THE PRISONERS
The ledge up which the ladders led from the direction of the gorge, it
will be remembered, formed the northern support of the plateau. The
unscalable cliff terminated its extent to the south; and of the two
longer sides the one on the west overlooked Whiteside Cove, and that on
the east Cashiers valley. The view into the Cove over the boulder side
of the mountain, after the trees which grew on the edge were reached,
was broad and unobstructed. On the eastern side there was but one gap
in the timber which covered the mountain-side from the end of the ledge
to the cliff, through which a perfect view could be had of the
settlement in the valley. Before Andy Zachary left the plateau,
Lieutenant Coleman had sketched a rude plot of the mountains
overlooking the valley, and at the guide's dictation had written down
the name of each peak. Yellow Mountain was the nearest, and showed a
dark, timbered ridge beyond the gorge. At the northern end of the
valley rose the mass of Sheep Cliff, and joined to it were the lesser
ridges of Big and Little Terrapin. Hog's Back showed its blue top ten
miles away to the east, beyond the nearer wooded ridges that shut in
the valley on that side, down to Rock Mountain and Chimney Top, which
reared their sharp peaks to the right of the plateau. Directly below
this eastern outlook lay the one white road which ran through the
valley, the same road along which the cavalcade had picked its silent
way in the small hours of the morning, five months before, when they
had come, full of hope, to establish the station.
Our exiles up to this time had been so busy with their preparations for
winter that they had given but little attention to their neighbors
below. They had noticed on frosty mornings columns of white smoke
rising straight into the air from half a dozen cabins in the valley,
most of which had been hidden from view by the thick foliage during the
summer months. Now that the November winds had stripped the trees of
their leaves, two cabins appeared in the direction of Sheep Cliff,
standing side by side among the bare oaks on a knoll which sloped
gently to the road. The two seemed to be precisely alike, with rude
verandas in front, and at no great distance back of these, in an open
clearing, surrounded with orchards and stacks, was a long house with a
heavy stone chimney at each end. Scattered to the right of the plateau
were several cabins, and close on the road a square brown building
which looked to be a store. Just below this point of rocks where the
three solders looked down on the valley stood the largest house in the
settlement, old and rambling in construction, with lurching chimneys
and roofs extending to left and rear. The woodpile was at the opposite
side of the road, and comfortable log barns stood on the hillside
above. All these details were to be seen with the naked eye, but the
powerful telescope of the station revealed much more, even showing the
faces and forms of the people who lived in the cabins.
As the three exiles were lounging together one afternoon at this very
point of rocks, studying their neighbors through the telescope as if
they had been the inhabitants of another planet, Philip broke the
silence with quite an original speech--one only he could make.
"See here, fellows," he said with that new familiarity they had begun
to show toward each other, "as we are likely to take considerable
interest in these people down below, it will be mighty inconvenient
when we talk about them to say, 'The man in the big house across the
road from the log barn did this,' or 'The man in the farthest twin
cabin did that,' or 'The old chap in the long house flanked by orchards
and stacks did something else'; so I say, let's give them family names."
The others laughingly admitted that the idea was not a bad one, and
Bromley suggested at random the names Smith, Jones, and Brown.
"As good as any others," said Philip.
"Very well," said Bromley, "then we will call this first neighbor
'Smith.'"
"No, you don't," cried Philip, with much spirit. "I've taken a
prejudice against that old fellow, because he sits on the woodpile and
smokes his pipe every afternoon while his wife does the milking. Smith
is too respectable a name for him."
"I didn't know," said Coleman, laughing, "that there was any particular
virtue in the name of Smith."
"I didn't say there was," said Philip, "but if this first old loafer
should turn out half as bad as I fear he will, the name would be a slur
on too many families, you know. Now, if it's all the same to you,
gentlemen, we will begin at the other end and call the man of the
orchard 'Smith.' 'Jones' naturally falls to the owner of the second
twin cabin, and this fellow below becomes--say, 'Shifless,' whether he
likes it or not."
As no one of the three had ever heard of any one of the name of
Shifless, Philip's arrangement was agreed to, and from time to time
they settled other names on the dwellers in every cabin in sight, and
one column of smoke which rose from behind an intervening ridge was
spoken of as "Thompson's smoke."
On the morning of December 23 in that first year on the mountain, the
three soldiers were thrown into a great state of excitement by a
remarkable discovery. Coleman and Bromley were clearing off the snow
from a stack of pea-vines, preparatory to beating them out on the floor
of the house, when Philip came running toward them, holding up the
telescope and beckoning them to meet him. He said he had seen three
United States officers at the long cabin under Sheep Cliff, which was
known as Smith's. The others needed no urging to follow Philip.
Indeed, they ran so rapidly over the frozen ground in the rare upper
air that they scarcely had breath for speaking when they arrived on the
point of rocks. Philip directed the glass on the house again, and
then, with a cry of delight, he passed it to Coleman.
"There they are! There they are! See? By the end of the house!"
As soon as the lieutenant had adjusted the powerful glass to his eye,
he had the men before him almost as distinctly as if they had been
standing within hailing distance. There was no mistaking the evidence
that two of them were officers of what the three soldiers considered
the beaten and disbanded army, while, although the third was in
citizen's dress, it was unlike the dress of the mountaineers.
"Heaven help them!" exclaimed Lieutenant Coleman, as he gazed in
amazement on the scene at the end of the long house. "How ragged they
are! They must have been hunted through the woods like wild animals.
Both of the two in uniform wear jackets of the mounted service,
and--stop--as sure as you are born, the taller of the two is a
lieutenant of artillery. He has but one shoulder-strap left, and that
has too dark a ground for either cavalry or infantry. They may be from
the staff. There is something about their uniforms, in spite of rags
and dirt, that makes me think so. The other carries a roll of blankets
over his shoulder--he must be a soldier; and they have just come in,
too, for their haversacks are mighty lean."
It looked as if the poor fellows had found friends at last; for, while
they stood talking with two women at the end of the house, Smith
himself, who was a lank mountaineer with a red beard, was lounging by
the gate with his gun on his shoulder, as if watching against surprise
from the road. Bromley, who had been patiently waiting, now took the
glass.
"By Jove!" he cried, "there are four girls there now, and the short
officer is going into the house. You are right, Fred; the old man is
on guard, with a sharp eye in his head, too. They are all going into
the house now, by Neighbor Smith's advice, I fancy. I'll tell you who
they are, Fred. They are escaped prisoners from Charleston. They must
have been hiding in the woods and swamps for months. If that is the
condition of the officers of the United States that were, a thousand
times better is our lot on this free mountain-top." And returning the
glass, Bromley ventured some bitter reflections on the Congress and the
high officials who had conducted the war to a disastrous end.
"We must not lose sight of these unhappy men while they remain in the
valley," said Coleman; and, it then being ten o'clock, he settled
himself behind the glass, and gave his watch to Bromley, who was to
relieve him at twelve.
Philip was too much excited by the presence of the fugitive officers to
leave the rocks of his own accord; but Coleman presently sent him to
the house for a loaded carbine, which was laid by in a dry niche of
granite, to be fired as a signal to the others in case of any movement
of importance at the cabin below. For the rest of the morning Smith
with his gun kept his post at the gate, and the officers were never
once seen outside the cabin. Judging by the volume of smoke from both
chimneys, it would appear that they were faring pretty well inside.
Shortly before noon one of the girls ran through the bare woods to the
two cottages overlooking the road, and brought back Jones, who relieved
Smith at the gate. It was evident that Jones was friendly to the
officers, for when he was relieved in turn he went into the house, and
it was a long time before he came out.
Whoever was on watch was seldom alone, so keen was the interest of the
exiles in the movements of their fellow-soldiers, and in any other
happening which might concern them. According to Philip, who took the
post of observation at four o'clock, old Shifless bossed the milking
from the woodpile as usual. It was plain that he had not been taken
into the confidence of the Smiths or the Joneses, and this fact was
laid up against him.
After supper all three gathered on the rocky lookout, and remained
observing the lights at the cabin of the Smiths long after it was too
dark to use the telescope. There were no signs of departure below, and
after they returned to the house, chilled by exposure and inaction,
they sat until a late hour by the warm fire, discussing the events of
the day and laying plans for the morrow.
At the first indication of dawn Bromley dressed and set out for the
rocks, while his comrades turned over for another nap, which was taken
with one eye open, so excited were they in view of what might happen
during the day. In their drowsy, half-wakeful state it seemed to
Coleman and Philip as if no time at all had passed since the departure
of Bromley when they were startled by the echoing report of the
carbine. Hurrying on their clothing, they scampered across the hard
snow to the rocks, where they found Bromley with the telescope fixed on
the house of Shifless.
"There the old rogue is," said Bromley, handing the spy-glass to
Coleman, "leading his mule out of the stable. He must have got some
information during the night, for, after going to the stable with a
lantern, he climbed up on to that ridge beyond and looked over at
Smith's clearing as if he wanted to satisfy himself that all was quiet
there. I suspected he was up to some deviltry as soon as I got out
here, for I saw a light in the house, showing first from one window and
then from another. Drat his picture!" Bromley continued. "As soon as
he began climbing the hill I fired the alarm."
"I never knew him to turn out before eight o'clock," said Philip.
"He certainly means mischief," said Coleman, "for he is saddling the
mule. Now he has blown out the lantern and hung it on the bar-post.
Now he is mounting, the treacherous old villain! Confound him! there
he goes trotting down the road toward the store."
Philip and Bromley took a look at the man, hurrying along in the gray
of the morning before another soul was awake in the settlement, and
then they saw him turn on to the road which would lead him around the
mountain into the Cove.
"If I were only down in his neighborhood now," said Coleman, following
Shifless with the telescope, "with a good rifle, I'd tumble him off
that mule. I should be serving my country."
"What country?" sneered Bromley.
To this Coleman made no reply, and the three walked slowly across the
mountain to the boulder side. They had not long to wait there before
the man on the mule appeared on the road below, and they followed him
with scowling eyes until he drew up in front of the Cove post-office,
dismounted, and went in.
"Of course," exclaimed Bromley, "the postmaster is a creature of the
Confederacy."
In half an hour the two men trotted away together, and soon disappeared
among the mountains.
Our heroes turned back, certain in their minds that this stealthy
journey of Shifless had been undertaken with hostile intentions toward
the three officers who still remained in the cabin under the shadow of
Sheep Cliff. They felt keenly their inability to warn them of the
danger which hung over them, and hoped that during the day they might
see the visitors leaving the valley.
Their anxiety now made it necessary to watch for developments in the
Cove as well as in the valley, and they scarcely found time to prepare
their meals, which they ate as they moved about. All day the telescope
was in transit from one side of the mountain to the other until there
was a deep path trodden in the snow. From time to time one or another
of the officers was seen near the cabin, and even if they had not been
seen at all, the presence of Smith or one of the girls watching at the
gate would have been sufficient evidence that the officers were still
there. They might be waiting for a guide or the cover of night before
going on. The day was unusually cold, and beyond the smoke from the
chimneys, and here and there a woman in a doorway, there was no
movement in the quiet valley.
Late in the afternoon of this December 24--for it was Christmas eve,
and not a very cheerful one on the mountain--Bromley, who was watching
on the Cove side, spied a body of men at that very point in the road
where the two horsemen had disappeared in the morning. He shouted so
lustily for the telescope that both Philip and Coleman joined him with
all haste.
What they saw through the glass was a straggling column of mountaineers
advancing in single file along the winding road, their steel
rifle-barrels catching the last rays of the setting sun. There were
thirteen men in the party, of whom about half wore some part of a
Confederate uniform; but neither Shifless nor the Cove postmaster was
with them. They had scarcely time to pass the glass from one to
another, in their excitement, before the men left the road and turned
up the mountain-side with a stealthy movement that made it plain they
were going into temporary concealment.
A few extracts from Lieutenant Coleman's diary at this point give a
vivid picture of what was happening during the night on the mountain
and about it.
"I am writing by the light of the fire in our house on this Christmas
eve, at 10:30 o'clock by my watch, powerless to warn our friends at the
cabin of the impending calamity. Soon after dark, fire appeared on
mountainside, and it is now burning brightly, as reported by Philip,
who has just returned to the lookout.
"12, midnight. Have just come in--fire still visible.
"12:35. Philip reports that fire has just been extinguished on
mountain-side. Sparks indicated fire was put out by beating and
scattering the brands. We are all about to go to Point of Rocks--shall
probably be up all night."
It seems that as soon as day began to dawn faintly on the
mountain-tops, and while it was still dark in the valley, the three
soldiers were crouching on the rocks eagerly awaiting light in the
clearing. First the whitewashed walls of the cabin came into view, and
then, in the gray dawn, as they fully expected, they began to
distinguish motionless figures stationed at regular intervals in the
clearing, and forming an armed cordon about the house. There was no
sign of smoke from the stone chimneys, nor any other evidence that the
inmates had been disturbed by the soldiers or had awakened of their own
accord.
There was one hope left. The officers might have gone away during the
night. They should soon know; and meanwhile the snowy mountains reared
their dark ridges against the slowly reddening eastern sky, and a great
silence lay on the valley.