LOUIS AND ANDY MEET AGAIN
“Firefly!” burst from the lips of the young Union soldier. “Whoa, old
fellow! Where is your master?”
At this question Firefly halted and looked at Louis as though he would
like very much to talk. The bullet wound made the beast quiver with
pain, and the youth stroked him affectionately.
“Been in a scrimmage, I’ll wager a pilot cracker,” the boy went on.
“Was Andy killed? Oh, I sincerely trust not!” And something like a lump
came up in his throat.
Firefly whinnied and shook his mane vigorously. Then he turned, as if
to lead Louis down a narrow path branching off from that on the ridge.
At once the boy understood and followed the animal.
Scarcely three hundred feet had been passed when Louis heard the
murmur of voices, coming from a little clearing, backed up by a
treacherous swamp. As he drew closer, he recognized Andy’s voice:
“Let me alone, Jacks, or it will be the worse for you,” the young
Confederate cavalryman was saying. “You are nothing but a thief, I
know, but you shall not rob me.”
“We are two to one, Arlington,” came from Sam Jacks. “And I ain’t
forgot how yer interfered with me an’ my pards up ter Lee Run. I’m
a-goin’ ter git squar’, I am.”
“It’s a mighty fine gold watch the kid’s got,” put in another, and now
Louis recognized the vicious face of Caleb Fox through the brush. “It
ought ter be wuth fifty dollars an’ more.”
“You wounded my horse and made him run away,” went on Andy. “I ought to
shoot you both for that.”
“Ye can’t frighten us, Arlington,” chuckled Sam Jacks. “Don’t we know
neither of yer pistols is loaded? An’ if yer try to draw thet saber--”
Jacks finished by suggestively tapping his own pistol.
An instant later there came a savage howl from Caleb Fox, who had
come close to Andy with the intention of searching him. The young
Confederate had whipped out his saber and the point had caught Fox in
the fleshy part of his left lower limb.
“Back, I say!” cried Andy, as he took a stand near a tree. Wild with
rage Caleb Fox drew a long horse-pistol from his belt.
“I’ll fix yer!” he fairly hissed, and aimed the weapon at Andy’s head.
Before, however, he could pull the trigger, if such was really his
intention, there came a sharp crack from the brush and the pistol fell
to the ground while Fox began to dance around in pain, a bullet wound
directly through his wrist.
“Louis!” burst from Andy’s lips, as the young Union soldier rushed
forward. “Was it you shot him?”
“It was, Andy; and I’ll shoot him again if he attempts another such
attack. Rascals like these are a disgrace to any army. Up with your
hands, Sam Jacks!”
For Jacks had made a motion towards his belt. Louis’s pistol was
now on a level with the mountaineer’s head, his eyes shone with cool
determination--and the hands went up as requested.
“This ain’t fair an’ squar’,” muttered Sam Jacks. “Put thet gun
down--it might go off.” And he endeavored to step out of range.
“Stand still, Jacks,” commanded Louis, “or my pistol will go off, and
Fox can testify to what sort of a bead I can draw.”
“My wrist is broke!” moaned Fox, still dancing about. “You young
villain! If ever I git a chance--”
“No threats, Fox. The best thing you can do is to wet your
handkerchief, if you have one, in yonder pool and bind the wound up.
Stop--that pistol can remain where it is--or Andy, perhaps you had
better pick it up.”
“I will, seeing that my own is unloaded,” answered Andy. “But what
brought you here, and in that outfit?”
“I’ll explain later. At present--Hi, Jacks, stop!”
But Sam Jacks was not stopping just then. Watching his chance, he had
leaped for the shelter of the nearest bushes. Now he went tearing along
at a breakneck speed. Louis tried to follow him, but soon stopped the
pursuit, thinking it would be useless to catch the rascal. Presently
the sounds of his footsteps died away in the distance.
“He’s gone,” he announced, upon returning to the clearing. “You may as
well let Fox go, too. I reckon he has learned a lesson he won’t forget
in a hurry.”
“Won’t you let me have my pistol?” demanded the guerrilla.
“No,” was the short reply. “Go, and be thankful you have saved your
life,” answered Andy. “If ever I catch sight of you near our camp I’ll
report you and have you both put under arrest as battlefield thieves.”
Muttering under his breath, Caleb Fox slunk off, one hand holding the
wounded wrist. He pursued the direction Jacks had taken--a path leading
to the rendezvous of the guerrillas.
The pair of rascals gone, Louis and Andy shook hands. “I owe you one
for this,” said Andy, with a warm smile. “If you hadn’t appeared there
is no telling what those two would have done to me. Perhaps they might
have killed me and pitched me into the swamp.” And he shuddered at the
thought.
“It was Firefly brought me here,” answered Louis, and patted the
animal affectionately. “But why are you out here alone?”
“I am carrying a message to General Longstreet, and I reckon I got on
the wrong road. But what have you got to say for yourself? I heard you
were either shot or a prisoner.”
“I was a prisoner, Andy; but I managed to get away, and now I’m trying
to return to my own camp--if I can find it.”
“Don’t you know you are in our lines?” and Andy looked deeply concerned.
“Oh, yes, I know that only too well. I suppose I’ll have no picnic
running the picket line.”
“Hang me if I don’t wish I could help you, Louis. I know it’s all
wrong, according to the rules of war, but--but--well, you know what
they say, ‘Blood is thicker than water,’ and such a friendship as
ours--”
“Can’t be shattered by the bullets and shells of war,” finished Louis,
with a short laugh. “I should trust not, Andy. Come what may, I shall
always look upon you as a brother, even though I’ll do my level best to
help the North win in this great struggle.”
“And I shall always hold you as my best and only chum, Louis,” was the
warm reply, “and of course I’ll fight just as hard as I can for our
side. How are your folks?”
“Father is quite well again, and mother is, too,” answered Louis, and
told of the trouble at the farm and how he now hoped to clear it. “In
the last letter written by Lucy, she and Martha wanted to know if I
ever heard of you. What of your people?”
“Father is not so well. Mother has a good deal of trouble taking care
of him. Grace writes to me every week, and last week she wanted to know
if she could get a letter through to you,” and Andy closed one eye, at
which Louis blushed furiously.
“You are making that up, Andy--don’t tell me you are not. However,
remember me to Grace, and tell her I am doing nicely in spite of fights
and bad weather. If you-- Hark! Some soldiers are coming! They must
be some of your troops, and if that is so, I must be going. Good-bye,
Andy, and may we meet again soon!”
“Good-bye, Louis. Oh, if I could only see you safe to your camp! Yes,
you must hurry, for the soldiers are coming on the double-quick! Hark!
there are rifle shots! There must be a skirmish of some kind over to
the left!”
“If there is, it will help me through, Andy. Good-bye!” And with a last
fervid hand-clasp the two chums parted, not to meet again until the
memorable battle of Malvern Hill.
As Andy had said, the sounds of firing came from the left. Running
along the ridge trail, Louis kept on until he reckoned he was about
midway between the two lines of shots, although still to the right of
the scene of the contest. He then slowed up and proceeded through the
bushes with great caution, his pistol cocked and ready for instant use.
Less than a hundred and fifty feet had been covered in this fashion,
when he reached another clearing which marked, east and west, the
picket lines of the two armies. The firing was now close at hand, and
presently, from the cover of the woods, came scampering a company of
boys in blue closely followed by twice their number of boys in gray.
The former were reloading their guns as they came on, the Confederates
opening fire meanwhile and causing several to drop in their tracks.
Throwing away his gray cap, Louis darted into the clearing and joined
the flying Union men. As he went on he picked up a gun one of the
wounded soldiers had cast away.
“Union or reb?” came the question, as the company halted behind some
bushes.
“Union, captain,” was the prompt answer. “I’ve been a rebel prisoner.”
There was no time to say more, for the company was now ordered to
about face, and the advancing Confederates received a reception which
caused a hasty retreat; and the skirmish was over. During the siege
such skirmishes were of almost daily occurrence. The picket lines were
re-established, the dead and wounded cared for, and that was the end
of the matter, save for the great “blowing” done afterwards upon both
sides.
The excitement over, Louis was conducted to the rear, where he had
to give a strict account of himself to the general in charge of the
regiment stationed in the woods. This was done in order to ascertain
beyond all doubt that he was not a Confederate spy. He was informed
where his own regiment was located, nearly a mile away, and a corporal
was detailed to conduct him hither and learn if his story was a true
one.
“Louis! We had given you up for lost!” cried Harry Bingham, when he
appeared, and the youth was soon surrounded by friends. He lost no time
in reporting to his commander. When Captain Paulding learned that he
had really been in Richmond and had had a chance of overlooking the
fortifications there with a field glass, he sent word to headquarters
to that effect.
The next day came an important order for Louis. It was from General
McClellan, to the effect that he should present himself at the
headquarters of the commander-in-chief without delay.