THE GREENBACK TRAIN.
THE guerillas and their horses stood so still in the road that Somers
had not suspected their presence. His first impulse was to wheel his
horse, and flee with all speed from this dangerous ground. The fact that
the negro boy, who had been sent for the doctor, had not returned, was
pretty good evidence that he had been captured by the guerillas; and
their presence in this place fully confirmed his fears.
To turn and run away would be sure to bring a volley from their carbines
upon him, and to advance was to throw himself into the very jaws of the
lion; but, on the whole, he decided that it was less perilous to go
forward, and he continued on his way, as though no shock had come over
him. The negro who had been captured had probably told his story, and it
would be a very difficult matter to reconcile the conflicting statements
that must ensue.
“Why are you here, Somers?” demanded Captain Lynchman, in an excited
tone.
“Yankee cavalry,” replied Somers, glancing suspiciously behind him.
“Where?”
“I don’t know where they are now. Skinley was shot by a Yankee and
killed.”
“This is bad business,” said Lynchman.
“No, it isn’t; it is all the better for us,” said De Banyan, stepping
forward to the rescue.
“Perhaps it is, but I don’t see it,” added the captain, and truly it
must have been rather difficult for him to see.
“You are duller than usual, captain,” continued De Banyan, with his easy
assurance. “You believe in strategy, and look troubled at a difficulty
like this?”
“Did you give Skinley’s horse to that nigger?” demanded Lynchman.
“Bah!” exclaimed De Banyan, with hearty disgust. “What matter whether he
did or not? Are you going to settle a case of that sort now? I tell you
it is all right.”
“What shall we do?”
“Do?” sneered the major. “We will capture the pay-master at Tantallon
cross-roads, as we intended. We are not going to be thrown off the track
by a little accident of this kind.”
“Of course not,” replied the guerilla, catching the inspiration of his
apparently bolder companion.
“Leave these Yankees to me,” continued De Banyan. “I will have them ten
miles from here within two hours.”
“Good!” murmured several of the guerillas.
“The greenback train has been delayed, and we shall have time to bring
up Sweetzer yet. I want two men to go with me. I will take Tippy and
Somers.”
“What do you want of them?” demanded Lynchman.
“Somers shall go to Raybold’s for our fellows there, and Tippy shall
return to inform you when to come forward. If you should be seen, it
would spoil the whole thing.”
The guerilla chief consented to this plan; and De Banyan, followed by
Somers and Tippy, rode off at full gallop. The major did not seem to be
conscious that he had very cleverly performed the part he had assumed in
the drama. He looked just as determined as though he intended to carry
out the programme assigned to him by Lynchman.
“What are you going to do, major?” asked Somers, when they had ridden
about half a mile.
“The infernal cutthroats!” exclaimed he, savagely. “I’m going to capture
the whole crowd.”
“But you have no force.”
“I’ll have one. Tippy!” said he, with energy.
“Sir,” replied the scout, with the utmost deference and respect.
“Understand my purpose. I am going to the stockade where the pay-master
and his escort are, and where I requested him to remain until he heard
from me.”
“Have you seen him?” asked Somers.
“I have; he has sent to the next post for more men. They must have
reached him by this time. Now, Somers, if we are smart, we will report
to the general before night with the pay-master, and these guerillas as
prisoners. We have got things now where we can have it our own way, and
it will be our fault if we don’t bag the whole squad.”
“If the pay-master has a hundred men, we can take them at once,” said
Somers.
“I propose to haul in the whole company—those at Raybold’s as well as
those with Lynchman. We have no time to lose,” continued the major, with
increased energy. “Somers, you must go to Raybold’s, and deliver the
message given you by the captain.”
“I’m willing,” replied Somers, taking from his pocket the papers he had
removed from the body of Skinley. “I have the captain’s written order in
my hand.”
“Good! Kill your horse, if necessary; but don’t lose an instant of time.
Away with you!”
“But I don’t know the road.”
De Banyan instructed him very carefully in regard to his route.
“When you have delivered the order, look out for yourself,” he added, as
Somers put spurs to his willing horse, and dashed away to execute his
important mission.
“Now, Tippy, in one hour go and tell Lynchman that the road is open for
him,” added De Banyan, as he took the hand of the young scout, which he
pressed with warmth. “Boy, be true to your country and your flag from
this time henceforth and forever!”
“I will, I will!” exclaimed Tippy, with deep feeling, as he wiped away
the tears, which, for some unexplained reason, filled his eyes.
De Banyan, apparently as deeply moved as the young man, galloped away at
a furious pace. Beyond the wood he turned to the left, crossing the
creek and the railroad, till he reached another road. This point was
Tantallon cross-roads; and here he turned to the left again, and was now
moving directly towards the stockade in which he had left the
pay-master, and where he arrived in an hour from the time he started. In
fifteen minutes more a squadron of cavalry, collected during the
forenoon from the military posts in the vicinity, was moving down
towards the cross-roads.
When the force arrived at its destination, one half of it was posted in
a secure place by the railroad, where it could not be seen by the
guerillas as they advanced to the rendezvous, and the other half in the
vicinity of the cross-roads. Quite as soon as they were expected the
little troop of Lynchman crossed the railroad, and moved cautiously
towards the point at which they expected to meet the “greenback train.”
But no sooner had they passed the railroad, than the force in their rear
took the road and cut off their retreat, while that in front advanced
upon them. For a moment there was a clash of arms; but the guerillas
were borne under and captured by the cavalry without the loss of a man,
and almost without a scratch on either side.
The prisoners were conducted to a safe place, and the cavalry again
disposed for the reception of the larger force expected from Raybold’s.
The guerillas were intensely astonished at the sudden and unexpected
result of the enterprise. Captain Lynchman, who believed in strategy,
looked exceedingly foolish and disconsolate. When the prisoners were
halted in a secure position he happened to see De Banyan.
“How’s this?” said he, appealing to the energetic major.
“How’s what?” asked De Banyan, with admirable simplicity.
“You have made a blunder somewhere,” added Lynchman, sheepishly.
“Not at all. Everything has come out just as I intended it should.”
“Then you are a traitor.”
“On the contrary, I am a true Union man. I go for the Union first, and
Tennessee next.”
“Traitor!” growled the guerilla.
“See here, my man; you believe in strategy—don’t you?”
“I do.”
“So do I,” replied De Banyan. “I think you have got strategy enough to
last you till the end of the war.”
“You deceived me, then,” added Lynchman, bitterly.
“Deceived you!” sneered the major. “Did you think I would throw myself
into your arms, and let you butcher me at your own pleasure. I know what
you guerillas are—gorillas, I had better say. Deceived you! I shouldn’t
want a more stupid fellow than you are to work upon. You have played
into my hand all the way through.”
“What is to be done with us?” asked the discomfited chief, tamely.
“I don’t know. We shall march you to headquarters; but as a man of your
importance ought to have a bigger escort than this, we shall add the
rest of your gang to the train.”
De Banyan walked away, mounted his horse, and rode down to the
cross-roads again, where the greater battle was soon to be fought.
Tippy, the scout, who had disengaged himself from his companions at the
beginning of the affray, was directed to keep at a distance from the
strife.
Somers delivered his message to Sweetzer, and the guerillas immediately
leaped into their saddles. The note from Lynchman relieved the bearer
from all suspicion, and the lieutenant only questioned him in regard to
the nature of the operations in which his force was to engage. Somers
answered as suited himself; and, finding that no further notice was
taken of him, the officers and men being busily occupied in preparing
for their excursion, he contrived to detach himself from their company.
Gaining the highway, he rode at a leisure gait till he was out of their
sight, when he quickened his pace, and reached the cross-roads in
advance of the guerillas. He was warmly welcomed by De Banyan; but there
was no time yet for long stories, though both of them had much to say.
Sweetzer and his men crossed the railroad without a suspicion that they
were plunging into a fatal trap, till they heard the clatter of horses’
feet behind. The cavalry in the rear, which was to open the battle,
dashed upon the guerillas with a round of Union cheers. But the rebels
were desperate fellows. They had been plundering, murdering, and
destroying, without mercy, and the fear of a righteous retribution upon
their heads nerved them to the most determined action, and they fought
like demons.
They were hardly engaged before the cavalry in front rushed with
headlong speed upon the entrapped foe. It was such an opportunity as the
policy of the partisans seldom permitted them to enjoy; and the Union
soldiers, with a hearty relish for the work, went into the fight with an
enthusiasm which could result only in speedy victory. Then ensued a
brief but tremendous conflict, in which the guerillas were thoroughly
and completely routed. There was an awful cutting and slashing for a few
minutes. The rebels were utterly demolished; they broke, and attempted
to flee from the scene of wrath; but not many of them escaped.
“The work is done,” said De Banyan, as he joined Somers at the close of
the conflict.
“And well done,” added Somers, as he returned his sword to its scabbard.
“I think the general will be willing to excuse our delay in reporting.”
The wounded were sent back to the military post, the prisoners secured,
and the “greenback train” took up its line of march for the army.
On the way, De Banyan, Somers, and Tippy kept together. It was the first
time the staff officers had found an opportunity to communicate in
regard to the past. Somers knew but little of what his friend had done;
but he opened the way for an explanation by relating his own adventures
with Skinley.
“I supposed you would shoot him the moment you got him out of sight of
his cutthroat companions,” said the major.
“I couldn’t shoot him down in cold blood. I intended to use a little
strategy, when the right time came,” replied Somers.
“You are too sentimental by half. If he had been a soldier and a decent
man, you might have hesitated. He was nothing but a cold-blooded wretch,
a cutthroat; you ought to have shot him without winking twice. I would
have done it.”
“I couldn’t do it. But, De Banyan, what have you been doing?”
The major minutely detailed his operations during the morning. He had
been to the pay-master, proved that he was a Union man, on the staff of
a general, and exposed the plot of the guerillas. Returning to them, he
had arrived just before the capture of the negro boy on the Skinley
horse, and had contrived to make the fellow say what he desired, in
part, and to neutralize what tended to inculpate Somers.
“One question, major,” said Somers, when De Banyan finished: “Who is
Tippy?”
“He is my son.”
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