MAJOR LYON PLAYS THE PART OF A SPY
Major Dexter Lyon had made up his mind that a portion of the hostile
sharpshooters were concealed upon the narrow island in the centre of the
stream known as Duff's Claim. Several shots had been fired, and both he
and Life Knox had come to the conclusion that these had come from the
heavily wooded strip of land.
The major was very anxious to know what the sharpshooters were doing in
this vicinity. No Union force had been in the neighborhood for
forty-eight hours, and why should the enemy send such expert shots to
such a spot unless it was known that they were wanted? Surely the
Confederates had no sharpshooters to spare on a mere excursion into
these woods.
The major was in the habit of thinking rapidly, and his conclusion was,
that the sharpshooters were guarding something, which must, necessarily,
be of value, especially to the army. His mind went back to the time
when he had captured the ammunition and gun on the raft. Would it be his
good fortune to make another haul of as much, or greater, worth?
It must be remembered that at this time the Riverlawns knew nothing of
the great battle which General Thomas had precipitated by sending out
troops to capture the brigade supposed to be isolated from the remainder
of the Confederate command. To be sure, heavy firing was springing up
here and there, but then there had been heavy firing before which had
amounted to but very little when it came to summing up results.
When Deck had been conversing with Life, his eye had been caught by two
gigantic willow trees growing along the banks of Duff's Claim. One tree
was along the shore where the Kentuckian's men lay concealed; the other
grew on the shore of the island, directly opposite. Both trees were bent
and twisted, and their branches interlocked some fifteen feet above the
stream's surface.
Perhaps the task Deck had set for himself may look easy to the average
reader, but it was not altogether so, and the major realized this. The
willows were old, and old trees often have rotten limbs which break when
least expected. Moreover green willow limbs are very pliable and bend
and twist beyond expectation. Under ordinary circumstances, Deck would
not have minded a tumble into the stream, but he knew that a tumble now
would bring a shot meant to be fatal and one which would most likely
prove so.
For Deck had decided to cross the stream by climbing up the tree nearest
to him and making his way from one set of branches to the next. The tree
was easily gained; and catching a limb on the side away from the water,
he hauled himself up. Two minutes more, and he was at the point where he
could grasp the branches which came from the opposite shore.
So far he had heard or seen nothing to awaken his suspicion, and he was
beginning to think that no sharpshooter could be within a hundred feet
of him, if as close. He caught the limbs, took a long step, and in a
second was safe on the tree beyond the stream.
Deck did not deem it best to descend to the ground immediately. He
moved first to the main trunk of the willow, and then to the ends of the
limbs spreading toward the island's interior. Here there was a ridge,
surmounted by some short but heavy brush, and behind the ridge was
something of a hollow, although the surface was not below that of the
stream.
The first thing that caught Deck's eye now was a barrel, rolled against
the brush. Half a dozen boxes lay close by, and several barrels were
behind them. Back of all was another line of brush, but he felt that
more boxes and barrels were not far off.
"Some quartermaster's stores," he thought. "And if I am not mistaken,
two of those boxes are from the hospital department. Evidently the enemy
think they have a sure thing of it in this vicinity. Well, the
Riverlawns will surprise them, I reckon."
No one had been in sight, but now Deck detected the gleam of a gun
barrel but a few yards distant. The Confederate sharpshooter lay flat on
his chest, peering through the bottom of some brush.
"By the boots, but thet's a good shot!" Deck heard him mutter; and he
saw the fellow draw up his gun and take a careful aim at something.
Deck felt that he was firing at one of his own sharpshooters, and
without hesitation the major drew his own pistol.
"Don't fire!" he commanded, in a clear, but low voice.
"What's thet?" demanded the Confederate, thinking one of his comrades
had spoken to him.
"I said, 'don't fire,'" replied Deck, taking care to keep out of sight.
"Who is thet talkin' to me?" And now the sharpshooter turned half
around. "I had a dandy shot."
"The cap'n's orders are not to fire, but to retreat to the other side of
the creek," went on Deck. "Pass the order along;" and he spoke in a
rough voice, and one apparently filled with disgust.
"Well, I swan!" came from the Confederate sharpshooter. "It was a dandy
chance to bring down a man."
"I had a dandy chance myself just now," answered Deck. He felt that his
position was a delicate one, and he kept his finger on the trigger of
his pistol.
"Are you going to retreat, too?"
"No; the cap'n says I'm to stay on guard here."
"Then he don't want me no more?"
"No. You are to go back--and don't forget to pass the word along. We're
running the chance of being surrounded, I've heard."
At this the Confederate sharpshooter muttered something Deck did not
catch. But he arose, and fell back, and in a few seconds more was out of
the major's sight.
Deck's ruse had succeeded, but he knew that the success would be of
uncertain duration. His position was a perilous one, for discovery would
more than likely mean death.
Anxious to make the most of the present opportunity, he began to
retreat, hoping to gain the position his command occupied and give the
necessary instructions to capture the Confederates as they crossed the
stream on the opposite side of the island.
He reached the trunk of the tree and was on the point of moving to the
outer branches, when a voice from below startled him.
"Wot yer doin' with thet Union suit on?"
Looking down, Deck saw a sharpshooter gazing up at him. The Confederate
had his gun to his shoulder and the barrel was pointed directly for the
major's head.
"Got to wear something," answered Deck, speaking as calmly as he could,
although he was somewhat shocked by the salutation.
"Ain't you a Yank?" was the next question put.
"A Yank! over here?" queried Deck, in pretended astonishment.
The Confederate sharpshooter was silent for an instant, and shifted an
immense quid of plug tobacco from one cheek to the other.
"Say, Major, tumble down right yere!" he ordered abruptly.
"Supposing I won't come down?"
"Then I'll have to tumble you."
"So you take me for a Union man?"
"I reckon I take you for a prisoner, or a corpse. Which is it?"
"I haven't any desire to become a corpse," answered Deck.
"Then you'll come down? Correct, Major. Toss them pistols down fust,
though."
[Illustration: "SAY, MAJOR, TUMBLE DOWN RIGHT YERE!"
_Page_ 352.]
The gun was still pointed at Deck's head while the sharpshooter remained
partly screened by some brush. As there seemed no help for it Deck threw
down his pistol and also an extra revolver he had lately taken to
carrying. His sabre had been left in Life Knox's charge.
"Now come down, and no funny work," went on the Confederate. "I reckon
you didn't reckon on bein' took so quick like, did ye?"
"I didn't reckon on 'bein' took' at all," answered Deck. It was an easy
matter to descend to the ground and soon he found himself standing
beside the man. He was a brawny mountaineer, all of six feet in height
and the picture of rugged health and strength. There was no doubt but
that he was a crack shot and would not hesitate to pull a trigger
whenever the occasion required.
"We-uns is lucky," murmured the mountaineer, on surveying Deck. "Them is
splenderiferous clothes you have got, Major."
"It is a very good suit, that's a fact, Sergeant."
"Don't call me sergeant, Major. I'm plain Tom Lum, from Dog-face
Mountain, down in Alabama. Them stripes was left behind by a man as
ain't got no further use fer clothin'. But you're a real major, I take
it."
"Let us change the subject, Tom Lum. What do you propose to do with me?"
"Take you back to headquarters, I reckon. You're a spy."
"If I am a spy then all of the others in this vicinity are spies. But,
Tom Lum, if you want to take my advice, you'll let me go, and save your
own bacon," went on Deck, earnestly. The mountaineer tossed his shaggy
head and combed his flowing beard with his crooked fingers. "Got a new
wrinkle to work off on me, have ye? Wall, it won't work. We-uns know a
thing or two. March!"
"Where to?"
"Back to--"
Bang!
The gunshot rang out before plain Tom Lum from Dog-face Mountain had
time to finish his sentence. With a groan the mountaineer threw up his
arms, staggered several steps, and pitched headlong into a hollow.
"Quick, Deck, or you'll never get away!" It was a cry from Life Knox,
who had come up beside the willow on the other side of the stream and
fired the shot, as Deck and the Confederate appeared through a small
opening. "Never mind your shooting irons!"
The shot amazed the major, coming so unexpectedly. But he was quick to
realize that a chance to escape had come and equally prompt to make the
best of it. Like a flash he turned, picked up his pistols, and ran for
the stream.
"This way, Deck!" continued Life. "The jig is up! The enemy are coming
up behind us!"
"Behind us?" repeated the major, in amazement. "What do you mean?"
"There has been a fight back of this woods, and several regiments of
infantry are retreating in this direction. If we are not sharp, we'll
catch it on both sides!"
Before Deck had a chance to digest this information, he caught it from
the rear. Another sharpshooter had espied him in the act of leaping
across the stream. As Deck went with a splash into the water, the fellow
fired, and the major felt a stinging sensation in the left arm, just
below the shoulder, where the ball had grazed him.
"Heavens I don't say you are struck, Deck," ejaculated Life, seeing him
stagger. "Take that for it!" he added, and fired at the Confederate who
had delivered the shot. Whether he hit his man or not he could not tell,
but the sharpshooter disappeared.
In another moment the major was beside the captain and orders were given
for the sharpshooters to charge toward the island, which they did with
vigor. In the meantime, Deck fell back to where the battalion lay.
"I have received orders to form on the road facing the stream," said
Colonel Lyon. "Something is coming this way besides the Confederate
infantry. The enemy is retreating."
Without delay, the three battalions minus half of Captain Knox's company
and half of Ripley's sharpshooters, were faced about according to the
order. They had hardly taken positions favorable to each, when the
outposts came running in.
"Three regiments of infantry and a part of a battery!" was the
announcement. "They are coming along as though they were followed by
the Old Nick himself!"
Colonel Lyon looked at Deck, his first major.
"We must meet them, and stop them--such are my orders, my son."
"As far as the first battalion is able, the orders shall be carried out,
Colonel," replied the son, with a true military salute.
Majors Belthorpe and Truman were also called up, and told what had to be
done, and the various captains were also instructed.
Hardly was this over, than a company and a half of infantry appeared,
running at more than double-quick, over rocks and brush, some armed and
some unarmed, and more without knapsacks than with them. They were
followed by what seemed to be remnants of several other companies.
"Halt! I command you to halt, you cowards!" yelled a frenzied major of
the Confederates. "What are you running for?"
"Ain't got no more ammunition!" called back a soldier, almost
breathlessly. "Where's the ammunition they said was around here?"
"It is not far away. I say halt! Halt! Halt! and you shall have
ammunition! Halt!" stormed the Confederate officer, but without avail,
for a panic is a panic, and hard to subdue, even among those who are
naturally the bravest of soldiers.
"They are coming like sheep!" exclaimed Deck. "First company, take
aim--fire! Second company forward!" And around swung the battalion, one
company after another delivering such an effective fire that the enemy
stopped in a state bordering on total despair. Then half a dozen
companies appeared which were not so panic-stricken. A cannon, dragged
by eight struggling and almost exhausted horses, followed; and then came
more infantry, until the woods seemed alive with them.
"We are in for the greatest fight of our lives!" cried Major Deck to
Captain Artie. "How it will end Heaven alone knows!"
And then and there the Riverlawns got their first taste of that
never-to-be-forgotten battle of Chickamauga Creek.