THE SCOUTING DETAIL
This premeditated insult, which Brennan had evidently despatched
broadcast in hope that through some unknown channel it might reach me,
changed my entire relationship with the man. Heretofore, while feeling
deep resentment toward him, I yet was strongly inclined to avoid any
personal meeting. Fear had nothing whatever to do with this shrinking on
my part, nor would I have deliberately avoided him, yet as the husband
of Edith Brennan I realized that if he suffered seriously at my hands
it must for ever separate us. I felt more and more deeply the shame of
loving the wife of another, and certainly I could never bring myself
to advertise her as in any way the cause of so disgraceful a brawl. Far
better was it for me to suffer in silence any taunts and degradations he
chose to place upon me. Surely I loved her well enough to remain patient
for her sake.
But now all this had been changed by a word. His deliberate attempt to
soil my reputation among officers of my own corps left me no choice but
that of a resort to arms. I have never felt that Brennan was at heart
a bad man; he was hard, stern, revengeful, yet I have no doubt under
different circumstances I might even have valued him highly as a comrade
or a friend. There is no demon like jealousy; and his early distrust
of me, fostered by that mad disease, had apparently warped his entire
nature. Yet not even for love could I consent to leave my honor
undefended, and after those hateful words there could be no rest for me
until our differences were settled by the stern arbitrament of the naked
blade. All prudence to the winds, no opportunity of meeting him should
now be cast aside.
I decided this carefully before falling asleep, and had almost
determined upon seeking release from immediate duty that I might hunt
him out even within the fancied security of his own camp. This latter
plan, however, was instantly halted by those events which crowded
swiftly upon me. The coming day was barely gray in the east when I was
awakened by a heavy pounding upon the door. A smart-looking orderly
stood without.
“Captain Wayne?” he asked.
“That is my name. What have you, my man?”
“Compliments of Colonel Maitland, chief of staff, sir,” he said, handing
me a folded paper.
I opened it eagerly, for I was more than ready to welcome any occurrence
which would help to change the tenor of my thought.
“Dear Wayne:” the private note read, “Believing you would be glad to
have the detail, I have just arranged to send you at once upon some
active service. Please report at these quarters immediately, fully
equipped for the field.”
Glad! It was the very medicine I most needed, and within twenty minutes
of my receipt of this communication I was with Maitland, thanking him
warmly for his thoughtfulness.
“Not another word, Wayne,” he insisted. “It is not much, a mere scouting
detail over neutral territory, and will probably prove dull enough. I
only hope it may help to divert your mind a trifle. Now listen--you
are to proceed with twenty mounted men of the escort west as far as the
foot-hills, and are expected to note carefully three things: First, the
condition of forage for the sustenance of a wagon train; second, what
forces of Federal troops, if any, are along the Honeywell; and
third, the gathering of all information obtainable as to the reported
consolidation of guerillas for purposes of plunder between the lines.
If time suffice, you might cross over into the valley of the Cowskin and
learn the condition of forage there as well. A guide will accompany your
party, and you are to avoid contact with the enemy as far as possible.
Your men carry five days' rations. You understand fully?”
“I do, sir; I presume I am to start at once?”
“Your squad, under command of Sergeant Ebers, is already waiting
outside.”
I found them a sturdy looking lot, but, as they composed a portion
of the commander's personal guard, somewhat better attired than I was
accustomed to seeing Confederate soldiers. I possessed a field officer's
prejudice relative to escort soldiery, yet their equipment looked
well, they sat their horses easily, and I could find nothing worthy of
criticism. I should have preferred riding at the head of men from my old
troop, but in all probability we would none of us be called upon to draw
a sabre.
“Are you all ready, Sergeant?” I asked of the rather heavy-weight German
who stood fronting me, his broad, red face as impassive as though carved
from stone.
“Ve vos, Captain.”
“Where is the guide?”
“Dot is him, mit der mule, ain't it?” he answered, pointing with one
huge hand down the road.
“Very well, we will pick him up then as we go.” I cared so little as
to whether or not he accompanied us at all, that we had advanced some
distance before the thought of him again occurred to me. I knew the
gentry fairly well, and had experienced in the past so many evidences of
their stupidity, if not actual disloyalty, as to prefer my own knowledge
of the country to theirs. My thought, indeed, for several miles was not
at all with the little party of troopers jogging steadily at my heels,
nor, in truth, was it greatly concerned with the fate of the expedition.
That was but service routine, and I rode forward carelessly enough,
never once dreaming that every hour of progress was bearing me toward
the most important adventure of my life. So I feel we constantly advance
into the future; and it is well that we do not know, for few would
possess the necessary courage if beforehand we might perceive the
sorrows and the dangers.
Outside my military duties I had but one thought in those days--Edith
Brennan. The great struggle was rapidly drawing to its close; hope
of future military preferment could no longer inspire a Confederate
soldier, for we realized fully we were battling in a lost cause.
All ambition which I might otherwise have experienced was therefore
concentrated by this fate upon the woman I loved. And how earnestly
I endeavored not to love her; how I sought to stifle such feeling, to
remain true to what I deemed my highest duty to her and to my own honor!
And yet she remained my constant dream. I thought of her now as I rode
into the west. Somewhere out yonder, amid those distant blue hills--ay!
even within the very zone of my present duty--it was possible she yet
waited for the war to cease. I wished in my heart I might again meet
her, and then roundly denounced myself as a cur for having such a
desire. Yet again and again would the fond hope recur, surging up
unbidden into my brain as I rode steadily forward, oblivious of
both distance and pace, the sinking sun full in my eyes, yet utterly
forgetful of the hoof-beats pounding along behind me. It was the German
sergeant who recalled me to the responsibilities of command.
“Captain,” he exclaimed apologetically, riding up to my side, and wiping
his round perspiring face with great energy, “ve are riding too hard,
ain't ve? Mein Gott, but der horses vill give out ontirely, already.”
“Is that so?” I asked in surprise at his words. A single swift glance
around convinced me he was correct, for the mounts were exceedingly
soft, and already looked nearly played out from our sharp pace. “Very
well, Ebers, we will halt here.”
With a sigh of relief he drew back, and as he did so my eyes fell for
the first time upon the guide. As I live, it was Jed Bungay, and when I
stared at him in sudden amazement he broke into a broad grin.
“'It trickled still, the starting tear,
When light a footstep struck her ear,
And Snowdoun's graceful knight was near,'”
he quoted gravely, his eyes brightening at my recognition. “Durn if I
didn't begin ter think as how ye'd gone an' clar fergot me, Cap.”
“Not a bit of it, Jed,” and I rode up to him and extended my hand. “But
how came you here? Are you the guide?”
“Sure thing, Cap; know this yere kintry like a buk. 'Jaded horsemen from
the west, at evening to the castle pressed.' By gum, you put Beelzebub
an' me through a blamed hard jolt of it so fur.”
“Beelzebub?”
“Ye bet, ther muel; I reckon as how ye ain't gone an' fergot him,
hev ye?” and the little man squirmed in the delight of his vivid
recollection. “'One blast upon his bugle horn is worth a thousand men.'
But ye did ride like thunder, Cap, that's a fac', an' I ain't ther only
one done up, neither. Jist take a squint et thet fat Dutchman thar.”
The fleshy Sergeant was undoubtedly fatigued, yet he was a thorough
soldier, a strict disciplinarian, and although he moved as if his coarse
army trousers were constant torture, he was not guilty of omitting any
known requirement of his office.
“Chones”, he shouted impressively, “dot is not a good vay to tie dot
horse. By Chiminy, he vould break his neck mit der rope. Glen, vy you
makes play mit der gun dot vay? Donnerwetter! ven I speak mit you, stand
op mit der little finger to der seam of der pantaloons. You vill never
be no good.”
“Ebers,” I interrupted, “let the men rest as they please. I regret
having ridden so hard, but I am used to soldiers who are toughened in
field work. Are you pretty sore, Sergeant?”
“By Chiminy, I am, Captain; der skin vos rubbed off me by der saddle,”
he answered, touching the afflicted part tenderly. “It vos der rackin'
gait mit der horse vot did it. He is der vorst horse dot ever I ride.”
“Well, get as comfortable as you can, and I'll try to be more thoughtful
in the future. Bungay, what has become of Maria?”
The little man's eyes suddenly filled with tears.
“I jist don't know, Cap,” he answered mournfully.
“'No more at dawning morn I rise
And sun myself in Ellen's eyes.
That life is lost to love and me.'
“Whin I got hum ther ol' cabin hed bin plum burnt down, nary stick o'
it left, by gum! an' Mariar she wus clean gone. Hain't seed neither hide
ner hair o' her since, thet's a fac'. An' I sorter drifted back ter you
uns 'cause I didn't hev nowhar else ter go.”
“Did you hunt for her among the old plantations along the valley?” I
asked, deeply touched by his evident feeling. “She very likely sought
refuge in some of those houses.”
He looked at me in surprise. “I reckon, Cap, as how ye don't know much
'bout whut's a goin' on in ther valley fer ther las' few months,” he
said soberly, rubbing down his mule as he spoke. “Tell ye whut, thar
jist hain't no plantation houses left thar now, thet's a fac', leastwise
not north o' ther lines we uns sorter hol' onto yit. Sheridan he played
hell with his cavalry raids, an' whut the blue-bellies left ther durned
guerillas an' bushwhackers wiped up es clean es a slate. Durn if a crow
wudn't starve ter deth in ther valley now. Why, Cap, them thar deserters
an' sich truck is organized now till they're mighty nigh an army, an'
they don't skeer fer nuthin' les' ner a reg'ment. I see more ner a
hundred an' fifty in one bunch up on ther White Briar two week ago, an'
they're worse ner a parcel er pirates. I reckon as how they got Mariar,
but I 'll bet she giv 'em a hot ol' time afore she done quit.”
Rumors of this state of affairs to north and west of our defending lines
had already reached me,--indeed, the verification had formed part of
my instructions; but Bungay's homely yet graphic description made the
situation appear terribly real, and my thought went instantly forth to
those I knew who might even then be exposed to this great and unexpected
danger. That it was indeed menacing and constantly growing worse I
could not doubt; the certainty of our early defeat was leading to almost
wholesale desertions, and doubtless many of these went to swell those
lawless ranks, whose sole purpose was plunder, and whose safe rendezvous
was the inaccessible mountains. Wherever the guarding armies left
neutral ground, there these bands overflowed and inaugurated a reign
of terror. What they had been in their weakness I knew well through
experiences of the past; what they might become in strength I could
readily conjecture,--wild wolves of the hills, to whom human life was of
no account, the fierce spawn of civil war. The very conception of Edith
Brennan in such hands as these was agony. I felt I could never rest
until assured of her safety, and since my orders granted me full
authority to prolong my journey, I might ascertain whether or not she
yet remained within the valley.
“Jed,” I asked, my mind finally settled, “do you know the old Minor
plantation?”
“Ol Jedge Minor's place? Sure; it's up on ther south branch of ther
Cowskin, an' used ter be quite a shebang afore ther war, an' afore ther
ol' Jedge died. I reckon as how he hed ther biggest gang o' niggers
in ther whole county, an' he wus allers durn gud ter 'em tew. Never no
nigger ever run 'way from ol' Jedge Minor, ye bet. Mariar she used ter
live thar whin Mis' Celie wus a baby.”
“Have those fellows got down that far yet?”
“Wal, I reckon not, but durn if I know fer sure, Cap. Ther whole valley
is mighty bare north o' thar, fer I rid through it, an' Beelzebub hed
ter live on clay, fer sure. Gee! but he wus hot. So them thar vultures
hes got ter either work south er quit, an' I reckon as how they hain't
likely ter quit till they hes tew. 'Sides, they're strong 'nough by now
ter laugh et any sojers thar'bouts, an' ther ol' Minor place u'd make
mighty gud pickin'. Thar hain't neither army ever bin up thar durin'
ther war.”
“How long would it take us to reach there?”
“'Bout two days, I reckon, pervidin' ye shuck ther Dutchman.”
I turned and looked at my men in some perplexity. They were scattered
along the edge of the road, and only one group had taken the precaution
to build a fire. The Sergeant lay flat upon his back on a grassy knoll,
his stomach rising and falling with a regularity which convinced me he
was sleeping.
“Ebers,” I said sternly.
There was no response, and I could distinguish clearly his heavy
breathing.
“One of you stir up the Sergeant, will you? I want to speak with him.”
A young fellow came forward grinning, and laid one hand heavily on his
officer's shoulder.
“Come, Dutchy,” he said with easy familiarity, “get up!”
The Sergeant shot to an upright position like a jack-in-the-box. “Mein
Gott,” he asked anxiously, “is it der Yanks vot come already?”
“Hell, no; but the Captain wants you.”
“Der Captain?” He arose ponderously, and came forward with a decidedly
halting gait.
“Vos I sent for?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said; “I want you to have the men get their supper at once, as
we shall be obliged to ride a good portion of the night.”
“Ride?” and his face took on an expression of genuine horror. “By
Chiminy, Captain, it vos impossible. Mem Gott! it could not be done.”
“Why, what is the difficulty, Sergeant?”
“I am vounded vare I sets me down on der saddle. I am all--vot you calls
it?--rare. Dunder, but it could not be.”
“I am exceedingly sorry, Ebers, and if you are unable to travel we shall
be compelled to leave you behind,” I said, tired of it all by this time.
“Get the men to their supper. We shall go on in an hour.”
How often since have I smiled at the expression upon his solemn round
face as he turned ruefully away!