LIEUTENANT SOMERS CHANGES HIS NAME AND CHARACTER
Like the major-generals in the army, Lieutenant Somers had strong
aspirations in the direction of an independent command. Like those
distinguished worthies, no doubt, he felt competent to perform bigger
things than he had yet been called to achieve in the ordinary routine of
duty. He had the blood of heroes in his veins; and, in spite of all he
could do to keep his thoughts within the limits of modesty, he found them
soaring to the regions of the improbable and fanciful. His imagination
led him a wild race, and pictured him in the act of performing marvelous
deeds of valor and skill.
Fancy is a blind and reckless leader; and it gave our hero oftentimes a
command which his reason would not have permitted him to accept. What
boys, and even what men, think, when stimulated by ambition, would be too
ridiculous to put upon paper. If their thoughts could be disclosed to the
impertinent eye of the world, the proprietors would blushingly disown and
disclaim them.
Still, almost every live man and boy gives the reins to his fancy; and in
the Army of the Potomac, we will venture to say, there were a hundred
thousand privates and officers who permitted themselves to dream that
they were brigadiers and major-generals; that they did big things, and
received the grateful homage of the world. At any rate, Lieutenant Somers
did, modest as he was, even while he felt that he was utterly incompetent
to perform the duties incumbent on the two stars or the one star.
Experience had given him some confidence in his own powers; and there was
something delightful in the idea of having an independent command. It was
a partial, a very partial, realization of the wanderings of his vivid
fancy. He felt able to do something which Lilian Ashford would take
pleasure in reading in the newspapers; perhaps something which would
prove his fitness for a brigadier's star at some remote period. Now, we
have made all this explanation to show how Somers had prepared himself to
accomplish some great thing. The mission with which he had been intrusted
was an important one; and the safety of the whole left wing of the army
might depend upon its faithful performance.
He was wrought up to the highest pitch of patriotic inspiration by the
charge which had been laid upon him; and he was determined to bring back
the information required of him, even if he had to fly through the air to
obtain it. It was of no use to suggest impossibilities to a young man in
such a frame of mind; he did not know the meaning of the word. To impress
him with the importance of the duty intrusted to him, the general of
division had given him a faint outline of the intended movements of the
army. If the enemy massed his forces in this direction, it was of vital
necessity that the general should know it.
Thus prepared and thus inspired, Lieutenant Somers marched his little
force to the point from which he proposed to operate. On his right hand
there was a dense wood, on the border of which extended one of the
numerous cross-roads that checker the country. On his left was another
piece of woods, terminating in a point about a quarter of a mile from the
road and in the center of a valley.
On the hill beyond was the intrenched line of the rebels. In front of it,
at the foot of the slope, was a line of rifle-pits, which were occupied
by the rebel pickets. The hill and the woods concealed the operations of
the enemy; and no signal station was high enough to obtain the necessary
information. The woods on both sides of the open space were picketed by
the rebels; and the rifle-pits in front were an effectual check to the
advance of a small force, while a large one could not be sent up without
bringing on a general engagement, which had been prohibited by the
commanding general.
Lieutenant Somers surveyed the ground, and came to the conclusion that
his chance of spending the night in Libby Prison was better than his
chance of being made a first lieutenant. The rifle-pits had a chilling
effect upon the fine dreams in which his fancy had indulged. He was not a
grub, and could not burrow through the earth to the rebel lines; he had
no wings, and could not fly over them. The obstacles which are so easily
overcome in one's dreams appear mountain-high in real life. He looked
troubled and anxious; but, having put his hand to the plow, he was
determined not to turn back.
The best way to conquer a difficulty is to charge upon it; and this
Somers decided to do, even though he had no well-defined plan for the
accomplishment of his purpose. Avoiding the observation of the rebels in
the rifle-pits, he moved round, and reached the point of woods on the
left of the road.
"Excuse me, Lieutenant Somers," said Sergeant Hapgood with a military
salute: "'tain't none o' my business, but I'd like to know where you are
goin' to."
"Through this woods," replied Somers doggedly.
"You used to be a good boy, when you was a boy; and I hope you've said
your prayers," replied old Hapgood, appalled at the prospect before his
young friend.
"Don't you croak, uncle," added Somers.
"The rebels' pickets are up here, not twenty rods distant. Do you
calculate to go through them, or over them?"
"Either--just as I can; but I am going through, somehow or other."
"It can't be done! Thunderation! you'll bring down the whole rebel army
upon us! You don't think of going over there with only twenty men!"
"I do, uncle. I'm going over on that hill yonder, and I'm coming back
again before night."
Hapgood tapped his forehead significantly with his finger to indicate
that the young lieutenant had lost his senses.
"I was ordered to do it, and I am going to do it, uncle. You can set your
mind at rest on that point."
"It can't be did!" said the old man positively. "I don't keer who told
you to do it; it can't be did with less'n twenty thousand men. You will
sacrifice yourself and all the rest of us."
"You may return to the camp, if you wish."
"Tom Somers--Lieutenant Somers," said the old man, much hurt by the words
of the young officer, "you know I'm not afraid of anything; and I didn't
expect you'd say that to me."
"Excuse me, uncle; I didn't mean it. Now, hear me a moment."
In a low tone, Lieutenant Somers told the sergeant the nature of his
mission, and what depended upon its prompt and successful execution.
"He ought to have sent a division to do such a job," muttered the old
man, taking off his cap, and scratching his bald head. "Howsomever, I'm
ready to follow you wherever you choose to go."
"Forward, then," replied Somers; and they advanced cautiously through the
woods till they came to a kind of bog-hole, beyond which they discovered
the rebel pickets.
The party lay down on the ground, and crawled on the edge of the bog,
till they obtained a fair view of the rebels.
"Now, uncle, the time has come, and my plan is formed," said Somers in a
whisper. "When they discover you, retreat with the men as fast as you
can. Fire on the rebels; but don't pay any attention to me."
"Where are you going?" demanded the old man.
"When you retire, I am going to roll into that grass. They will follow
you; and, as soon as they have passed me, I shall move forward."
"I won't do anything of the sort. Thunderation! you are goin' to run
right into the arms of the rebels."
"Obey my orders! That's all you have to do. I can take care of myself."
"Excuse me, Tom--Lieutenant Somers."
"I know all about it, uncle. You do what I tell you, and you shall have
all the particulars to-night, when I return."
"Return! You will be in Libby, if you are not shot, by dark."
"If I am, leave that to me," replied Somers, as he rolled over into the
long grass of the bog, and entirely concealed himself from the view of
his own men. "Now fire one or two shots into the rebel picket and then
retire."
Hapgood reluctantly obeyed the order; though he felt as though he was
signing the death-warrant of his young friend by doing so. The bullets
began to fly; but the sergeant took care to keep his men out of sight as
they retreated. The enemy followed; for they always chase a retiring foe,
and run from an advancing one. They reached the bog in which Somers was
concealed, where one of the three fell before a ball which the lieutenant
was sure had been directed by the practiced eye of the veteran sergeant.
The other two swore at the calamity, and vowed vengeance on the Yankee
who had done the deed.
Hapgood continued to retire, and led his foe to the very verge of the
woods. In the meantime, the lieutenant emerged from his hiding-place. The
first object that attracted his attention was the ghastly face of the
dead rebel. The sight of him was not pleasant, but it was suggestive;
and, without the loss of a moment, he dragged the body into the grass,
and hastily removed the uniform from it. It was a loathsome task; but the
necessity of the moment seemed to justify the act. Taking off his own
uniform, he put on that of the dead rebel, who was fortunately about his
own size. Rolling up his own clothing in as small a bundle as possible,
he concealed it in the bog, at some distance from the place where the
picket had fallen. Dragging the corpse to a quagmire, he sunk it beneath
the muddy waters, and it passed from his view. After taking the
precaution to straighten up the long grass, which might have betrayed his
movements, he advanced towards the rebel lines.
Lieutenant Somers felt that he was now actually embarked in his perilous
venture. He was within the enemy's line, and in disguise. If discovered,
he would be liable to the penalty of being a spy. But inasmuch as he did
not intend to be discovered, he did not think it necessary to expend his
nervous energy in a discussion of this question. Success was a duty to
him; and he spent no time in considering the dark side of the picture.
He was excited, and he knew that he was excited. He knew that coolness
and impudence were the essential elements of success in such an
adventure; and when he had followed the woods nearly to the top of the
hill, he sat down to recover his self-possession, and compose his nerves
to their natural quietude. It was not a very easy matter. He had already
arranged his plan of future operations, and he diligently set about the
business of making his appearance correspond with his circumstances.
He felt that he was hardly dirty enough to be a rebel; so he rubbed his
face, neck and hands with some dark-colored earth, ripped his pants and
coat in sundry places, and otherwise disfigured his comely person, till
Miss Lilian Ashford would not have known him, or if she had known him,
would have been ashamed to acknowledge his acquaintance. Having completed
this work to his entire satisfaction, he rose, and resumed his march
towards the rebel line. He had advanced but a few paces before he felt
something in the breast-pocket of his coat, which excited his curiosity.
It was a diary which the dead soldier had kept from the time he entered
the army.
Such a work would have been deeply interesting to the lieutenant at any
time, but especially at the present, when he was sadly in want of the
information which would enable him to personate the difficult part he had
chosen to perform. Seating himself on the ground again, he was soon
absorbed in the contents of the note-book. The owner's name was Owen
Raynes; and from the diary Somers learned that he had been a clerk in
Richmond when the war broke out; and that his father resided on the
Williamsburg road, near Seven Pines, where the battle had been fought.
Somers was alarmed at this information; for the young man must be well
known in the neighborhood. Of course he could not assume the name and
character of Owen Raynes.
Though the time was precious, he continued to read the diary till he came
to an entry which excited his deep interest: "Poor Allan Garland was
captured to-day by the Yankees; and I suppose they will torture and
starve the poor fellow, as they have the rest of our boys who have fallen
into their hands. We shall never meet again. He was a good fellow. He was
on a scout."
Somers was deeply concerned about poor Allan Garland, who had fallen into
the hands of the terrible Yankees, to be tortured and starved; and he
turned back to the beginning of the diary to obtain further particulars
in regard to this interesting person. Fortunately for history, and
particularly for Lieutenant Somers, Owen Raynes had given a tolerably
full account of his friend. They had been to school together in Union,
Alabama, where Owen had an uncle, and where Allan resided. They were fast
friends; and both agreed to enlist as volunteers in the Fourth Alabama,
Colonel Bush Jones; for their schoolmates were mostly in this regiment.
When the regiment arrived at Richmond, Owen had not time to visit his
father; for the troops were instantly ordered to Manassas, and he
enrolled himself without discovering that his friend was not in the
ranks. He was too sick to come with his comrades; "wrote letter to Allan"
was a frequent entry in the diary, until June 18, 1862, when this record
appears: "Allan joined the regiment to-day; has been sick about a year;
is very well now; he is a handsome fellow. Sue shall be his wife, if I
can bring it about; they have kept up a correspondence for three years;
she never saw him, but she will like him."
"All right!" exclaimed Somers, as he closed the book, and put it in his
pocket. "I am Allan Garland. Don't think I shall marry Sue, though,
whoever she may be. I wonder if Lilian Ashford would object. I don't know
as she would. Never mind; I am a soldier of the Fourth Alabama, Colonel
Jones, just now. How are you, Allan Garland?"
He walked along towards the rebel lines, feeling in his pockets for
further revelations. An old letter from Allan Garland rewarded his
search. He spoke tenderly of Sue, who was Owen's sister.
"Sue wouldn't think I'm very handsome just now," said Somers, glancing at
his dirty hands, and imagining his dirty face, as he continued to
advance.