[Illustration: 9066]
LD Bill was a little fearful, spite of Ralph's protestations, {058}lest
his boy, as he dubbed him, was going to show the white feather, after
all, and so he kept him well under his eye.
“I don't want the tarnal little rascal skipping, for it 'ud go hard with
him to be caught. They'd shoot him sure.”
But he didn't know the true mettle of the boy. He was no coward, if he
did turn sick at the scenes of his first battle, and he was a lad of
honor, and would have died before he would leave his post.
So he felt a little down-hearted when orders came for a detail from
Company K to turn out for picket duty. The men themselves felt rather
blue at this news, for they were worn out and disheartened by their late
tussle, but they didn't expect their wishes would be considered in the
matter. Ralph's eyes gleamed with joy, for he longed for adventure.
“Bill, I believe you think I am cowardly. You'll change your mind soon,
I know.”
That individual grimly responded: “Picket duty is a very cheerful way of
passing one's time, but I guess you'll do.”
The picket line was twelve miles distant, and as the men got into line,
the air and the excitement infused courage into Ralph's breast. They had
been ordered out to relieve a regiment which had seen some hard work,
and who were anxious to get into shelter.
{059}
[Illustration: 0067]
The newcomers were told what spots needed the most watching, and as soon
as they were stationed at their posts and received {060}the necessary
instructions, they settled down to the importance of the duty assigned
them.
The woods lay behind them, and each picket sought their friendly
shelter, well aware that any “change of base” on their part would be an
invitation to the enemy to pick them off.
Memories of home filled Ralph's breast. The night was dark and starless.
A strong wind blew at intervals, now howling dismally through the trees,
and then shifting its course, rushing down the bank, as if it would rend
the earth and the tall grass in its anger.
“I wonder if mother thinks of her soldier boy,” he pondered.
When does a mother ever cease to think of and pray for her children?
The night wore on. Perfect quiet reigned, and Ralph began to consider
picket duty not half so risky as Old Bill called it, after all. But as
he kept his eyes on the opposite bank, where the “Johnnies” were, he
fancied he saw a small dark object creeping through the grass down to
the river, where it seemed to be looking up and down its shore. His
heart beat fiercely. What was it? he asked himself. Was it a man or some
animal hiding in the grass? If it were a reb, he would be shot dead, at
the least move on his part--that he well knew.
I am afraid you will not think my boy was much of a hero, but the truth
is, he was very much in love with life, as all young people should be,
and, though willing to do his whole duty, he could not help feeling a
trifle nervous about his surroundings, so he stooped quickly down behind
a tall bush that appeared to be growing there just for his benefit.
The object on which his gaze was fixed seemed so small that he almost
laughed aloud at his own fears.
“Why, it's only a dog that's strayed into camp,” he said.
“Wonder if they fatten him on hard tack.”
His gaze was riveted upon the dark mass, and his surprise nearly found
vent in a low whistle, which he speedily checked, as he saw a man or a
boy steal noiselessly along the bank, till he came {061}to a place where
the grass was tangled and thick, and stooping down he pulled a wide
board from its hiding-place, and picking up a long piece of wood which
lay there, he stepped on the plank and commenced to paddle across the
stream.
Ralph lay in the grass behind the bush, breathlessly watching the
approaching figure. Suddenly a dog began to bark on the opposite shore,
and the man on the plank gave utterance to a low, angry exclamation.
The dog stopped barking, and the stranger came slowly on, till his novel
craft touched the shore within five feet of Ralph.
He saw to his amazement that it was a boy, even younger than himself, it
seemed in the dim light, and he waited breathlessly till he came closer,
and was halted by Ralph's gun, which he brought sharply against the
other's breast, while his own was on fire with excitement, as he cried
aloud--“Halt--you are my prisoner!”
For a moment these two boys faced each other; then the stranger threw
his head proudly back, and, with a gesture of impatience, replied:
“I will not be made a prisoner--I am merely going about my own
business.”
“And that business is to spy upon our lines!” Ralph said hotly.
“Take me to your superior officer. I can soon convince him that I am
doing no harm,” answered the boy.
A stir ran through the picket lines, as the news was passed on that a
rebel spy had been captured, and soon the lad, whose proud carriage and
haughty face involuntarily commanded attention, was at headquarters,
where to all questioning he remained dumb, after telling an apparently
truthful story that he was crossing the river to visit an old uncle, and
knew nothing of the movements of either army.
“This 'old uncle' is one I fancy we'd better try to unearth,” said
Colonel Tuttle. “His acquaintance would be worth cultivating.” {062}
[Illustration: 0070]
The boy would give no further account of himself. His frank, boyish face
and manly bearing impressed the officer of the day favorably, and he
muttered to himself--“Wonder if he is a spy. If all the Johnnies are
as brave and resolute as this youth we'll have to work hard to conquer
them.”
An opinion which he found cause to verify often.