A SKIRMISH ON THE ROAD.
THE horsemen who had attracted the attention of Captain Somers were
hard-looking fellows. They were dressed in a miscellaneous manner, their
clothes being partly civilian and partly military. Portions of their
garb were new, and probably at no distant period had been part of the
stock in trade of some industrious clothier in one of the invaded towns;
and portions were faded and dilapidated, bearing the traces of a severe
march through the soft mud of Virginia. It was not easy to mistake their
character.
The guerillas perceived the approaching party almost as soon as they
were themselves perceived. They adopted no uncertain tactics, but
instantly put spurs to their horses and galloped up to the little squad
of officers. They appeared to have no doubts whatever in regard to the
issue of the meeting, for they resorted to no cautionary movements, and
made no prudential halts. They had evidently had everything their own
way in previous encounters of this description, and seemed to be
satisfied that they had only to demand an unconditional surrender in
order to find their way at once to the pockets of the travellers, or to
appropriate their coats and boots to the use of the rebel army.
“Halt!” said the nondescript gentleman at the head of the guerillas.
“Your business?” demanded Major Riggleston.
“Sorry to trouble you, gentlemen, but you are my prisoners,” said the
chief guerilla, as blandly as though he had been in a drawing-room.
“Who are you, gentlemen?” asked the major.
“I don’t like to be uncivil to a well-dressed gentleman like yourself;
but I haven’t learned my catechism lately, and can’t stop to be
questioned. In one word, do you surrender?”
“Allow me a moment to consult my friends.”
“Only one moment.”
“Don’t you think we had better surrender, Captain Somers?”
“I thought you were a fighting man,” replied Somers.
“I am, when circumstances will admit of it; but they are two to our
one.”
“Just now you thought we were a match for at least twenty of these
fellows.”
“Time’s up, gentlemen,” said the dashing guerilla.
“What do you say, Captain Somers?”
“You can do as you please; I don’t surrender, for one.”
“But this is madness.”
“I don’t care what it is; I am going to fight my way through.”
“Do you surrender?” demanded the impatient chief of the horsemen.
“No!” replied Somers, in his most decided tone.
“Then you are a dead man!” And the guerilla raised his pistol.
Somers already had one of his revolvers in his hand, and before the
villain had fairly uttered the words, he presented his weapon and fired,
as quick as the flash of the lightning. The leader dropped from his
horse, and his pistol was discharged in the act, but the ball went into
the ground. Almost at the same instant the quiet captain of the regulars
fired, and wounded another of the banditti. The others, apparently
astonished at this unexpected resistance, discharged their pistols, and
pressed forward, with their sabres in hand, to avenge the fall of their
comrades.
Somers rapidly fired the other barrels of his revolver, and so did
Captain Barkwood, but without the same decisive effect as before, though
two of the assailants appeared to be slightly wounded. There was no
further opportunity to use firearms, and the officers drew their swords,
as they fell back before the impetuous charge of the savage guerillas.
Major Riggleston followed their example, and for a moment the sparks
flew from the well-tempered steel of the combatants. Our officers were
accomplished swordsmen, but the furious rebels appeared to be getting
the better of them. Major Riggleston contrived to wheel his horse, and
was so fortunate as to get out of the mêlée with a whole skin.
At this point, when victory seemed about to perch on the rebel standard,
Alick, who had thus far been ignored, brought down a third guerilla with
his pistol. The negro was cool, collected, and self-possessed. He had
not fired before, because the officers stood between him and the
assailants. Now, as he had no sword, he stood off, and took deliberate
aim at his man.
Captain Barkwood, who was a man of immense muscle, succeeded, after a
desperate hand-to-hand conflict, in wounding his opponent in the sword
arm. The fellow dropped his weapon, and turning his horse, fled with the
utmost precipitation. The only remaining one, finding himself alone,
immediately followed his example. The battle was won, and the coats and
boots were evidently saved.
“Why don’t you follow them?” cried Major Riggleston, rushing madly up to
the spot at this decisive moment. “Hunt them down! Tear them to pieces.”
“We’ll leave that for our fighting man to do,” replied Somers, with a
smile, though he was so much out of breath with the violence of his
exertions that he could scarcely articulate the words.
“Don’t let them escape,” added the major, furiously. “Cut them down!
Don’t let them plunder the country any more.”
As he spoke, he put spurs to his horse, and dashed madly up the road in
pursuit of the defeated guerillas.
“Your hand, Captain Somers,” said the regular. “You are a trump.”
“Thank you; and I am happy to reciprocate the compliment,” replied the
young staff officer, as he took the proffered hand of Captain Barkwood.
“As a general rule, I don’t think much of volunteer officers,” continued
the regular; “but you are a stunning good fellow, and as plucky as a hen
that has lost one of her chickens.”
“I am obliged to you for your good opinion, and especially for your
ornithological simile,” laughed Somers, who, we need not add, was
delighted with the conduct of his companion.
“My what?”
“Your ornithological simile.”
“My dear fellow, you must have swallowed a quarto dictionary. If you had
only used that expression before the fight, the rebels would certainly
have run away, and declined to engage a man who used words of such
ominous length. No matter; you can fight.”
“I can when I am obliged to do so. You remarked, a little while ago,
that you were a coward by nature.”
“So I am; but it was safer to fight than it was to run.”
“You did not behave like a man who is a coward by nature.”
“But I am a coward; and I dislike these hand-to-hand encounters.”
“You didn’t appear to dislike them very much just now,” added Somers,
who was filled with admiration at the gallant bearing of the regular.
“I do; war is a science. I play at it just as I do at chess. By the way,
Captain Somers, do you play chess?”
“Only a little.”
“Well, it’s a noble game; and I may have the pleasure of letting you
beat me some time. War is like chess; it’s a great game. I like to see a
well-planned battle, and even to take a part in it. But these little
affairs, where everything depends on brute force, are my particular
abomination. There is no science about them—no strategy—no chance to
flank, or do any other smart thing.”
“Here comes the major; he didn’t catch his man,” said Somers, as the
“fighting man” was seen galloping towards them.
“He’s a prudent man,” replied the regular, hardly betraying the contempt
he felt for this particular volunteer.
“He’s a Maryland man.”
“So am I,” promptly returned Captain Barkwood, as though he feared that
something might be said against the bravery of the men of his state. “I
was born and brought up not ten miles from the spot where we now stand.”
“Why didn’t you follow me?” demanded the major, in a reproachful tone,
as he reined in his panting steed.
“We had got enough of it,” answered the regular.
“We might have brought them down if you had joined me in the pursuit.”
“We might, if you had stuck by us in the fight,” said Somers, with a
gentle smile, to break the force of the rebuke.
“Stood by you?” exclaimed Major Riggleston, his face flushed with anger.
“Do you intend to insinuate that I did not stand by you?”
“You did, but at a safe distance.”
“Didn’t I do all the talking with the villains?” foamed the major.
“Certainly you did,” replied the regular.
“Didn’t I bear the whole brunt of the assault at the beginning?”
“Undoubtedly you did,” responded Captain Barkwood, before Somers could
speak a word.
“Didn’t I fight like a tiger, till—”
“Unquestionably you did.”
“Till my rein got entangled in my spur, and whirled my horse round?”
“My dear major, you behaved like a lion,” said Barkwood, in tones so
soothing that the anger of Riggleston passed away like the shadow of a
summer cloud.
“I am a fighting man.”
“That’s so.”
“And I dislike this marching and countermarching in the face of an
enemy.”
“There we unfortunately disagree for the first time. That is
strategy,—the art of war,—and all that makes war glorious.”
“I believe in pitching into an enemy, and, when he is beaten, in
following him up till there is nothing left of him. I regret, gentlemen,
that you did not join in the pursuit of the two miscreants with me. We
might have annihilated them as well as not.”
Somers did not understand the humor of the regular, and could not fathom
his object in permitting the coward still to believe that he was a
fighting man. While the conversation was in progress, Alick had removed
the bodies of the two dead rebels from the road, and placed the other
two, who were severely wounded, in a comfortable position under a tree.
He had filled their canteens with water from the brook which ran across
the road a short distance from the spot, and left them to live or die,
as the future might determine. He had also transferred a good saddle
from one of the guerillas’ horses to his own animal, which had not
before been provided with one.
The party moved on again. Major Riggleston talked about the fight; for
some reason or other he could speak of nothing else. He still called
himself a fighting man, and still talked as though he had fired the most
effective shots and struck the hardest blows which had been given. The
regular agreed with him in all things, except when he impugned the
sacred claims of strategy.
“Never cross a fool in his folly, nor ruin a man in his own estimation,”
said Captain Barkwood, when Somers, at a favorable moment, asked an
explanation of his singular commendation of the poltroon.
“But he is a coward.”
“Call no man a coward but yourself. There is hardly an officer in the
army, from the general-in-chief down to the corporal of the meanest
regiment in the service, that has not been called a coward. You don’t
know who are cowards, and who are not.”
“Perhaps you are right.”
“I know I am. I am a coward myself, but I know nothing about anybody
else.”
“I differ with you.”
“You don’t know anything about it. The major don’t love you over much
now for what you hinted. Never make an enemy when there is no need of
it.”
The approach of Major Riggleston put an end to this conversation. Somers
could not help noticing that the major treated him rather cavalierly;
but as he was not particularly anxious to secure the esteem of such a
man, the manner of his companion did not disturb him.
In the afternoon the party reached Frederick, which had just been
abandoned by Lee’s rear guard, and was now occupied by a portion of
McClellan’s advance.
“Gentlemen, we have had a hard ride, and I know you must be tired as
well as myself,” said Major Riggleston, as they entered the city. “You
will permit me to offer you the hospitalities of my father’s house.”
“Thank you; I accept, for one,” replied Captain Barkwood. “I am not
tired, but I am half starved.”
“And you, Somers?” added the major, with a degree of cordiality in his
manner which he had not exhibited since the skirmish on the road.
The young captain had been in the saddle all day; his health was feeble,
and he was very much exhausted by the journey. He had hoped to reach the
headquarters of the first army corps that night; but he was still
several miles distant from his destination, and his physical condition
did not admit of this addition to his day’s travel. With many thanks he
accepted the invitation, apparently so cordially extended, and the
little party halted, soon after, in the grounds of an elegant mansion.
The tired horses were given into the keeping of the servants, and Major
Riggleston led the way into the house.
They were ushered into the drawing-room, where the major excused himself
to inform the family of their arrival. He left the door open behind him.
“They are Yankee officers!” exclaimed a female voice. “What did Fred
bring them here for? Get out of sight, Ernest, as fast as you can.”
A door leading from the entry closed, and the visitors heard no more.
The regular paid no attention to the remark, and Somers followed his
example.
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