Chapter XVI. The Ambuscade.
This heavy-headed revel, east and west,
Makes us traduced and taxed of other nations;
They clepe us drunkards, and with swinish frase
Soul our addition: and indeed it takes
From our achievements, though performed at hight,
The pith and marrow of our attribute.--Hamlet.
The day spent with Aunt Debby had been of the greatest benefit to
Harry Glen. Since his parting with Rachel Bond, there had been
going on in his spirit a fermentation like that with which good wine
discharges itself of its grossness and impurities, and becomes clear
and fine. In this process had vanished the absorbing selfishness
of a much-indulged only son, and teh supercilious egotism which
came as an almost necessary result of his college curriculum. This
spiritual ripening received its perfecting color and bloom from
the serene exaltation of Aunt Debby's soul. So filled was she with
lofty devotion to the cause, so complete her faith in its holiness,
and so unquestioning her belief that it was every one's simple duty
to brave all dangers for it, and die if need be without a murmur,
that contact with her would have inspired with pure patriotic ardor
a nature much less ready for such leavening than Harry's.
As Dr. Denslow had surmised, his faults were mainly superficial,
and underneath them was a firm gristle of manhood, which would
speedily harden into bone. With the experience he had been having,
days would mature this as rapidly as ordinary years. He was himself
hardly aware of the transformation, but only felt, as his physical
exhaustion disappeared, a new eagerness to participate in the great
work of the war. He was gratified to know a little later that
this was no transient feeling. In the course of the evening Jim
Fortner came back in, with Kent Edwards and Abe Bolton. After they
had all satisfied their hunger, Fortner informed Harry and Aunt
Debby that the enemy had fallen back to London, from which point
he was sending out wagons into the surrounding country, to gather
up food, forage, arms, clothing, ammunition, etc., with the double
object of depriving the Union men of them, and adding the same to
the Rebel resources. A long train had also been sent out to the
Goose Creek Salt Works--twenty-five miles northeast of London--to
bring away a lot of salt stored there, of which the Rebels had even
more need than of food.
Fortner proposed to go out in the morning, and endeavor to capture
some of these wagons. It seemed altogether probably that a few might
be caught in such a position that their guards could be killed or
driven off.
All readily agreed to this plan, Aunt Debby leading off by volunteering
to ride ahead on her mare, as a scout.
Harry suddenly remembered that he was weaponless. "What shall I
do for a gun?" he asked, anxiously.
"I declar, I done forgot all 'bout gittin' ye a gun," said Fortner
with real concern. "My mind was disturbed by other things," he
added with a suspicion of a grin at Edwards and Bolton; but they
were leaning back in their chairs fast asleep. Apple jack, fatigue
and a hearty supper together made a narcotic too potent to resist.
Fortner rose, spread a few blankets on the floor, added a sack of
bran for a pillow, and with some difficulty induced the two sleepers
to lie down and take their slumbers in a more natural position.
"I'll find ye a gun," said Aunt Debby, as this operation was finished,
and walking to a farther corner of the room, she came back bearing
in her hand a rifle very similar to the one Fortner carried.
"Thar," she said, setting the delicately-curved brazen heel down
upon the hearth, and holding the muzzle at arm's length while she
gazed at the gun with the admiration one can not help feeling for
a magnificent weapon, "is ez true a rifle ez ever a man put to
his shoulder. Ef I didn't b'lave ye ter be ez true ez steel ye
shouldn't tech hit, fur hit b'longed ter the truest man in this
livin' world."
"Hit wuz her husband's," explained Fortner, as her lips met firmly,
as if choking down bitter memories.
"I'm givin' hit ter ye ter use ez he'd a-used hit ef he war a-livin',"
she said, steadying her tones with a perceptible effort. "I'm glad
thet my hands can put inter yours the means ter avenge him."
Harry tried in vain to make an appropriate response.
"I'll clean hit up for ye," she said to Harry, as she saw Fortner
beginning to furbish up his own rifle for the next day's duties.
That she was no stranger to the work was shown by the skill with which
she addressed herself to it. Nothing that a Kentucky mountaineer
does has more of the aspect of a labor of love, than his caring
for a find rifle, and any of them would have been put to shame by
the deftness of Aunt Debby's supple hands. Removing the leathern
hood which protected the lock, she carefully rubbed off the hammer
and nipple with a wisp of soft fine tow, and picked out the tube
with a needle. Wrapping another bit of tow around the end of a
wiping-stick, she moistened it slightly in her mouth, and carefully
swabbed out of the inside of the barrel every suspicion of dust and
dirt. Each of the winding rifles was made clean and free along its
whole course. Then the tow swab was lightly touched with sweet,
unsalted goose-fat, that it might spread a rust-preventing film
over the interior surface. She burnished the silver and brass
ornaments, and rubbed the polished stock until it shone. When not a
suspicion of soil or dirt remained any where, the delicate double
triggers were examined and set so that they would yield at the
stroke of a hair, a tuft of lightly-oiled tow was placed over the
nipple and another closed the muzzle.
"Thar," said Aunt Deby, setting the gun back against the logs, "is
a rifle that'll allers do hits duty, ef the man a-holt of hit does
his. Let's see how the ammunition is."
The powder horn was found to be well filled with powder, and the
box with caps, but there were only a few bullets.
"I'll run ye some," she said, taking from a shelf a small iron
ladle, a few bars of lead, and a pair of bullet molds. "Fur more'n
a hunderd years the women uv our fam'ly hev run all the bullets
our menfolks shot. They b'lieved hit made 'em lucky. Granfather
Fortner killed an Injun chief acrost the Maumee River at the battle
of Fallen Timbers with a bullet thet Granmother hed run fur him
an' markt with a little cross. Afore the battle begun Franfather
tuck the bullet outen his pouch an' put hit inter his mouth, until
he could git a chance ter use hit on big game. He brot the chief's
scalp hum ter Granmother."
"I believe the bullets you cast for me will do good service," said
Harry, with sincerity in his tones.
"I'm sartin of hit," she returned, confidently. "I hev adopted ye
in my heart ez a son, an' I feel towards ye ez ef ye were raylly
uv my own kin. I know ye'll be a credit to yerself an' me."
While the lead was melting upon the bed of coals she drew out on
the hearth, she sat in her low chair with her hands clasped about
her knees, and her great gray eyes fixed upon the depths of a
mass of glowing embers in the fireplace, as if she saw there vivid
pictures of the past or revelations of the future.
"How wonderfully bright an' glowin' hit is in thar," she said
musingly; "hit's purer an' brighter then ennything else on arth.
'Purified ez by fire,' the Book says. My God, Thou has sent Thy
fires upon me ez a sweepin' flood. Hev they purified me ez Thou
wisht? How hit shines an' glows away in thar! Hit seems so deep
sometimes thet I kin skeercely see the end. A million times purer
an' brighter is the light thet shines from the Throne uv God.
THEY'RE lookin' at thet now, while I still tarry heah. Husband an'
son, when will I go to ye? When will I finish the work the Lord
hez fur me ter do? When will the day uv my freedom come? May-be
to-morrer--may-be to-morrer."
She began singing softly:
"An' when a shadder falls acrost the winder
Of my room,
When I am workin' my app'inted task,
I lift my head to watch the door an' ask
If he is come;
An' the angel answers sweetly
In my home:
'Only a few more shadders
An' He will come.'"
"Aunt Debby, honey," said Fortner, rousing himself from a nap in
his chair, "thet thar lead's burnin'. Better run yer bullets."
She started as if waked from a trance, pressed her slender thin
hands to her eyes for an instant, and then taking the molds up in
herleft hand she raised the ladle with her right, filled them from
it, knocked the molded balls out by a tap on the floor, and repeated
the process with such dexterous quickness that she had made fifty
bullets before harry realized that she was fairly at work.
"Ye men hed better lay down an' git some sleep," she said, as she
replaced the molds and ladle on the shelf. "Ye'll need all yer
strength to-morrer. I'll neck these bullets, an' git together some
vittles fur the trip, an' then I'll lay down a while. We orter
start airly--soon arter daybreak."
They did start early the next morning, with Aunt Debby riding upon
the roads that wound around the mountain sides, while Fortner led
the men through the shorter by-paths.
Noon had passed some hours, and yet they had come across no signs
of wagons. Aunt Debby was riding along a road cut out of the rocks
about mid-way up the mountain. To her right the descent was almost
perpendicular for a hundred feet or more to where a creek ran at
the bottom of a cliff. To her left the hill rose up steeply to
a great height. Fortner and the others saw Aunt Debby galloping
back, waving the red handkerchief which was her signal of the
approach of a wagon. After her galloped a Rebel Sergeant, with
revolver drawn shouting to her to stop or he would fire. Abe
Bolton stepped forward impulsively to shoot the Rebel, missed his
footing, and slid down the hill, landing in the orad with such
force as to jar into unintelligibiliy a bitter imprecation he had
constructed for the emergency. He struck in front of the Sergeant,
who instantly fired at Aunt Debby's mare, sending a bullet through
the faithful animal, which sank to her knees, and threw her rider
to the ground. Without waiting to rise, and he was not certain that
he could, Abe fired his musket, but missed both man and horse. He
scrambled to his feet, and ran furiously at the Rebel with raised
gun. The Sergeant fired wildly at him, when Bolton struck the
animal a violent blow across the head. It recoiled, slipped, and
in another instant had fallen over the side of the road, and crushed
his rider on the rocks below. Five of the wagon-guard who were
riding ahead of the wagon galloped forward at the sound of the
shots. Fortner, Edwards and Harry Glen fired into these, and three
saddles were emptied. The remaining two men whirled their horses
around, fired wildly into the air, and dashed back upon the
plunging team, with which the driver was vainly struggling. The
ground quivered as the frightened animals struck together; they
were crushed back upon their haunches, and beat one another cruelly
with their mighty hoofs. Wagon, horses and men reeled on the brink
an agonizing instant; the white-faced driver dropped the lines and
sprang to the secure ground; the riders strained with the energy
of deadly fear to tear themselves loose from their steeds, but in
vain. Then the frantic mess crashed down the jagged rocks, tearing
up the stunted cedars as if they were weeds, and fell with a sounding
splash on the limestone bed of the shallow creek.
Fortner, Glen and Edwards came down as quickly as possible, the
latter spraining his ankle badly by making a venturesome leap to
reach the road first. They found a man that Fortner had shot at
stone dead, with a bullet through his temple. The other two had been
struck in the body. Their horses stood near, looking wonderingly
at their prostrate masters.
Bolton was rubbing his bruises and abrasions, and vituperating
everything, from the conduct of the war to the steepness of Kentucky
mountains. Aunt Debby had partially recovered from the stunning of
her fall, and limped slowly up, with her long riding-skirt raised
by one hand. Her lips were compressed, an her great gray eyes
blazed with excitement.
They all went to the side of the road, and looked down at the
crushed and bleeding mass in the creek.
"My God! that's awful," said Henry, with a rising sickness about
his heart, as the excitement began subsiding.
"Plenty good enuf fur scoundrels who rob poor men of all they hev,"
said Fortner fiercely, as he re-loaded his rifle. "Hit's not bad
enuf fur thieves an' robbers."
"Hit's God's judgement on the wicked an' the opporessor," said Aunt
Debby, with solemn pitilessness.
"Hadn't we better try to get down there, and help those men out?"
suggested Harry. "Perhaps they are not dead yet."
"Aunt Debby, thet thar hoss thet's rain' his head an' whinnyin',"
said Fortner, with sudden interest, "is Joel Sprigg's roan geldin',
sho's yore bo'n, honey." He pointed to where a shapely head was
raised, and almost human agony looked out of great liquid eyes.
"Thet wuz the finest hoss in Laurel County, an' they've stole 'im
from Joel. Hit'll 'bout break his heart, fur he set a powerful
sight o'store on thet there beast. Pore critter! hit makes me sick
ter see 'im suffer thet-a-way! I've a mind ter put 'im outen his
misery, but I'm afeered I can't shoot 'im, so long ez he looks at me
with them big pitiful eyes o' his'n. They go right ter my heart."
"You'd better shoot him," urged Aunt Debby. "Hit's a si ter let
an innocent critter suffer thet-a-way."
Fortner raised his rifle, and sent a bullet through the mangled
brute's brain.
Aunt Debby's eyes became fixed on a point where, a mile away down
the mountain, a bend in the road was visible through an opening in
the trees.
"Look out," she said, as the echoes of the shot died away, "thar
comes a hull lot on 'em."
They looked and saw plainly a large squad of cavalry, with a wagon
behind.
"We must get outen heah, an' thet quick," said Fortner decisively.
He caught one of the horses and shortened a stirrup to make the
sadle answer for a side-saddle. "Heah, Aunt Debby, let me help
ye up, honey. Now Bolton and Edwards, I'll help ye on these ere
other critters. Now skeet out ez fast ez the hosse's legs will
tote ye. Don't spar 'em a mite. Them fellers'll gin ye to the
devil's own chase ez soon ez they get heah, an' see what's bin
done. Glen and me'll go acrost the mounting, an' head 'em off on
t'other side. Don't come back ef ye heah shootin', but keep straight
on, fur we kin take keer o' this crowd without enny help. glen,
you sasshay up the mounting thar ez fast ez the Lord'll let ye.
I'll be arter ye right spry."
All sped away as directed. Fortner had been loading his gun while
speaking. He now rammed the bullet home, and withdrawing his rammer
walked over to the cliff beside which the teamster was cowering.
"O, Mister Fortner, don't kill me--please don't!" whined the
luckless man, getting awkwardly upon his knees and raising his
hands imploringly. "I swar ter God I'll never raise a hand agin
a Union man agin ef ye'll only spar my life."
"Kill ye, Pete Hoskins!" said Fortner with unfathomable contempt.
"What consete ye hev ter think yer wuth the powder an' lead. I
hain't no bullets ter waste on carr'on."
He struck the abject fellow a couple of stinging blows on the face
with the ramrod, replaced it in the thimbles, and sprang up the
rocks just as the head of the cavalry appeared around the bend of
the road a few rods away.
Overtaking Harry shortly, he heard about the same time the Rebels
on the road below strike into a trot.
"They know hit all now," he said, "an' hev started in chase. Let's
jog on lively, an' get ter whar we kin head 'em off."
Night had fallen in the meantime, but the full moon had risen
immediately, making it almost as light as day.
After half an hour's fast walking, the two Unionists had cut across
the long horseshoe around which the Rebels were traveling, and had
come down much ahead of them on the other side of the mountain,
and just where the road led up the steep ascent of another mountain.
There was a loneliness about the spot that was terrible. Over it
hung the "thought and deadly feel of solitude." The only break
for miles in the primeval forest was that made for the narrow road.
House or cabin there was none in all the gloomy reaches of rocks
and gnarled trees. It was too inhospitable a region to tempt even
the wildest squatter.
The flood of moonlight made the desolation more oppresive than
ever, by making palpable and suggestive the inky abysses under the
trees and in the thickets.
Fortner looked up the road to his right and listened intently.
A waterfall mumbled somewhere in the neighborhood. The pines and
hemlocks near the summit sighed drearily. A gray fox, which had
probably just supped off a pheasant, sat on a log and barked out
his gluttonous satisfaction. A wildcat, as yet superless, screamed
its envy from a cliff a half a mile away.
"I can't heah anything of Aunt Debby an' the others," said Fortner,
at length; "so I reckon they're clean over the mounting, an' bout
safe by this time. Them beasts are purty good travelers, I imagine,
an' they hain't let no grass grow in under the'r hufs."
"But the Rebels are coming, hand over hand," said Harry, who had
been watching to the left and listening. "I hear them quite plainly.
Yes, there they are," he continued, as two or three galloped around
a turn in the road, followed at a little interval by others.
The metallic clang of the rapid hoof-beats on the rocks rang through
the somber aisles of the forest. Noisy fox and aniphonal wildcat
stopped to listen to this invasion of sound.
"Quick! let's get in cover," said Fortner.
"Ye make fur thet rock up thar," said Fortner to Harry, pointing
to a spot several hundred yards above them, "and stay thar tell I
come. Keep close in the shadder, so's they won't see ye."
"It seems to me that I ought to stay with you,' said Harry,
indecisively.
"No; go. Ye can't do no good heah. One's better nor two. I'll
be up thar soon. Go, quick."
There was no time for debate, and Harry did as bidden.
Fortner stepped into the inky shadow of a large rock, against
which he leaned. The great broad face of the rock, gray from its
covering of minute ash-colored lichens, was toward the pursuers,
and shone white as marble in the flood of moonlight. The darkness
seemed banked up around him, but within his arm's length it was
as light as day. The long rifle barrel reached from the darkness
into the light, past the corner of the rock against which it
rested. The bright rays made the little "bead" near the muzzle
gleam like a diamond, and lighted up the slit as fine as a hair
in the hind-sight. Three little clicks, as if of twigs breaking
under a rabbit's foot, told that the triggers had been set and the
hammer raised.
The horsemen, much scattered by the pursuit, clattered onward. In
ones and twos, with wide intervals between, they reached along a
half-mile of the road. Two--the best mounted--rode together at the
head. Two hundred yards below the great white rock, which shone
as innocent and kindly as a fleecy Summer cloud, a broad rivulet
wound its way toward the neighboring creek. The blown horses
scented the grateful water, and checked down to drink of it. The
right-hand rider loosened his bridle that his steed might gratify
himself. The other tightened his rein and struck with his spurs.
His horse "gathered," and leaped across the stream. As the armed
hoofs struck sparks from the smooth stones on the opposite side,
the rider of the drinking horse saw burst out of the white rock
above them a gray cloud, with a central tongue of flame, and his
comrade fell to the ground.
His immediate reply with both barrels of his shotgun showed that
he did not mistake this for any natural phenomenon. The sound of
the shots brought the rest up at a gallop, and a rapid fire was
opened on the end of the rock.
But the instant Fortner fired he sprang back behind the rock, and
then ran under its cover a little distance up the mountain side
to a dense laurel thicket, in which he laid down behind a log and
reloaded his rifle. He listened. The firing had ceased, and a
half-dozen dismounted men were carefully approaching the spot whence
he had sent the fatal shot. He heard the Captain order a man to
ride back and bring up the wagon, that the body of the dead man might
be put in it. As the wagon was heard rumbling up, the dismounted
men reported to the Captain that the bushwhacker had made good his
escape and was no longer behind the rock.
"Well, he hasn't gone very far," said the Captain with a savage
oath. "He can't have got any distance away, and I'll have him, dead
or alive, before I leave this spot. The whole gang of Lincolnite
hellhounds are treed right up there, and not one of them shall
get away alive." He put a bone whistle to his lips, and sounded
a shrill signal. A horseman trotted up from the rear in response
to the call, leading a hound with a leash. "Take the dog up to
that rock, there, Bill," said the Captain, "and set him on that
devil's trail. Five more of you dismount, and deploy there on
the other side of the road. All of you move forward cautiously,
watching the dog, and make sure you 'save' teh whelp when he is
run out."
The men left their saddles and moved forward with manifest reluctance.
They had the highly emotional nature usual in the poor white of the
South, and this was deeply depressed by the weird loneliness that
brooded over everything, and the bloodshed they had witnessed.
Their thirst for vengeance was being tempered rapidly by a growing
superstitious fear. There was something supernatural in these
mysterious killings. Each man, therefore, only moved forward as
he felt the Captain's eye on him, or his comrades advanced.
The dog, after some false starts, got the scent, and started to
follow Fortner's footsteps.
"He's done tuck the trail, Cap'n," called back one of the men.
"All right," answered the officer, "don't take your eyes off of
him for a second till he trees the game."
But the logs and rocks and the impenetrable darkness in the shadows
made it impossible to follow the movements of the hound every
moment. Only Fortner was able to do this. He could see the great
greenish-yellow eyes burn in the pitchy-depths and steadily draw
nearer him. They entered the laurel thicket, and the beast growled
as he felt the nearness of his prey.
"Wolf must be gitten close ter him," said one of the men.
Fortner laid his rifle across the log, and drew from his belt a long
keen knife. He stirred slightly in doing this, and in turning to
confront the dog. The hound sprang forward with a growl that was
abruptly ended, for Fortner's left hand shot out like an arrow, and
caught the loose folds of skin on the brute's neck, and the next
instant his right, armed with the knife, descended and laid the
animal's shoulder and neck open with a deep cut. But the darkness
made Fortner mistake his distance. He neither caught the dog
securely, nor sent the knife to his heart, as he intended, and
the hound tearing away, ran out into the moonlight, bleeding and
yelping. Before he reached his human allies Fortner had silently
sped back a hundred yards, to a more secure shelter, so that the
volley which was poured into he thicket only endangered the lives
of the chipmunks denizened there. The mounted men rode forward and
joined those on foot, in raking the copse with charges of buckshot.
Away above Fortner and Harry rose yells and the clatter of galloping
horses. Before they could imagine what this meant a little cavalcade
swept by at a mad gallop, yelling at the tops of their voices, and
charging directly at the Rebels below. In front were Aunt Debby,
Bolton and Edwards, riding abreast, and behind them three men in
homespun.
The Rebels seemed totally unnerved by this startling apparition.
The dismounted ones flung themselves on their horses and all fled
away at a gallop, without attempting to make a stand and without
taking thought of their wagon. As they scurried along the opposite
mountain-side Fortner and Harry fired at them, but without being
able to tell whether their shots took effect.
The pursuit was carried but a little distance. The wagon was
secured and taken up the mountain. A little after midnight the
summit was passed, and Fortner led the way into an opening to the
right, which eventually brought up at a little level spot in front
of a large cave. The horses where unhitched and unsaddled, a fire
built, cedar boughs gathered to make a bed on the rocky floor of
the cave, and they threw themselves down upon this to sleep the
sleep of utter weariness.
In the meantime Harry had learned taht the new comers were cousins
of Fortner's, who, being out on a private scouting expedition, had
been encountered by Aunt Debby and the others, near the summit of
the mountain, and had started back with them to the assistance of
Fortner. The sound of firing had so excited them that the suggestion
of a charge by Kent Edwards was eagerly acceded to.
"It must be near three o'clock," said Kent, looking up at the
stars, as he came back stealthily from laying the saddle blanket,
which was the only covering he and Abe had, upon the sleeping form
of Aunt Debby, "and my downy couch still waits for me. My life-long
habits of staid respectability have been greatly shaken recently."
Abe groaned derisively.
An inspection, the next morning of the wagon's load, showed it to
be mainly made up of hams, shoulders and sides, plundered from the
smokehouses visited. With these were a number of guns, including
several fine rifles, and all the ammunition that could be found
along the route.
A breakfast was made of slices of ham broiled on the ends of
sticks, and then a consultation was held as to the plans for the
day's operations.
The result of this was a decision that Aunt Debby and one of the
newcomers should go back and inform the neighborhood of what had
taken place, gather a party to remove the dead from the creek and
bury them, to keep the water from being poisoned, and recover what
property might be found with the first wagon. Kent Edwards, Abe
Bolton, and two of the new comers would scout down toward London,
to ascertain the truth of the rumor that Zollicoffer had evacuated
the place, and retired to Laurel Bridge, nine miles south of it.
Fortner and Harry Glen would take the wagon to Wildcat Gap, report
what had been done, and explain to their commander the absence of
the enlisted men.
---
"Shade of King Solomon," said Kent to Abe, after their party had
ridden for two or three hours through the mountains toward London.
"I wonder if there is any other kind of worldly knowledge that
I know as little about as I did of scouting when we started out?
My eyes have been opened to my own ignorance. I used to have the
conceit that we two could play a fair hand at any game of war they
could get up for our entertainment. But these Kentuckians give
me points every hundred yards that I never so much as dreamed of.
Theirs is the wisdom of serpents when compared with our dove-like
innocence."
"I like dove-like innocence," interrupted Abe.
"But did you ever see anybody that could go through the country
as these fellows can? It's just marvelous. They know every short
cut to every point, and they know just where to go every time to
see way ahead without being seen themselves. It would puzzle the
sharpest Rebel bushwhacker to get the drop on them."
"I don't know as I want to learn their way of doing," said Abe
crustily. "It looks like sneaking, on a big scale, that's all.
And I'm ashamed of this laying round behind a log or a rock to
pop a man over. It ain't my style at all. I believe in open and
above-board fighting, give and take, and may the best man win."
"So do I, though I suppose all's fair in war. But when we scout we
give them the same chance to knock us over that they give us when
they scout. I'll admit it looks very much like murder to shoot men
down that way, for it does not help either side along a particle.
But these Kentuckians have a great many private injuries to avenge,
and they can't do it any other way."
All the people of the region were intensely Union, so it was not
difficult to get exact information of the movements of the Rebels,
and as the scouts drew near London they became assured that not
only all of Zollicoffer's infantry, but his small parties of cavalry
had retreated beyond the town. Our scouts therefore, putting Edwards
and Bolton to the front, that their blue uniforms might tell the
character of the party, spurred into a gallop, and dashed into
London, to be received with boundless enthusiasm.
"Somebody ought to ride back to Wildcat immediately," said Kent,
after they had enjoyed their reception a little while, "and report
this to the General."
All assented to this position.
"It is really the duty of myself and comrade here to do it," said
Kent, shifting uneasily in his chair, to find a comfortable place
to sit upon; "but as we have been for two days riding the hardest-backed
horses over roads that were simply awful, and as previous to that
time we had not taken any equestrian exercise for several years,
there are some fundamental reasons--that is, reasons lying at the
very base of things, (he shifted again)--why we should not be called
upon to do another mile of horseback riding until Time has had an
opportunity to exercise his soothing and healing influence, so to
speak. Abe, I believe I have stated the case with my usual happy
combination of grace and delicacy?"
"You have, as usual, flushed a tail-race of big words."
"In short," Kent went on ("Ah, thank you. That is delicious. The
best I ever drank. Your mountain stills make the finest apple
jack in the world. There must be something in the water--that you
don't put in. It's as smooth as new-made butter. Well, here's to
the anner of Beauty and Glory.) In short, as I was saying when you
hospitably interrupted me, we are willing to do anything for the
cause, but unless there is some other way of riding, the most painful
effort I could make for our beloved country would be to mount that
horse again, and ride another hundred yards. To be messenger of
this good news would be bliss; what prevents it is a blister."
The crowd laughed boisterously.
"Mister," said one of the Kentuckians who accompanied them, with
that peculiar drawling inflection of the word that it were hopeless
to attempt to represent in print, "ef ye want ter send some one
in yer places me an' Si heah will be powerful glad ter go. Jes'
git a note ter the Jineral at Wildcat ready while we saddle fresh
beasts, an' we'll hev hit in his hands afore midnight."
The proposition was immediately accepted, and in a little while the
Kentuckians were speeding their way back to Gen. Schoepf, with a
letter giving the news, and signed: "Kent Edwards, Chief of Scouts."
That evening a party of young men who had followed the Rebel
retreat some distance, brought in a wagon which had been concealed
in an out-of-the-way place, and left there. It was loaded mainly
with things taken from the houses, and was evidently the private
collection of some freebooting subordinate, who did not intend
that the Southern Confederacy should be enriched by the property.
Hence, probably, the hesitation about taking it along with the
main train. It was handed over to Kent as the representative of
the United States, who was alone authorized to take charge of it.
Assisted by Abe he started to make an inventory of the contents.
A portly jug of apple jack was kept at hand, that there might not
be any suffering from undue thirst during the course of the operation,
which, as Kent providently remarked, was liable to make a man as
dry as an Arizona plain.
The danger of such aridity seemed to grow more imminent continually,
judged by the frequency of their application to the jug. It soon
became more urgent than the completion of the inventory. Frequent
visits of loyal Kentuckians with other jugs and botles, to drink
to the renewed supremacy of the Banner of Beauty and Glory, did not
diminish Kent's and Abe's apprehensions of ultimate thirst. Their
clay seemed like some other kinds, which have their absorptive
powers strengthened by the more they take up. They belonged to a
not-unusual class of men whom it takes about as long to get thoroughly
drunk as it does to heat up an iron-furnace, but the condition that
they achieve then makes the intoxication of other and ordinary men
seem a very mild and tame exhilaration.
By noon the next day this process was nearing its completion. A
messenger galloped into town with the information that the Union
forces were coming, and would arrive in the course of an hour or
two.
"Shash so?" said Kent, straightening himself up with a crushing
dignity that always formed a sure guage of the extent to which
inebriation had progressed. "Shash so? Troops 'she United States
'bout to enter shis lovely metropolis wish all pomp and shircumshtance
'reassherted 'thority. 'Shtonishin' event; wonderful 'casion.
Never happened 'fore; probably never'll happen again. Ought to be
'propriately celebrated, Abe!"
That gentleman made a strong effort to control joints which seemed
unmanageable, and succeeded in assuming a tolerable erectness,
while he blinked at his companion with stolid gravity.
"Abe, shis ish great 'casion. Greatest in she annalsh of she country.
We're only represhentatives Government in she town. Burden whole
shing fallsh on us. Understand? We musht do everyshing. Understand?
Country 'spects every man to do his duty. Undershtand?"
Abe sank down on a bench, leaned his head against the wall, and
looked at his companion with one eye closed wearily.
"Yesshir," Kent resumed, summoning up a new supply of oratorical
energy, and an official gravity beneath which his legs trembeled.
"Name shis town's London. Shame name's big town 'cross ocean. Lots
history c'nected wish name. Shtacks an' cords of it. Old times
when King went out t'meet him, wish shtyle pile on bigger'n a
haystack. Fact. Clothes finer'n a peacock. Tendered him keys,
freed'm city. All shat short shing. Ver' impreshive shpectacle.
Everybody felt better'n for improvin' sight. Undershtand? We'll
be Lord Mayor and train for shis London. We can rig out right
here. Our trouseau's here in shis hair trunk."
"Shall we get anyshing t' drink?" inquired Abe making a temporary
collection of his wits with a violent effort.
"Abe!" the freezing severity of Kent's tone and manner would have
been hopelessly fatal to early vegetables. "Abe you've many good
qualities--more of 'em shan any man I know. but a degrading passion
fur shtrong drink is ruinin' you. I'm your besht fren, an' shay
it wish tearsh in m' eyes. Lemme beg o' you t' reform ere it ish
too late. Beware of it, my fren, beware of it. It shtingeth like
a serpent, an' biteth like a multiplier--I mean an adder. You
haven't got my shuperb self-control, an' so yer only shafety lies
in total abstinence. Cheese it, my fren, cheese it on she sheductive
but fatal lush."
"Are we goin' out t' meet she boysh?" inquired Abe.
"Shertainly we are. Yesshir. An' we're goin' out ash I proposed.
Yer a shplendid feller, Abe," continued Kent, with lofty patronage.
"A shplendid feller, an' do great credit t' yer 'portunities.
But y' haven't had my 'dvantages of mingling constantly in p'lite
s'ciety, y'know. Rough diamond, I know, 'nall that short o' shing,
but lack polish an' easy grace. So I'll be th' Lord Mayor, an'
y'll be th' train. Undershtand?"
He lurched forward, and came near falling over the chair, but recovering
he stiffened up and gazed on that useful article of furniture with
a sternness that implied his belief that it was a rascally blackleg
trying to insinuate itself into the circle of refinement and chaste
elegance of which he was the particular ornament.
"Come," he resumed, "le's bedizen ourselves; le's assume th'
shplendor 'propriate t' th' 'casion."
When the troops marched in in the afternoon, the encountered at the
head of the crowd that met them at the crossing of the creek just
ouside of town, a man who seemed filled with deep emotion, and
clothed with strange fancies. He wore a tall silk hat of antique
patter, carefully brushed, which he protected from the rays of the
sun with a huge blue cotton umbrella. A blue broadcloth coat, with
gilt buttons, sat jauntily over a black satin vest, and nankeen
trousers. A pair of gold spectacles reposed in magisterial dignity
about half way down his nose, and a large silver-headed cane in the
left hand balanced the umbrella in the right. By the side of the
man with rare vestments stood another figure of even more limpness
of general bearing, whose garb consisted of a soldier's uniform
pantaloons and woolen shirt--none too clean--set off by a black
dress-coat, and white linen vest.
As the head of the column came up he in the blue broadcloth pulled
off his hat and spectacles, and addressed himself to speech:
"Allow me, shir, to welcome you with hoshpitable hands to a bloody--no,
let me tender you, shir, the liberties of our city, and reshoice
shat she old banner which has braved she battle, hash---"
The column had stopped, and the Captain commanding the advance
was listening patiently to what he supposed was the address of an
enthusiastic, but eccentric old Kentuckian, when one of the sharp-eyed
ones in the company shouted out:
"I declare, it's Kent Edwards and Abe Bolton."
The yell of laughter and applause at the ludicrous masquerade
shook the hills. The Colonel rode up to see what occasioned it.
He recognized his two men, and his face darkened with anger.
"You infernal rascals," he shouted, "you have been off plundering
houses, have you, in place of being with your company. I'll stop
this sort of thing mighty sudden. This regiment shall not degrade
itself by plundering and robbing, if I have to shoot every man in
it. Captain, arrest those men, and keep thim in close confinement
until I can have them tried and properly punished."
