MAJOR LYON MAKES A DISCOVERY AND DELIVERS A MESSAGE
Deck found Artie lying in a sheltered spot, on a hastily constructed
couch of pine boughs. Over the wounded young man stood Surgeon
Farnwright, binding up a ghastly wound in the shoulder.
"What do you think of this, Surgeon?" asked the major, anxiously.
"Your brother is in a bad way, Major," was the grave response. "The
bullet has shattered the shoulder blade and gone into the back."
"What are his chances of recovery, in your opinion?"
"Not the best, to be candid. They would be better if he could be removed
immediately to some house where he would not be disturbed. In such cases
as these, sudden jarrings are ofttimes fatal."
"I will see what can be done for him," went on Deck. "In the meantime,
do your best for him."
"I always do my best in all our cases, Major," returned the surgeon, and
turned away to aid some others who were wounded.
In a few minutes Colonel Lyon rode up and was taken to Artie's side. The
poor fellow was now conscious, and on seeing them he tried to smile, but
the attempt was a sickly one.
"Don't talk, Artie," said the colonel, as he saw the young captain make
the attempt. "We will do what we can for you, and your recovery depends
upon your keeping quiet."
"If you will relieve me from duty, I will try to find some house to
which Artie can be taken," put in Deck. "I am afraid the field hospital
is too far off."
"The trouble is, if we take him to a private place he will have no
doctor's care," answered Colonel Lyon. "Surgeon Farnwright must remain
with the others that are wounded."
At this announcement Deck's hopes fell for an instant. "Well, I'll see
what I can do anyway--if you will let me off," he returned soberly. "It
would be too bad to have him die for the want of care. Mother would
never forgive us--or Dorcas and Hope."
"That is true, Dexter." The colonel's voice sounded strangely husky. "Do
your best,--and spare no money, if money is of avail," and he turned to
consult with Surgeon Farnwright once more.
The major had noticed, during the ride along the timber road, a little
farmhouse, set in a grove of walnuts, standing about a quarter of a mile
back from the scene of the battle described in the last chapter. He now
set off for this farmhouse post-haste, to see what accommodations it
might offer.
It was past noon, and from a distance came a heavy firing. Although he
did not know it, the Confederate cavalry had crossed the creek in force,
and were now charging straight for Crawfish Springs and the hospital
located there. The brigade under Colonel Long was sustaining the main
attack, although other of General Mitchell's cavalry was in the
vicinity.
As Deck rode toward the farmhouse, he noticed that all of the lower
windows were boarded up, as if to resist an invasion. Some of the upper
windows were also served in the same way, but two or three of them were
partly unprotected.
Riding to the door, he dismounted, and used the iron knocker lustily.
The clank-clank brought forth no reply, and he used the knocker again,
with additional force.
"Please don't hammer that door down!" came in a shrill female voice, and
now the head of an elderly lady appeared at one of the upper windows.
The lady carried a pistol of ancient pattern in her hand, and her
wrinkled face was full of determination.
"I should like to talk to you," said Deck, and he felt half like smiling
when he saw the old-time weapon.
"I don't want to talk to you," was the short reply. "I have nothing to
do with this war."
"I am sorry to disturb you, madam, but one of our captains has been
badly wounded and he is in need of some quiet spot where he can rest."
"My place is no hospital, sir. Take him to the regular army hospital."
"Unfortunately, that is just what we cannot do--for the present. He
needs absolute quiet, or he may die."
"I don't want him here--don't want anybody here," was the slow but
positive reply. "As I said before, I have nothing to do with this war."
"Perhaps you are a Southern sympathizer?" went on Deck, hardly knowing
how to proceed.
"If I am it is none of your business, young man. I can tell you one
thing, I am not afraid of a suit of soldier clothing, no matter who
wears it."
"Oh, Aunt Clarissa, don't be rude," came in a soft voice from behind the
elderly lady, and Deck saw a dainty hand placed on one of the gaunt
shoulders.
"You be still, Rosebel," was the crusty interruption. "I can manage this
matter very well alone. Do you think I am going to open my house to any
of the military--least of all to those Yankees? I am sure if I won't
have our own soldiers here I won't have those who are fighting us!"
"But he says the captain is badly wounded, and may die," pleaded
Rosebel, and now she pressed closer to the window, to get a better look
at the young Union officer below.
Her soft voice interested Deck, and he came as close as possible under
the window to see her fully. As he gazed at her he gave a start. Where
had he seen that face before? Somewhere, he was positive of it--but
where?
"Rosebel, get back," ordered the elderly lady, and tried to crowd the
maiden from the window, but she would not budge.
"Aunt Clarissa, remember, Paul is in the army," she said. "I know I did
not want him to join, but if he was wounded and among strangers--" She
did not finish, excepting with a long sigh.
Deck could hear her words plainly, and at the mentioning of the name,
Paul, his heart gave a bound, then sank like a lump of lead in his
bosom. He had found the missing sister of the young Confederate captain
who lay in that cold trench many miles away, with a stick for a
headstone, upon which was inscribed:--
ROSEBEL'S PAUL LIES BURIED HERE.
"Your name is Rosebel?" he said; and his voice was as soft as when he
had spoken to Kate Belthorpe in his most sentimental mood.
"Yes."
"And your brother Paul was a captain in the Confederate service?"
"Yes." And now the young lady's eyes began to fill with wonder.
"You lived in Chattanooga with your brother, and you--you had a
difference of opinion about his joining the army?"
"We did have--and I am sorry for it," answered the maiden. "But who are
you to speak thus to me? Do you know my brother?"
"Rosebel, do not be hasty in talking to this young man," interposed the
aunt.
"I did know your brother, Miss Rosebel. I do not know your other name."
"And yet you knew my brother!"
"He must be telling falseho--" began the aunt, but the girl's hand over
her mouth checked her.
"I fell in with a young Confederate captain whose name was Paul,"
explained Deck, sadly. "He said he had a sister Rosebel living in
Chattanooga. He had quarrelled with that sister, and in anger had hidden
some money away so that she could not get it."
"It was Paul!" cried Rosebel Greene, for such was her full name. "Oh,
tell me about him, and how he came to tell you this. Is he well?"
The young major looked at her, then turned his face away.
"I am very sorry for you, Miss Rosebel, very sorry. He fought as only a
true soldier can fight--to the end."
"He is dead!" came with a moan. "Paul is dead, Aunt Clarissa! Oh, what
shall I do now?" And the girl sank into the elderly lady's arms.
It was a trying moment for Deck, especially so as he could do nothing,
in his present position, to aid the young lady. He waited and saw both
females leave the window. A minute after the front door was opened by
the elderly lady, and he was asked to enter.
"I hope you are not fooling my niece," she said. "What is your name?"
"A man would not be human to fool upon such a heartrending subject,"
answered Deck. "I am Major Dexter Lyon, of the Kentucky cavalry. May I
ask that young lady's name?"
"Rosebel Greene. I am Miss Clarissa Pomeroy, her aunt. Rosebel used to
live in Chattanooga, but when Paul went to the war and took all their
money with him, she came to live here with me."
"Paul did not take the money with him, Miss Pomeroy. He left it behind
him, in hiding. I was with him when he died, and I promised to find his
sister, if possible, and tell her where the money was secreted."
The two entered the little sitting room of the farmhouse, where Rosebel
had sank down in a rocking-chair, crying silently. In a broken voice she
asked to be told about Paul, and sitting beside her, Deck gave her the
particulars just as they had occurred, and told where the money was to
be found. The recital brought tears to Deck's eyes, also, which he
hastily brushed away, and Miss Pomeroy was likewise visibly affected.
"I am glad to know Paul wasn't so bad as to run off with the money," the
elderly lady observed, after a vigorous use of her handkerchief. "The
house in Chattanooga is shut up now, but even if it wasn't, it isn't
likely anybody would hunt down in the cellar for that money."
"I would rather have Paul back!" moaned Rosebel Greene. "Oh, Paul, Paul,
how much I shall miss you!" And unable to restrain her emotions, she
rushed from the room.
Deck was in a quandary, and looked at Miss Pomeroy. She saw his
perplexity, and quickly made matters easy for him.
"You may bring that wounded officer here," she said. "We will do the
best we can for him. Who is he?"
"His name is Captain Artie Lyon. He is in reality my cousin, but he has
always been a member of our family, and I look at him almost as a twin
brother."
"If he is so close a relative we will do our very best for him, Major
Lyon," answered Miss Pomeroy. "I have had some experience as a nurse,
and Rosebel is excellent around a sickbed."
"What he wants principally is quiet," rejoined Major Deck; and after a
few words more he withdrew, his thoughts divided between poor Artie and
the bereaved girl left behind.
It was no easy matter, in those trying times, to obtain an ambulance,
and after scouting around for the best part of half an hour without
success, Deck decided to have Artie carried on a stretcher to the
farmhouse.
The young captain was in considerable pain, and the journey was by no
means easy for him. Four men carried him, and Deck went along. Two rests
were taken before the dwelling was gained. At the doorway both Miss
Pomeroy and Rosebel met them. A small bed had been put up in the sitting
room, and Artie was placed upon this; and hardly had this been
accomplished when Surgeon Farnwright dashed up on his horse, to give the
ladies instructions and to leave some medicine for the patient. Rosebel
had now dried her tears, and went to work bravely, working with the
tenderness of a sister over the sufferer.
"He shall not be disturbed," she said to Deck. "Aunty and I will take
care of that."
Knowing he was needed in the field, Deck remained no longer than he
deemed necessary. An urgent call from Crawfish Springs had reached the
Riverlawns, and Colonel Lyon was now on the way to that locality, taking
with him all but the twelfth company, which was escorting the prisoners
to the rear. The major joined the command just as it was coming up in
the rear of Colonel Long's brigade.
The fighting had been heavy, and the Confederate commander, Wheeler, had
lost many men. They had come over the Chickamauga, hardly thinking that
any Union cavalry remained in the neighborhood. For a time the
battle-ground was near Glass's Mill, but gradually the Unionists were
driven toward Crawfish Springs, while the Confederates massed themselves
in the direction of the field hospital of the Army of the Cumberland.
Again Deck found himself in the fray, fighting as hard as ever. The
Riverlawns had suffered heavily, but the organization still maintained
its full number of companies. It supported Long in the second and third
attacks and lost seven additional men, including a second lieutenant and
two sergeants.
By this time word came to Thomas from Rosecrans to fall back to
Rossville, on the road to Chattanooga. To further this movement, some
cavalry was needed to protect the immense wagon trains, and the
Riverlawns were called to perform part of this service. It was no easy
work, and there was but little glory in it; yet it had to be done, and
every cavalryman, from Colonel Lyon down, went at it heart and soul. On
the way to Rossville, the wagon train suffered two raids, but the
Confederates were beaten off with a heavy loss. In the meantime, an
ammunition train arrived, and infantry and cavalry were alike supplied
with whatever was wanted. The movement of the wagons was slow, but by
midnight the Riverlawns' duty came to an end, and they went into camp on
the high ground not far from the turnpike running from Chattanooga
through Rossville to Ringgold.