met at Charleston, South Carliny, three days ago, passed ordernances o'
secession, and declar' the State out o' the Union."

"Oh, pshaw! it must be a mistake," said Mr. Tompkins.

"Mistake? Not by a jug full. It ar' a actual fact. The news came in as
straight as a crow flies. There war rumors o' it before, but now it's
sartin."

"Great heaven! that means civil war."

"It means war, but it wont be civil, not by a jug full. They ar'
already talkin' about musterin' men and gettin' ready to fight. Thar's
to be a grand muster and speakin' at Snagtown next Saturday. They say
that Mississippi, Florida, Alabama, Georgia, Louisiana, and Texas ar'
sure to foller South Carliny, in a few weeks, and maybe all them slave
States, even Virginia and Missouri."

"Have the people gone crazy?" cried Mr. Tompkins.

"It's no more than might be expected," said Oleah. "The North has set
her foot on the South, and if she feels like withdrawing from the
partnership, she certainly has a right to do so."

"Partnership?" put in Abner, with an astonished look.

"It is merely a confederation of States, formed by a compact, and, if
one wishes to withdraw, she has the right," answered Oleah.

"Our Government is formed by the people, and not by the States," said
Abner.

"Then, why is it not called the United People, and not the United
States? Each State is a separate corporation, capable of suing and being
sued, contracting and dissolving contracts. They were originally
colonies, but when they freed themselves from Great Britain, for
protection and safety, they united. Who can doubt that South Carolina
has not the right, when she has become capable of taking care of
herself, to withdraw from others?"

"There is a great difference between corporations and governments," said
Abner. "Our Constitution does not say, 'We, the United States,' 'As the
people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union.'
When they belonged to England, they were considered as a whole and not
as a part. In the Declaration of Independence, declaring the Colonies
free and independent States, does so in the name and by the authority of
the good people whom they represented, and not of the States."

"All that sounds very well, Abner," said Oleah, bitterly, "but words
will have no effect on an oppressed and downtrodden people. The South
will be free--"

"Yes, if they have to enslave one-half of humanity to do so,"
interrupted Abner.

"That's just the point Abolitionists are driving to, though few are as
honest as you to admit. The slaves make the South wealthy and powerful.
The North is jealous and wants to deprive us of the means of wealth.
There is but one remedy left us--the same remedy adopted by the Colonies
when oppressed by Great Britain--withdraw, rebel."

"You are too hasty," said Abner, more coolly. "You have no assurance
that when Abraham Lincoln does take his seat, the 4th of March next, he
will abolish slavery. Wait and see."

"Wait and see?" cried Oleah. "Wait until he has withdrawn every gun and
armed vessel from the South? Wait until he has overrun the whole country
with armed soldiers? Wait until he has bound us hand and foot? Then what
can we do? No! Now is the time for action."

"I don't believe Lincoln will free the negroes," said Abner.

"I will stake my life as the wager," said Oleah, "that before his term
of office expires, he declares _every negro in the United States a free
American citizen_, war or no war. Mark my words and see if I am not a
true prophet."

"Come, come, boys, we have had political discussion enough for the
present," said Mr. Tompkins.

"Ya-as," said Uncle Dan, "we don't want the civil war to commence
to-night; least of all places, heah. One thing sure about it, you
youngsters had better let us old folks talk 'bout these things, we can
do it without gettin' so red in the face. The whole country is in a bad
fix, an' ef it comes to a smash up, I swar I don't want to see it begin
between brothers."

CHAPTER VIII.

MR. DIGGS IN A NEW FIELD.

Mr. Diggs was defeated for the office of county attorney by a large
majority, but he was young and buoyant, and after a few days of repining
began to revive.

A new excitement took possession of him. Strange talk came to his ears,
and his little round eyes glistened with delight from behind his
glasses, and his little round lips parted with smiles of pleasure. War
on a gigantic scale--a new Nation, with new men at its head--was the
all-absorbing topic. The Union was shattered, and a new Nation was
rising out of the ruins and fragments of the old.

Mr. Diggs concluded to espouse the cause of the new Nation. He would
raise a company of volunteers to fight its battles; he would be captain.
From captain he would be promoted for his bravery to colonel, from
colonel to brigadier-general, or commander-in-chief. Mr. Diggs' fertile
imagination planned a glorious future for himself. Other men had risen
from obscurity to renown, and why not he?

He strutted about with his hands thrust deep into his pockets, reveling
already in his future greatness. The new and powerful Nation was his
all-absorbing theme. When he met any one he would say:

"Well, what's the news, and what's the prospect of war?"

The prospect was very good, every one thought.

One day, talking with a young man about his own age, but cooler and less
blood-thirsty, Mr. Diggs said they were too slow about fighting. Since
the surrender of Twiggs in Texas no other event had transpired, and such
indifference was monstrous.

"Don't be in a hurry, Diggs," said his friend. "Let them have time for
consideration."

"There's no need of consideration. I am ready now. I will go, like
Marion, to avenge my country's wrongs," said Diggs.

"This is war against our own countrymen," said his friend, "and I don't
think there is any place in either rank for me."

"There is a place for me," said Diggs, strutting about with his hands in
his pockets and expectorating profusely. "My country needs me, and I
reckon there's a place for me."

"Will you take a colonelcy to commence with?" his friend asked, with a
smile.

"I don't expect a colonelcy at first," said Diggs. "I want to start at
the foot of the ladder, as captain, and gradually rise until I am
commander-in-chief."

"You would make such a noble-looking general!" said a bystander,
surveying the fat little fellow.

"You can talk, Howard Jones, but I--hem! hem!--have always had a taste
for military life."

"You would make such a fine-looking commander," said Jones. "Mounted on
a tall charger you would yourself strike terror to the enemy."

"I can prove that all generals were small men," said Diggs, strutting
about.

"Of course they were; but you--you would kill all your enemies. They
would die with laughter when they saw a general on a horse seventeen
hands high, looking like a bug on a log."

"Oh, talk sense, Jones."

"On a big war-horse you would look very much like a bug on a log," said
Jones. "But wouldn't it be grand for Crazy Joe's mud man to turn out a
general?"

"Can't you talk sense, or are you a fool?" roared the exasperated Diggs;
and, unable longer to endure the ridicule of his companions, he turned
abruptly around and left the crowd gathered about him.

The Winter of 1860-61 passed away; but little had been done in Snagtown
save mustering and speech-making. Those in favor of open rebellion were
in the minority in the neighborhood, but those in favor of neutrality in
the majority; but those in favor of standing for the Stars and Stripes
the smallest class of all.

Patrick Henry Diggs was in a dilemma. His ambition pointed him to the
battle-field, that his great abilities, which no one seemed to
appreciate, might be shown to the world. The idea of a new Nation
dazzled him and showed a path as splendor for his willing feet to
follow. But he felt reluctant to draw his sword against the flag of
Washington and Marion. He was sure, however, that these turbulent times
meant something great for himself. He never lost an opportunity to
muster in the ranks of the Home Guards or to make a speech.

The eastern part of Virginia seceded on April 17, 1861, but the
northwestern portion, about Snagtown, was at peace, save from the
mustering of Home Guards to protect home and families from the
incursions of either army.

Oleah Tompkins was an avowed secessionist, attended the Meetings of the
Knights of the Golden Circle, and was already sworn to support the
Southern cause. Secret meetings were taking place all over the country,
and night meetings held three or four times a week.

Mr. Diggs joined one of these secret organizations, and met with them
one night in an old school-house which stood on the side of an abandoned
road, about four miles from Snagtown in the direction of the Twin
Mountains. About forty in all had assembled there, among them Howard
Jones and Seth Williams, two men who seemed, Mr. Diggs thought, to live
only to annoy him.

Mr. Diggs had come to the meeting with the intention of making one of
his most patriotic speeches; but when he discovered his old enemies,
their eyes sparkling with mischief, his heart sank within him.

Nearly all present were armed with shot-guns, rifles and pistols, and a
guard was placed about the school-house. Preliminary matters settled,
Howard Jones rose and addressed the chairman of the meeting, stating
that, as they had with them the distinguished attorney, Patrick Henry
Diggs, who was in sympathy with the cause, he would like to hear from
him.

Despite the stirring times, everybody present was eagerly expectant of
fun. Cries for Diggs were heard all over the house. Mr. Diggs' opinion
of Jones rose rapidly.

"Mr. Speaker," began Mr. Diggs, rising and gazing about through his
glasses, "in the language of one of old

     "'I come not here to talk. You know too well
     The story of our thralldom.--'"

Here he made a gesture with both hands, which Jones declared looked like
a turtle trying to crawl up hill.

                              "'We are slaves.'"

A solemn pause.

     "'The bright sun rises to his course, and lights
     A race of slaves; he sets, and his last beam
     Falls on a slave.
     Friends, Romans, countrymen--'"

"I say," interrupted Seth Williams, in an audible whisper, nudging the
orator, "s'pose you leave Rome, and come down to our present age. Give
us something about the new Confederacy."

"That's just what I am coming to," said Mr. Diggs, "and I hope you will
not interrupt me again." After a short pause he resumed:

"It is no common cause which brings us here to-night. Tyrants and
traitors are abroad in the land. A gigantic foe is invading the fair
soil of Virginia, and we are here to protect our firesides. All law
writers, from Blackstone down, agree that all men should protect their
homes. Now, fellow-citizens, remember our forefathers all fought, and
bled, and died for this glorious Union." [Applause.]

"Touch lightly on that," whispered Jones.

"I repeat" said Mr. Diggs, "that Washington was the greatest man that
ever lived." And now, grown eloquent and excited, he mounted a bench and
whipped his left hand under the tails of his coat, while he waved his
right in vehement gesture.

All the efforts of Seth Williams and Howard Jones to keep him on the
track were unavailing. He commenced to speak about the Stars and
Stripes.

"Oh, thunder! go back to Rome if you can't make a better secession
speech," said Jones.

The truth was that Mr. Diggs, like a great many others at this time,
hardly knew which side he was on. When he swore to preserve the Union at
all hazards, his astonished friends pulled him down.

A call was made for volunteers, and Mr. Diggs was the first to enroll
his name. Though calling themselves a Home Guard, these volunteers were
really enrolled in the army of the Southern Confederacy. Oleah Tompkins
was among the first to thus espouse the Southern cause.

The clouds of war grew darker and darker every hour. At any moment the
storm might burst in all its fury. Snagtown was in a constant state of
excitement as the crisis approached. Her more timid citizens trembled
with dread.

Henry Smith, a farmer's son, a young man of limited education, but of
strong common sense, stood in the street one bright morning, engaged in
conversation with Seth Williams.

"Come, now, Harry," said Williams, persuasively, "you had better come in
with us. The time has come, or will soon come, when our homes will have
to be defended. We shall be overrun with soldierly hirelings, who will
rob and burn and murder as they go. Our families will need protection,
and this duty devolves on us."

"But, Seth, some say the Home Guard will be marched South into the
Confederate army."

"Oh, nothing of the kind," said Williams. "Our only object is to protect
our homes from the soldiers of both sides, and to meddle with neither
unless they invade our State."

"I think we are justified in protecting our own interests; but, though I
despise Abraham Lincoln, I cannot raise my hand against the old Stars
and Stripes."

"Oh, there is no danger that you will be forced into the Confederate
army. We are only organizing a Home Guard now; if we raise troops for
the South, that will be another thing."

"When do you meet again?" asked Harry.

"To-morrow night; we go into camp next week in real earnest."

"Where?"

"On Wolf Creek, about three or four miles away, between here and the
Twin Mountains."

"Where do you meet to-morrow night?"

"At the school-house on the road between here and Twin Mountains."

"I will be there," said Harry.

As Williams walked away, a young man who had been observing the two with
keen interest, approached Harry and said:

"I can tell what you and Seth Williams were talking about."

"I will give you three guesses, Abner," said Harry, laughing.

"He was trying to persuade you to enlist in the Home Guards."

"That was just it," replied Harry.

"Don't do it, Harry, or you will repent it. I tell you the name Home
Guard is only a cover, and every one who enlists will be in the
Confederate army in three months. Unless you mean to take up arms
against your country, keep clear of the Home Guard."

"I don't want to fight in Lincoln's army, nor do I want to enter the
confederate ranks, so I thought the Home Guards would be the place for
me."

"Don't you enlist," said Abner Tompkins, "or you will repent it."

As Harry walked away, Mr. Diggs came along, his short legs, in rapid
motion, resembling the thick spokes of a wheelbarrow, and his head
inclined backward at an angle of forty-five degrees, and his glasses, as
usual, on his nose, and his little fat hands thrust deep into his
pockets.

"Hold on, Diggs!" said Abner. "I want to speak to you."

"Hem, hem, hem!" began Mr. Diggs. "Good morning, Mr. Tompkins.
Well--hem--I am--that is, I am--hem--glad to see you. I was just going
to have my man drive me out to your house. Have a little important
business with--that is with one member of your family, he--he he!"

"Diggs, I hear that you have enlisted in the Confederate army; is it
so?" asked Abner, abruptly.

"Well, sir, I expect--that is, I apprehend, my dear sir,
that--you--perhaps are correctly informed."

"Why, Diggs, what in the world do you mean?" asked Abner.

"Oh, our country is too large; should be divided. We intend to build up
a vast Southern empire. The North has always trampled on our rights, and
it is time for us to resist."

"But how do you intend to resist? By overthrowing the best government
the world has ever known? Build up a Southern empire! Is not the grand
old republic established by Washington good enough for you? The North is
not trampling on your rights. Your wrongs are imaginary. And as to our
country being too large, can a nation like ours grow too powerful?
Think, Diggs, before you act, or, like Calhoun, you may expect
Washington to come to you in sleep, and place the black spot on your
hand which Arnold wears in the other world. Think Diggs! Don't raise
your hand against your country without well considering the matter."

Diggs, for a few minutes, was silent, and then he said:

"I think you are right, Abner. I will not prove a traitor to my country.
I shall ask to have my name taken off the roll to-morrow night."

"Do so, or you will surely repent it as you live. If you want military
honors, seek them in the ranks of your country. There is a call for
seventy-five thousand volunteers."

"You are right, you are right. I will go and volunteer. Where shall I
go?"

"We are raising a company at the junction, about twenty miles from
here."

"I will go day after to-morrow, but I am in a hurry now. I am going to
your house on business. The fact is--I don't mind telling the facts to
you--I am going on purpose to see Miss Irene. He, he, he! I am
determined to see how I stand there, he, he, he!"

Abner started back in amazement, but Mr. Diggs hurried away, without
observing his movement.

"The consummate fool!" muttered Abner. "The idiot! To think of our
Irene!"

Mr. Diggs hurried off with an air of much importance, and ordered Mose
to make ready the carriage, and drive him to the Tompkins mansion.

Mose was not as quick of movement as he had been fifty years before, but
he managed to have the equipage in readiness by four o'clock in the
afternoon.

At Mr. Tompkins' door Mr. Diggs alighted, to be informed by Miss Irene's
maid that her mistress was calling with Mrs. Tompkins, and would not
return for an hour.

"I will wait," said Mr. Diggs. "I must--hem, hem--must see Miss Irene."

After a few moments of waiting Mr. Diggs became tired of sitting in the
house and sauntered out to the piazza, and there met the ladies on their
return.

"Miss Irene,--hem, hem, hem," he began advancing. "I am delighted to see
you, I--hem--that is--hem--I came on purpose to see you, and--and talk
with you, and bid you good-by before I leave for the field of glory. I
have joined the Confederate army--hem--no, I mean to say I am going to
join the Union army in a day or two. That is, I don't know exactly which
army I shall join yet--and I come to bid you adieu."

Irene looked a little puzzled and felt not a little annoyed at this
address. There was something she did not like about Mr. Diggs' manner.

"Will you come in?" she said, "and I will see you presently."

Mr. Diggs accordingly re-entered the house, and Irene went up to her
room to change her dress. She managed to detain herself until tea was
announced and then invited Mr. Diggs to the dining-room.

After tea the little fellow followed her back to the parlor, and she
resigned herself to be bored for an hour or more by him, but did not yet
suspect the real cause of his visit.

"Hem--hem," began Mr. Diggs, "Miss Irene, these are troublous times."

"They are indeed," answered Irene, from her seat opposite the loquacious
Mr. Diggs.

"We don't know one minute what will happen the next."

"No, we do not," said Irene, who really did not imagine what was to
happen on this occasion.

"Hem, hem! two large armies are raising."

"So I am informed," said Irene.

"And they mean destruction to each other."

"I fear some damage will be done."

"Hem, hem! Sumter has fallen."

"So I have heard."

"Deuce take it!" thought Mr. Diggs aside, "she is as cool as an
iceberg, and I am getting flurried. What had I better say or do next?"
Then a short pause.

"Some of your friends will doubtless take part in the coming struggle,"
he finally said.

"I fear they will be rash enough to do so," she replied.

"And some may go to return no more,"--voice and eyes were growing
pathetic.

"Alas! such is too often the fate of war."

"I have concluded to enter the army."

"A great many young men are now talking of going into the army."

"I feel that my country needs my services."

"You are patriotic."

Mr. Diggs felt flattered.

"You are--hem--hem, very kind, Miss Irene, to attribute patriotism to
me. Patriotism, true patriotism is one of man's most noble attributes."

"I agree with you."

"But, Miss Irene, it is hard to go, even to our country's aid, and leave
behind friends dearer to us than life."

"Mercy!" mentally ejaculated Irene, "does the little fool mean to
propose?" Then, still without any encouraging warmth in her tone, she
asked, "When do you expect to leave Snagtown?"

"In two or three days at most, and I feel--hem--pardon me, Miss Irene."
He rose and drew his chair nearer hers.

"He really means it!" thought Irene, her eyes bright, half with
mischief, half with annoyance.

"I have something--hem, hem, hem!--I wish to say to you. I--I--that
is--hem--I cannot leave for the field of danger until I--have--hem, hem!
until I have revealed to you my feelings."

Mr. Diggs paused, and tried to look sentimental; but a more sheepish,
simple-looking specimen of humanity Irene was sure she had never before
beheld.

The farce had been carried too far, and she said coldly:

"Your manner and words are quite incomprehensible, Mr. Diggs."

"I will make myself plain," said Mr. Diggs, swallowing something in his
throat, and taking hope. "You shall understand me. I say I cannot leave
for the field of battle, cannot face the cannon's mouth, in this
suspense--"

"Then don't go, Mr. Diggs," interrupted Irene, with difficulty
restraining her merriment, all her pity put to flight by his affectation
and conceit.

"I should almost feel inclined to turn a deaf ear to the 'obstreperous
trump of fame,' and 'only list to love and thine,' should you command me
to stay."

"Sir, you are growing more and more incomprehensible. Let us leave this
subject."

"Not yet, oh no, not yet! Wait until you have heard all. I love you,
Irene, dearest, and--and--ah! come to my arms and say you will be mine!"

Down he went on one knee, with upturned face and out-stretched arms.
Poor Irene felt an almost irresistible impulse to laugh, and for a
moment dared not speak.

He mistook her silence and again began to plead.

"Speak, O brightest sylph, fairer than the angels, sweeter than--hem,
hem!--than the honey in the honey-comb!"

"For mercy's sake, stand up, Mr. Diggs!" said Irene.

"Not until you say you will be mine!" and his arms expanded, like an
opened double gate.

"Then Mr. Diggs, I fear you will never reach the field of glory, for the
war will be over before you rise from your knees," said Irene.

"Oh! ah! Hem, hem! You cannot be so cruel,"--still kneeling, and leaning
further forward, as though to compel her to his embrace.

"Mr. Diggs, you can never be to me more than a friend. Pray, do not
pursue the subject further."

"Miss Irene, dear, dear Miss Irene, you utterly wreck my life! I care
not a straw for it now!" whined little Mr. Diggs, turning, still on his
knees, towards Irene who had crossed the room, the most pitiful of
faces.

No answer.

"You are--hem, hem!--very cruel, Miss Irene," he rose and awkwardly took
his seat.

"I regret to have given you pain," said Irene graciously, as, at Mr.
Diggs' request, she rang for his carriage, "but I am sure you will soon
forget it, and will see that you had mistaken your feelings."

As Mr. Diggs was in the act of getting into his carriage the sound of
horse's feet came to his ear, and a moment later Oleah Tompkins galloped
up to the side of the old rockaway.

"Halloo, Diggs! are you just leaving?" asked Oleah.

"Yes--hem, hem!--I am going home," said Diggs.

"Well, be on hand to-morrow night without fail, now. We want every
member of the company there, as we shall go into camp in a day or two."

"Well,--hem, hem, hem!--Oleah, I have almost concluded not to go. I can
not--hem, hem!--take up arms against the flag of Washington."

"Oh, that's abolitionist nonsense! What care you for a flag that will
not protect you?"

"That's so," said Diggs.

"Then why should we consent to bow our necks to tyrant's heels simply
because the great and good Washington fought under a rag with certain
stripes and certain stars upon it?"

"That is so. Hem, hem, hem! 'They first have breathed treason.'"

"Yes, they stole our property. The interests of the North and South are
directly opposite. They want to ruin us, and we must protect ourselves
while we can. We can not live in peace with the North; the next best
thing is to separate."

"That's so,--hem, hem!--that's so," said Mr. Diggs.

"Then why refuse to enter the Confederate army? The South is your
country, and if you want military renown seek it in the ranks of your
country. If they call you a rebel be proud of the name. Washington and
Marion were rebels."

Mr. Diggs was completely won back to the Southern cause; and, assuring
Oleah he would be with them the next night, drove away.

CHAPTER IX.

THE CHASM OPENS.

The storm clouds were gathering dark about the Tompkins mansion. The
heads of the household were silent on the question, each knowing the
different feelings and sympathies of the other. Their sons were also
silent, but there was a sullenness in their silence that foretold the
coming strife. There was one member of the once happy household who
could not comprehend the trouble, whose very gentleness kept her in
ignorance of the threatened danger.

Yet neither love nor loving care could keep her from knowing that
trouble was brewing. She could not but notice the coldness gradually
growing between the two brothers. Brothers whose affection she once
thought no earthly power could lessen, were growing daily colder and
more and more estranged. Every morning each mounted his horse, and rode
away alone, and it was always late in the night when they came home,
never together. Gloomy and silent, the morning meal was hurried through,
the pleasant conversation that had always accompanied it, was heard no
more, if we except the efforts of Irene, who strove with all her power
to infuse some of the old-time harmony and brightness into the altered
family.

It was the evening of Mr. Diggs' visit to the Tompkins mansion, one of
those clear bright evenings when the curtains of night seem reluctant to
fall, and the fluttering folds seem held apart to reveal the beauty of
the dying day. Irene sat by the window, gazing up at the dark blue
vault, and listening to the far-off song of a whip-poor-will upon the
lonely hillside. Nature to her had never seemed more calm or lovely. The
moon, serenely bright, shed mellow light over the landscape, and the
dark old forest on whose trees the early buds had swelled into green
leaves, lay in a quiet repose. Only man, of all created things seemed
unresting. Far down the road she heard the clatter of horses' hoofs. At
all times now, day and night, she heard them.

Clatter, clatter, clatter--sleeping or waking, it was always the same,
always this beat of hoofs. To her it seemed as if ten thousand dragoons
were constantly galloping, galloping, galloping down the great road:
somewhere their marshalled thousands must be gathering. Horsemen singly,
horsemen in pairs, horsemen in groups, were galloping, galloping, until
her ears ached with the awful din.

As she looked, a horseman came dashing down the hill; he passed through
the gate and down the avenue.

"That must be either Abner or Oleah," thought Irene. "Six months ago,
they would have gone and returned together."

When he stepped on the piazza, the moon fell on his face and revealed
the features of Abner Tompkins. He came rapidly up the steps and into
the house. Staying only a few moments in the room below, where his
parents were, then came directly to Irene's door and knocked.

She bade him come in.

"Irene," he said in tremulous tones, "I have strange news for you. I
must leave to-night for months perhaps, perhaps forever, my home, my
parents--and you."

Irene sprang to his side eager and excited.

"Why, Abner, what do you mean?"

"Is it such a surprise to you? I will try to speak calmly, but I have
only a few moments to stay. I have a load on my heart that I must
unburden to you."

"What is it?" she said, drawing a low stool to his feet and seating
herself she took both his hands in her own. "Tell me what troubles you,
let me share it with you. Who should share your troubles if not your
sister?"

"Irene, what I have to say will shock you."

"No, no, it will not. If you have done anything wrong, I shall be sure
it was not your fault--"

"No, you misunderstand me; it is nothing I have done," he interrupted.

"Then what is this secret, brother?"

"_I am not your brother._"

Irene had promised that his secret should not shock her, yet had a
bombshell burst at her feet, she could not have been more astonished.

She sprang from the low stool, and stood with clasped hands, the color
fading from her face, her slight form swaying as though she had received
a blow.

Abner, alarmed, sprang from his chair, and caught her in his arms.

"Irene, Irene, don't take it so," he said, bending tenderly over the
white face.

"_Not my brother?_ Why you must be mad!" she gasped.

"Irene, I am not your brother, but I love you a thousand times more
fondly than a brother could love. It was this I wanted to tell you
before I leave you. What, Irene, weeping--weeping because I am not your
brother! My darling, let me be nearer and dearer than a brother!"

"Abner, I can not realize it, I can not think!" she said, pressing her
hands to her throbbing temples.

"Think of it when I am gone, Irene, for I must go. To-morrow's sun must
find me miles from here. But through all the coming strife I shall
cherish your image. I shall hope for your love if I return. Now,
good-by, my love, my Irene!"

He caught her in his arms, but it was only a sisterly embrace that Irene
returned. She could not yet believe that Abner was not her brother.

He went down stairs, she heard his mother's sobs, his father's broken
voice; the door opened and closed, and from her window she saw him pass
down the avenue, out of sight. Soon she heard a horse galloping down the
road, and knew that Abner was riding swiftly away in the gathering
darkness.

Completely overcome, and not daring to meet Mr. or Mrs. Tompkins till
she had controlled herself, Irene, throwing a light shawl about her
shoulders, went down stairs, stepped through an open window out on the
broad piazza. The cool night air fanned her cheeks and revived her
spirits. She walked through the grounds to a summer house covered with
trailing vines whose fragrant flowers filled the air with sweetest
odors.

"It can not be, it can not be," she murmured. "He was surely jesting. I
an outcast or foundling or a oh! merciful Heaven! I can not endure the
thought!" and her beautiful eyes filled with tears. The whip-poor-will's
call still sounded from the distant hillside, and soon another sound
broke the evening stillness--the tread of a man's feet on the graveled
walk. Irene turned her head quickly, and saw Oleah standing in the
doorway.

"I thought I should find you here, Irene," he said. "You always choose
this arbor on moonlight evenings."

"You have been absent all day, Oleah. What fearful business is it that
keeps both my brothers from my side!"

"Ah! Heaven be praised, Irene, darling Irene, that you know nothing of
it!"

"Abner left to-night, perhaps never to return he said," she went on,
wiping the tears from her face.

"I see you have been weeping, dear Irene. I have more news for you. I
too have to bid you what may prove a long farewell. I leave to-night for
our camp, and shall soon march to join the main army. But I can not
leave you, Irene, without telling you of something I have long kept a
secret."

Irene could not speak; sobs choked her voice. Then from Oleah's lips
fell those same startling words:

"I am not your brother."

She sat motionless. Then it must be true. They could not both be
mistaken, could not both possess the same hallucination. If anyone was
mad, it was herself. But Oleah went on in his quick passionate way:

"You are not my sister, dearest Irene, and that you are not gives me
only joy. When you were left at our house a tiny baby, I claimed you for
my sister, and when I learned you could not be my sister, I said you
should one day be my wife. I loved from the first time those bright eyes
laughed into mine, and that love has grown with my growth and
strengthened with my strength, until it has taken possession of my
entire being. O, Irene, Irene, you can never know how deep is the love I
have born you from early childhood. I could not leave this old home
without telling you that I loved you with more than a brother's love."

He paused, and Irene remained silent.

"Speak, Irene! Will you not speak?"

She was still silent, her large dark eyes fixed and staring, her white
lips motionless, her whole form rigid as a statue. She thought of
Abner's parting words, and pain and terror filled her soul. Had she
entered this happy home only to bring discord, to widen the breach
between the two brothers?

"O Irene, Irene," he pleaded, "by the memory of our happy childhood I
implore you, speak once more before I go. Say that you will love me,
that you will pray for me--pray for my safe return, pray for my soul if
I fall in battle!"

The marble statue found voice.

"I will pray for you, Oleah, to heaven day and night, for your safe
return."

"But will you give me your love? O Irene, if you only knew how dear you
are to me, you will surely learn to love me!"

"I have always given you a sister's warmest love, Oleah," she replied,
"and this is all too new, too strange, for me to change so suddenly."

"But you promise you will change?" he asked eagerly.

"I can not promise yet," she said. "I do not know myself, and neither do
you comprehend your own feelings."

"Irene, dearest, I have known myself for years. Try to love me, and pray
for me," he said, and taking both her hands as she came to his side,
"for now I must go." He stooped and pressed a kiss on those white lips,
and Irene was alone. Soon she heard again the hoof beats of a flying
horse, and knew that Oleah had left his home.

When he had returned to bid farewell to his home, Abner Tompkins, before
entering the house, walked down the long gravel walk, through the avenue
of grand old elms, until the outer gate was reached. Here he paused a
moment, and gazed up at the moon riding through the dark blue,
fathomless vault of heaven; then he turned his gaze upon the spacious
pillared mansion, his pleasant home, that he was to leave that night,
perhaps forever. It was the home of his childhood; beneath its roof
dwelt those he loved; and feelings of sadness filled his heart as he
realized the fact that he must leave it. On his right lay the great
road, the road that, in his boyhood, he had imagined, led to far-off
lands and fairy kingdoms; the road he had thought must be endless, and
had desired to follow to its end. Across the road was the forest where
he and his brother had so often wandered. Every spot seemed hallowed
with sacred remembrances of childhood, and associated with every object
and every thought was that brother from whom he was gradually drifting
away. He stood beneath the old hickory tree, whose nuts they had
gathered, and whose topmost branches they had climbed in their
adventurous boyhood. To-night all were fading away. He was going to
different scenes, to see strange faces, to meet hardships, danger,
perhaps death; worse than all to draw his sword against that very
brother whose life had so long been one with his.

"Oh, what a curse is civil war," said Abner, with a sigh, "dividing
nations, people and kindred." And, leaning against the trunk of the
giant old hickory, he stood for a moment lost in painful reverie.

The beat of a horse's hoofs aroused him, and he saw his brother
approaching. To reach the house he was compelled to pass within a few
feet of the hickory tree, and must inevitably discover Abner, who,
however, made no effort to conceal himself. Standing in the shade of the
tree as he was, Oleah did not see his brother until he was within a few
feet of him, and then could not distinguish his features.

"Halloo, whom have we here?" he said, reining in his horse abruptly.

"Who is there? Speak quick, or it may be the worse for you," cried
impetuous Oleah, not receiving an immediate answer.

"It is I, Oleah," said Abner, stepping from under the branches of the
old tree.

The two brothers had grown more and more estranged, but as yet there had
been no open rupture between them.

"Well, I might inquire what you are doing there?" said Oleah.

"And I might ask what you are doing here, and where you are going, and
a hundred other questions. If I were to tell you I was star-gazing you
would not believe me."

"I don't know; I might," said Oleah. "You were sentimental at times when
a boy, and the habit of looking at the moon and stars may have followed
you into maturer years."

"I was just thinking," said Abner, "that this tree is very old, yet very
hale."

"It is," answered Oleah; "it was a full grown tree when I first remember
seeing it."

"Yes, and we have often climbed its branches or swung beneath them."

"That is all true," said Oleah, restlessly, "but why talk of that, above
all other times, to-night?"

"It brings pleasant memories of our happy childhood. And why not
to-night as well as any other time?" said Abner.

"I have reasons for not wishing to talk or to think of the past
to-night," said Oleah. "I have enough to trouble me without bringing up
recollections that are now anything but pleasant."

"Recollections of childhood are always pleasant to me," said Abner, "and
when storms of passion sway me, such thoughts calm the storm and soothe
my turbulent mind once more to peace."

"Have you been in a rage to-night?" asked Oleah, with a smile.

"No."

"Then why are you conjuring recollections of the past?"

"I have not conjured them up; they come unbidden. This night, _above all
others_, I would not drive the thoughts of our past away."

"And why?" asked Oleah, uneasily.

"Because this night we part, Oleah, perhaps forever."

Oleah, rash, hot-headed, fiery Oleah, had a tender heart in his bosom,
and now he was trembling with emotion, although he made an effort to
appear calm.

"How do you know that we are to part to-night?" he asked.

"We are both going from our home, and going in different directions. We
are standing on opposite sides of a gulf momentarily growing wider."

A fearful suspicion crossed Oleah's mind. "Do you leave home to-night?"

"Yes."

"Where are you going?"

"To join the army of my country and the Union."

Oleah started back as if he had received a stunning blow in the face.
Abner was aware that Oleah had enlisted in the Confederate army, but
Oleah did not dream that his brother would enter the army of the North.

"Abner, Abner," he cried, hurriedly dismounting from his horse and
coming to his brother's side, "for heaven's sake say that it is not
true!"

"But it is true," said Abner sadly. "To-night we separate, you to fight
for the cause of the South, I for the preservation of the Union."

"O Abner, O my brother, how can you be so blinded? It is a war between
the North and South, the only object of the North being to give freedom
to our slaves. You will see if the North _should_ be successful, that
every negro in the land will be freed."

"And you will see that the North has no such intentions. Mr. Lincoln,
although a Republican, was born in a slave State, and he will not free
the slaves. But, Oleah, it is useless for us to discuss these matters;
we part to-night, and let us--"

"But should we meet," said Oleah, his hot blood mounting to his face,
"it will be as enemies. You are my brother now, but when you don the
hated uniform of an Abolition soldier you will be my enemy; for I have
sworn by the eternal heavens to cut asunder every tie of friendship or
kindred when I find them arrayed against our cause."

"Oleah," said Abner, "be not too rash in your vows. Do not make them
just yet."

"I have already made them; and whoever confronts me with a blue coat and
a Yankee musket is an enemy, whatever blood runs in his veins."

"I pray that we may never meet thus," said Abner. "Rather would I have
you find among the slain the body of one you no longer own as a
brother."

One of the stable men now appeared, leading Abner's horse. Oleah's hot
passion was gone; his eyes were misty, his voice was choked. The
brothers clasped hands in silence, and five minutes later Abner was
galloping down the great road.

CHAPTER X.

THE BEGINNING OF SOLDIER LIFE.

A curious scene presented itself at the Junction. But before we attempt
to describe the former, we will give the reader some idea of the latter.
The Junction was the terminus of one railroad and the junction of two
others. One of the railroads led to Washington, one to Pittsburg, and
one to Baltimore. It was not a large town; a village of perhaps twelve
or fifteen hundred inhabitants, blackened by the smoke of engines. The
surrounding country was broken and rough, with hills rising upon hills,
deep ravines, rocky gorges, and winding streams, lined with a luxuriant
growth of pine and maple, while far away in the distance the gray peaks
of mountains could be seen.

The Junction was about twenty miles north-east of Snagtown, there being
no railroad to the latter place, though there was a hard beaten
turnpike, with a daily mail-coach running between the two. Some of the
houses about the Junction were of brick, but the majority of wood. There
were neat little cottages, looking like fairy abodes, amid the green
vines and blooming flowers of Spring-time, and there were cottages
neither neat nor fairy-like in aspect; the log hovel, showing signs of
decay and neglect. But the village, taken as a whole, was a very pretty
place.

It was about the 1st of May. The President had called for eighty-two
thousand more men, finding seventy-five thousand wholly inadequate to
put down the rebellion. Virginia was at this period in a constant state
of alarm. Sumter had fallen, Harper's Ferry and Norfolk Navy-yard were
in the hands of the rebels, while a mob, in the city of Baltimore, had
attacked Massachusetts and Pennsylvania troops on their way to the
defense of Washington.

The Federal Government, on the other hand, was straining every nerve. It
had collected about Washington, as speedily as possible, under General
Scott, the veteran hero of Chippewa, Lundy's Lane, and the Mexican War,
the volunteers who flocked to their country's defense in answer to the
President's call. Volunteer companies were raising all over the country.
In the extreme Northern States, in the defense of the Federal
Government; in the extreme Southern States, in defense of the
Confederate Government, and in some of the Middle and Western States,
companies were raised for both sides. In fact, there were men in some of
the more Northern slave States, who mustered with the rebels and were
actually in the Confederate service before they knew it.

In Virginia, as we have shown, both sides were represented. The
Junction, on account of its railroad facilities, was an important point
to guard, and about three hundred volunteers, under Colonel Holdfast,
were here stationed. Of these raw recruits, there was but one company
that was a complete organization, uniformed and armed at the expense of
the Government. It was a company of mounted infantry, under command of
Captain Wardle, armed with musket, uniformed in the Government blue, and
furnished with horses in order to scout the country.

The Government found it impossible to turn out arms and clothing fast
enough to supply the volunteers at once, and it was late in the Summer
of 1861 before they were all equipped. Many armed themselves, as was the
case with two hundred of those at the Junction. Their arms consisted of
rifles, shot-guns, and such other weapons as they were able to furnish
themselves with.

The Junction, as we have said, presented a curious scene. Five tall,
white army tents had been erected for Captain Wardle's men, and there
were a score or more enclosures, ambitious to be known as tents, made
from Virginia wagon-covers, sail-cloth, oil-cloth, sheeting, and
bed-ticking. They were of various sizes and shapes; some so small that
four men would fill them; others large enough to hold twenty-five. Some
of them were square, some round, like Indian wigwams, and others more
like a circus canvas than anything we can compare them to.

The tents were a motley assemblage, and so, and to a greater extent,
were the men therein sheltered. There was first the company of Captain
Wardle, properly uniformed and armed, and intensely military in
appearance and behavior. They were always drilling when not scouting the
country; the raw recruits standing by, overwhelmed with admiration at
their easy proficiency in the manual of arms, or the intricate and
mysterious movements of the company drill.

It was early morning, and the smoke was ascending from half a hundred
camp-fires. The scene was a constantly varying panorama of straw hats,
linen coats, broadcloth coats, colored, flannel and white shirts. An
orderly sergeant was trying to initiate a squad of raw recruits into
some of the mysteries of drilling.

"Remember the position of a soldier," said the orderly. "Heels close
together, head up, the eyes striking the ground twenty paces away. Now,
shoulder arms! Great Moses! Tom Koontz, can't you learn how to handle a
gun? Keep the barrel vertical. Do you call that vertical?"

"What d'ye mean by sayin' vartical?" asked Koontz.

The orderly explained for the hundredth time, that vertical meant
straight up and down. He had them then count off by twos, beginning at
the right, then he instructed them that at the order of "right face,"
number one was to take a half step obliquely to the right, and number
two a step and a half to the left, bringing them in double file at right
face. But when he gave the order, half of the men had forgotten their
number. Confusion and dismay resulted, and the long suffering orderly
sat down and swore until he was exhausted.

Camp-life was new to all, and its novelty kept all in a perpetual
excitement. There was but little discipline. Officers ordered men and
men ordered each other. Every one had suggestions to make, and those who
knew the least offered the most of them.

"I tell you," said Sergeant Swords to Corporal Grimm, "that tent is not
strong. The center pole is too weak, and the guy ropes are rotten. It'll
go down."

"I always knowed them boys didn't know how to fix a tent," said
Corporal Grimm, plying his jaws vigorously on a huge piece of pig-tail
tobacco.

"Yes, sir; they've got a good deal to learn yet," said Sergeant Swords,
with a sigh.

"I do hate to see any one, who don't know anything about soldier life,
pretend to know so much," said Corporal Grimm, who had had ten days'
experience before he enlisted in his present company.

"So do I," said Sergeant Swords, who had seen at least six days'
service. "They'll find yet they had better take some one else's advice
what's had experience. Why, when I was with Captain Strong's men, and we
marched forty miles to Goose Creek Bridge to keep the rebels from
burnin' it, we fixed a tent up like that, and the first night after we
encamped, there came up a rain-storm, and blowed the thing a quarter of
a mile into a brush heap."

"Did I ever tell you what a hard time we had when I was under General
Preston;" asked Corporal Grimm, by way of introduction to a story which
should redound to his own greatness.

"No, I believe not," answered Sergeant Swords, with more courtesy than
truthfulness, for he had heard the story at least a dozen times.

"Well, sir, them was tryin' times," said Corporal Grimm, shaking his
head and masticating his quid with the air of a man who has suffered.
"Why, sir, we marched eighty-five miles on foot, and all the rations we
got was dried bacon, hams, and crackers. Oh, I just thought I would give
anything for something substantial to eat, or a drink of coffee! The
boys all run out of tobacco, too, an' we had an awful time." The thought
of these hardships brought to his face an expression of extreme agony.

"Why didn't you press something to eat? You passed through a country
where there was plenty, didn't you?" asked Sergeant Swords.

"Yes, but what could fifteen hundred men do at pressin'? Why, they
couldn't a got enough to feed one brigade, let alone our whole army,"
answered Corporal Grimm, who, as much service as he had seen, did not
exactly know how many men it took to constitute a brigade.

"We soldiers have hard times," said Sergeant Swords, brushing some of
the mud off his blue jean coat. "Wonder how soon we'll draw our clothing
and arms?"

"Don't know, but hope soon. I'm tired of these farmer brown breeches. I
want a blue coat with stripes on the sleeves."

At this moment there came a blast from the bugle.

"Roll call," said Sergeant Swords.

A general gathering of each company about the Captain's tent followed.

Abner Tompkins was First Lieutenant of the company of which Sergeant
Swords and Corporal Grimm were members. He had been with the company now
for over a week.

The morning drill was over, and the volunteers were lounging about the
tents, on the grass; Abner was leaning with his arm across the
saddle-bow of his faithful horse, that he was about to turn out to
graze. The mind of the young lieutenant was full of fancies and
memories. His sudden departure from home, his interview with Irene, the
parting with his brother, all were fresh in his thoughts, and his eyes
naturally wandered back toward the road that led to his home. A familiar
sight met his view. Coming down the hill, attended by a member of his
own company, who had been on picket guard, was his father's carriage
driven by the family coachman.

Abner started. Why was he coming to the Junction? The carriage drove up
to Abner's tent, and the guard, making what he meant for a military
salute, said:

"Lieutenant, here is a man as says he wants to see you."

"All right, Barney, you can leave him here."

The guard turned, and hurried back to his post as though the Nation's
safety depended on his speed.

The driver opened the carriage door, Mr. Tompkins alighted, and father
and son met with a cordial hand-grasp. Abner led his father into the
officers' tent which was at present deserted by its usual occupants.

"Have you seen Oleah since?" asked Abner.

"I have," was the reply.

"Where?"

"At his camp."

"Why, father, how dare you go there, when your sentiments are known to
be directly opposed to their cause? It was very dangerous."

"Not very dangerous, since I have a son who is an officer in that army."

"What office does Oleah hold?"

"Second Lieutenant."

"I suppose Seth Williams and Howard Jones are there?"

"Yes, and Harry Smith."

"Harry Smith?"

"Yes."

"Why, he is no Confederate at heart."

"So are not a great many who are in their ranks."

"I have been daily expecting Diggs here," said Abner.

"Diggs, Henry Diggs?" asked Mr. Tompkins curiously.

"Yes; he promised me he would come here and join our company," said
Abner.

"He is on the other side," replied Mr. Tompkins.

"What?"

"He is on the other side. He is a corporal in Oleah's company."

"Why, the contemptible little scamp! He promised me faithful he would
come here and enlist."

"He is a man who cannot resist persuasion, and someone on the other side
got the last persuade of him."

"True, Diggs has no mind of his own," said Abner.

"I have sometimes wished that my sons' minds were not quite so decidedly
their own," said the planter with a sad smile and a doubtful shake of
the head.

"Did you try to persuade Oleah to leave the Southern army?"

"No; he has conscientiously espoused the cause, and I would not have him
do violence to his conscience. I talked to him mostly about you."

"About me?"

"Yes. I told him, as I now tell you, that if he had a principle which he
thought right, he was right to maintain it; but while he fought in one
army to remember always that he had a brother in the other, and, if by
chance he should meet that brother in the struggle, to set brotherly
love above party principle."

"What did he say?"

"He promised that he would, and now I have come for your promise also."

"I make it freely, father. It has always been my intention to meet Oleah
as a brother whenever we meet."

"This is now a sundered Nation," said Mr. Tompkins, "and its division
has divided many families. It may be that brothers' swords shall drink
brothers' blood, but, oh Abner, let it not be your fate to be a
fratricide."

Mr. Tompkins lingered until late in the day, when he entered his
carriage, and was driven towards his home.

That night the Colonel sent for Captain Wardle and told him that he had
been informed of a body of rebels collecting on the headwaters of Wolf
creek, not more than three or four miles from Snagtown, and instructed
him to take sixty of his own company and fifty of the new recruits and
proceed there the next day, starting early in the morning, to break up
the rebel camp, and capture every person found there.

There was another motley and undisciplined body of men encamped on Wolf
creek. Wolf creek was a clear rapid stream, whose fountain-head was in
the Twin Mountains. It came dashing down their craggy sides in many
small rivulets, which, at their base, united to form this beautiful
stream that flowed through a dark, dense forest in the valley, passing
at one place within a half a mile of Snagtown.

The camp, however, was three or four miles further up the stream, in
what the military leaders considered a more advantageous location, on
the main road that led from Snagtown by the Twin Mountains to a village
beyond.

The numbers of the Confederates were increasing daily. As soon as the
volunteers went into camp, those in sympathy with the cause came in from
all the country round, until between three or four thousand men had
assembled, ill armed, undisciplined, confident, and full of enthusiasm.
But one company had yet elected officers. Colonel Scrabble, an old
Mexican soldier, was commander-in-chief of this force. Of the organized
company, Oleah Tompkins was second lieutenant and Patrick Henry Diggs
was corporal.

Mr. Diggs had experienced considerable disappointment when the company
failed to elect him captain; when a vote was taken for first lieutenant,
he made a speech which secured him two votes; for second lieutenant,
Oleah Tompkins was chosen. He was about to retire from the field and
from the army, and had even applied for his discharge, when the captain
appointed him corporal.

He did not like to accept a position so insignificant, but, when he
reflected that there were a number of corporals who had risen to be
generals, and that the prospect for his promotion was good, he became
pacified, and very reluctantly assumed the office.

The spot where the Confederates were encamped had formerly been used for
holding camp meetings; it was a grove, surrounded on every side by a
dense forest and the high road, which led past the place, approached it
in so circuitous a manner that it could not be seen fifty rods either
way.

The Confederates had chosen so secluded a spot that it was evident they
wished their camp concealed. Wolf Creek bounded their camping ground on
one side. The tents were fantastic affairs, and could vie even with
those of the Junction in variety of shape and material, and showed quite
as great a lack of skill in arrangement. The men were of almost every
class, dress, and nation; but the dark, sharp-cut Southern feature
predominated.

They were firey, quick-tempered men, whose rashness nearly always
excelled their judgment. Most of them were dressed in the garb of
Virginia farmers, without any appearance or pretense to uniform. Their
arms were shot-guns, rifles, and ancient muskets--a few of them
excellent, but the majority inferior. As a class, they were men who
enjoyed fox chases, wolf hunts, and horse races, and the present phase
of their life they appeared to regard as a frolic.

Camp fires were smoldering, and camp kettles hung suspended over them.
As at the Junction, there was a great deal of talk about camp life, and
suggestions by the score were indulged in. The sergeants walked about
with much dignity, and our corporal had grown to feel the importance of
his office; he had the drill manual constantly in his hands, and conned
its pages with the uttermost diligence.

Corporal Diggs was a general in embryo, and his name was yet to ring
through the trump of fame, until, among all nations it should become a
household word; he felt within his soul the uprising of greatness, as he
looked through his glasses with the air of one born to command. And to
think that he was an officer already--a corporal, men under him, to whom
his word was law! Truly, the dream of his life was now beginning to be
realized, his dearest desire was about to be fulfilled.

Corporal Diggs had, from his earliest boyhood, thirsted for military
glory; he had pored over the pictures of famous generals represented as
leading the dashing cavalry on their charge, amid blind smoke and
flashing swords, or guiding the infantry by a wave of the hand, and had
longed for an opportunity to do likewise. True, he was a mere corporal,
but it took only a few sweeping strides from corporal to general. The
soldiers did not seem at present to regard him with awe and admiration,
but they had not yet seen him under fire; they did not know how cooly he
could undergo so trying an ordeal. He longed for battle as the war horse
that already sniffs the fray. Once in battle, he would so signalize
himself by his coolness and daring as to be mentioned in the colonel's
report, and would undoubtedly be at once promoted.

Corporal Diggs was full of fire and running over with enthusiasm. No man
in all the camp seemed as busy as he; his tireless, short legs stumped
about from place to place continually, his head thrown back, his eyes
shining brilliantly through his glasses, a rusty, naked sword in his
right hand. Occasionally the official duty of Corporal Diggs brought him
to a standstill and then he would thrust the point of his sword in the
ground, and lean upon it. As the sword was a long one when standing upon
end, it came near reaching the chin of the born warrior who carried it.

No one could appreciate the greatness of this great man. "Why did you
leave before I showed you?" and other such frivolous phrases were
constantly sounded in his ears. The gallant soldier sometimes became
highly indignant, but he soothed himself with the reflection that all
this would be changed after they had once witnessed his powers on the
battle-field.

It was the middle of the afternoon. The recruits had exhausted all their
means of amusement, and were lounging about under the shade of the
trees, or cleaning their rusty guns.

"What shall we do to keep awake this evening?" said one fellow, lazily,
reclining flat on his back under the broad branches of an old elm.

"Dunno," said another, who was almost asleep.

"Let's get up a scout," proposed a third.

"I'll tell you how we can have some fun," said Seth Williams, his eyes
twinkling.

"How?" asked half a dozen at once.

"Get Corporal Diggs to make a speech."

"Good, good!" cried a number springing to their feet. "The very thing."

It was finally decided to present to Corporal Diggs a written petition
to address the members of his company on the question of the day, and
enthuse them with his magnificent and stirring eloquence. The Sergeant
himself circulated the petition, and had half a hundred names to it in
less than fifteen minutes.

Corporal Diggs had just returned from inspecting the guard when the
petition was presented to him.

"Well, yes--hem, hem!" began the soldier, orator, and general in embryo,
"I have been thinking for some time that I ought to make the boys a
speech. They--hem, hem!--should have something of the kind occasionally
to keep--to keep their spirits up."

"Well, come right along now," said the Sergeant pointing to where nearly
a hundred had gathered around a large elm stump. "They're waiting for
you."

Corporal Diggs felt that his star had risen, and with a face full of
becoming gravity, which the occasion and his official position demanded,
he went toward the place indicated, dragging his long sword after him,
much in the same way a small boy does the stick he calls his horse.

The crowd received him with enthusiastic cheers, and Corporal Diggs
mounted the stump.

"Hem, _hem_, HEM!" he began, clearing his throat by way of commencement.
"Ladies and gentlemen"--a slight titter in the audience--"I mean fellow
citizens, or, perhaps, fellow soldiers or comrades would be more
suitable terms for addressing those who are to share my toils and
dangers." [Cheers.] "'I come not here to talk,' as one of old said, 'for
you know too well the story of our thralldom.' What would the gentlemen
have? Is life so dear or peace so sweet that they must be bought with
slavery and chains? There are those who cry 'Peace, peace!' but there is
no peace! The next gale that sweeps down from the North will bring to
our ears the clash of resounding arms. [Cheers.] But, my comrades,
I--hem, hem!--feel it my imperative duty to tell you that the foe is
near at hand, and battle, glorious battle, where 'flame and smoke, and
shout and groan, and sabre stroke' fill the air." [Vehement cheering,
and Seth Williams trying to kick the bottom out of a camp kettle.]

"Gentlemen of the jury--hem, hem!--No, fellow comrades, I mean, gird on
the armor of determination, the helmet of courage, the shield of unity,
the breast-plate of honesty, and with the sword of the right never fear
to hew your way through the ranks of injustice." The orator paused for a
moment for the cheering to subside that not a word of that sublime
speech should be lost. All the soldiers in the camp, not on duty, had by
this time gathered about the speaker.

"Gentlemen of the jury, or fellow soldiers, I should say, hem!" he
resumed, "it may be that some day I shall have the honor of leading you
to battle. Then, fellow citizens, I hope, nay, I verily believe, that
not one in this camp will be found skulking or hiding. [Cheering, and
cries of, "No, no!"] May that day come that we may all prove to the
world that we have a principle, and that we can defend it. [Cheers and
cries of, "Let her come!"] Gentlemen, hem!--comrades, liberty is in the
very air, and the citizens of the South breathe it, and now that the
tyrants of the North have seen fit to loose the war dogs, not one of the
swords of Columbia's true sons shall be returned untarnished to its
sheath. [Long continued cheering.] While this voice has power to speak,
and this tongue power of proclaiming the truth, the wrongs of the South
shall be told. [Cheers and cries of "You bet."] And while this eye has
the power of sight to aim the gun, and this arm strength to wield the
sword, they shall be used wholly for the South." [Cheers and cries of
"Hurrah for Diggs."] Some scamp propounded the long unanswered question,
"Why didn't you wait till I had shown you?" but the orator is unmoved by
this attempt at ridicule. "Gentlemen of the jury, or, rather, fellow
comrades, when I think of all our wrongs, I long for the day to come,
when we may meet the foe face to face. Yes, face to face, with bristling
steel between, and canopies of smoke rolling above and mixing with the
clouds of the heavens. Then shall they feel the arm of vengeance. Oh, ye
boasters of the North," growing very loud and eloquent, while his right
hand, with fingers all apart, cleft the air, "if you would know with
whom you have to deal, come on! [Cheers and cheers of "Come on!"]
Cowards, boasters, how I long to meet you where the canon roars--the
glad thunders of war. [Cheering, and one young recruit trying to stand
on his head.] I tell you that we can now say with the poet:

     "'Hark, hark, the trump of war awakes
     And vengeance from the vigil breaks,
     The dreadful cry of carnage sounds,
     It seems that hell's let loose her hounds.'

"My brave comrades, remember Marion and Washington of old, and be like
them, ready to lay down your life for your country. [Wild cheering.] I
am ready to die in defense of the land that gave me--"

Bang, bang, bang! went three muskets about two hundred yards up the
creek.

"Oh, Lordy!" yelled Corporal Diggs, and he performed a leap which a frog
might have envied, alighting from the stump on his hands and knees on
the ground.

_Bang_, _bang_, CRASH! went half a hundred guns in the same direction,
and the air seemed alive with whistling balls.

"What is that?" cried Seth Williams.

"To arms! We are attacked!" shouted Colonel Scrabble.

"Run for your lives," cried the four pickets who now came in sight,
setting the example.

As the pickets had seen the enemy, and the Colonel had not, the men
considered that the former knew more of their number. As for the gallant
Corporal Diggs, after one ineffectual attempt to spring on a tall horse,
he ran rapidly away to the woods as fast as his short legs would carry
him, which Seth Williams afterward declared was faster than any horse
could. It was in vain that the officers attempted to rally their men.
The blue-coated soldiers of Captain Wardle, after the first fire, came
galloping into view out of the woods, and, dismounting, fell into line
of battle just in the edge of the cleared space where Corporal Diggs,
not two minutes before, had been entertaining the entire camp with his
eloquence. They poured another volley into the camp, which awoke the
echoes of the forest and seemed to the terrified recruits to shake the
Twin Mountains to their very center. They then charged down on the
enemy.

"Oh, Lordy, Lordy, have mercy on my soul!" gasped Corporal Diggs as,
impelled by the roar of fire-arms in his rear, the whistling of bullets
among the trees, and the thunder of plunging horses on every side, he
went over the ground at a rate of speed which almost took away his
breath. He ran as he never did before. He crushed through underbrush,
tore through thorns, dodged under limbs, and leaped logs, in a manner
that would have astonished any one who took into consideration the
shortness of his legs. He was leading the entire force, as, in his
speech a few minutes before, he had said he would. He was the first to
start, and as yet was ahead of any footman.

Many of the horses, about four hundred in number, which had been
picketed about the camp, had broken loose during the firing and were
running, plunging, and snorting through the thick woods, much to the
terror of poor Diggs, who imagined a Union soldier on every horse, and
supposed that there could not be less than fifty thousand of them.

On, on, and on he ran, for about three miles, when, coming up to a steep
bank of the creek, he found it impossible to check his headlong speed,
and tumbled head first into it. Down into the mud and water he went,
sticking his head so deep into the latter, that it was with some
difficulty he extricated himself. When he washed the mud out of his
eyes, he espied a drift a few feet away, and going to it managed to
conceal himself amid the brush and logs.

"Oh! Lordy! Lordy! have mercy on me! Oh, I know I shall be killed!"

"Thump, thump! crash, crash! splash!" It was simply one of the
frightened horses that had broken away from the camp, but it put
Corporal Diggs in extreme terror as he supposed it to be a regiment of
Union cavalry.

"Oh, I ought never to have engaged in this unholy cause! I thought I was
in error. I'll leave the Southern army sure, if ever I get out of this."

For hours Corporal Diggs was kept in a state of perpetual terror by
fleeing men and horses.

CHAPTER XI.

MR. TOMPKINS' PERIL.

Since the rebellion had assumed such proportions, and men, who had made
war with pen and tongue had taken up the sword, Mr. Tompkins had been
careful not to allude to the merits of either cause in his family. He
had been made to feel the bitterness of the strife that, in dividing the
Nation, had divided his home. He felt most keenly a parent's agony at
having his two sons in hostile armies. That, at any hour or moment, they
might meet in opposing ranks, was a horrible possibility, which, do what
he would, he could not banish from his mind. He knew, too, that the
companion of his life held views antagonistic to his own on the question
of the war. So he was reticent on questions on which every one else was
eagerly expressing opinions; but in his heart, he was firmly convinced
of the justice of the Union cause. Though Mrs. Tompkins, like her
husband, was silent as to her belief, she was as firmly convinced that
the cause of the South was just. How could she, with all her native
pride and prejudices, look on the subject in any other light? Her sunny
home, the home of her childhood, the pride of her maturer years, was to
be the field of contest. One side must win. On one side were arrayed the
cold, calculating strangers of the North; on the other the warm-hearted,
generous people of the South; but what endeared to her, more than any
other circumstance, the Southern cause, was that it was based on
principles which she believed just and right.

Americans, more than any other Nation on earth, fight from principle.
Other Nations blindly follow king or emperor, regardless of right or
wrong, but the American fights from principle approved by his judgment
and based upon his earnest convictions.

Mr. Tompkins did not reflect on the dangers that might arise to himself
from visiting two hostile armies. It was the day after his visit to the
Junction that he chanced to be at Snagtown. He found the village in a
state of excitement in consequence of "a large army of United States
soldiers" having passed on their way to Wolf Creek. The villagers,
unaccustomed to the sight of large bodies of men, put the number of
Captain Wardle's command at several thousand, when in reality it did not
exceed, including his own company and the others with him, one hundred
and fifty.

"Where were they going?" inquired Mr. Tompkins of the village grocer.

"Dunno," was the reply.

"Which way did they go?"

"Towards the Twin Mountains."

"There is no question as to where they was goin'," said the blacksmith.
"They was takin' a bee line for the camp on Wolf Creek, and they're
going to gobble up our boys along there; but although they outnumber
them twenty to one, they'll find the boys game."

"Where did these troops come from?" asked Mr. Tompkins.

"From the Junction."

Mr. Tompkins very well knew that the entire force at the Junction did
not number over four hundred men.

While the loungers and others were attempting to estimate the number of
the troops, and discussing the probable result of their visit to Wolf
Creek, a volley of musketry saluted their astonished ears.

"There, they are at it!" said the blacksmith, smoking his pipe more
vigorously.

The volley was quickly followed by another, another, and another. After
this, for a quarter of an hour, an occasional shot was heard, but no
more regular firing. Various were the conjectures as to the result of
the battle. A frightened farmer, who had been near the camp at the time
of the attack, came galloping in, declaring that the ground was strewn
with dead bodies; that the Confederates were killed to a man, and other
reports almost as wild, increasing the excitement and alarm of the
villagers.

To say that Mr. Tompkins did not share the general anxiety would be to
say he was not human. He knew that his youngest son might be lying in
the woods either dead or dying. And Abner--had he accompanied the troops
sent to the Junction? A thousand conflicting emotions stirred the heart
of the planter, and a double care weighed on his mind. His first impulse
was to go at once to the scene of the conflict; but a moment's
reflection showed him that such a course would be not only dangerous,
but foolish. He resolved to return home and await the development of
facts in regard to the attack at Wolf Creek.

Mr. Tompkins found his wife awaiting him on the piazza, and he knew by
the troubled look on her face that she had learned of the attack. He
said nothing about it, for a single glance from each explained all.

"You look wearied, husband," said the wife as he sank into a chair at
her side.

"I am wearied," he replied, the troubled look deepening on his face.

A moment's silence ensued. Mrs. Tompkins was the first to break it.

"There has been trouble at the camp on Wolf Creek. I heard the firing."

"Yes," said the husband, "a body of Union troops passed through Snagtown
to-day to attack the camp there. There has been some sharp firing, but
nothing definite has been heard of the affair."

An hour or so later there came a clatter of hoofs down the road, and a
dozen horsemen paused in front of the gate, opening into the avenue that
led to the house. Mr. Tompkins sent to ascertain what they wanted. The
leader inquired if Mr. Tompkins lived there, and being answered in the
affirmative, he said, with an oath:

"Well, tell him to come out here."

The speaker was a thick-set, low-browed man, dressed in homespun gray,
and armed with a sword and revolver. His companions, as coarse as
himself, were armed with rifles; each wore the broad-brimmed black hat
then common in the South.

"Does yer want ter see my master?" asked the negro, his black face
turning almost white, and his frame shaking with apprehension.

For answer, the leader snatched a holster from his saddle so vehemently
that the darkey needed no other inducement to return with all speed to
the house.

"What is the matter, Pompey?" asked Mr. Tompkins, as the boy stood
breathless before him.

"Oh, gracious, mars, don't know, 'cept they be's a band o' brigantines
as wants to see you down at the gate."

Mr. Tompkins smiled at Pompey's terror, and rose to go, but Mrs.
Tompkins, who did not like the angry gesticulations of the strangers at
the gate, accompanied her husband.

"Is your name Tompkins" asked the ferocious-looking leader, as the
planter and his wife paused just inside the gate.

"It is, sir. Whom have I the honor of addressing?" returned Mr.
Tompkins.

"I am Sergeant Strong of the Independent Mounted Volunteers of Jeff.
Davis, and I have come here to hang you, sir."

Mrs. Tompkins gave a scream and clung to her husband.

"The men are only joking, Camille; can't you see they are only joking?"
said Mr. Tompkins, to soothe his terrified wife.

"You'll find out that we're not joking," said the leader of the band,
dismounting and fastening his horse to an ornamental tree on the lawn.
Six of his men followed his example, leading their horses inside the
gate, and hitching them to the fence or trees.

"Men what do you mean?" said Mr. Tompkins, who took great pride in his
shrubbery. "I do not allow horses to be tied near my trees."

"We'll tie you to one of your trees soon and see how you like it, with a
dance in the air."

Mrs. Tompkins clung to her husband, half dead with terror, and Irene
came hurrying from the house.

"Go back, Camille; go back with Irene, and wait for me in the house,"
said Mr. Tompkins. "This is nothing serious."

"Ye'll see, sir, if it ain't somethin' serious," said Sergeant Strong,
unstrapping a rope from behind his saddle, and uncoiling it. "The law
says spies shall suffer death, and we're going to make an example of
you, sir."

"I am no spy," returned the planter.

"Don't suppose I saw ye hangin' 'round our camp, and then shootin' off
after sojers at the Junction to come down and lick us! And they just
come to-day an' cleaned us most all out, and you shall hang for it." As
he spoke he threw one end of the rope over the projecting branch of a
large maple tree.

"Those terrible men mean what they say," whispered Irene in Mrs.
Tompkins' ear. She had comprehended all in a moment's time. "I will run
for the overseer and the field hands."

She turned to fly, but her motive was interpreted, and one of the men
seized her around the waist, saying: "No, my purty gal, ye' don't do
nothin' o' the kind jist yit awhile."

In vain she struggled to free herself; she was powerless in the man's
hands.

Mrs. Tompkins, completely overcome, had fainted.

"Now, boys, we are ready; bring him here," said Sergeant Strong.

Three or four men laid hands on the planter, but he felled them
instantly. They did not expect such resistance from a man of his age,
and were not prepared for it. It was not until Mr. Tompkins was stunned
by a blow from the butt of a rifle that he was secured and bound; he was
then led under the tree and the noose thrown over his neck. Mrs.
Tompkins lay still and white on the greensward, and Irene was struggling
with her captor and screaming for help. No one noticed the horseman who
came dashing furiously down the hill.

"Up with him!" cried the Sergeant, and he seized the rope. At this
moment the horseman thundered through the open gate, and just as Strong
cried, "Now pull all!" the butt of a heavy pistol struck him on the
head, and he fell like a beef under the hammer.

Then, with his hand still uplifted, he rode toward Irene's captor, but
the fellow had released her and fled; the horseman fired a shot after
the rapidly retreating figure. Then, turning on the remainder of the
band, he asked in a voice of thunder, "What, in heaven's name, does this
mean?"

Mr. Tompkins, for the first time, saw the horseman's face, and
recognized his son, Oleah.

"Why, it's the Leftenant," stammered one of the men, his teeth
chattering with fear.

"What does this mean, I say?" he again demanded.

"Why, Lieutenant," said one man, who had the rope in his hand when Oleah
came up, "Strong said he was a spy, and he had set the sojers on us
to-day, and ordered us to punish him; be we didn't intend to hang him."

Oleah's hot temper got the better of him, and he would have shot
Sergeant Strong, who was still insensible, and the other ringleaders, on
the spot, had not Irene and his father interfered. All danger being
over, the servants came flocking to the scene, and Mrs. Tompkins was
carried into the house. These men were a part of Oleah's own company. He
ordered them to take the Sergeant, who was beginning to recover, and
retire into the woods until he should join them. They obeyed and rode
over the hill, quite crestfallen, conveying their wounded sergeant.

Oleah briefly told his father of the attack made on their camp. He said
they were taken by surprise, their forces scattered through the woods,
but he believed not one drop of blood had been shed, although Diggs was
missing, as well as several others. It was thought they had been taken
prisoners. Then he again mounted his horse and dashed off, to gather up
his scattered forces.

CHAPTER XII.

FORAGING.

Captain Wardle's campaign had been a complete success. He had made
twenty prisoners, he had secured most of the arms and the camp equipage,
with one hundred and six horses. Vain search was made for the bodies of
the dead who had been slain in the fight, none could be found; and from
the marks of the bullets on the timber one would judge that no one had
been touched, as no trees had been struck lower than twenty feet.

Camp-kettles, tents, rusty fire-locks, and weapons of nearly every
description, were scattered about over the ground. The soldiers, the
ununiformed especially, entertained themselves with the very
exhilarating amusement of shattering against the trees these old
fire-locks and such other weapons as could not be conveniently carried
off. The plundering of the camp was an interesting
occupation--interesting, even, to those who took no part in it. The
ununiformed took the lead in this business. Perhaps they regarded it as
their especial duty to be foremost now, since they had been in the rear
during the attack.

Corporal Grimm and Sergeant Swords were both present, very busy, and
trying to look very soldier-like, though their brown homespun suits and
broad-brimmed hats gave them anything but a military appearance.
Corporal Grimm kept his jaws in lively motion on a huge piece of
pig-tail, while he kept up a lively conversation with Sergeant Swords
and others immediately about him. Somehow the scene reminded him of his
ten days' experience as a soldier with "General Preston," and he related
that experience at length. The scene also vividly impressed Sergeant
Swords with his experience under Captain Floyd, and he impelled to tell
his comrades of that.

All were in excellent spirits. Captain Wardle congratulated the men on
their coolness and gallant conduct, and the men congratulated Captain
Wardle on his coolness and good generalship--all congratulating each
other.

About three hours were spent on the late camping ground of the
Confederates, and then the entire force, with their twenty prisoners and
the plunder they could carry, started on their return to the Junction.
Night overtook them about five miles after they had passed Snagtown,
and, selecting a suitable place, they encamped. There was but one thing
to dampen their ardor, but one thing had been overlooked. Their arms
were in excellent condition, and they were all well mounted; but even
riotous soldiers must eat, and this little fact had been overlooked.
When night came they were tired and hungry, but there were rations only
for about one-half of their force, and many went supperless to bed, with
a fine prospect of having nothing to eat before noon the next day.

Captain Wardle felt most keenly his mistake in not bringing supplies,
and spent most of the night in examining an old backless drill book to
see how the thing could be remedied. Not finding anything in the
tactics, he thrust it in his pocket and, throwing himself on his
blanket, closed his eyes and in a few moments solved the problem. He
then went to sleep, and it was not until his lieutenant had dragged him
several feet from under his covering that he awoke next morning.

The sun was up, and so were the men, the latter hungry and ill-natured.

"Never mind! Tell the boys I've got this question fixed. They shall all
have their breakfast. Tell the bugler to sound the roll-call."

The blast of the bugle called the men together, and the roll was soon
called.

"Now," said Captain Wardle, who had been holding a conversation with
Captain Gunn, "I think you are hungry--"

"You bet we are, Capen," put in a red-faced private.

"Shet up, sir, or I'll have you court-martialed and shot for contempt."

All became silent; the men looked grave and appeared willing to learn
from the old, time-honored soldier, Captain Wardle.

"We haven't got enough in camp to feed more than about twenty-five men,
so the rest o' ye will have to forage. Go in gangs of ten or fifteen and
hunt your breakfast where yer can. The people all around here are
secesh, and it will be a good thing to make them feed Union soldiers
once in a while."

This announcement was received with applause, and the troops commenced
dividing into small squads, the uniformed mixing promiscuously with the
ununiformed, and waiting only for instructions where to join the main
force, which now, consisting of twenty-five men and the prisoners,
mounted their horses and rode off.

The eastern sun, like a blazing ball, was rising higher and higher in
the sky as twelve men, among whom were Corporal Grimm and Sergeant
Swords, galloped down a wooded road, keeping a sharp lookout for
"bushwhackers." Six of these men wore the uniform and carried the arms
of the United States Infantry, and six were dressed in citizens' attire
and armed with rifles or double-barreled shot-guns. All rode at a
furious pace, splashing through the mud and frightening the birds in the
woods on either side.

A boy was riding down the road in the opposite direction. He was mounted
on a thin, slow-moving mare, of an indistinct color, which might have
been taken for a bay, yellow or sorrel. The boy was barefooted, had on a
straw hat, rode on a folded sheepskin instead of a saddle, held an empty
bag before him, and certainly did not look very warlike.

"Halt!" cried Sergeant Swords, drawing an old, rusty sword from its
sheath and waving it in the air.

"Halt!" cried Corporal Grimm, drawing a many-barreled pistol, commonly
known as a pepper-box, which he flourished in a threatening manner.

"Halt!" again cried both, "or we will fire."

The boy, being overawed by numbers, felt constrained to pull up the thin
mare.

"Advance and give the countersign!" said Corporal Grimm.

"Shet up, Grimm! I command this squad," said Sergeant Swords.

Grimm chewed his pigtail in silence. In the meantime the boy seemed
undecided whether to fly or to stand his ground, though his face
betrayed a strong inclination in favor of the former proposition.

"Who comes there?" said Sergeant Swords, bringing his rusty sword to a
salute.

"Who are ye talkin' to?" asked the boy, looking around to see if he
could possibly be addressing any one else.

"I am talkin' to you, sir," said the Sergeant, sharply.

"What d'ye want?" asked the boy.

"Who comes there, I said?" answered the Sergeant more sharply.

"Me."

"Advance, then."

"Do what?"

"Come here."

The boy understood this. He had it delivered in just such a tone when he
had been violating the domestic law. He advanced.

"What d'ye want?" he asked again.

"Where can we get our breakfast?"

"Dunno," he replied, wonderingly.

"Well, how fur is it to the next farm-house?"

"Taint more'n a mile."

"Who lives there?"

"Old Ruben Smith; but he ain't there now."

"Where is he?"

"Dunno; says he's gone to the war, him and his two boys."

"Which army?"

"Dunno."

"Are they Union or secesh?"

"Lor bless ye, we're all secesh here."

"You are? Well, we are Union. We'll take ye prisoner, then," said
Corporal Grimm.

"Oh, but I ain't secesh."

"Well, then, you are a good boy," said the Sergeant. "Where are ye
going?"

"Gwine to Snagtown to git the mail and buy some sugar and coffee."

"Well, you may go on," said the grim soldier, winking at the Corporal;
the boy trotted on, looking curiously back at the men and their blue
uniforms and big guns.

The cavalcade now galloped on towards the house of Ruben Smith. The
steep gable roof soon loomed up in the distance, and after dashing down
the lane, around a pasture, through a small wood, they pulled up in
front of the house.

"Dismount!" commanded the Sergeant. The men were on the ground in an
instant. "Now hitch where you can, and two of you stay on guard while
the rest are eating."

"Who are ye, and what do ye want," demanded a sharp-visaged, ill-natured
looking woman, coming out on the porch as the soldiers entered the yard.

"We are Union soldiers, and we want our breakfast," said Corporal Grimm,
as the Sergeant was busy giving orders to the men.

"You low, nigger-lovin', aberlition thieves, I wouldn't give ye a bite
if ye were starvin'," said the woman.

"Mother, don't talk that way to them," said a pretty, red cheeked girl
of about fifteen, standing by her side.

"We want breakfast for twelve," said Sergeant Swords, now coming
forward.

"Well, sir, ye won't git it here. Go to some nigger shanty and let them
cook for ye."

"Oh, no, my good woman, we want you to get our breakfast. You are a good
lookin' woman, and I know you can get up a good meal."

"If I was to cook for ye scamps, I'd pizen the last one o' ye," she
fairly shrieked.

"We shall have you eat with us, my good lady, and we can eat anything
you do," said Sergeant Swords, good-humoredly. The young girl was all
the while persuading her mother to be more calm.

"Come now, I'll help you. I'll kindle the fire and carry the wood and
draw the water," said the corporal.

"Come in my house an' I'll pour bilin' hot water in yer face, and scald
yer eyes out!"

"Don't talk so, mother," urged the pretty daughter.

At this moment the kitchen door opened, and a negro girl peeped out.

"Say, kinky head, stir up the kitchen fire and get us some breakfast
right soon," said Corporal Grimm. The black face withdrew, and the two
non-commissioned officers entered the house to see that their bidding
was performed.

While the latter were discussing the possibility of bushwhackers being
in the neighborhood, they were suddenly startled by a loud cackling of
hens and screaming of chickens; at the same instant a flock came rushing
around the house with half a dozen soldiers in close pursuit.

"Good idea, boys! We will have chickens for breakfast," said Corporal
Grimm.

A dozen or more chickens were caught and killed and carried to the cook.
The soldiers politely inquired of the lady of the house if they could be
of any further assistance, and then most of them returned to the front
yard, where their arms were stacked or strewn promiscuously about. Three
of them, with Corporal Grimm, remained to pick the chickens and prepare
them for the cook, while their very amiable hostess was sullenly
grinding away at a large coffee mill. The negro girl and the
rosy-cheeked daughter of the house were both very busy hurrying up the
fire, putting on the kettles of water, making biscuits, and attending to
the various culinary duties.

"Where is your husband?" asked Corporal Grimm.

"None of your business," was the quick reply.

"Where are your sons?" asked Grimm.

"In Jeff Davis' army, to shoot just such thieves as you are."

"How long have they been in Jeff Davis' army?"

"Ever since the war commenced."

"How old is this hen I am picking?"

"I hope she is old enough and tough enough to choke ye to death," said
the women, giving the coffee mill a furious rap.

"Your husband must be a very happy man," said Corporal Grimm.

"If he was here, you wouldn't be very happy," she replied, testily.

"No, I am happier with his amiable spouse."

"There, I hope that'll pizen ye," she said, emptying the ground coffee
into a coffee-pot, and pouring boiling water over it.

"Make it strong enough to bear up an iron wedge," said Corporal Grimm;
then, addressing his men:

"Watch the old vixen, for she may pizen us if she gets a chance."

The men needed no second bidding, and as the cooking progressed, they
watched more keenly. They were all very hungry, yet none wanted to be
poisoned.

Breakfast being prepared, the reluctant hostess was compelled to eat
with the soldiers, who, being thus convinced that none of the viands
were poisoned, did full justice to the really excellent meal.

CHAPTER XIII.

UNCLE DAN MEANS BUSINESS.

Colonel Scrabble found his forces, when the attacking party had retired,
somewhat scattered. With Lieutenant Whimple he had sought safety in a
hollow tree, whence, after waiting four hours, he issued orders to the
lieutenant to go forth and see if the Federal troops had retreated. The
lieutenant took a circuitous route, walking on tiptoe, lest he should
disturb the slumbers of the dead, until he reached the camp, which the
Union soldiers had just left.

Lieutenant Whimple then started to return, meeting on his way Captain
Fogg. One by one they picked up men, behind logs, in tree-tops, and
thick cluster of bushes, until they arrived twenty in number at the
colonel's head-quarters, in the hollow tree. Here a council of war was
held, and it was decided to send runners through the woods to notify
their scattered forces that the enemy was gone; by night one hundred
and fifty men had assembled around the hollow tree. They talked, in low
determined tones, and all swore to avenge their lost comrades.

Lieutenant Whimple and a score of resolute men were still scouring the
woods in search of fugitives. They had approached very near the bank of
the creek when the foremost man started back, saying:

"My God! Just look at that!"

"Where?" asked a dozen voices, peeping through the underbush, expecting
to behold a masked battery at the least. The sun was low in the Western
horizon, and our soldiers could not see the object at first.

"There," said the first speaker, "sittin' right on the bank of the
creek, is the devil come out to sun himself."

They could now describe an object that might be a huge mud turtle, or
might be almost any thing a lively fancy could suggest. A closer
examination, however, showed it to be a little man somewhat larger than
an apple dumpling, but so plastered from his head to his heels with mud
that one could hardly tell whether he was black or white.

The men drew nearer the strange object and finally rushed from their
concealment. The poor fellow went down on his knees and threw up his
hands imploringly. He was covered with the very blackest of Virginia
mud, except great, white rings around the eyes and mouth, which gave a a
most horrible expression to the features.

"Oh! have mercy, mercy--hem, hem!--have mercy!" he gasped, clasping his
hands and closing his eyes, "and I will quit this unholy cause."

"Why, hallo, Corporal Diggs?" cried Lieutenant Whimple. At sound of that
familiar voice, Mr. Diggs bounded to his feet, smeared as he was, threw
his arms round the speaker's neck and wept for joy.

"Oh! Whimple, Whimple, Whimple! I never expected to behold your face
again. Oh! my dear, dear Whimple, you're not killed, are you? Tell me
that you are not dead!"

Whimple assured him that not only was he alive but in good health; after
allowing the corporal time to recover, they picked up a few more men in
the woods, also about forty horses, and returned.

Lieutenant Tompkins, who had been out in search of scattered men, now
returned with the sergeant's squad, the Sergeant's head bandaged.

A hundred curious eyes were turned toward Whimple's squad as they came
in; but it was not so much the numbers of the squad that attracted their
attention, as the mud covered object that walked in their midst, in
regard to which various conjectures were hazarded.

About three hundred and seventy-five men were gathered around the
Colonel's head-quarters, the hollow tree, before nightfall. Something
must be done, all agreed. There were several men in the country, the
Colonel said, who must either take the oath of allegiance to the
Southern cause or suffer death for their disloyalty. Several names were
mentioned, among them that of Dan Martin.

"The hunter of Twin Mountains?" asked Oleah Tompkins.

"Yes," said Lieutenant Whimple, who had suggested the name.

"He is an old friend of mine," said Oleah.

"Well, but, Lieutenant Tompkins, we can't afford to screen all your
friends," said the Colonel.

"Of course, no one can blame you for saving your father, but you can't
expect all your Abolition friends will be left unmolested. Lieutenant
Whimple, take twenty men and wait on old Dan Martin to-morrow."

When morning came, nearly all the horses were needed for the work of
collecting the balance of the scattered forces, foraging for provisions
and for arms and horses.

Corporal Diggs was second in command of Whimple's force, and, as he
mounted his tall horse, he heard Seth Williams making audible comments
on his appearance.

The mounted force galloped away toward the foot of Twin Mountains, where
Uncle Dan lived, a distance of about ten miles from the camp.

It was near the middle of the forenoon when Uncle Dan, who was sitting
in his door-yard, saw a cavalcade approaching. Crazy Joe was in the
house drawing a map of Egypt, showing by lines how far the famine had
extended.

Uncle Dan's fierce mastiff and his hounds seemed to scent coming
danger, the latter sending up mournful howls and the former uttering
low, fierce howls of anger.

"By hokey, I don't like the looks o' that," said the old man, as he
observed the armed band approaching his lonely cabin. "Seems like they
ain't honest. They're secesh, sure as gun's made o' iron, for there is
Jake Whimple leading 'em, and right here, too. Guess it won't do any
harm to keep old 'Broken Ribs' handy, in case they should be ugly."

As the old man concluded he entered the house, and, taking his rifle
from the rack over the door, leaned it against the wall while he took
his seat in the door-way, his gun within easy reach. He had also placed
a large navy revolver by his side.

The horsemen had now caught sight of him, and, with exultant yells,
galloped up the slight elevation from the creek toward the cabin.

"Say, I reckin you'd better stop now and let a fellow know what ye
want," cried Uncle Dan, snatching his rifle, and bringing it to a poise.

The cavalcade halted, the men looking apprehensively at the unerring
rifle and then at one another. Finally, by common consent, all eyes were
turned on Lieutenant Whimple.

"What do ye want, Jake Whimple?" demanded Uncle Dan in sharp, imperative
tones.

"We have come to administer the oath of allegiance to you," said
Whimple, riding a little nearer, his comrades following close behind.

"Then stop," cried the old hunter, "or I will make it hot for you, for I
won't take no oath of allegiance from any one to the Southern
Confederacy, 'specially such a sorry cuss as you."

"Then I shall take you a prisoner and bring you to camp," said
Lieutenant Whimple, trying to throw some sternness in his voice.

"I'll drop some o' you fellars afore ye do that. Now jist advance one
step further and see if I don't."

Although they were fifty yards away, they could distinctly hear the
ominous click of that rifle which never failed.

"I've lost something down here," muttered Corporal Diggs, striving in
vain to keep his teeth from chattering, "and I believe I'll go back and
see if I can't find it."

The Corporal wheeled his big horse around, and galloped down the hill
for about one hundred yards, and, dismounting, set about examining very
intently the ground behind a large oak tree.

"Whoa, January," he said shivering, perhaps from cold, as the
thermometer was only 65° above in the shade.

"If you don't come along peaceably with us we shall have to use force,"
said Lieutenant Whimple, in a tone of as much severity as he could
command.

The old man sprang to his feet and brought his gun to his face, "Now,
turn about and git from here, or I'll drop some of ye where ye stand,"
he shouted.

Lieutenant Whimple spurred his horse, which reared, and wheeled and as
he turned he fired his pistol at the hunter. The ball passed high over
the old man's house, missing its aim by ten feet.

"Shoot the old rascal!" he frantically cried, as he saw the fatal rifle
aimed at himself. The discharge of the pistol had frightened the horses;
they had broken ranks and were now rearing and plunging in every
direction.

"Crack!" went Uncle Dan's rifle, and a bullet went through the
Lieutenant's hat, knocking it from his head.

With a wild cry, the Lieutenant threw up his hands, and fell forward on
his horse's neck, believing, as did the others, that he was killed. The
horse tore down the hill, followed by the entire company.

Uncle Dan's blood was up and snatching his revolver he fired three more
shots at the retreating cavalcade. At the last shot he saw the dust
arise from the back of one man's coat and heard a wild cry.

"Take me by force," said Uncle Dan, "May be," and re-entering the house
he reloaded his weapons, to be ready for another assault.

Corporal Diggs was still searching for the treasure he had lost, when he
heard the shots, and, looking from behind the tree, he saw the whole
troop come tearing down the hill, retreating, as it seemed to him, in
the midst of a storm of shot fired from a six pounder.

The Corporal made a spring for his saddle (as he afterward declared), to
rally his men, seeing that the Lieutenant was wounded, but he could only
succeed in grasping the horn of his saddle. Thus clinging, he managed to
slip one foot into the stirrup, when the flying horsemen thundered by.
The Corporal's long-legged horse gave one snort and started at headlong
speed.

"Whoa, January! whoa, January! _whoa January!_" frantically cried the
Corporal, clinging to the side of the tall horse, able neither to get on
or off, while the excited beast seemed to be trying to outstrip the
wind.

"Whoa, January," cried the Corporal, trying to stop his flying steed,
but unable to touch the bridle.

"Whoa, January," his arms and legs extended, and his short coat-tail
flying, made him look like a spider on a circular saw. "Whoa January! Oh
Lordy, won't no one stop this horse? I'll--hem, hem--be killed against a
tree! Help, help! Whoa January."

January by this time had passed the foremost horse in the fleeing
cavalcade, and his rider presented such a ludicrous appearance that the
men, badly frightened as they were, roared with laughter.

Lieutenant Whimple, after swaying for some time in the saddle, plunged
off in a helpless heap on the side of the road. Three or four of the men
paused to pick him up. The man who had been wounded in the back, fainted
and fell from his horse, when another halt was made.

But on thundered January, his rider still clinging to his side and
crying vigorously for help. The creek was reached, and January, by one
tremendous leap, cleared the ford. The stirrup broke, so did Corporal
Diggs' hold. There was a great splash, and those nearest saw a pair of
short legs disappear beneath the surface of the water.

When the party came up, they beheld a mud-stained, water-soaked
individual crawling up the opposite bank, sputtering and groaning, and
swearing he would quit such an unholy cause.

The Lieutenant soon recovered, though he acted for hours like a man
dazed. The severely wounded private was carried to the nearest house,
where he was left and medical aid sent for. Corporal Diggs rode behind
one of the soldiers until they came upon the fractious January nibbling
the fresh grass in a piece of bottom-land. He then mounted his own steed
and took command of the company, which he led straight back to camp.

No sooner had the Confederates left Uncle Dan's residence than the
latter packed up his few valuables, and, telling Crazy Joe to go to Mr.
Tompkins, turned loose his dogs and set out through the woods to the
Junction. Uncle Dan surmised the rebels would return in force and burn
his dwelling to the earth.

CHAPTER XIV.

MRS. JUNIPER ENTERTAINS.

Mrs. Julia Juniper was a wealthy widow, of easy conscience and uncertain
age. Courted and flattered alike for her charms and her wealth, for Mrs.
Julia Juniper had both, she was the acknowledged belle of the country,
the leader of the elite and the ruler of fashion. When Mrs. Julia
Juniper gave a party it was sure to be successfully attended, and it
needed only to be known that she was to be at a ball to ensure the
presence of the very best society in the neighborhood.

The widow was a little above medium height, slender and graceful, with
dark, sparkling eyes, clear white complexion, and black hair. She was
vivacious as well as beautiful, and her sparkling wit was sufficient to
enliven the dullest assemblage.

Mrs. Julia Juniper owned and possessed (as the lawyers say) a large
plantation, and the granite mansion she had furnished with lavish
elegance.

Two or three weeks have passed since the occurrences last recorded, and
many startling events have taken place. Colonel Holdfast, with his force
at the Junction, had joined McClellan, and fought gallantly at
Phillippi, on the 3d of June. Abner Tompkins had been promoted to a
captaincy, and Sergeant Swords and Corporal Grimm wore uniforms. Uncle
Dan Martin accompanied the army as guide and scout, and was of
invaluable service, as he knew every inch of the ground over which they
had to pass. Colonel Scrabble had been compelled to fall back with his
force about forty or fifty miles south, where a large force was
assembling near Rich Mountain. The colonel's regiment had been
recruited, refitted, and furnished with arms by the Confederate States,
and the colonel himself now held a commission. Owing to the fact that
Lieutenant Whimple had been disabled, perhaps for life, by his fall from
his horse in the race from Uncle Dan's cabin, Oleah Tompkins had been
promoted to first lieutenant.

The regiment was now encamped in the neighborhood of Mrs. Julia Juniper,
and Mrs. Juniper, a Southern lady with all a Southern lady's prejudices
and passions, and intense likes and dislikes, loved her sunny South, and
loved every one who was engaged defending it against the cold-blooded
Northern invader, and, desirous of doing all she could to cheer the
brave hearts of her country's defenders, resolved to give a reception in
honor of the regiment. It was at the same time a first meeting and a
farewell, for the colonel hourly expected orders to march further east
and join the troops massing in the valley of the Shenandoah under
Johnston and Beauregard.

It was the evening of the 9th of July, 1861, and the grand mansion of
Mrs. Julia Juniper was ablaze with light and splendor. The
drawing-rooms, parlors, reception rooms, and the spacious dining hall
were lighted early in the evening, festooned with flags, and lavishly
adorned with flowers. The piazza, the lawn, the conservatory, and even
the garden, on this evening, were filled with a gay, laughing throng.
Mrs. Julia Juniper had ordered all form and ceremony to be laid aside,
and desired that her guests should consider her house their home. She
met officer and private, as they entered, clasping the hand of each with
a fervent "God save our sunny South." More than one young soldier,
looking on that lovely face, resolved to fight till death for a cause so
dear to her. Corporal Diggs was present, and as Mrs. Julia Juniper's
hand clasped his, and he heard her say: "God bless, you, my dear friend
and make your arm strong to defend our beloved country!" He felt proud
that he had not deserted, as he declared he should, after the retreat
from Twin Mountain. Mrs. Juniper was everywhere, shedding on all the
light of her countenance, enlivening all conversation with the rich,
warm tones of her voice or her merry, musical laugh.

At least two hundred officers, commissioned and non-commissioned, fell
in love with the widow, and twice as many privates were willing to lie
down and have their heads amputated for her sake. Many of our Southern
soldier friends were present, among them Howard Jones and Seth Williams,
both sergeants now. Corporal Diggs was in ecstacies of delight, but the
presence of his old tormentor, Seth Williams, was a slight drawback at
times to his happiness. Mrs. Juniper had introduced the corporal and
Seth Williams to two charming young ladies, Miss Ada Temple and Miss
Nannie Noddington, both of them bright, lively girls, fond of sport.
Miss Temple made herself particularly agreeable to the little
apple-dumpling of a corporal.

Mr. Corporal Diggs had on a neat little suit of gray, without shoulder
straps, but with yellow braid enough on his coat sleeves to indicate his
office and rank. His thick hair was parted exactly in the middle, his
burnside whiskers were neatly trimmed, and his glasses were on his nose.
He tried to appear witty, making him appear silly enough to enlist the
sympathy of any one except Seth Williams.

Seth was bent on fun and mischief, and in Miss Nannie Noddington he
found an able accomplice and ally.

Corporal Diggs was making an extraordinary endeavor to make himself
agreeable to Miss Temple, who laughed at his witticisms in a coquettish
way that was wholly irresistible, and Corporal Diggs became brilliant,
drawing continually on his immense fund of knowledge, talking science,
physics, and metaphysics, history, literature, and art, at last touching
on the theme, sacred to love and lovers, poetry.

"Hem, hem, hem! Miss Temple, I presume--hem--you are very fond of
poetry," he said, leaning back in his chair, his soleful eyes gleaming
through his glasses.

"I am passionately fond of poetry, corporal," said the blonde beauty,
with a winning smile.

"I--hem, hem!--before I entered the army, used to be passionately fond
of poetry, but the multifarious duties of an officer during these
exciting times will allow no thought of polite accomplishments."

"He is inflating now," whispered Seth Williams to Miss Noddington. "He
will explode soon in a burst of poetical eloquence."

Mr. Diggs, as we have seen, had a peculiar stoppage in his speech,
occasioned more by habit than by any defect in the organs of
articulation.

"Yes, Miss Temple, I--hem, hem, hem!--admire, or rather I adore poetry.
The deep sublimity of thought--hem, hem, hem!--given forth in all of
poetical expression and--hem, hem!--as the poet says 'the eye in fine
frenzy rolling.'"

"That was in his 'Ode to an Expiring Calf,' was it not?" said Seth
Williams, who was one of the group.

No one could repress a smile, and Miss Noddington was attacked by a
convulsive cough.

"You always have a way of degrading the sublime to the ridiculous, Mr.
Williams," said the little corporal, loftily.

"Who of the English poets do you like best, Corporal Diggs?" asked Miss
Temple, pretending not to notice Williams' sally and the consequent
discomfiture of her companion.

"I--hem, hem!" said the little fellow, leaning forward and locking his
hands, with all the dignity that he assumed when about to give one of
his opinions. "I--hem--am rather partial to Scott. I don't know why,
unless his wild poems rather suit my warlike nature. I like to read of
Marmion, the Lady of the Lake, and the Vision of Don--Don--hem--Don--"

"Quixote," put in Seth Williams.

The bright black eyes of Miss Noddington twinkled, but Miss Temple
feigned sympathy with the corporal, whose memory was evidently bad.

"But--hem, hem!--Miss Temple," he went on, heroic to the last, "that is
a sublime as well as a truthful thought of Scott, who says,--hem,
hem!--how does it begin? Oh yes:

     "O, woman, in our hours of ease
     Uncertain, coy, and hard to--"

"Squeeze," put in Seth Williams, who was really boiling over with
mischief.

Miss Temple looked shocked, but Miss Noddington only buried her blushing
face in her handkerchief.

The discomforted Corporal Diggs cast a furious glance at Seth Williams,
who sat with a face as solemn as any judge on the bench.

"Mr. Williams, such talk is very unbecoming any gentleman," said he,
rising and looking as furious, to use Seth Williams own words, "as an
enraged potato bug."

"I beg the pardon of all the company," said Seth, whose face was gravity
itself. "I wanted to find some word that would rhyme with ease, and
spoke the first that came to my mind."

"The word, sir, is 'please,'" said Corporal Diggs, re-seating himself
after entreaty from the ladies, who assured him that it was only a
_lapsus linguæ_ on the part of Sergeant Williams.

"Now, corporal, do go on and repeat the entire verse, for I do so admire
Sir Walter Scott," pleaded Miss Temple, whose roguish blue eyes were
sparkling almost as brightly as those of her friend, Nannie Noddington.

"Yes, Corporal Diggs," said the beautiful Nannie, "do go on and give us
the entire stanza."

"Yes, the entire canto," put in Seth.

There was no refusing the appeal from those blue eyes of Miss Temple or
the sparkling black eyes of Miss Noddington, so, after a few "hems" and
a moment spent in bringing the poem to his memory, the corporal began
again:

     "O, woman, in our hours of ease
     Uncertain, coy, and hard to please;
     Yet seem too oft, familiar with her face,
     We first endure, then pity, then embrace."

This time both ladies laughed outright, and even Seth Williams could
not restrain a smile, while the corporal wondered what in the world
could be the matter with them.

"Your version is no better than mine," said Seth Williams.

"Oh! Corporal Diggs, you are too cute, you made that mistake on
purpose," laughed Miss Temple.

The corporal, hearing his witty blunder praised on all sides, concluded
to pretend it was an intentional joke, originating from his own fertile
brain; Miss Temple smiled on him, Miss Noddington declared him
charmingly cute, and the corporal felt himself quite a hero.

After further favoring the company with choice selections, he launched
out on history, which he brought down to the present time by allusions
to his adventures since he had been in the army.

"Have you ever been in any engagement, corporal?" asked sweet Miss
Temple.

"Yes, Miss Temple, I have been where bullets flew thicker--hem,
hem!--than hail stones; replied Corporal Diggs.

"Where was it?" asked the blonde.

"Once at Wolf Creek."

"Were you not frightened?"

"I was as cool as I ever was in my life," replied Corporal Diggs,
leaning back in his chair, and looking very brave.

"That was because you were so deep down in mud and water under the
drift-wood," put in Seth Williams.

Corporal Diggs turned a look of wrath on his companion. "Who said I was
in the mud and water?" he demanded, fiercely. "Who saw me in the mud and
water?"

"No one, I don't suppose; but Lieutenant Whimple found you on the bank,
looking very much as though you had just left the hands of Crazy Joe."

Before Corporal Diggs could reply, Miss Temple, rising, begged him to
walk with her on the piazza.

As the two went away, Seth laughed for the first time during the
evening, and told his companion the story of Crazy Joe's mud man.

The lawn had been converted into a dining-room, and long rows of tables
were spread there; Chinese lanterns hung from all the trees, and an army
of black waiters was in attendance.

The dining hall had been cleared and fitted for dancing, and already the
soft sound of music was heard there, and gay dancers were gliding
gracefully through the waltz.

It was nearly two o'clock in the morning, when Oleah Tompkins tired of
dancing walked into the conservatory, and from there into the garden.
His thoughts naturally flew back to his home, to his parents, and to her
he had learned to love with all the warmth and ardor of his Southern
heart. A hand touched him on the shoulder. He turned and beheld standing
behind him a mulatto, one who had played the leading violin in the
orchestra. He was between forty and fifty years of age, a man of grave
and somber countenance.

"Well, sir, what will you have?" demanded the lieutenant, turning
sharply about.

"Is your name Tompkins?" asked the man.

"Yes. What is your business with me?"

"I was anxious to be sure," said the mulatto, "for I assure you,
Lieutenant Tompkins, that I may sometime be able to give you some
valuable information."

"If you have any information to give, why not give it now?" demanded the
young officer.

"I have reasons that I can not give. To tell the reasons would be to
give the information."

Oleah looked fixedly into the mulatto's face. There was something
unusual about him, something that impressed the young lieutenant
strangely, yet, what it was, he could not tell.

"What is your name?" he asked.

"They call me Yellow Steve."

"How long have you been in this State?" asked Oleah, after a pause.

"About two years," was the answer.

"Have I ever known you before?"

"I don't think you ever saw me before."

"Well, have you ever seen me before?"

"No."

"Then what can you have to tell me that would interest me?"

"I can tell you something of the early history of her you call your
sister, something that no one on earth but myself knows. You shall know
it in the future."

The mulatto turned, pushed open the door of a Summer house near by, and
disappeared.

"Stay!" cried Oleah. "By heavens, if you know anything of her, I will
not wait, I will know it now."

He sprang through the door after the mulatto, but the Summer house was
vacant. The strange musician had disappeared as suddenly as if he had
sank into the earth. After searching vainly through the grounds Oleah
returned to the house. The other musicians (all colored) knew the
"yaller man who played first fiddle," but, as "he lived no where
particularly, but about in spots," no one could tell where he would most
likely be found.

It was late that night before Lieutenant Tompkins sought his tent, and
sleep came not to his eyes until nearly daylight. When he did sleep, the
strange mulatto was constantly before his eyes--his yellow skin, his
yellow teeth, and yellow eyes all gleaming.

CHAPTER XV.

MR. DIGGS AGAIN IN TROUBLE.

McClellan, in the meanwhile, had been sweeping the Western portion of
Virginia. On the 11th of July, he gained a victory over the unorganized
or at most half organized Confederates under Colonel Pegram at Rich
Mountain, which was at no great distance from the Widow Juniper's.

Colonel Scrabble then endeavored to reinforce General Garnett at Laurel
Hill, but the latter was on his retreat toward the Shenandoah to join
Johnston's army, when Scrabble and eight hundred men, three hundred of
which were cavalry, came up with him.

The fight at Rich Mountain had taken place just two days after Mrs.
Juniper's reception, and it was partly this reception that had delayed
Scrabble, for, by forced marches, he might have reached Pegram before
his defeat. While he and his officers were basking in the smiles of the
ladies of West Virginia, General McClellan, under the excellent guidance
of Uncle Dan, had slipped in between the two forces and defeated the
larger. Having been thus reinforced and, seeing escape almost
impossible, General Garnett resolved to make one more stand against the
enemy. At Carrick's Ford, on Cheat river, is a small winding stream,
flowing through the central part northward of what is now West Virginia.
It has its foundation-head near Rich Mountain, and the towns of
Philippi, Grafton, and Beverly are on its banks.

The main army, under General Garnett, took position near the road on a
bluff eighty feet high, where he planted his cannon. Colonel Scrabble,
with his eight hundred troops, was on a bluff covered with thick almost
impenetrable forest trees.

Oleah Tompkins and many others of the company had on more than one
occasion shown superior courage, and the raw troops, with very few
exceptions, promised excellent behavior on this occasion.

Corporal Diggs was there; he had fastened January to a small tree, near
a stump that would enable him to mount. Mr. Diggs was very cool on this
occasion. He sat behind a tree, his gun across his lap, and although he
felt some uneasiness, yet, when he looked about him and saw the many
strong, armed men standing in front of him in double ranks, he felt
almost brave. Occasionally a shudder would pass through his frame,
especially when he heard that the Yankees were in sight.

The roar of cannon shook the air, and a ball, whizzing through the
tree-tops, just over the heads of Colonel Scrabble's raw troops,
scattering leaves and clipping branches in its course, shivered a tree
to splinters in the rear.

"Steady, boys!" shouted the colonel. "Never mind that. Don't fire till
you get the word." But a few of the more nervous did fire.

"Steady!" cried the captains as they heard the shots.

"Steady!" repeated the file-closers in trembling tones.

"Stop that firing, you fools! Wait for the word," cried the enraged
colonel, galloping furiously up and down the line.

"Steady!" said Corporal Diggs, in a hoarse whisper, lying flat on the
ground behind his tree, the branches of which still trembled from the
passage of the ball.

Soon a long line of blue coats could be seen on the opposite side of the
small stream; fire belched from their guns, and a shower of leaden hail
fell among the regiment of Colonel Scrabble.

"Steady!" cried the colonel. "Wait for the word."

"Steady!" cried the captains and lieutenants.

"Oh! Lordy, I'll be killed, I know I shall," wailed poor Diggs,
crouching close to the ground.

"Aim! Fire!" was the command given on the Confederate side, and their
guns returned the leaden storm with effect. The whole line was engaged,
and peal followed peal, shot followed shot, thunder-clap followed
thunder-clap, while the white smoke rose in canopying folds above the
woods. The dead and wounded lay on both sides of the stream. The trees
were shattered by the flying balls. The engagement became general.

After the first two or three rounds, Corporal Diggs, finding himself as
yet unhurt, ventured to peep around the tree. He observed a number of
blue coats on the opposite side of the stream and saw a number lying
motionless on the ground. Snatching his carbine, he fired, he knew not
at whom, because he closed his eyes as his finger pressed the trigger.
Then, as if convinced that his shot would turn the tide of battle, he
sprang once more behind his tree--to reload.

Among the new officers most noted for their daring was Oleah Tompkins,
who was everywhere the shots fell thickest, encouraging his men by word
and act. Through the flash of guns and clouds of smoke he occasionally
caught a glimpse of a familiar form in the enemy's lines. It was a Union
captain, upon whose coolness and courage seemed to rest the fortunes of
his entire regiment. There was no mistaking that form, he had known it
since his earliest recollection. That brave young officer, in an enemy's
ranks, had been his playmate in childhood, his companion in boyhood,
his schoolmate, his college chum, his constant associate in manhood, and
was still his brother. A mist swam before the young Confederate's eyes,
as he thought a single chance shot might send that brother into
eternity. Little thought had Oleah for himself. He saw his comrades fall
about him and heard groan and cry ascend from the blood stained grass,
the balls of the enemy whistled about, shattering the tender bark of the
trees, but the lieutenant had no thought save of his playmate, companion
and brother on the other side of the stream.

"Lieutenant Tompkins, you expose yourself needlessly," said Harry Smith,
touching his officer on the sleeve. "The other officers do not stand
constantly in front."

Oleah lowered the field-glass, through which he had been looking at the
young captain in blue across the river, and with a sad smile turned
toward the speaker.

"Harry," he said, "do you know who we are fighting, who those men are
across the river?"

"No," said Harry, "only that they are enemies."

"Once they were neighbors, friends and brothers. That is the company
commanded by my brother Abner and raised in and about our village. Every
shot we fire, whose aim is true, drinks the blood of one who was once a
friend."

"Once friends," said Harry, "but enemies now."

Harry, who at first could not brook to take up arms against the Stars
and Stripes, had joined the Home Guards, under the belief that they were
only to protect their homes. He found himself in the Confederate army as
many others did, and determined to make the best of it.

Blood is thicker than water, and--in spite of the fierce hatred Oleah
Tompkins had for the Northern armies--it was with a sinking heart that
he entered into combat with Colonel Holdfast's regiment.

While McClellan's main body was pressing Garnett's army closely in
front, and threatening each moment to cross the ford, a portion of two
Indiana regiments crossed about three miles above the ford and came
crashing down on the Confederate's right wing. In a few minutes the
right flank of the rebels was turned and the Union soldiers, with wild
cheers, dashed into the stream and pushed across to the opposite side.
The whole rebel line began to waver. General Garnett, seeing the danger
his army was in, rode gallantly forward, and strove to rally his
panic-stricken men. It was in vain, and, in the midst of his useless
efforts to turn the tide of battle, he was struck by a ball and fell
dead to the earth. His fall completed the panic which had already begun.

Corporal Diggs, who had displayed a vast amount of coolness, as he lay
crouched behind his tree shivering in every limb, was the first in his
regiment to determine how the battle would go. No sooner had the right
flank been struck by the Hoosier troops than, with far-seeing military
judgment, he declared the day lost and, bounding to his feet, sprang
toward his horse which was snorting and plunging in its endeavors to get
away.

"Whoa, January, you old fool!" cried the corporal.

Whiz zip, went a musket ball past his ear, clipping a twig which fell at
his feet, and causing January to prance and rear.

"Oh Lordy, I'll be killed, I know I shall! Whoa, January!" and his
trembling fingers struggled to unloose the knot of his halter.

Harry Smith, who had fought with desperate bravery, was, with Lieutenant
Tompkins, among the last to leave the field. As he was in the act of
mounting his horse, he cast a glance down toward the ford, where the
mass of Union troops were forming and beheld the Stars and Stripes
streaming above the long line of blue coats. Harry turned pale for the
first time during the fight. A shock, as of a galvanic battery, seemed
to strike his frame.

"Oh! Heavens!" he thought, "why am I in these ranks, a rebel and a
traitor, fighting against the best government this world has ever
known?"

"Mount quickly, Harry, or we shall be taken," cried Oleah, who was
already in the saddle.

Harry sprang into the saddle, and they galloped away after their now
flying comrades, the enemy's cavalry pursuing them closely and firing an
occasional shot into the retreating ranks, as they rushed and crowded
down the road through the lanes and over the hills in the direction of
Beverly.

Corporal Diggs finally succeeded in untying the halter-knot, that held
January to his post, and after some trouble got into the saddle. The
bullets were whistling around his ears, and January was plunging through
the underbrush and out into the road, where he struck off in a western
direction at a rapid rate. The corporal did not try to restrain him, and
they were soon over the hill, three miles away from the battle ground.

"Oh Lordy, I know they are all killed!" murmured the little corporal,
looking back as he galloped down the road. For an hour he rode on, in
what direction he knew not, but away from both armies. His mind was full
of wild fancies. He saw six men coming like the wind down a cross lane,
and, although they were a mile or two in his rear, he knew by their dark
clothes and bright flashing guns that they were Union cavalry.

"Oh Lordy! I shall be killed, I know," he thought, as he used whip and
spur, crying: "Get up, January! Oh! for the Lord's sake, run!"

Corporal Diggs glanced back again, and saw the six dark horsemen in the
lane, directly behind him, and coming on as fast as their horses could
carry them. He thundered down the lane, which was bordered on either
side by a hedge fence about five feet high. The ground for about one
mile was level, and then came some hills, steep and abrupt as only
Virginia hills are.

The corporal unbuckled his saber and threw it away, threw away his
pistols, and everything that might in the least impede his flight.
January flew over the mile stretch and dashed down the hills at a
break-neck speed. Corporal Diggs, who was not an experienced rider,
clung to his horse's mane, and several times came very near being
unseated. The soldiers in his rear came nearer, and their shouts could
be heard by the poor flying wretch, but when he descended the hill they
were out of sight.

January, coming to a ditch at the side of the road, made a fearful leap,
and Corporal Diggs, losing his seat, was plunged head-foremost into a
hedge, which closed completely over him.

"Oh, Lordy, I know I shall be killed!" he groaned, as he lay, bruised
and bleeding, in the midst of the hedge. January never for a moment
stopped his flight, and soon the six pursuers swept by. Immediately
after this the corporal became unconscious.

Daylight had passed into night when Corporal Diggs recovered
consciousness; lying in his thorny bed bleeding, sore at every joint,
and with face and hands frightfully lacerated, it was needless to say
that this brave soldier was very uncomfortable. His first thought, on
regaining his senses, was to extricate himself from the thorns, and this
was by no means an easy task. Thorns above, thorns below, thorns on all
sides, made moving without additional laceration an impossibility. With
great care and many a smothered imprecation, groan and prayer, he at
last emerged on the meadow side of the hedge.

The sky was clear and dark, and studded with innumerable stars. Each
silent watcher seemed twinkling with merriment as the tattered
Confederate stood by the hedge, pondering which way to go. On the