapidated, bearing the traces of a severe march through the soft mud of Virginia. It was not easy to mistake their character.

The guerillas perceived the approaching party almost as soon as they were themselves perceived. They adopted no uncertain tactics, but instantly put spurs to their horses and galloped up to the little squad of officers. They appeared to have no doubts whatever in regard to the issue of the meeting, for they resorted to no cautionary movements, and made no prudential halts. They had evidently had everything their own way in previous encounters of this description, and seemed to be satisfied that they had only to demand an unconditional surrender in order to find their way at once to the pockets of the travellers, or to appropriate their coats and boots to the use of the rebel army.

“Halt!” said the nondescript gentleman at the head of the guerillas.

“Your business?” demanded Major Riggleston.

“Sorry to trouble you, gentlemen, but you are my prisoners,” said the chief guerilla, as blandly as though he had been in a drawing-room.

“Who are you, gentlemen?” asked the major.

“I don’t like to be uncivil to a well-dressed gentleman like yourself; but I haven’t learned my catechism lately, and can’t stop to be questioned. In one word, do you surrender?”

“Allow me a moment to consult my friends.”

“Only one moment.”

“Don’t you think we had better surrender, Captain Somers?”

“I thought you were a fighting man,” replied Somers.

“I am, when circumstances will admit of it; but they are two to our one.”

“Just now you thought we were a match for at least twenty of these fellows.”

“Time’s up, gentlemen,” said the dashing guerilla.

“What do you say, Captain Somers?”

“You can do as you please; I don’t surrender, for one.”

“But this is madness.”

“I don’t care what it is; I am going to fight my way through.”

“Do you surrender?” demanded the impatient chief of the horsemen.

“No!” replied Somers, in his most decided tone.

“Then you are a dead man!” And the guerilla raised his pistol.

Somers already had one of his revolvers in his hand, and before the villain had fairly uttered the words, he presented his weapon and fired, as quick as the flash of the lightning. The leader dropped from his horse, and his pistol was discharged in the act, but the ball went into the ground. Almost at the same instant the quiet captain of the regulars fired, and wounded another of the banditti. The others, apparently astonished at this unexpected resistance, discharged their pistols, and pressed forward, with their sabres in hand, to avenge the fall of their comrades.

Somers rapidly fired the other barrels of his revolver, and so did Captain Barkwood, but without the same decisive effect as before, though two of the assailants appeared to be slightly wounded. There was no further opportunity to use firearms, and the officers drew their swords, as they fell back before the impetuous charge of the savage guerillas. Major Riggleston followed their example, and for a moment the sparks flew from the well-tempered steel of the combatants. Our officers were accomplished swordsmen, but the furious rebels appeared to be getting the better of them. Major Riggleston contrived to wheel his horse, and was so fortunate as to get out of the mêlée with a whole skin.

At this point, when victory seemed about to perch on the rebel standard, Alick, who had thus far been ignored, brought down a third guerilla with his pistol. The negro was cool, collected, and self-possessed. He had not fired before, because the officers stood between him and the assailants. Now, as he had no sword, he stood off, and took deliberate aim at his man.

Captain Barkwood, who was a man of immense muscle, succeeded, after a desperate hand-to-hand conflict, in wounding his opponent in the sword arm. The fellow dropped his weapon, and turning his horse, fled with the utmost precipitation. The only remaining one, finding himself alone, immediately followed his example. The battle was won, and the coats and boots were evidently saved.

“Why don’t you follow them?” cried Major Riggleston, rushing madly up to the spot at this decisive moment. “Hunt them down! Tear them to pieces.”

“We’ll leave that for our fighting man to do,” replied Somers, with a smile, though he was so much out of breath with the violence of his exertions that he could scarcely articulate the words.

“Don’t let them escape,” added the major, furiously. “Cut them down! Don’t let them plunder the country any more.”

As he spoke, he put spurs to his horse, and dashed madly up the road in pursuit of the defeated guerillas.

“Your hand, Captain Somers,” said the regular. “You are a trump.”

“Thank you; and I am happy to reciprocate the compliment,” replied the young staff officer, as he took the proffered hand of Captain Barkwood.

“As a general rule, I don’t think much of volunteer officers,” continued the regular; “but you are a stunning good fellow, and as plucky as a hen that has lost one of her chickens.”

“I am obliged to you for your good opinion, and especially for your ornithological simile,” laughed Somers, who, we need not add, was delighted with the conduct of his companion.

“My what?”

“Your ornithological simile.”

“My dear fellow, you must have swallowed a quarto dictionary. If you had only used that expression before the fight, the rebels would certainly have run away, and declined to engage a man who used words of such ominous length. No matter; you can fight.”

“I can when I am obliged to do so. You remarked, a little while ago, that you were a coward by nature.”

“So I am; but it was safer to fight than it was to run.”

“You did not behave like a man who is a coward by nature.”

“But I am a coward; and I dislike these hand-to-hand encounters.”

“You didn’t appear to dislike them very much just now,” added Somers, who was filled with admiration at the gallant bearing of the regular.

“I do; war is a science. I play at it just as I do at chess. By the way, Captain Somers, do you play chess?”

“Only a little.”

“Well, it’s a noble game; and I may have the pleasure of letting you beat me some time. War is like chess; it’s a great game. I like to see a well-planned battle, and even to take a part in it. But these little affairs, where everything depends on brute force, are my particular abomination. There is no science about them—no strategy—no chance to flank, or do any other smart thing.”

“Here comes the major; he didn’t catch his man,” said Somers, as the “fighting man” was seen galloping towards them.

“He’s a prudent man,” replied the regular, hardly betraying the contempt he felt for this particular volunteer.

“He’s a Maryland man.”

“So am I,” promptly returned Captain Barkwood, as though he feared that something might be said against the bravery of the men of his state. “I was born and brought up not ten miles from the spot where we now stand.”

“Why didn’t you follow me?” demanded the major, in a reproachful tone, as he reined in his panting steed.

“We had got enough of it,” answered the regular.

“We might have brought them down if you had joined me in the pursuit.”

“We might, if you had stuck by us in the fight,” said Somers, with a gentle smile, to break the force of the rebuke.

“Stood by you?” exclaimed Major Riggleston, his face flushed with anger. “Do you intend to insinuate that I did not stand by you?”

“You did, but at a safe distance.”

“Didn’t I do all the talking with the villains?” foamed the major.

“Certainly you did,” replied the regular.

“Didn’t I bear the whole brunt of the assault at the beginning?”

“Undoubtedly you did,” responded Captain Barkwood, before Somers could speak a word.

“Didn’t I fight like a tiger, till—”

“Unquestionably you did.”

“Till my rein got entangled in my spur, and whirled my horse round?”

“My dear major, you behaved like a lion,” said Barkwood, in tones so soothing that the anger of Riggleston passed away like the shadow of a summer cloud.

“I am a fighting man.”

“That’s so.”

“And I dislike this marching and countermarching in the face of an enemy.”

“There we unfortunately disagree for the first time. That is strategy,—the art of war,—and all that makes war glorious.”

“I believe in pitching into an enemy, and, when he is beaten, in following him up till there is nothing left of him. I regret, gentlemen, that you did not join in the pursuit of the two miscreants with me. We might have annihilated them as well as not.”

Somers did not understand the humor of the regular, and could not fathom his object in permitting the coward still to believe that he was a fighting man. While the conversation was in progress, Alick had removed the bodies of the two dead rebels from the road, and placed the other two, who were severely wounded, in a comfortable position under a tree. He had filled their canteens with water from the brook which ran across the road a short distance from the spot, and left them to live or die, as the future might determine. He had also transferred a good saddle from one of the guerillas’ horses to his own animal, which had not before been provided with one.

The party moved on again. Major Riggleston talked about the fight; for some reason or other he could speak of nothing else. He still called himself a fighting man, and still talked as though he had fired the most effective shots and struck the hardest blows which had been given. The regular agreed with him in all things, except when he impugned the sacred claims of strategy.

“Never cross a fool in his folly, nor ruin a man in his own estimation,” said Captain Barkwood, when Somers, at a favorable moment, asked an explanation of his singular commendation of the poltroon.

“But he is a coward.”

“Call no man a coward but yourself. There is hardly an officer in the army, from the general-in-chief down to the corporal of the meanest regiment in the service, that has not been called a coward. You don’t know who are cowards, and who are not.”

“Perhaps you are right.”

“I know I am. I am a coward myself, but I know nothing about anybody else.”

“I differ with you.”

“You don’t know anything about it. The major don’t love you over much now for what you hinted. Never make an enemy when there is no need of it.”

The approach of Major Riggleston put an end to this conversation. Somers could not help noticing that the major treated him rather cavalierly; but as he was not particularly anxious to secure the esteem of such a man, the manner of his companion did not disturb him.

In the afternoon the party reached Frederick, which had just been abandoned by Lee’s rear guard, and was now occupied by a portion of McClellan’s advance.

“Gentlemen, we have had a hard ride, and I know you must be tired as well as myself,” said Major Riggleston, as they entered the city. “You will permit me to offer you the hospitalities of my father’s house.”

“Thank you; I accept, for one,” replied Captain Barkwood. “I am not tired, but I am half starved.”

“And you, Somers?” added the major, with a degree of cordiality in his manner which he had not exhibited since the skirmish on the road.

The young captain had been in the saddle all day; his health was feeble, and he was very much exhausted by the journey. He had hoped to reach the headquarters of the first army corps that night; but he was still several miles distant from his destination, and his physical condition did not admit of this addition to his day’s travel. With many thanks he accepted the invitation, apparently so cordially extended, and the little party halted, soon after, in the grounds of an elegant mansion. The tired horses were given into the keeping of the servants, and Major Riggleston led the way into the house.

They were ushered into the drawing-room, where the major excused himself to inform the family of their arrival. He left the door open behind him.

“They are Yankee officers!” exclaimed a female voice. “What did Fred bring them here for? Get out of sight, Ernest, as fast as you can.”

A door leading from the entry closed, and the visitors heard no more. The regular paid no attention to the remark, and Somers followed his example.

CHAPTER III.
FIGHTING JOE.

CAPTAIN SOMERS, though he said nothing to his companion about the remark to which they had listened, could not help thinking about it. The regular and himself had been alluded to as Yankee officers. It was evident that some one was present who ought not to be present; but as a guest in the house, it was not competent for him to investigate the meaning of the suspicious words.

Major Riggleston presently returned to the drawing-room, attended by an elderly gentleman, whom he introduced as his father, and a beautiful but majestic and haughty young lady of eighteen, whom he introduced as Miss Maud Hasbrouk. When Somers heard her voice, which was as musical as the rippling of a mountain rill, he recognized the tones of the person who had used the doubtful words in the adjoining room.

The old gentleman was happy to see the visitors, especially as they belonged to the Union army, whose presence was welcome to him after the visit of the rebels. He hoped that General McClellan would be able to drive the invaders from the soil—conquer, capture, and exterminate them. His words were certainly strong enough to vouch for his loyalty; and these, added to the fact that the major was an officer in the Maryland Home Brigade, satisfied Somers that he had not fallen into a nest of rebels and traitors, as the obnoxious remark, not intended for his ears, had almost led him to believe.

“The more true men we have here the better; for we have been completely overrun by traitors,” said the old gentleman, alluding to the visit of Lee’s army.

“You use strong words, Mr. Riggleston,” added the lady, whose bright eyes flashed as she spoke.

“I say what I mean,” continued the host.

“Is there any doubt of the fact that the state has been invaded by the rebels?” asked Somers, with a smile.

“None whatever; but Mr. Riggleston called them traitors,” replied Miss Hasbrouk.

“Is there any doubt of that fact?”

“Are men who are fighting for the dearest rights of man traitors?” demanded she, warmly.

“Undoubtedly not. But the rebels are not fighting for any such thing.”

“I beg your pardon, Captain Somers. I think they are. Permit me to add, that I am a rebel.”

“I am very sorry to hear it,” laughed Somers, pleased with the spirit, no less than the beauty, of the lady.

“I suppose you are,” replied she. “The South is fighting for the right of self-government—for its own existence. The right of secession is just as evident to me as the right to live.”

The question of secession was fully discussed by the lady and Somers, but both of them were in the best of humor. Neither contestant succeeded in convincing the other on a single point; and when the party were called to supper, they had advanced just about as far as the statesmen had when the momentous issue was handed over to the arbitrament of arms. It was a matter to be adjusted by hard fighting; and as Miss Hasbrouk and Somers did not intend to settle the question in this rude manner, the subject was dropped.

The family, so far as Somers could judge, were loyal people. The imperial young lady, who was a fit type of the southern character, was only a visitor. In spite of her proud and haughty bearing, she was a very agreeable person, and the guests enjoyed her society.

“I am a rebel,” said she, as they sat down to supper; “but I am, sorely against my will, I confess, a non-combatant, and we are now on neutral ground. We will bury our differences, then, Captain Somers, and be friends.”

“With all my heart,” replied the gallant young captain.

A very pleasant evening was spent in the drawing-room, during which Miss Hasbrouk affected the company of Somers rather than that of the regular, who appeared to be as stoical in society as he was on the road. She was lively, witty, and fascinating, and seemed to be very much delighted with the society of the young staff officer. He was an exceedingly good-looking fellow, it is true; but he was a Yankee, and she made no secret of her aversion to Yankees in general. He was an exception to the rule, and she compelled him to relate the history of his brief campaign at Petersburg. She laughed at the chagrin of Dr. Scoville, when his invalid took to himself wings and flew away; but she took no pains to conceal her sympathy with the cause of the Confederacy.

At an early hour the officers retired; and as they announced their intention to depart at daylight in the morning, they took leave of the ladies. Miss Hasbrouk was so kind as to hope she might meet the captain again; for notwithstanding his vile political affinities, he was a sensible person.

Before the sun rose, Somers and the regular were in the saddle. The major, whose route lay in a different direction, was no longer their companion. The headquarters of the first army corps were on the Monocacy; and thither the travellers wended their way through a beautiful country, which excited the admiration even of the stoical captain of the regulars, though it was no new scene to him.

The reveille was sounding in the camps of the Pennsylvania Reserves as they passed through on their way to the tent of the commanding general. They reached their destination, and their names were sent in by an orderly in attendance.

“Captain Somers, I am glad to see you,” said the general, at a later hour, when they obtained an audience.

“Thank you, general; I am very grateful for the kindness and consideration you have bestowed upon me,” replied Somers.

“You are an aid-de-camp now; but I ought to say that I gave you the appointment because you are a good fellow on a scout.”

“I will do my best in whatever position you may place me.”

“You were rather unfortunate in your last trip, but you accomplished the work I gave you to do. We shall do some hard fighting in a day or two, and there will be sharp work for you before that comes off.”

“I am ready, general. Every man is ready to march or fight as long as he can stand while you are in command.”

“I will see you again in an hour, Somers,” said the general, as he turned to Captain Barkwood, who belonged to the engineers, and had been assigned to a position on the staff.

Somers soon made the acquaintance of the general’s “military family.” His position and rank were defined in the general orders, and duly promulgated. From those around him he obtained all the current knowledge in regard to the situation of the rebel army, which was posted in the Catoctin valley, with the South Mountain range in the rear, whose gaps and passes it was to defend.

At the time appointed Captain Somers again stood in the presence of the general, who was his beau-ideal of all that was grand and heroic in the military chieftain. He was a tall, straight, well-formed man, with a ruddy complexion, flecked with little thready veins, and a muscular frame. His eye was full of energy; he spoke with his eye as much as with his voice. His military history was familiar to the nation. He was a decided man, and his decision had won him his first appointment in the army. He said what he meant, and meant what he said. His energy of character had made him a success from the beginning. His faith in himself and his faith in the loyal army were unbounded. He fought and conquered by the force of his mighty will. He attempted only what was possible, and triumphed through the faith of an earnest soul. His military judgment was of the highest order, and when he had decided what could be done, he did it. His conclusions, however suddenly reached, were not the offspring of impulse; they were carefully drawn from well-founded premises. His quick eye and his solid judgment rapidly collated all the facts in regard to an enemy’s strength, relative situation, and advantage of position; and from them he promptly deduced the conclusion whether to fight or not—how, when, and where to fight.

The general’s pet name was “Fighting Joe;” and by this appellation he was known and loved in the army. But he was not a rash man; he made no unconsidered movements. If the term implies rashness and blundering impetuosity, it is a misnomer; but, after Williamsburg, Glendale, Malvern, South Mountain, Antietam, Lookout Mountain, who could mistake its meaning? for his battles were too uniformly successful to be the issues of merely headlong courage and unmatured strategy. All his operations on the splendid fields where he has so gloriously distinguished himself, exhibit a head as well as an arm; carefully considered plan, as well as bold and determined execution.

The mention of “Fighting Joe” warmed the hearts of the soldiers. He was more popular than any other general in the army. Our soldiers were thinking men, as well as brave ones. They could not love and honor a general who led them into the forefront of battle to be entrapped and sacrificed. They could not believe in a man whose highest recommendation was brute courage. “Fighting Joe” was one of the ablest strategists in the army; and, wherever he has justified his title as a fighting man, he has also displayed the highest skill and judgment, and a profound knowledge and appreciation of the science of war.

Somers stood before the general with a certain feeling of awe and reverence, which one experiences in the presence of a truly great man. There was no time to talk of the past, for the present and the future were full of trials and cares—were full of a nation’s life and hope. Fighting Joe was cool and self-possessed, as he always was, even in the mad rage of the hottest fight; but he was earnest and anxious. He was even now doing that work which wins battles quite as much as the fiery onslaught.

Burnside was in command of the right wing of the army, which occupied the vicinity of Frederick. The rebels had just been driven out of Middletown, and the cannon was roaring beyond Catoctin Creek; but it was evident to the general that no pitched battle could take place that day. He wanted certain information, which he thought Captain Somers was smart enough to procure for him. A map lay on the table in the tent, and in a few telling words he explained what he wanted.

“Don’t be rash, Somers,” said he, as the aid-de-camp rose to depart. “Intelligent courage is what we want. I shall depend upon you for skill and discretion as well as dash and boldness.”

“I will do the best I can,” replied the captain, as he left the tent and mounted his horse.

He dashed off towards Middletown, as the army commenced its march in the same direction. He reached this place before noon, and agreeably to his instructions, pursued a northerly course, until he reached a point beyond the active operations of Pleasanton’s cavalry, which was scouring the country. Leaving his horse at a farm-house, he advanced on foot to the westward of the creek, until he discovered the outposts of the rebel army. Small squads of Confederate cavalry were beating about this region, and Somers was obliged to dodge them several times. But he obtained his information, and fully acquainted himself with the nature of the country, and the situation of the rebels to the north of the Cumberland road.

It was three o’clock in the afternoon when he had completed his reconnaissance, and he was nearly exhausted by the long walk he had taken, and the excitement of his occupation. He was at least two miles from the farm-house where he had left his horse. He had eaten nothing since breakfast, and he was faint for the want of food. He walked one mile, and stopped to rest near an elegant mansion, which evidently belonged to one of the grandees of Maryland. He was tempted to visit the house and procure some refreshment; but, as he was alone, and knew nothing of the political status of the occupants, he did not deem it prudent to do so.

After resting a short time, he rose and continued his weary walk towards the farm-house. As he passed the door of the elegant mansion, a chaise stopped at the gate, and a young officer handed a lady from the vehicle. A servant led the horse away. The lady paused at the gate, and appeared to be observing him. Somers could think of no reason why the lady should watch him, and he continued on his course till he came within a few feet of the spot where she stood.

“Captain Somers!” exclaimed she; “I am delighted to see you again so soon.”

“Miss Hasbrouk,” replied he, not a little surprised to find in her his rebel friend, whom he had met in Frederick the preceding evening.

“This is an unexpected pleasure,” added she, extending her hand, which the young man took.

“I should hardly have expected to meet you at this distance from Frederick.”

“O, I reside here; this is my father’s house. You are some distance from the Yankee army.”

“As you are a rebel, it is hardly proper for me to inform you why I happen to be here,” laughed he. “I am an invalid, and am walking for my health.”

“It is well you are away from your army, for they will all be captured in a few days.”

“Perhaps not; but I shall be with the army before night.”

“This is Major Riggleston,” said she, turning to the gentleman, who had followed the servant to the stable, and had just returned.

“How do you do, again, major?” said Somers.

“Happy to meet you, Captain Somers,” replied the major, not very cordially.

“Now you must come into the house, Captain Somers. It is just dinner time with us,” continued the lady.

Somers was too faint and hungry to refuse.

CHAPTER IV.
MISS MAUD HASBROUK.

THE lady conducted Captain Somers to the sitting-room of the house. He was followed by Major Riggleston, who, judging by his looks and actions, regarded the staff officer with no special favor. Miss Hasbrouk did all the talking, however, and seemed to do it for the purpose of keeping the major in the shade, for she carefully turned aside two or three observations he made, as though they were of no consequence, or as though they might provoke an unpleasant discussion.

“I am particularly delighted to meet you again, Captain Somers,” said the imperial beauty, as they entered the apartment.

“Thank you,” replied he; though he could see no good reason why Miss Maud Hasbrouk should be particularly delighted to see him.

He was a Union man and a loyal soldier, while she was a rebel, with strength of mind enough to regret that her sex compelled her to be a non-combatant. She was a magnificent creature, even to Somers, whose knowledge of the higher order of beauties that float about in the mists of fashionable society was very limited. She was fascinating, and he could not resist the charm of her society; albeit in the present instance he was too much exhausted by ill health and over-exertion to be very brilliant himself.

“This is very unexpected, considering the distance from the place at which I met you last evening,” said he.

“O, it isn’t a very great distance to Frederick. The major drove me over in three hours,” replied she.

“Three and a half, Maud,” interposed the major, apparently because he felt the necessity of saying something to avoid being regarded as a mere cipher.

“How do you feel to-day, after the little brush we had yesterday, major?” added Somers, turning to the gentleman.

“What brush do you refer to?” asked Major Riggleston, rather coldly.

“The little rub we had with the guerillas.”

“Really, you have—”

“Now, gentlemen, will you excuse me for a few moments?” said Miss Hasbrouk, very impolitely breaking in upon the major’s remark.

“Certainly,” replied Somers, with his politest bow. “You are a fighting man, Major Riggleston; and the affair of yesterday was pretty sharp work for a few minutes.”

“Of course I’m a fighting man; but—”

“Major, you promised me something, you will remember,” said the lady, who still lingered in the room; “and now is the best time in the world to redeem your promise.”

“What do you mean, Maud?” demanded the major.

“Why, don’t you remember?”

“Upon my life I don’t.”

“Perhaps Captain Somers will excuse you for a few moments, while I refresh your memory.”

“Certainly; to be sure,” added the polite staff officer.

He moved towards the door at which the lady stood. Somers saw her whisper something to him as she took him familiarly by the arm.

“O, yes, I remember all about it now!” exclaimed he, with sudden vivacity. “I will return in a few moments, Captain Somers, if you will excuse me.”

“By all means; don’t let me interfere with any arrangement you have made.”

They retired, and the door closed behind them. Somers was not a little befogged by the conduct of both the lady and the gentleman. Several times she had interrupted him, and the major had an astonishingly bad memory. He seemed not to remember even the skirmish on the road; and he was equally unmindful of what had passed between him and the lady at some period antecedent to the present.

They were quite intimate; and, slightly versed as the young officer was in affairs of love and matrimony, he had no difficulty in arriving at the conclusion that the interesting couple who had just left him were more than friends; and though he had not the skill to determine what particular point in the courtship they had reached, he ventured to believe they were engaged. Though it was rather a rash and unauthorized conclusion, it was a correct one; showing that young men know some things by intuition.

Somehow Major Riggleston did not appear exactly as he had appeared the preceding day. His uniform did not look quite so bright; his manner was more brusque and less polished; and he spoke with a heavier and more solid tone. But men are not always the same on one day that they are on another; and it was quite probable that the major was suffering for the want of his dinner, or from some vexation not apparent to the casual observer.

Somers wanted his dinner; not as an epicure is impatient for the feast which is to tickle his palate, but as a man who knows and feels that meat is strength. His health was not yet sufficiently established to enable him to endure the hardship of an empty stomach; for his muscles seemed, in his present weak state, to derive their power more directly than usual from that important organ. He did not, therefore, worry himself to obtain a solution of what was singular in the conduct of the lady and her lover.

They were absent but a few moments before the major returned. If he had been gone seven years, and passed through a Parisian polishing school in the interim, his tone and his manner could not have been more effectually changed. He looked and acted more like the Major Riggleston of yesterday. He was all suavity now; and, what was vastly more remarkable, his memory was as perfect as though he had made mnemonics the study of a lifetime. He remembered all about the skirmish on the road, and even recalled incidents connected with that affair of which Somers was profoundly ignorant.

“Captain Somers, that was the hardest fight for a little one I ever happened to be in,” said the major, after the event had been thoroughly rehearsed.

“It was sharp for a few moments. By the way, major, what is your opinion of Alick now?” asked Somers.

“Well, I was rather surprised to see him go in as he did. He is a brave fellow.”

“So he is; I did not know whether he would fight or not; but I thought he would.”

“O, I was sure of it.”

“Were you? Before the fight you seemed to be of the opinion that he was of no account.”

“That was said concerning niggers in general. I always had a great deal of confidence in Alick. When he fired his gun I knew what the boy meant.”

“His pistol, you mean; he had no gun.”

“You are right; it was a pistol,” said the major, with more confusion than this trifling inaccuracy justified.

“In the pursuit of the guerillas—”