And now if there is a boy reader of this story who doesn't say it is
high time he is told what had become of Snipe Lawton, then the narrator
never knew a thing about boys. Leaving Shorty to sleep over his injured
dignity and lose another of the opportunities of his life, we will turn
back the page and look again over the stirring fields thirty miles to
the south. As neither Snipe nor his major nor his friend Keating, of the
Zouaves, had been recognized among the dead, as they were not apparently
among the prisoners, and as they certainly had not reappeared among
their comrades along the Potomac, they must be looked for where last
seen, close to that old brick and stone Virginia homestead, bowered in
the midst of vines and fruit-trees, known as the Henry house.
Not until weeks after--long, weary, perilous weeks--was the story told,
and then Snipe was not the narrator. The grave, taciturn major waxed
eloquent and even diffuse for once in his life, and the burden of his
song was Snipe and Sergeant Keating.
After their second brave advance along the plateau the New-Englanders
found themselves unsupported on both flanks, and their men falling from
the hot fire that poured in from almost every direction. The old colonel
hung on to the last, but saw that to save his regiment he must withdraw,
and so gave the order. They fell back fighting, closing to the centre,
and only once was there anything like confusion, and that occurred close
to the Henry house, when some other regiment that had suddenly marched
up the slope to the west almost as suddenly broke and came surging over
the right companies, carrying two of them in the rush. It was while
staying this disorder that Major Stark was suddenly dashed to earth. His
horse, disembowelled by a whirring fragment of shell, reared and plunged
violently, falling on his rider and crushing him in his frantic agony.
Almost wild with grief and excitement, Snipe sprang from his saddle and
ran to the major's aid, even though a dozen gray-clad fellows came
bounding at them through the smoke. "I declare," he said, afterwards, "I
thought they were coming to help me. They _did_ help,--three or four of
them. They pulled that poor horse off just as we've seen a crowd pull a
fallen horse out of a tangle on Broadway, and they lifted the major up
and stood him on one leg, and one of 'em gave him a drink from his
canteen, and another, a boy like myself, actually began brushing him
off. Everybody was so crazy with yelling and shouting that for a minute
they didn't seem to realize the situation."
But realization came quickly enough. The major's right leg was broken
below the knee. He had received severe internal hurts and was dazed and
sick, and Snipe and a "reb" between them were supporting him, when some
officer shouted, "Get those prisoners to the rear! Here comes another
charge." Two or three men strove to carry the crippled officer, who was
in great pain, and Snipe was bidden to bear a hand, which of course he
did; but their progress was slow, and in the midst of it somebody
yelled, "Look out! Lie flat!" And down went everybody as a red volley
flashed through the smoke veil from the west, and then, loudly cheering,
another Union regiment, a big one, came charging across the plateau, and
the "Johnnies" had to scramble to their feet and scurry out of the way.
The regiment bounded right over them, it seemed to Snipe, and went on at
the guns the rebs were dragging away, and presently it, too, was
swallowed up in smoke and fire on every side, and wounded officers and
men came drifting back. One of the former recognized Major Stark at
once, and made some soldiers lift and carry him, and in this way they
got back down behind the Henry house, where there were hundreds of
stragglers,--hundreds,--and among them were a number of the Fire
Zouaves, and Snipe caught sight of Keating, and the little sergeant
joined them at once. "It's all up," said he. "We hain't got no
dis_cipp_line, or we'd a cleaned them fellers out quick as Forty could
snuff out a fire." All the same he stood by Snipe and the party carrying
Major Stark, and so made a way through groups of scattered soldiery
until, somewhere ahead toward the Warrenton pike, they could see blue
regiments still in solid line, and ambulances and wagons, and thither
they bore their officer until at last they laid him behind the shelter
of a stone wall; and there they found one of Burnside's regiments
waiting orders, and its surgeon hurried to their aid, and slit up the
major's trousers and knocked the lid of a cracker-box into splints, and
deftly set and bandaged the fractured leg while the battle raged at the
front. Sherman and Wilcox and Burnside still had unbroken and reliable
regiments. The little detachment of regular cavalry was drawn up out
there to the south on the heights near the Chinn house. The captured
batteries might still be retaken if only some practised hand could put
in a brigade or two together. But just as they were getting the major
into an ambulance there came fierce, crashing volleys through the woods
in the direction of the Junction, and a grand chorus of exultant cheers
and yells. A fresh line of troops burst from the fringe of woods
directly at the south and from the west of the Sudley Springs road. The
regiments then advancing up the slope were struck in flank and rear. The
cavalry came whirling down off the height with many a saddle empty, and
everybody seemed to realize at once that more of Johnston's troops had
arrived and turned the right of the line, and then everything seemed to
melt away in earnest.
"Still," said the major, in telling of it later, "we could not realize
we were badly whipped. We knew we must have punished them as hard as we
were punished, all but the mishandling, perhaps, of those batteries, and
all that seemed necessary was to fall back on the heights of Centreville
and there stand our ground." But instead of going thither by the direct
route along the pike, which would have held the commands together,
through some further mischance the brigades, left finally to shift for
themselves, drifted back the way they came, and this led to the further
disaster to the north of Bull Run. No sooner had the retiring troops
"uncovered" the stone bridge than Confederate guns and cavalry pushed
forward, and one well-handled battery found a position from which it
could easily command that suspension bridge over Cub Run, some two miles
farther east. And then the fun began in earnest--for the rebs. That
bridge was the sole means of escape of all Union batteries and a whole
menagerie of draught animals, wagons, ambulances, and even buggies and
carriages of sightseers from Washington, all surging back that way. A
shell exploding on the bridge killed and wounded the mules of a heavy
wagon, which was instantly overturned, completely blocking the passage
for other wheels. More shells burst about the ears of the now
demoralized drivers and teamsters, who cut their traces, mounted their
animals, and rode madly away. As darkness fell gradually upon the scene,
a dozen more splendid guns and several dozen wagon-loads of stores and
supplies were left, and among the abandoned vehicles was the ambulance
conveying the wounded major, watched over by faithful Snipe and Sergeant
Keating.
But even now the lad did not despair. At the steep bank of Cub Run, half
a mile north of the fatal bridge, a two-horse, two-seated open farm
wagon had been left by its terror-stricken owners, who half waded, half
swam, across and scurried up the opposite slope. A bright idea struck
the boy. It was impossible to get across Cub Run with a wagon. But there
were the open fields to the west of it. There were those wood roads that
he had traversed the night before. Why not try that way? Somehow,
between them, he and Keating got that team and wagon turned about. Then
they "boosted" the major to the rear seat, where Keating supported him,
while Snipe took the reins and, turning sharp to the north, with dozens
of fugitives yelling caution, comment, or suggestion, he drove away from
them all into the cool, dark woodland lanes that wound along east of the
route the disordered column was following, and just about dusk, emerging
on the other side, Snipe caught sight of the ridge and the farm-house,
the scene of his exploit the night before. How changed were all
conditions now! Away down on the lowlands near Bull Run, in long column
of twos or fours, some regimental fragments were still strung out,
trailing wearily from Sudley Ford. They still interposed, therefore,
between the fugitives and the enemy. The major, though making no moan,
was ashen with the agony caused by the jolting of the wagon. The sweat
was starting in beads from his forehead, and Keating said they must give
him rest. Huddled behind the farm-house they found the two trembling old
negroes left there as caretakers. Though unnerved by the sound of
battle, they had not dared desert their post. Snipe bade them bring out
instantly a mattress and blankets. The seats were taken from the wagon.
The mattress and blankets were spread upon the bottom. One of the old
darkies cooked a substantial supper. The horses were watered and fed.
Provisions, wine, and apple-jack were stowed in the wagon. The major,
rested and partially revived, was lifted in. Then with Snipe and Keating
trudging alongside, once more under the starlight they drove eastward on
the road leading, as the old darkies said, right over to the turnpike.
But a sore trial awaited them. A mile or more they moved cautiously
along, and then began the descent of a slope, at the bottom of which
Snipe felt sure they would find Cub Run. There was the Run, placid,
deep, steep-banked as ever, but the vitally important bridge was cut
away. Grayson's troopers, to secure themselves against surprise, had
destroyed it two days before. Farther in that direction they could not
go. Here they could not stay. Any moment might bring the Black Horse
Cavalry, of which so much had been said and so little seen, scouting
around that flank of the retreating army. Away off to the southeast,
about Centreville, they could hear the confused sounds of bugle calls.
Away off to the south Blenker's reserve brigade was still in line of
battle, covering the Union retreat. Every now and then the rising night
wind would bear the distant crackle and crash of file firing, but the
bigger guns were still, and here in the pitchy darkness, with a strange
team, in a strange land, were Snipe and Keating, sole guardians of a
precious life,--that of the wounded and suffering major. "It's of no
use, boys," said Stark, faintly. "Drive slowly back to the house and
leave me with the old darkies. Then you go and make the best of your way
to Fairfax. You'll be safe there."
They did turn about and drive to the farm-house and "rout out" the
darkies again, but only to make one of the old servitors come as a
guide, for Snipe and the sergeant both declared no rebel should lug that
Yankee major off to prison so long as wit or work could save him.
All night they plodded slowly on, twisting and turning through country
lanes or bridle-tracks. Time and again they had to halt and scout, for
the poor bewildered negro lost the way again and again, and when at
last morning dawned, they were not nine miles on a bee-line north of
Sudley church, but were hopelessly far from Fairfax. And now the rain
that always follows a heavy battle began to fall. They hid in the
thicket all the hours till darkness came again, drowsing by turns. They
hitched in and again pushed northward at nightfall, but the stars were
hidden. There was nothing to guide them. They groped into another
thicket and hid another day, the rain still pouring steadily. Snipe
"shinned" up a tree and took the bearings of the farm-houses within
sight; took heart because he saw no signs of scouting cavalry,
everything being now afar off to the eastward along the main roads to
Washington, and, turning his jacket inside out, after brief conference
with Keating he stole away through the dripping thickets, and lurked
about the nearest farm until he succeeded in making a negro hear his
cautious signals. Money was potent and the major had plenty. The darky
brought grain for the horses, and chickens, eggs, and milk, and that
night guided them through many a devious way until within an hour of
dawn they were again hidden in the thick woods, still farther to the
northwest and away from the travelled roads. The nearest village now
seemed eight or ten miles away. Before the negro left them he hunted up
a friend to take his place. Ten dollars for his night's work! It was a
fortune, and eagerly his successor sought to earn as much.
And so, guided and fed by darkies, hiding by day and journeying
occasionally by night, they kept on for nearly a week, heading for the
Potomac about Edwards' Ferry, hoping to dodge all patrols meantime and
to discover some way of slipping past the pickets as they neared the
river. Nearer Washington every bridle-path they knew would be guarded.
Through the relays of darkies they learned that General Beauregard's
army had enveloped the defences of the capital on the south side of the
Potomac, and that troops were passing to and fro all over the country
between Leesburg and Alexandria. Major Stark said, therefore, their only
chance was to lie in hiding somewhere until his leg had knit. Money he
still fortunately had in sufficient quantity. Keating still had his
rifle and revolver, though the major and Snipe had been bereft of their
pistols. Their negro friend led them to a dense thicket in a deep
ravine, far from the highways and byways. Wood and water were abundant.
Shelter they made of boughs. Food and news the darkies brought them in
quantities, and here they nursed their plucky major and studied the
country toward the Potomac until at last the bone seemed knitting, and
then, one starlit night, late in August, pushed cautiously on again,
still taking their wagon, and with the dawn of the next day they were
across the Leesburg road and deep in the woods toward the ferry. Here
another stay became necessary. Southern pickets and patrols lined the
banks of the stream, and a day or two later their new guide, a negro
boy of eighteen, crept to them in terror to say he felt sure somebody
must have "peached," for "cavalry gemmen" were inquiring at every house
and hamlet. A whole company had ridden out from Vienna that very day,
and they were asking if any one had seen a two-horse farm wagon, with a
sick man in it, and two other men driving. Troopers were beating up the
wood roads then. In half an hour the wagon was in ashes, the tires and
iron work hidden in the brush, and with Stark astride one horse, Snipe
and Keating alternating on the other, they pushed through the forest to
another hiding-place, hearing the whoops and yells and signal shots of
the cavalry every hour until dusk. Then, with their negro guide, they
kept on all night long, halting and dodging every little while; hid in
the woods within sound of the Southern bugles all another day; stole on
southeastward all another night, until their guide said Lewinsville was
not a mile away to the south, and the Yankee pickets in front of Chain
Bridge only a mile or so to the northeast. That day proved most eventful
of all. Hungry, thirsty, and weary, they were waiting the return of
Brennus, as was the classic name of their guide, when about dark he
reached them empty-handed. Not a moment was to be lost, said he. The
cavalry had struck their trail and were following the horse-tracks
through the woods. There was an abandoned hut, a woodman's, half a mile
away, and thither Stark limped painfully, leaning hard upon his
friends. They managed to reach it just in time, their horses being left
to shift for themselves. They were now close to the Union lines, yet the
gray pickets and patrols guarded every path. They could not hope to
carry Stark through such a net-work, and he could only painfully limp
and only occasionally bear a portion of his weight upon that leg. Nor
could they hope to remain undiscovered another day. There was only one
thing to be done. Get word through the lines to the Yankees, and beg for
rescue.
Stark quickly pencilled the message on tissue-paper, torn from before a
picture page in the little testament he always carried. "Major Stark,
crippled, Sergeant Keating, and Corporal Lawton are hiding just south of
the rebel outposts. One troop of cavalry the only force nearer than
Lewinsville except usual reserves. Unless rescued to-night will surely
be recaptured in the morning. The bearer can guide. If possible help."
This he signed officially and rolled in "Solace" tin-foil. "Now,
Brennus," said he, "crawl past the rebs; get that to the Lincoln
soldiers, and it's your freedom and fifty dollars to boot."
We know the rest.