Private O'Halloran, detailed for special duty in advance of the picket
line, sat reclining against a huge red oak. Within reach lay a rifle
of beautiful workmanship. In one hand he held a blackened brier-root
pipe, gazing on it with an air of mock regret. It had been his
companion on many a weary march and on many a lonely day, when, as
now, he was doing duty as a sharp-shooter. But it was not much of a
companion now. It held the flavor, but not the fragrance, of other
days. It was empty, and so was O'Halloran's tobacco-pouch. It was
nothing to grumble about, but the big, laughing Irishman liked his
pipe, especially when it was full of tobacco. The words of an old song
came to him, and he hummed them to himself:
"There was an ould man, an' he had a wooden leg,
An' he had no terbacky, nor terbacky could he beg;
There was another ould man, as keen as a fox,
An' he always had terbacky in his ould terbacky box.
"Sez one ould man, 'Will yez give me a chew?'
Sez the other ould man, 'I'll be dommed ef I do.
Kape away from them gin-mills, an' save up yure rocks,
An' ye'll always have terbacky in yer ould terbacky box.'"
What with the singing and the far-away thoughts that accompanied the
song, Private O'Halloran failed to hear footsteps approaching until
they sounded quite near.
"Halt!" he cried, seizing his rifle and springing to his feet. The
newcomer wore the insignia of a Federal captain, seeing which,
O'Halloran lowered his weapon and saluted. "Sure, sor, you're not to
mind me capers. I thought the inimy had me complately surrounded--I
did, upon me sowl."
"And I," said the captain, laughing, "thought the Johnnies had
caught me. It is a pleasant surprise. You are O'Halloran of the
Sharp-shooters, I have heard of you--a gay singer and a great
fighter."
"Sure it's not for me to say that same. I sings a little bechwane
times for to kape up me sperits, and takes me chances, right and lift.
You're takin' a good many yourself, sor, so far away from the picket
line. If I make no mistake, sor, it is Captain Somerville I'm talkin'
to."
"That is my name," the captain said.
"I was touchin' elbows wit' you at Gettysburg, sor."
The captain looked at O'Halloran again. "Why, certainly!" he
exclaimed. "You are the big fellow that lifted one of the Johnnies
over the stone wall."
"By the slack of the trousers. I am that same, sor. He was nothin' but
a bit of a lad, sor, but he fought right up to the end of me nose. The
men was jabbin' at 'im wit' their bay'nets, so I sez to him, says I,
'Come in out of the inclemency of the weather,' says I, and thin I
lifted him over. He made at me, sor, when I put 'im down, an' it took
two men for to lead 'im kindly to the rear. It was a warm hour, sor."
As O'Halloran talked, he kept his eyes far afield.
"Sure, sor," he went on, "you stand too much in the open. They had one
muddlehead on that post yesterday; they'll not put another there
to-day, sor." As he said this, the big Irishman seized the captain by
the arm and gave him a sudden jerk. It was an unceremonious
proceeding, but a very timely one, for the next moment the sapling
against which the captain had been lightly leaning was shattered by a
ball from the Confederate side.
"Tis an old friend of mine, sor," said O'Halloran; "I know 'im by his
handwritin'. They had a muddlehead there yesterday, sor. I set in full
sight of 'im, an' he blazed at me twice; the last time I had me fist
above me head, an' he grazed me knuckles. 'Be-dad,' says I, 'you're no
good in your place;' an' when he showed his mug, I plugged 'im where
the nose says howdy to the eyebrows. 'Twas no hurt to 'im, sor; if he
seen the flash, 'twas as much."
To the left, in a little clearing, was a comfortable farm-house.
Stacks of fodder and straw and pens of corn in the shuck were ranged
around. There was every appearance of prosperity, but no sign of life,
save two bluebirds, the pioneers of spring, that were fighting around
the martin gourds, preparing to take possession.
"There's where I was born." The captain pointed to the farm-house. "It
is five years since I have seen the place."
"You don't tell me, sor! I see in the Hur'ld that they call it the
Civil War, but it's nothin' but oncivil, sor, for to fight agin' your
ould home."
"You are right," assented the captain. "There's nothing civil about
war. I suppose the old house has long been deserted."
"Sure, look at the forage, thin. 'Tis piled up as nately as you
please. Wait till the b'ys git at it! Look at the smoke of the
chimbly. Barrin' the jay-birds, 'tis the peacefulest sight I've
seen."
"My people are gone," said the captain. "My father was a Union man. I
wouldn't be surprised to hear of him somewhere at the North. The day
that I was eighteen he gave me a larrupping for disobedience, and I
ran away."
"Don't spake of it, sor." O'Halloran held up his hands. "Many's the
time I've had me feelin's hurted wit' a bar'l stave."
"That was in 1860," said the captain. "I was too proud to go back
home, but when the war began I remembered what a strong Union man my
father was, and I joined the Union army."
"'Tis a great scheme for a play," said the big Irishman solemnly.
"My mother was dead," the captain went on, "my oldest sister was
married, and my youngest sister was at school in Philadelphia, and my
brother, two years older than myself, made life miserable for me in
trying to boss me."
"Oh!" exclaimed O'Halloran, "don't I know that same? 'Tis meself
that's been along there."
Captain Somerville looked at the old place, carefully noting the
outward changes, which were comparatively few. He noted, too, with the
eye of a soldier, that when the impending conflict took place between
the forces then facing each other, there would be a sharp struggle for
the knoll on which the house stood; and he thought it was a curious
feat for his mind to perform, to regard the old home where he had been
both happy and miserable as a strategic point of battle. Private
O'Halloran had no such memories to please or to vex him. To the extent
of his opportunities he was a man of business. He took a piece of
white cloth from his pocket and hung it on the broken sapling.
"I'll see, sor, if yon chap is in the grocery business."
As he turned away, there was a puff of smoke on the farther hill, a
crackling report, and the hanging cloth jumped as though it were
alive.
"Faith, it's him, sor!" exclaimed O'Halloran, "an' he's in a mighty
hurry." Whereupon the big Irishman brushed a pile of leaves from an
oil-cloth strapped together in the semblance of a knapsack.
"What have you there?" asked Captain Somerville.
"Sure, 'tis me grocery store, sor. Coffee, tay, an' sugar. Faith, I'll
make the devil's mouth water like a baby cuttin' his stomach tathe.
Would ye mind comin' along, sor, for to kape me from swindlin' the
Johnny out of all his belongin's?"