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Roughing It Series.
GEORGE AT THE FORT;
Or,
Life Among the Soldiers.
by
HARRY CASTLEMON,
Author of "The Gunboat Series," "The Sportsman's Club Series,"
"The Boy Trapper Series," Etc.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
Philadelphia:
Porter & Coates.
* * * * * *
FAMOUS CASTLEMON BOOKS.
_Each volume handsomely illustrated and bound in fine extra cloth, black
and gold stamp. 16mo._
GUNBOAT SERIES. 6 vols.
FRANK THE YOUNG NATURALIST.
FRANK ON THE LOWER MISSISSIPPI.
FRANK BEFORE VICKSBURG.
FRANK ON THE PRAIRIE.
FRANK IN THE WOODS.
FRANK ON A GUNBOAT.
ROCKY MOUNTAIN SERIES. 3 vols.
FRANK AMONG THE RANCHEROS.
FRANK AT DON CARLOS' RANCHO.
FRANK IN THE MOUNTAINS.
SPORTSMAN'S CLUB SERIES. 3 vols.
THE SPORTSMAN'S CLUB IN THE SADDLE.
THE SPORTSMAN'S CLUB AFLOAT.
THE SPORTSMAN'S CLUB AMONG THE TRAPPERS.
FRANK NELSON SERIES. 3 vols.
SNOWED UP; OR, THE SPORTSMAN'S CLUB IN THE MOUNTAINS.
FRANK NELSON IN THE FORECASTLE.
THE BOY TRADERS; OR, THE SPORTSMAN'S CLUB AMONG THE BOERS.
BOY TRAPPER SERIES. 3 vols.
THE BURIED TREASURE; OR, OLD JORDAN'S HAUNT.
THE BOY TRAPPER; OR, HOW DAVE FILLED THE ORDER.
THE MAIL-CARRIER.
ROUGHING IT SERIES. 3 vols.
GEORGE IN CAMP; OR, LIFE ON THE PLAINS.
GEORGE AT THE WHEEL; OR, LIFE IN A PILOT HOUSE.
GEORGE AT THE FORT; OR, LIFE AMONG THE SOLDIERS.
GO AHEAD SERIES. 3 vols.
GO AHEAD; OR, THE FISHER BOY'S MOTTO.
NO MOSS; OR, THE CAREER OF A ROLLING STONE.
TOM NEWCOMBE; OR, THE BOY OF BAD HABITS.
_Other Volumes in Preparation._
* * * * * *
Copyright, 1882, by Porter & Coates.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER I.
DISCONTENTED RECRUITS 5
CHAPTER II.
AN OLD FRIEND TURNS UP 24
CHAPTER III.
BOB'S FIRST COMMAND 45
CHAPTER IV.
A PERILOUS UNDERTAKING 66
CHAPTER V.
THE NEW SCOUT 90
CHAPTER VI.
AN UNEXPECTED GUEST 113
CHAPTER VII.
HOW BRYANT WAS CAPTURED 137
CHAPTER VIII.
GEORGE AT THE FORT 159
CHAPTER IX.
WHAT GEORGE KNEW ABOUT TRAILING 179
CHAPTER X.
HOW GEORGE SAVED THE CAMP 200
CHAPTER XI.
TELEGRAPHING BY SMOKES 222
CHAPTER XII.
ANOTHER FEATHER FOR BOB'S CAP 242
CHAPTER XIII.
HE WINS IT FAIRLY 262
CHAPTER XIV.
"THREE CHEERS FOR THE 'BRINDLES'!" 282
CHAPTER XV.
MORE BAD LUCK FOR MR. WENTWORTH 303
CHAPTER XVI.
CONCLUSION 327
ILLUSTRATIONS
AN UNEXPECTED GUEST facing page 6
STORMING THE DUG-OUT " " 84
BOB CAPTURES THE DESERTER " " 146
TELEGRAPHING BY SMOKE " " 280
GEORGE AT THE FORT.
CHAPTER I.
DISCONTENTED RECRUITS.
"Captain, this thing must be stopped. I say it must be stopped, even if
we have to resort to summary measures. We must find out who the
ringleaders are, and make an example of them."
The speaker was Colonel Brown, the commanding officer of Fort Lamoine.
As he uttered these emphatic words he slammed a paper-weight down upon a
pile of reports which the adjutant had just brought in, and, settling
back in his chair, looked sharply at the officer who stood in front of
the table. The red sash the latter wore around his waist proclaimed him
to be the officer of the day.
"How many did you say there were in the party who deserted last night?"
continued the colonel.
"Seven, sir," replied the officer of the day, "and there is a list of
their names. They took no horses with them, but they each secured a
carbine and a box of cartridges."
"That makes thirty men who have deserted since I took command of this
post," said the colonel, angrily, "and not more than half of them have
been captured.--Orderly, tell Corporal Owens I want to see him. He is
one of the few non-commissioned officers in the command whom I am not
afraid to trust.--Captain, have six picked men, with two days' rations,
detailed to go with him in pursuit of these deserters. He can find and
arrest them if anybody can."
[Illustration: An Unexpected Guest.]
The officer of the day closed the door of the colonel's head-quarters
behind him, and in a few minutes the orderly opened it again to admit a
sturdy young soldier, about eighteen years old, who wore upon his arms
the yellow _chevrons_ of a corporal of cavalry. This was Bob Owens--the
boy who stole the _mail-carrier's_ hard-earned money and ran away from
home to enjoy it. He had not changed much in appearance. He had grown
taller and his shoulders were broader, but any one who had known him
before he entered the army would have recognized him now. The fact that
he had been selected to perform the hazardous duty of pursuing and
arresting the deserters who had left the fort the night before fully
armed, and who would not hesitate to make a desperate resistance rather
than allow themselves to be taken back to stand the punishment that
would be inflicted upon them by a court-martial, and the colonel's
declaration that he was one of the few non-commissioned officers in the
command whom he was not afraid to trust, seemed to indicate that our old
friend Bob had won a reputation since he enlisted in Galveston, nearly a
year ago, and done something to win the confidence of his superiors. Let
us go back and see what it was.
The last time we saw Bob Owens he was just coming out of a
recruiting-office, having enlisted in the regular cavalry and sworn away
his liberty for a long term of years. He did not take this step of his
own free will, but was driven to it by force of circumstances.
When Bob found Dan Evans in his camp in the woods and stole from him the
money that David, with Dan and Bert Gordon's assistance, had earned by
trapping quails, he ran away from home, and after escaping from the
constable who arrested him at Linwood on suspicion of being a
horse-thief he took passage on board the steamer Sam Kendall for St.
Louis. While he was on the steamer he made the acquaintance of George
Ackerman, who was one of the pilots, and whom he twice saved from
drowning. George owned an extensive cattle-ranche in Texas, which was
held in trust for him by his uncle, John Ackerman, who was his guardian.
After the Sam Kendall was burned he tried to show his gratitude to his
preserver, whom he believed to be alone in the world, by offering him a
home at his house. At first Bob was inclined to refuse. His imagination
having been excited by the cheap novels he had read, he had left home
intending to go on the Plains and make himself famous as a hunter and
Indian-fighter; but George, who had seen more than one professional
hunter in his frontier home, said so much against it, and painted the
poverty and worthlessness of this class of men, and the dangers of the
life they led, in such gloomy colors, that Bob was finally induced to
give up his long-cherished idea, and to consent to accompany his new
friend to his home in Texas. As George had no money, Bob footed all
their bills, and in due time, in spite of the efforts which Uncle John
Ackerman made to separate them in New Orleans, they arrived in
Galveston.
They had scarcely stepped ashore before their troubles began in earnest.
Bob's pocket was picked while he was passing through the crowd on the
wharf, and the boys found themselves alone in a strange city, without
money enough in their possession to pay for supper or lodging, and no
friend to whom they could go for assistance. They spent the night on the
streets, keeping constantly in motion to avoid attracting the attention
of the police, and when morning came they found a good-natured grocer
who gave them a breakfast of crackers and cheese, and provided George
with the means of writing to Mr Gilbert for money to pay his fare and
Bob's by rail and stage-coach to Palos. If they could only reach that
place, their troubles would be over, for George was well known there,
and everybody would be ready to lend him and his new friend a helping
hand. But Mr. Gilbert lived a long way from Galveston, the mail
facilities between Palos and his rancho were none of the best, and the
boys were utterly at a loss to determine how they were going to exist
during the two or three weeks that must elapse before George could
receive an answer to his letter.
The two friends passed the day in roaming about the city looking for
work, but nobody needed them. When the afternoon began drawing to a
close they were almost tired out, and George talked of going to some
station-house to spend the night--a project to which Bob could not bear
to listen. The idea of having a policeman's key turned upon him was
dreadful; the bare thought of it was enough to make him gasp for breath.
As he walked along the streets he was continually searching his pockets
in the faint hope of finding the missing money tucked away in some
unexplored corner, and finally he discovered fifty cents in currency in
the watch-pocket of his trousers. His heart bounded at the sight of it.
It was enough to provide him with supper and a night's lodging, but was
not enough to pay for the same comforts for George.
When Bob found this stray piece of currency he was not long in making up
his mind how to act. He resolved to slip away from George, and
accomplished his purpose by gradually slackening his pace and allowing
the young pilot to get some distance in advance of him, and then he
turned down a cross-street and took to his heels. He made his way to a
cheap lodging-house, ate a hearty supper and went to bed, wondering how
George was getting on and where he would pass the night. The latter, as
we know, fared much better than Bob did, and the latter made a great
mistake in deserting him. His companion had not been gone more than a
half an hour before George encountered Mr. Gilbert, the friend to whom
he had written that morning, and who had come to Galveston on business.
The two looked everywhere for Bob, but were finally obliged to abandon
the search. The missing boy had disappeared as completely as though the
earth had opened and swallowed him up.
The first question that forced itself upon the mind of Bob Owens when he
awoke the next morning was, "What shall I do next?" A careful
examination of all his pockets showed him that there were no more
fifty-cent pieces in them, and he was obliged to confess to himself that
the future looked exceedingly dark. He walked the streets in a very
disconsolate frame of mind, and had almost decided that he would step
into the nearest grocery-store and ask the proprietor if he would not
give him a job of sawing wood to pay for something to eat, when he
happened to pass a recruiting-office. A sign posted up in front of the
door conveyed to the public the information that men were wanted there
for the United States cavalry service, and suggested an idea to Bob. He
took a few minutes in which to run it over in his mind, and then faced
about and entered the office.
The law against enlisting minors without the consent of their parents or
guardians is very strict, but Bob got around it by repeating the story
he had told George Ackerman, that he was an orphan, and that there was
no one who had a right to control his actions. The recruiting-officer
was a young man, not more than two or three years older than himself,
but he had seen service away up in the Yellowstone country, and the scar
on his forehead, which was not yet fully healed, marked the track of the
Indian bullet which had come very near putting an end to his career as a
soldier. Being unable to do duty in the field, he had been sent to Texas
to recuperate his health and to recruit men to fill up some of the
depleted cavalry regiments. He questioned Bob very closely, but the
latter gave satisfactory replies, and, having passed the surgeon, his
"descriptive list" was taken and he was duly sworn into the service.
There were a number of newly-enlisted men hanging about the office
waiting to be ordered to some post, and one of them, who acted as
quartermaster-sergeant, took Bob into a back room and served out a
uniform to him.
"What shall I do with my citizen's rig?" asked Bob as he twisted himself
first on one side and then on the other to see how he looked in his new
clothes. "I suppose I can't keep it?"
"Of course not," was the sergeant's quick reply. "It would come too
handy in case you should make up your mind to desert."
"I shall never make up my mind to any such thing," exclaimed Bob,
indignantly. "I have gone into this business with my eyes open, and I am
going to see it through."
"That's the right spirit," said the sergeant. "But wait till you have
ridden twelve hundred miles at a stretch in pursuit of a band of
hostiles, and perhaps you'll weaken."
"What do you know about hostiles?" asked Bob.
"Well, I should think I ought to know all about them, for I have been
there. This is my third enlistment in the regular army."
"Is that so?" exclaimed Bob. "I should think that after so many years'
service you ought to be an officer."
"I was a non-com when I was discharged, and that is as high as any
enlisted man can get now," replied the soldier. "I was a captain during
the war, but they don't take men out of the ranks and make officers of
them any more. When I enlisted this time I had to go in as a private;
but I have my old warrants in my pocket, and perhaps they will help me
get a new one when I reach the post where I am to serve."
"What's a non-com?" asked Bob.
"Why, a non-commissioned officer," answered the soldier, staring at Bob
as if he were surprised at his ignorance. "You never did any soldiering,
I'll bet."
"No, I never did," replied the recruit; "this is my first experience."
"And before you get through with it you will wish that you had never had
any experience at all."
"Don't you think I shall like the army?"
"Well, I know _I_ don't like it."
"Then why did you enlist again?"
"Because I couldn't do anything else. A man who has soldiered for nearly
fourteen years isn't fit for civil life. Now, make your citizen's
clothes into a bundle and take them around the corner to a little Jew
store you will find there. Mose buys all the recruits' cast-off
clothing. He'll not give you much for them, but the little he will give
you will keep you in gingerbread as long as you stay in the city."
"How long do you suppose that will be?"
"I am sure I don't know, but if recruits keep coming in as rapidly as
they have during the last few days, the lieutenant will probably take a
squad off next week."
"Where will he take it?"
"That's a conundrum. A private never knows where he is going until he
gets there."
"Where do you eat and sleep?"
"We take our meals at the restaurant next door, and having no bunks we
sleep on the benches in the office. You can go about the city as much as
you please, but you must be sure and report at meal-time. If you fail to
do that, you will have the police after you."
"Why will I?" asked Bob in surprise.
"Because the lieutenant will think you have deserted."
Bob was beginning to feel the tight rein of military discipline
already. At home he had always been accustomed to go and come when he
pleased, and he did not like the idea of having his liberty restricted
or of being obliged to obey without question the orders of a boy
scarcely older than himself. But it was too late to think of that now.
The youthful officer was backed up by the entire military and police
force of the United States, and there was no such thing as getting out
of reach of his authority.
"I am in for it," thought Bob as he rolled up his clothes and started
for the little Jew store around the corner, "but I don't know that I
could have done anything else. I shall have plenty to eat and a place to
sleep, and at the same time I shall be earning money to pay off that
debt I owe Dave Evans. What an idiot I was to keep that money! To pay
for that one act of folly and dishonesty I am compelled to waste some of
the best years of my life in the army. I hope I shall get a chance to
show them that I am no coward, if I am a greenhorn."
It was little indeed that Mose gave Bob for the articles he had to offer
for sale--just four dollars for clothing that had cost over thirty; but
those four dollars made him feel a little more independent. They
brought him a few delicacies to supplement the plain fare that was
served up to him and his companions at the cheap restaurant at which
they took their meals, and were the means of gaining him the friendship
of one of the recruits, Bristow by name, who stuck to him like a leech
until the last cent had been expended.
Bob remained in Galveston nearly two weeks, and during that time he saw
everything of interest there was to be seen in the city. Then he began
to grow tired of having nothing to do, and took to hanging about the
office as the others did, and making comments upon those who presented
themselves for enlistment. He was glad indeed when the lieutenant
mustered all the recruits one night and ordered them to report at the
office the next morning at nine o'clock, sharp; but he was provoked
because the officer did not tell them where they were going. This,
however, only proved the truth of the old sergeant's words--that a
private never knew where he was going until he got there. Bob knew that
they were bound for Brownsville when a steamer landed them there a few
hours later, and he found out that they were going from there to Fort
Lamoine when they arrived at that post after a weary tramp of more than
three hundred miles.
The recruits camped beside the trail at night, and during the daytime
plodded along behind the army-wagon which contained their tents,
blankets, rations and cooking-utensils. It was very fatiguing to all of
them, and it was not long before Bob began to learn something of the
dispositions of the men with whom he was to be intimately associated
during his term of enlistment. The majority of them grumbled lustily,
and even talking of deserting, and there were not more than two or three
besides himself who bore the discomforts of the march with anything like
patience. There was not much restriction placed upon their actions, and,
although they were not permitted to stray away from the line of march
during the daytime, they were allowed to visit any ranches or
farm-houses that might be in the neighborhood of their camping-grounds.
The people they met along the route were very liberal with the products
of their gardens and with their milk, butter and eggs, and the recruits
fared sumptuously every day; but it would have been much better for some
of them if they had remained in camp at night and left the settlers
entirely alone. Not a few of the men with whom they exchanged civilities
unconsciously sowed among them seeds of discontent that were destined
eventually to bear a fruitful crop of trouble. By endeavoring to live up
to the sentiments they heard expressed on every hand, more than one of
the recruits found themselves landed in the military prison at Fort
Leavenworth.
"I don't see why you chaps swear away your liberty, and work for
thirteen dollars a month, when you might just as well get forty and be
free men," said a rancheman one night, after he has given Bob and three
companions, one of whom was Bristow, all the milk he had to spare.
"You'll soon get enough of soldiering, _I_ tell you. I know, for I have
tried it. It is a heap easier to ride around on your horse and watch
your cattle while they are fattening themselves for market on the rich
grass."
"But we don't happen to have any cattle to watch," said Bob.
"Who would give us forty dollars a month?" demanded Bristow, who was one
of the loudest and most persistent grumblers among the recruits.
"You could get it almost anywhere in this country," replied the
rancheman. "I'd give it to you, for one, and I know of a dozen others
who stand ready to snap up the first man that comes along, no odds
whether he ever herded cattle or not. You have made precious fools of
yourselves, and you'll get a fool's reward. You'll have mean grub, hard
work and poor pay, and be niggers to every little snipe who wears a
shoulder-strap."
"We've found that out already--haven't we, boys?" said Bristow, as he
and his companions reluctantly took leave of the hospitable rancheman
and retraced their steps toward the camp. "We _are_ precious fools to
work for thirteen dollars, when we might just as well earn three times
that amount, and be our own masters besides. There is no need that
anybody should tell us that our officers will treat us like niggers, for
we have found that out too. Look at that lieutenant! He rides in the
wagon every day, while we have to hoof it."
"But you must remember that he is not strong," said Bob. "He has not yet
fully recovered from the effects of his wound."
"I don't believe a word of it," declared Bristow. "He's just as able to
march and cook his own grub and pitch his own tent as we are. It makes
me sick to see how that man Haskins waits on him." (Haskins was the one
who had served out clothing to the recruits in Galveston.) "But a blind
man could see what he is working for," added Bristow. "He wants to get
into the good graces of the lieutenant, hoping that he will be
recommended for a non-com's position when we reach the fort. I tell you
I have seen enough of soldiering already, and the very first chance I
get I am going to skip out."
"I'll go with you," said one of the recruits.
"All right! Shake on that."
"You may depend upon me," said the recruit as he grasped Bristow's
proffered hand. "Do you remember that big-whiskered, loud-voiced
rancheman who gave us the potatoes the other night? He is sadly in need
of help, and he told me that if I would come to his house, bringing
three or four friends with me, he would give us citizens' clothes and
hide us until the officers gave up looking for us. All he asked was,
that we should agree to work for him for twelve months, and promise not
to leave without giving him due notice."
"I am in for that," exclaimed the recruit who had not spoken
before.--"What do you say, Owens?"
"I say I am _out_ of it," was the quick reply. "If I did a thing like
that, I never could look a white man in the face again. I have been
guilty of a good many mean acts during my life--some that I would gladly
recall if I could--but I am not mean enough to desert. Besides, I have
no desire to have a bullet sent into me."
Bob's companions did not know whether to be surprised or angry at this
plain speech. They stared hard at him for a moment, and then Bristow
said,
"Are you really afraid of being shot? Well, I can set your fears on that
score at rest. I know that the penalty for desertion in the face of the
enemy is death, but we are not in the face of the enemy now. The country
is at peace."
"I know it is nominally so," answered Bob, "but it is not so in reality,
and never will be so long as these hostile Indians and lawless Mexicans
continue to raid over the Texas border. If you skip out, as you threaten
to do, you may rest assured that you will be brought back by force of
arms, and if you resist you will be shot."
"How does it come that you know so much more than the rest of us?"
demanded Bristow angrily. "You are not an old soldier."
"I am aware of that fact, but I have been talking to an old soldier, and
that was Haskins. He told me that Major Elliot, one of General Custer's
officers, pursued a party of deserters, and when they resisted he shot
three of them; and Haskins himself was one of the squad that did the
shooting."
"I don't believe a word of it," exclaimed Bristow.
"Neither do I," said another of the recruits. "Of course we expect to be
pursued, but we shall take good care that we are not caught. Any of
these ranchemen who want herdsmen will furnish us with citizens'
clothing, and before our year is out the thing will blow over, and then
we'll go home, and stay there."
"It won't blow over as easily as you think for," said Bob. "It will be
known to your home authorities and to everybody else that you are
deserters, and all the detectives in the United States will be on the
lookout for you. If you want to live in constant fear of arrest, you can
do it, but I won't."
Bob stuck to his resolution, and his discontented companions stuck to
theirs. We shall see in due time which of the four made the wisest
decision.