INTRODUCING MR. BROWN KIPPS
Deck Lyon did not like the service to which he had been assigned on the
bridge. The importance of the duty, as laid down to him by his father,
did not make the situation any pleasanter.
Though his conscience approved his conduct in taking the place without
attempting to avoid the service, it would have suited him better to
remain in the ranks, and have a part in the action which was soon to
take place, as officers and privates all believed.
He had nothing to do after he had hauled down the flag,--at least,
nothing but watch his father, whose plumed hat was the only one of the
kind on the field; and he had no difficulty in keeping it in sight all
the time. He was not obliged to keep his eyes fixed on him every moment,
for he knew when to expect the signal to hoist the flag; and it would
not be given till the first company had engaged the enemy somewhere on
the south road, between the top of the hill and the cross-roads.
He was all alone, and he could speak to no one. He had rolled up the
flag with the halyards still attached to it, and placed it at the foot
of the pole. He had been sitting on his horse all day, and for a time he
amused himself in walking up and down the bridge. It did not occur to
him that there was a human being anywhere near him except those who were
in the camp below, and they were some distance from him. He looked at
the prisoners, and the cavalrymen who were keeping guard over them. They
were not an interesting sight to him, for the former consisted mostly of
the ruffians whom he had fought in the field and in the schoolhouse.
"Nothing to do, and nobody to help me," said Deck to himself, as he
seated himself at the foot of the flagstaff, with his legs dangling over
the bank of the creek below. The pole had been set up where it was most
convenient to fasten it, and the place was about ten feet from the
abutment. The bridge spanned not only the stream of water, but the
valley through which it flowed.
This valley was crossed by the embankment to within forty feet of the
creek; and the south road passed under the bridge, close to the
abutment. The high fence, or side of the shanty that had stood there,
was on the solid ground, which had been filled in, and Deck was hardly
more than a rod from it. He had walked about here, and he concluded that
some kind of a building had stood there; for he found a temporary
workbench, which had doubtless been used by the bridge-builders.
The signalman at the flagstaff was fully armed, as when he dismounted;
and when he seated himself on the plank of the bridge, his sabre had
nearly tripped him over the side of it to the ground below; but he was
very active, and he saved himself. In this position he observed the
occupation of the prisoners, who appeared to have no interest whatever
in the impending fight at the cross-roads. Some of them were playing
cards, to which they were more accustomed than to the routine of the
soldier; some were asleep; and a few were mending their ragged garments.
They were not an interesting sight to the watcher on the bridge. Among
them was his Uncle Titus, who sat on a log in front of his tent. He
wore a disgusted look, perhaps because he was deprived of his usual
whiskey rations; for Major Lyon refused to allow liquor to be served to
any prisoner. He had chosen for himself, and had joined the Confederate
army. He considered himself a sort of family martyr, because his brother
had chosen to give his plantation to Noah instead of to him; and this
feeling largely influenced him in his political choice.
Deck had only one wish, as he sat with his legs over the side of the
bridge, and that was that the enemy would speedily appear on the south
road; for then his father would give him the signal to hoist the flag.
When he had done that his mission would be ended, and he could hasten
back to his place in the ranks, in season, he hoped, to take part in the
action. The more impatient he became, the more vigilant was his scrutiny
of the plumed head of his father.
Several times he thought, when any movement was made by the soldiers,
that the time had come. The minutes seemed to be longer to him than any
he had ever known before. He looked at his watch, after he had refrained
from doing so several times by the thought of his own impatience, and
he found he had been on the bridge only half an hour; though it seemed
to him that he had been there four times as long as that. But just at
that moment, and before he had restored the watch to his pocket, he
heard sounds which turned his attention in another direction.
He heard footsteps near him. No one but himself had been sent to the
bridge, and the sound gave him a decided sensation. They came from the
north end of the bridge; and the high fence prevented him from seeing
the person whose tramp he heard. He was not alarmed; and he listened to
the footsteps, waiting for the individual to come out from behind the
obstruction. Then the steps were accompanied by the whistling of a tune,
as though the person was an idler, who had no other means of employing
his time.
Deck Lyon was not a musician, though he had done some singing before his
voice changed. The whistling began to have an interest to him, and he
listened with all his might. The person was either a Union man or a
Secessionist; and the young cavalryman thought the air he selected must
give him some information on this delicate point. If he whistled
"Dixie," either from choice or from the force of habit, it would not be
difficult to determine on which side he had cast his political lot.
On the other hand, if he piped "The Star Spangled Banner," "Hail,
Columbia!" or "John Brown's Body," Deck thought he should be more
rejoiced to meet him at this particular moment. Possibly the whistler
had not kept up with the times in his musical education, for he piped
none of the airs named; but presently the signalman recognized the notes
of "Yankee Doodle," which answered his purpose even better than any of
the melodies named. Secessionists had no taste for this ancient air at
just this time.
The man appeared to have stopped behind the high fence, and did not
immediately reward the expectant waiter with a sight of his person. He
heard some blows with an axe or heavy hammer upon the planks underfoot;
then he resumed his whistling, which became more vigorous than artistic.
It was evident even to Deck that the performer had not been trained in
the art he was practising, but he seemed to be plentifully supplied
with wind, and he had just doubled the quantity of sound he produced;
and the melody intended was unmistakably "Yankee Doodle," and this was
the important point to the listener.
Still, the whistler did not show himself; though he was hardly more than
forty feet distant from his audience, and seemed to be unconscious that
he had a listener. Deck wanted to see that man, but he persistently kept
his body corporate behind the obstruction to his view. Arranging his
sabre, so that it should not trip him up and tumble him off the bridge,
he sprang lightly to his feet. He stepped back a couple of paces, and
then obtained a full view of the piper, who certainly was not skilful
enough to have "played before Moses."
He did not wear a uniform, and therefore he did not belong to the Texan
Rangers; for Deck had fought them, and knew how they were clothed. This
struck him as an important point; for he had made sure before he rose
from his seat that his carbine, slung at his back, was in condition for
instant service. His regulation pistols were in the holsters on his
horse; but he had supplied himself with a small revolver at Fort
Bedford, for there was a tendency with fresh recruits to overload
themselves with weapons on entering active service, and thousands of
dollars worth of such were thrown away when they became a burden.
The stranger was dressed like a mechanic; and he seemed to be examining
the planking of the bridge, which is not usually a matter of vital
importance in such a structure for railroad purposes. The man stopped
whistling, and began to use a middling-sized sledge-hammer, directing
his blows at the heads of the spikes under his feet. Then he dropped the
hammer, and picked up an adze, with which he trimmed off the projecting
edge of a plank. Deck thought this was very strange work for a man to be
doing at such a time, and in such a place.
But the mechanic was whistling a Union air; and this fact seemed to make
it all right, and prevented him from having a suspicion that all was not
right in the presence of the man on the bridge. The railroad in Kentucky
was a loyal institution, as it was a disloyal one farther South. Deck
therefore came to the conclusion that he was an employee of the company.
He decided to interview the stranger, and ascertain more precisely who
and what he was.
In matters of military duty Deck was a close constructionist; and the
first question he asked himself was whether or not he ought to leave his
post, even to go a distance of forty feet. His sole occupation till he
received the signal to hoist the flag, was to watch for it; and he kept
his father's plumed hat in sight all the time. But he could see the
handkerchief when it was waved as well from behind the fence as at the
flagstaff; or, at most, he had only to step back a few paces to enable
him to command a full view of the expected battle-ground, and of the
hill behind which Captain Truman was posted with his command.
He did not for an instant lose sight of his sole duty; but he walked a
few paces at a time towards the fence, and then looked back, to make
sure that he could see the plume of the major. As it was in sight all
the time, he continued to advance very slowly. When he reached the end
of the fence the centre of his watch was still to be seen, and nothing
seemed to be in progress in any of the roads visible from his position.
Just at the moment when he was almost within speaking distance of the
mechanic, who had ceased to whistle, the latter picked up his tools and
moved to the other end of the fence, where he began to hammer the spikes
again. The man appeared to take no notice of him, or even to be aware of
his presence. Assured that he could see the skirmishers who had been
sent beyond the hill if they were driven in, he continued to advance
still farther, though he went to the middle of the bridge, where the
fence did not obstruct his view.
Deck wanted to know more about the man with the sledge and the adze. The
flag was to be hoisted as a signal for the second company to attack the
enemy in the flank or rear, while the first engaged them in front. The
fight must begin before the signal could be required, and the signalman
would have abundant notice when the firing began that his services would
soon be required. The fence was less than a hundred feet in length, and
he had not far to go to confront the mechanic.
Keeping the cross-roads in view till the fence shut it out, he made a
quick movement to the immediate vicinity of the workman, who was
hammering away with the sledge with all his might. He made so much noise
that he could not hear the steps of the soldier.
"What are you doing here?" shouted Deck.
The mechanic took no notice of him, and did not seem to have heard him.
He repeated his inquiry, this time a great deal louder than before. The
man stopped in his work, and looked at him with apparent astonishment,
as though he had discovered his presence for the first time.
"I am fixing the bridge, don't you see?" replied the workman, as though
he deemed it a foolish question. "What are you doing here?"
"I am on duty on the bridge," replied Deck.
But he could not see the soldiers near the cross-roads, where his father
had been most of the time, and his conscience smote him as though he had
stolen the brood in a chicken-coop. He did not wait to say any more, but
he ran with all his speed till he reached a point where he could see the
plume of the commander of the squadron.
"What's the matter? What you runnin' off fur?" shouted the mechanic.
"You needn't run; I won't hurt you."
Deck thought this was rather cool from a man apparently unarmed, to one
with a carbine slung on his back, and a sabre at his side; but he judged
that the fellow aspired to be a humorist, for he looked as good-natured
as though he had just perpetrated a first-class witticism. But the
cavalryman did not halt till he reached the end of the fence, where he
made a careful survey on the field of the expected combat. He was too
busy just then to notice the man.
"What is the matter, Mr.----? I reckon I don't know your name," said
the man; and the sound indicated that he had followed the other nearly
to the end of the fence.
"They call me Deck, those who know me best," replied the trooper,
willing to humor the mechanic. "Now, who are you?"
"My name is Brown Kipps; but most folks don't take the trouble to call
me anything but Kipps, Mr. Deck."
"My front name is Dexter; Deck for short," added the soldier.
"What is your back name?"
"Lyon."
"You look like a lion," added Kipps. "Won't you take a seat on this old
bench, and let us talk it over?"
Deck declined the invitation.