ROXY’S RIDE TO SHARPSBURG
The September twilight had settled into dusk when the Confederate
soldier left the country road, turning his horse into a grove of
sycamores that bordered the Antietam River several miles below the
Miller farm.
The newcomers were instantly greeted by two other soldiers; and when
Roxy’s companion called out: “Here’s a Yankee prisoner, director of a
signalling corps,” they looked at him in amazement, and he set Roxy down
in front of them and continued: “Right here! This girl is a Yankee, and
she was stationed on a high ledge, has been there for days, keeping
watch on the road, and twice each day signalling, probably to some Yank,
so that at the first sight of Lee’s army he can be off to bring
McClellan after us,” and he frowned so fiercely that Roxy found it hard
to keep back her tears.
The two other soldiers looked at her gravely, and the elder of the two
said kindly:
“Well, she will probably tell us all about it, won’t you, little girl?”
“No, sir!” Roxy replied, and at this the man who had brought her to the
camp laughed.
“She’s well trained to keep the secret; not a word out of her,” he said.
“I have broiled a couple of chickens over the coals, and have some
melons; we’ll have a bite to eat, and after supper I reckon little Miss
Yankee will tell us just what the signals mean, and then I’ll take her
home,” said the elderly soldier, smiling at Roxy.
“Sit down,” said the other gruffly, pointing to a stump near by, and
Roxy obeyed. When one of the men brought her food she shook her head.
She was not hungry, and while she watched her companions eat she looked
around the little grove, and began to wonder if she could not escape and
make her way home; and the elder soldier, as if reading her thoughts,
shook his head at her smilingly.
“No use, Miss Yankee girl; we’d catch you,” he said, and at this Roxy
began to be really frightened, and to feel herself a prisoner.
The men paid no further attention to her, lighting their pipes, and
talking eagerly of the movements of Confederate troops. Roxy heard them
say that General Jackson was moving toward Harper’s Ferry, where he
would drive the Yanks from the place and move on to Hagerstown. And this
was really accomplished on the following day, as McClellan’s troops did
not arrive in time to prevent the surrender of the Union garrison of
eleven thousand men who became prisoners of war of the Confederates.
Once again the soldiers turned to Roxy and endeavored to persuade her to
tell to whom she signalled, and why; but the little girl kept silent.
One of the men threatened that they would take her so far from home that
she would never find her way back, and at this Roxy’s eyes filled with
tears; but she remembered the Yankee soldier boy, and what he had said
of prison, and again she resolved that she must not let these men
discover that her father was a Union soldier or they would surely take
him prisoner.
At last one of the men declared that he did not believe Roxy really knew
anything of the real meaning of her signals. “And if she does, we’ve
stopped it. Whoever put her there knows by this time that we’ve been on
the watch. It’s getting late. I’ll take the girl over to that cabin in
the field and tell them to keep her until morning and then carry her
back to the second bridge above here; she can see the ledge from there
and find her way home. We must move on,” he said, and the man who had
brought Roxy now led her across a shadowy field to a tumble-down cabin
where an evidently frightened negro woman opened the sagging door, and
promised to take care of the little girl and to obey the directions of
the soldier.
“Good-bye, Miss Yankee girl,” the man said as he turned to go. “Reckon
I’ve put a stop to any good your signals could do. Do you hear that?”
And Roxy heard a dull booming sound, the echo of far-off artillery; the
little girl did not know this, but the soldier knew it was the far-off
guns of an attacking army, and with another warning to the negro woman
he hastened away.
Roxy was so tired that she was glad to lie down on the rough cot in the
corner of the room, and, in spite of all her troubling thoughts, the
little girl realized that she was free and in a short time would be
safely at home, and was soon asleep.
Before sunrise the next morning the negro woman awoke Roxy. “We’s got
ter be up an’ doin’, Missy,” she said anxiously. “Yo’ jes’ drink some
milk, an’ I’s got some co’n pone h’ar fer yo’, an’ we’ll be off. I ain’
gwine ter come back h’ar, I ain’!” she continued. “Dar’s too many sojers
comin’ dis way. I reckon yo’ fo’ks’ll let me stay at yo’ place, Missy,
if I fetch yo’ safe back?” and the anxious, frightened negro fixed her
pleading glance on Roxy, who at once declared that she was sure her
grandmother would let Etta-Belle, as the negro woman called herself,
stay at the Miller farm. Roxy ate her breakfast hungrily, and was eager
to start for home, and at an early hour they were on their way.
But Roxy was not to reach home that day; a new adventure was close at
hand, and before they had reached the highway Etta-Belle stopped
suddenly.
“Look dar, Missy!” she exclaimed in a frightened whisper pointing toward
a distant slope. “Dar’s an army marchin’. Boun’ to Sharpsburg, shuh’s
yo’ born, Missy!” and Roxy’s glance followed Etta’s pointing finger and
she saw a long shining column of mounted soldiers, soldiers in blue
uniforms, coming on at a rapid pace; without waiting for Etta-Belle,
Roxy raced across the field into the highway and ran toward the
advancing soldiers. If she heard the negro woman’s frenzied cries she
paid no attention to them; here were men wearing the same uniform that
her father wore; she would, she quickly resolved, tell them about her
father, about the Confederate scouts and what she had heard them say,
and they would take her safely home.
She stood in the road waving her arms and shouted: “Union soldiers!
Union soldiers!” and the two officers riding in advance of the troops
drew rein within a few feet of where she stood and gazed at her sternly,
in evident amazement that a ten-year-old girl should dare to halt a
regiment of soldiers.
“She must be a messenger,” said one of the officers, swinging himself
from the saddle, and coming toward Roxy, who, bareheaded, and with her
face flushed from her run, her eyes shining with excitement, was indeed
a queer little person to bring a division of soldiers to a standstill.
But she told her story clearly and eagerly, repeating what she had heard
the Confederate scouts say of the movements of Jackson’s army.
“And if you please, may I not ride home with you?” she concluded
breathlessly, for Roxy supposed the soldiers were on the road that led
by her Grandma Miller’s, but this was not the case.
[Illustration: HE LIFTED HER TO THE SADDLE IN FRONT OF HIM]
The soldiers were bound for Sharpsburg, and the officer, supposing the
little girl knew this, and that her home was near the town, promptly
agreed to Roxy’s request and lifting her to the saddle in front of him,
called a sharp word of command and they were off.
Etta-Belle, hiding behind the bushes at the edge of the field, and
shaking with terror, watched until they were out of sight, and then
started off in the other direction toward the Miller farm. “I reckons
dey’ll wan’ news ob dat chile,” she muttered as she hurried along the
road. Roxy had told the woman where she lived, and Etta-Belle had heard
of the Miller farm, and toward noon she climbed the slope to the
farmhouse and the anxious family gathered to hear her story of what had
befallen Roxy.
“An’ de lille gal rush right into de road an’ stop de army, an’ de sojer
set her on de hoss an’ de army go right on,” she concluded.
Rejoiced as they were to have news of their little daughter, Captain and
Mrs. Delfield could not feel that she was safe until she was again at
home; and it was decided that Mrs. Delfield and Jacob should start at
once for Sharpsburg and endeavor to find Roxy. Grandma Miller’s horse
was quickly harnessed to the high buggy and they were off. Etta-Belle
had made friends with Dulcie, and Grandma Miller had said she might stay
at the farm.
It was early twilight when Mrs. Delfield reached a friend’s house on the
outskirts of Sharpsburg, and was told that General Lee’s troops were
encamped a mile north of the town on the Hagerstown road near the Dunker
Church, a small stone building that stood near a body of woods, beyond
which was a field, and it was here that General Jackson’s troops were
posted, and it was here that the terrible battle of Antietam was to take
place.
Mrs. Delfield’s friends told her that McClellan’s army was approaching,
that on the ridge above Sharpsburg Union batteries were already mounted,
and that probably Roxy was not far away; and within an hour of Mrs.
Delfield’s arrival the little girl was seen approaching the house.
Roxy had a long story to tell. She had remembered that her mother’s
friend, Mrs. Davis, lived on the edge of the town, and the young officer
had brought her within sight of the house.
“And, Mrs. Davis, he says that there is to be a battle, that General
Burnside’s soldiers are coming——”
But Mrs. Delfield interrupted Roxy’s eager story to ask her the name of
the officer who had been kind to her, but Roxy shook her head. “I don’t
know, Mother,” she replied; “but he knows my father, and he gave me
these,” and Roxy drew two brass buttons from the pocket of her gingham
dress. “I’m going to keep them always,” she declared; “and he said I had
acted like a soldier!” and Roxy smiled happily.
It was now too late, and Roxy was too tired, for them to start for home
that night; and, although Roxy slept peacefully, her mother could not
sleep. She knew that every hour marching troops were gathering for
battle, and in the dim morning hours Jacob had the horse harnessed and
waiting, and Roxy was again awakened before sunrise, and leaning
sleepily against her mother’s shoulder as Jacob turned toward home the
little girl whispered:
“I guess Polly and I won’t signal any more,” and Mrs. Delfield smiled as
she responded:
“Perhaps it will be better not to,” but she felt very proud of the
courage her little daughter had shown in refusing to tell the
Confederate scouts what the signals from the ledge meant, and that Roxy
had so faithfully kept watch, hoping to warn her father of possible
danger. To have her little girl safely beside her, and to realize that
the great battle would probably now be fought miles away from the
hillside farm made her indeed thankful.
Roxy slept nearly all the way home, and as Grandma Miller came into the
yard and lifted the little girl from the buggy the first person Roxy’s
eyes rested on was the smiling Etta-Belle, neatly dressed in a freshly
washed calico.
“I’se h’ar, Missy, an’ I’se gwine ter stay,” she announced, and a moment
later a tall girl came racing up the slope, the sun shining on her
dancing red hair, and Roxy ran to meet her calling:
“Polly! Polly! I rode to Sharpsburg with the Union Army!”