ANDY AND THE UNION PICKETS
We will now go back to Andy, at the time he found himself so
unexpectedly surrounded by Union skirmishers.
The young Confederate realized without much thought that he was in
a perilous position. Six rifles were pointed at him, and the owner
of each weapon seemed both willing to bring him to a speedy military
death, and capable of doing so.
“Do you surrender?” demanded one of the men, after an instant’s pause.
“I don’t see that there is anything else to do, gentlemen,” replied
Andy, with a smile, which, however, was rather forced.
“You’re a sensible boy,” put in another. “Say, that’s a fine nag he
rides, fellows. Let’s present it to Captain Mellick. He had his horse
killed an hour ago.”
“All right, Wombolt; you take the horse and the prisoner back. We can’t
stop here.”
“Are you going to rob me of my horse?” demanded Andy, his eyes flashing.
“Oh, you can help ride him back to camp,” was the cool response of
Wombolt. “I’ll sit with you. But first hand over that saber and your
pistols.”
There was no help for it, and Andy turned over the bright blade and the
single weapon in the holster. He had another pistol in the pocket of
his cavalry coat, but of this he said nothing.
Having relieved him of the weapons mentioned, the Union soldier leaped
up behind him. He held Andy’s pistol and cocking the weapon, placed it
close to the youth’s neck.
“Now, no funny work or you are a dead reb,” he said. “Move on straight
ahead until I tell you to turn to the left.”
“It’s a pretty bad road,” remarked Andy, trying to gain time in which
to form some plan of escape.
“I’ll have it paved for you as soon as the war is over, reb. Move now,
or my finger may get nervous on this trigger.”
Seeing there was no help for it, Andy spoke to Firefly, who instantly
set off on a trot. This did not suit the Union soldier and he began to
kick Firefly in the sides with the heels of his boots.
“Git alang there, you lazy beast!” he cried. “Git now, or I’ll stave in
your ribs!”
“Look out, my horse won’t stand that!” came in a warning from Andy, and
at the same time he gave Firefly a most cruel dig with his spurs. He
would never have done this under ordinary circumstances, but a sudden
idea had struck him and he acted on it on the impulse of the moment.
The kicking and spurring did just what the young Confederate expected.
Unused to such treatment, Firefly jerked viciously to one side, made a
wild leap forward and started off on a run. As he made the leap Andy
gave him the reins, held fast to the saddle with one hand and shoved
the soldier violently with the other. There was a yell of alarm, a
clutch into empty air, as Andy leaned far forward, and away went the
Union soldier, tumbling over backward into the muddy road. The pistol
was discharged, but the shot merely whistled through the trees.
Andy did not stop to look back upon the catastrophe. Tightening the
reins again, he spoke to Firefly, who understood his young master, and
horse and rider turned to the right and entered a thin belt of timber
running off in the direction of the Chickahominy. At first those left
behind tried to pursue him, but soon their footsteps faded away in the
distance, and he found himself utterly alone.
To get back to his own lines was now the one consideration. He had a
fair idea where the Confederate troops could be found, but how many of
the enemy lay between, there was no telling. He resolved to go forward
slowly and with great caution, and retreat out of sight at the first
intimation of danger.
“Perhaps it might be best to wait until darkness sets in,” he mused,
but continued to go on until the edge of a swamp was reached. Soon
Firefly sank up to his knees in the mud and ooze. Andy tried to turn
him out, only to sink the horse still deeper.
“Here’s a go!” he muttered. “Firefly, old boy, we must get out of this
somehow. Back, boy, back!” Firefly backed, and gradually withdrew to a
fringe of brush and more solid ground.
“Well done, boy!” sang out a voice, close by. “Where are you bound?”
and a tall down-east fellow not much older than himself appeared
directly in front of the young Confederate. The tall Unionist was
speedily followed by another, and both soldiers, who were raw recruits
just from their New Hampshire farms, gaped openly at the enemy.
“Gracious, I’m glad to meet somebody,” answered Andy. “Say, you are
true blue, aren’t you?” he went on, in almost a whisper.
“Air we?” cried the second recruit. “O’ cos we be. Ain’t thet so,
Josiah?”
“Thet’s so, Hiram.”
“Then I am sure you will befriend me,” went on Andy. “I--”
“You’re a rebel, ain’t you?” asked Hiram, cutting Andy short.
“A rebel? Goodness gracious, no! I am a--don’t tell anybody”--he
leaned forward with a show of great secrecy--“I am Paul Hammer,
General McClellan’s secret service spy. The general wants me to get
some information for him from Richmond at once. I thought I could get
through the lines here without trouble. Have you seen any rebs about?”
Andy added suddenly, before the others had time to think twice.
“Ain’t no rebels nigh here, Mister Hammer,” and Josiah touched his
cap, thinking it a great honor to be taken into the confidence of the
commander-in-chief’s private spy.
“You’re on the picket line, aren’t you?”
“We be,” came promptly from both recruits.
“Then show me the nearest way to the rebel line. Of course, I don’t
want them to see me go over on their side, for that would give me away.
And I don’t want any of our men to see me and mistake me for a reb, for
that would mean a shot sure.”
“We’ll take care o’ yeou, Mister Hammer,” answered Hiram, and led
the way along the edge of the swamp, with Josiah beside him and Andy
bringing up closely in the rear. The young Confederate felt he had
fooled the pickets nicely, but he was not yet “out of the woods” and
consequently he did not crow.
“Whar did yeou git thet uniform?” asked Josiah, as they progressed,
rather slowly, to Andy’s notion.
“Oh, the authorities furnished that,” answered the young Confederate,
with assumed carelessness. “You see, there is a cavalry troop wearing
this uniform in the rebel army, so if I once get past their picket line
I can go where I please. Great scheme, eh?”
“Fine,” answered Josiah.
“I’d like tew do spy work,” commented Hiram.
“Would you?” answered Andy. “All right, I’ll remember that, and if I
get the chance I’ll speak to General McClellan about it.”
“Will yeou? Much erbliged, I’m sure.”
“Speak fer me, tew,” put in Josiah. “I’m sick o’ regular fightin’, I
am.”
“I’ll remember you both,” answered Andy, and he kept his word. Indeed,
it would have been impossible to forget these two rustics, who were
simple-hearted to the core and had still to get their war as well as
their eye teeth cut.
The swamp was now left behind and the men, who had strayed from their
posts during a little excitement farther on, led the way up a small
hill. Here the woods divided, with an open space between, of grass and
low brush.
“Thare yeou air, Mister Hammer,” said Josiah. “This is our line, an’
the rebels hed a line over yonder, but I guess it’s gone neow.”
“Good,” replied Andy. “Good-bye to both of you, and I wish you luck.”
“Don’t forget tew mention us tew General McClellan when yeou git back!”
called out Josiah.
“All right,” came back, and away Andy trotted at a brisk pace, while
the two rustics watched him out of sight with keen interest.
[Illustration: AWAY ANDY TROTTED AT A BRISK PACE.--_Page 339._]
“Of all the pumpkin heads!” was what Andy muttered to himself and so
tickled was he that he was compelled to laugh outright. He had passed
a distance of several hundred feet into the woods when he heard the
command to halt, and a South Carolina soldier blocked his way.
“It’s all right,” answered Andy. “I have just escaped from the
Yankees,” and he gave the countersign. A minute later he was asked a
few questions by an officer in command, and then allowed to go. He
inquired for the Montgomery Grays, and was told they had withdrawn to
another part of the field.
“That’s twice they have caught me,” said Andy to himself, as he
galloped down the main road towards Richmond. “I hope they don’t catch
me again. Heigho! I wonder how Louis is getting along?” He never
dreamed that Louis was now a prisoner in a fortification but a mile
away.
It was nightfall before Andy found the Grays, encamped on the edge of
a patch of woods near the Nine Mile Road. Captain Montgomery had gone
to the hospital tent to have his wound taken care of, and the first
lieutenant was in charge. To this officer and several others Andy told
his story, to which all listened with keen interest.
“Gracious! what a couple of hayseeds,” said Leroy Wellington. “Won’t
they feel cheap when they learn how they have been sold?”
“Most likely they never will find out,” answered Andy.
Fortunately, Andy had no picket duty to do that night, and, huddled
up close to Leroy, he slept “like a rock,” despite the fact that
fighting still kept up at a distance and the battle was to be renewed
early in the morning.
“To horse! To horse!” This was the cry which awoke the young
Confederate cavalryman at daybreak. Leroy had already crawled from the
shelter of the tent. Soon the Montgomery Grays were mounted and eating
their breakfast in the saddle.
To relate all of Andy’s varied experiences that day would fill a volume
in itself. Between eight o’clock and noon the Grays made three terrific
charges, capturing one Union battery and holding it for over an hour.
But the Union forces now attacked along the whole line, as previously
described, and slowly but surely the Confederates were driven back up
the road towards Richmond. By two o’clock the firing ceased, and the
battle of Fair Oaks, or Seven Pines, was at an end, and then began the
harrowing work of caring for the dead and the dying.
Andy took part in this work and never were the true horrors of war
brought closer to his young heart. The scenes were pitiable beyond
description and his eyes refused to keep dry, as he moved here and
there, looking for comrades and giving aid and comfort to the unknown
sufferers. He had just found one of the Grays’ men, down with a bullet
through his thigh, and was looking around for a stretcher, when a groan
almost at his feet made him turn. There, in the brush and mud, rested a
Union soldier, shot through the shoulder.
“Give me a drink, for the love of heaven!” came the murmur, and having
his canteen handy, Andy poured forth the desired water and held the cup
to the sufferer’s lips.
“Thank you, Grayback,” came in a short gasp. “Now, you’ve been so kind,
won’t you prop me up ag’in that tree? I can’t stand it down here in the
cold mud.”
“Certainly I’ll prop you up,” answered Andy, and lifted the wounded
soldier as carefully as he could. As he worked he caught sight of the
man’s uniform and markings.
“You’re a Pennsylvania man,” he said. “Know anything about the
Goreville Volunteers?”
“I’m a Goreville Volunteer,” came the surprising reply.
“Indeed? Do you know Louis Rockford? He used to be a friend of
mine--in fact, he’s a friend still, personally--a close friend.”
“O’ course I know Louis--everybody does. I owned a farm near his place.
My name is Coomber.”
“And how is Louis?”
“He’s missing--somebody said he was shot,” answered Coomber. “Who are
you?”
Andy told him.
“I’ve heard him mention you--and heard Mr. Rockford speak about your
father’s place. Strange we should meet here. Ah, here come some fellows
with a stretcher, to take me to the hospital tent, I expect,” concluded
Coomber. No more could be said, and soon the Union soldier was carried
off, and five minutes later Andy’s comrade followed. The wounded men
had lain between the picket lines of both armies and a truce had been
established while the dead and wounded belonging to each side were
removed.
What he had heard concerning Louis made Andy feel much downcast. To
fight the enemy was one thing; to have his chum killed or wounded was
quite another.
“I trust the report is false and he is safe,” he thought. “War isn’t
such a glorious thing after all, when a fellow comes to look at it.”