CHAPTER VI
THE FISHERMEN
The welcome that the column found in Sheridan's camp was as warm asthey had hoped, and more. Fifteen hundred sabers such as theirs werenot to be valued lightly, and Sheridan knew well the worth of threesuch colonels as Hertford, Winchester and Bedford, with all three ofwhom he was acquainted personally, and with whose records he wasfamiliar. Dick, Pennington and Warner also came in for his notice, andhe recalled having seen Dick at the fierce battle of Perryville inKentucky, a fact of which Dick was very proud.
"Now don't become too haughty because he remembers you," said Warnerreprovingly. "Bear in mind that trifles sometimes stick longer in ourminds than more important things."
"It's just jealousy on your part," said Dick. "You New Englanders areable people, but you can't bear for anybody else to achievedistinction."
"We don't have to feel that jealousy often," said Warner calmly.
"Merit like charity begins with you at home."
"And modesty can't keep us from admitting it, but you Kentuckians dofight well--under our direction."
"Don't talk with him, Dick," said Pennington. "Against his wall ofmountainous conceit wisdom breaks in vain."
"I'm glad to see you expressing yourself so poetically, Frank," saidWarner. "The New England seed planted in Nebraska will flower intobloom some day."
Sergeant Whitley came at that moment and asked them to go and see thenew horses provided for them, and the three went with him, friendsbound to one another by hooks of steel. The horses given to them byspecial favor of Sheridan in place of their worn-out mounts, weresplendid animals, and Sergeant Whitley himself had prepared them fortheir first appearance before their new masters.
"They'll do! They'll do!" said Dick with enthusiasm. "Grand fellows!They ought to carry us anywhere!"
"Upon this point I must confess myself somewhat your inferior," saidWarner in his precise manner. "The mountainous character of our statekeeps us from making horses a specialty. You, I believe, in Kentucky,pay great attention to their breeding, and so I ask you, young Mr.Mason, if the horse chosen for me is all that he should be."
"He asks it as a matter of condescension, Dick, and not as a favor,"said Pennington.
"It's all right any way you take it," laughed Dick. "Yes, George, yourhorse has no defect. You can always lead the charge on him againstEarly."
"If I'm not at the very front I expect to be somewhere near it," saidWarner. "But don't you like the looks of this camp, boys? It showsorder, method and precision. Everything has been done according to thebest algebraic formulae. I call it mathematics, charged with fire. OurLittle Phil is a great commander. One can feel his spirit in the airall about us."
Dick himself had noticed the military workmanship and that, too, of ahigh order, and he understood thoroughly that Sheridan had gathered amost formidable army. It was not much short of thirty thousand men,veteran troops, and he had with him Wright, Emory, Crook, Merritt,Averill, Torbert, Wilson and Grover, all able generals. Nor hadSheridan neglected to inform himself of the country over which heintended to march. With his lieutenant of engineers, Meigs, a man ofgreat talent, he had spent days and nights studying maps of the valley.Now he knew all the creeks and brooks and roads and towns, and heunderstood the country as well as Early himself, who faced him with aslarge a Confederate force as he could gather.
Dick and his comrades expected immediate action, but it did not come.They lingered for days, due, they supposed, to orders from Washington,but they did not bother themselves about it, as they liked their newcamp and were making many new friends. September days passed and theysaw the summer turning into autumn. The mountains in the distancelooked blue, but, near at hand, their foliage had turned brown. Thegreat heat gave way to a crisper air and the lads who had come from thetrenches before Petersburg enjoyed for a little while the luxury ofearly autumn and illimitable space.
They rode now and then with the cavalry outposts. Early and his menstretched across the valley to oppose them, and often Northern andSouthern pickets were in touch, though they seldom fired upon oneanother. Dick, whenever he rode with the advanced guard, watched forHarry Kenton, St. Clair and Langdon, but it was nearly a week before hesaw them. Then they rode with a small group, headed by two elderly butvery upright men, whom he knew to be Colonel Leonidas Talbot andLieutenant Colonel Hector St. Hilaire.
He felt genuine gladness, and, shouting at the top of his voice, hewaved his hand. They recognized him, and all waved a welcome inreturn. He saw the two colonels studying him through their glasses, buthe knew that no attack would be made upon him and the little party withwhich he rode. It was one of those increasing intervals of peace andfriendship between battles. The longer the war and the greater thelosses the less men troubled themselves to shoot one another save whenreal battle was joined.
They were about four hundred yards apart and Dick used his glassesalso, enabling him to see that the young Southern officers wereunwounded--Langdon's slight hurt had healed long since--and were strongand hearty. He thought it likely that they, as well as he, had foundthe brief period of rest and freedom from war a genuine luxury.
He waved his hand once more, and they waved back as before. Then thecourse of the two little troops took them away from each other, and theSoutherners were hid from his view by a belt of forest. But he wasvery glad that he had seen them. It had been almost as if there wereno war.
Dick rode back to the camp, gave his horse to an orderly, and, walkingtoward his tent, was met by Warner and Pennington, carrying longslender rods on their shoulders--Warner in fact carrying two.
"What's this?" he exclaimed.
"We're going fishing," replied Warner. "We've permission for you also.There's a fine stream about a half mile west of us, running through thewoods, and it's been fished in but little since the war started. Here,take your rod! You don't expect me to carry it for you any longer doyou? It has a good hook and line and it's easy for us to find baitunder a big stone on soft soil."
"Thank you, George," said Dick happily. "You couldn't keep me fromgoing with you two. Do you know, I haven't been fishing in more thanthree years, and me not yet of age?"
"Well, now's your chance, and you may not have another until after thewar is over. They say it's a fine stream, though, of course, it's notlike the beautiful little rivers of Vermont, that come dashing downfrom the mountains all molten silver, where they're not white foam.Splendid fish! Splendid rivers! Splendid sport! Dick, do you thinkI'm facing now in the exact direction of Vermont?"
He had turned about and was gazing with a rapt look into the northeast.
"I should say," said Dick, "that if your gaze went far enough it wouldstrike squarely upon the Green Mountains of Vermont."
Warner's hand rose in a slow and majestic salute.
"Great little state, mother of men, I salute thee!" he said. "Thou artstern and yet beautiful to the eye and thy sons love thee! I, who ambut one among them, love all thy rocks, and clear streams, and noblemountains and green foliage! Here, from the battle fields and acrossthe distance I salute thee, O great little state! O mother of men!"
"Quite dithyrambic," said Dick, "and now that your burst of rhetoric isover let's go on and catch our fish. Will you also use your romanticscience of mathematics in fishing? By the way, what has become of thatlittle algebra book of yours?"
"It's here," said Warner, taking it from the breast pocket of histunic. "I never part with it and I most certainly expect to use itsprinciples when I reach the fishing stream. Let x express my equipmentand myself, let y equal skill and patience; x we shall say also equalsthe number 7, while y equals the number 5. Now the fish arerepresented by z which is equal to 12. It is obvious even to slowminds like yours and Pennington's that neither x nor y alone can equalz, the fish, otherwise 12, but when combined they represent that valueexactly, that is x plus y equals 12. So, if I and my equipmentcoordinate perfectly with my skill and patience, which most certainlyw
ill happen, the fish are as good as caught by me already. The rest isa mere matter of counting."
"Best give in, Dick," said Pennington. "He'll always prove to you byhis algebra that he knows everything, and that everything he does isright. Of course, he's the best fisherman in the world!"
"I'd have you to know, Francis Pennington," said Warner, with dignity,"that I was a very good fisherman when I was five years old, and thatI've been improving ever since, and that Vermont is full of fine deepstreams, in which one can fish with pleasure and profit. What do youknow, you prairie-bred young ruffian, about fishing? I've heard thatyour creeks and brooks are nothing but strips of muddy dew. The PlatteRiver itself, I believe, is nearly two inches deep at its deepestparts. I don't suppose there's another stream in America which takes upso much space on the map and so little on the ground."
"The Platte is a noble river," rejoined Pennington. "What it lacks indepth it makes up in length, and I'll not have it insulted by anybodyin its absence."
While they talked they passed through the brown woods and came to thecreek, flowing with a fine volume of water down from the mountains intoone of the rivers of the valley.
"It's up to its advertisements," said Warner, looking at it withsatisfaction. "It's clear, deep and it ought to have plenty of goodfish. I see a snug place between the roots of that oak growing uponthe bank, and there I sit."
"There are plenty of good places," said Dick, as they seated themselvesand unwrapped their lines, "and I've a notion that our fishing is goingto prove good. Isn't it fine? Why, it's like being back home!"
"Time's rolled back and we're just boys again," said Pennington.
"Don't try to be poetic, Frank," said Warner. "I've told you alreadythat a man who has nothing but muddy streaks of dew to fish in can'tknow anything about fishing."
"Stop quarreling, you two," said Dick. "Don't you know that suchvoices as yours raised in loud tones would scare away the boldest fishthat ever swam?"
The three cast their lines out into the stream. They were of theold-fashioned kind, a hook, a lead sinker, and a cork on the line tokeep it from sinking too far. Dick had used just such an equipmentsince he was eight years old, in the little river at Pendleton, and nowhe was anxious to prove to himself that he had not lost his skill. Allthree were as eager to catch a fish as they were to win a battle, and,for the time, the war was forgotten. It seemed to Dick as he sat onthe brown turf between the enclosing roots of the tree, and leaningagainst its trunk, that his lost youth had returned. He was just a boyagain, fishing and with no care save to raise something on his hook.The wood, although small, was dense, and it shut out all view of thearmy. Nor did any martial sounds come to them. The rustle of theleaves under the gentle wind was soothing. He was back at Pendleton.Harry Kenton was fishing farther up the stream, and so were other boys,his old friends of the little town.
The bit of forest was to all intents a wilderness just then, and it wasso pleasant in the comfortable place between the supporting roots ofthe tree that Dick fell into a dreamy state, in which all things weredelightful. It was perhaps the power of contrast, but after so muchriding and fighting he felt a sheer physical pleasure in sitting thereand watching the clear stream flow swiftly by. He smiled too at theway in which his cork bobbed up and down on the water, and he began tofeel that it would not matter much whether he caught any fish or not.It was just enough to sit there and go through all the motions offishing.
A shout from a point twenty yards below and he looked up, startled,from his dream.
"A bite!" exclaimed Warner, "I thought I had him, but he slipped offthe hook! I raised him to the surface and I know he was two feet long!"
"Nine inches, probably," said Dick. "Allow at least fifteen inches foryour imagination, George."
"I suppose you're right, Dick. At least, I have to do it down here. Ifit were a Vermont river he'd be really two feet long."
Dick heard his line and sinker strike the water again, and then silencereturned to the little wood, but it did not endure long. From a pointbeyond Warner came a shout, and this was undeniably a cry of triumph.It was accompanied by a swishing through the air and the sound of anobject striking the leaves.
"I got him! I got him! I got him!" exclaimed Pennington, dancingabout as if he were only twelve years old.
Dick stood up and saw that Pennington, in truth, had caught a finefish, at least a foot long, which was now squirming over the leaves,its silver scales gleaming.
"It seems to me," said Dick, "that the very young Territory of Nebraskahas scored over the veteran State of Vermont."
"A victor merely in a preliminary skirmish," said Warner serenely. "Thefish happened to be there. Frank's baited hook was close by. The fishwas hungry and the result was a mathematical certainty. Frank isentitled to no credit whatever. As for me, I lure my fish within thecatching area."
As Dick resumed his seat he felt a sharp pull at his own line, anddrawing it in smartly he drew with it a fish as large as Pennington's,a fact that he announced with pride.
"I think, Frank," he called, "that this is not good old Vermont's day.Either we're more skillful or the fish like us better than they doWarner. Which do you think it is?"
"It's both, Dick."
"On second thought, I don't agree with you, Frank. The fish in thisriver are entirely new to us. They've never seen us before, and theyknow nothing about us by hearsay and reputation. It's a case of skill,pure skill, Frank. We've got Mr. Vermont down, and we're going to holdhim down."
Warner said nothing, but Dick rose up a little and saw his face. Itwas red, the teeth clenched tightly, and the mouth drawn down at thecorners. His eyes were fixed eagerly on his cork in the hope of seeingit bob for a moment and then be drawn swiftly under.
"Good old George," said Dick, under his breath. "He hates to bebeaten--well, so do we all."
Pennington caught another fish and then Dick drew in his second.Warner did not have a bite since his first miss and his two comradesdid not spare him. They insinuated that there were no fish in Vermont,and they doubted whether the state had any rivers either. In any eventit was obvious that Warner had never fished before. For severalminutes they carried on this conversation, the words, in a way, as theywent back and forth, passing directly by his head. But Warner did notspeak. He merely clenched his teeth more tightly and watched hisfloating cork. Meanwhile Dick caught his third fish and then Penningtonequaled him. Now their taunts, veiled but little, became more numerous.
Warner never spoke, nor did he take his eyes from his cork. He hadheard every word, but he would not show annoyance. He was compelled tosee Dick draw in yet another fine fellow, while his own cork seemed tohave all the qualities of a lifeboat. It danced and bobbed around, butapparently it had not the slightest intention of sinking. Why did hehave such luck, or rather lack of it? Was fortune going to proveunkind to the good old rock-ribbed Green Mountain State?
There came a tremendous jerk upon the line! The cork shot down like abullet, but Warner, making a mighty pull and snap with the rod, landeda glorious gleaming fish upon the bank, a full two feet in length,probably as large as any that had ever been caught in that stream. Hedetached the hook and looked down at his squirming prize, while Dickand Pennington also came running to see.
"I've been waiting for you, my friend," said Warner serenely to thefish. "Various small brothers of yours have come along and looked at mybait, but I've always moved it out of reach, leaving them to fall aprey to my friends who are content with little things. I had to waitfor you some time, O King of Fishes, but you came at last and you aremine."
"You can't put him down, Dick, and it's not worth while trying," saidPennington, and Dick agreeing they went back to their own places.
The fishing now went on with uninterrupted success. Dick caught a bigfellow too, and so did Pennington. Fortune, after wavering in herchoice, decided to favor all three about equally, and they werecontent. The silvery heaps grew and they rejoiced over
the splendidaddition they would make to their mess. The colonels would enjoy thisfine fresh food, and they were certainly enjoying the taking of it.
They ran out of chaff and fell into silence again, while they fishedindustriously. Dick, who was farthest up the stream, noticed a smallpiece of wood floating in the center of the current. It seemed to havebeen cut freshly. "Loggers at work farther up," he said to himself."May be cutting wood for the army."
He caught another fish and a fresh chip passed very near his line. Thencame a second, and a third touched the line itself. Dick's curiositywas aroused. Loggers at such a time would not take the trouble tothrow their chips into the stream. He lifted his line, caught anunusually large white chip on the hook and drew it to the land. Whenhe picked it up and looked at it he whistled. Someone had cut upon itsface with a sharp penknife these clear and distinct words:
Yankees Beware This is our River Don't Fish in It These Fish are Ours. JOHNNY REBS.
"Well, this is surely insolence," said Dick, and calling his comradeshe showed them the chip. Both were interested, but Warner hadadmiration for its sender.
"It shows a due consideration for us," he said. "He merely warns usaway as trespassers before shooting at us. And perhaps he's right.The river and the fish in it really belong to them. We're invaders.We came down here to crush rebellion, not to take away property."
"But I'm going to keep my fish, just the same," said Pennington. "Youcan't crush a rebellion without eating. Nor am I going to quit fishingeither."
"Here comes another big white chip," said Dick.
Warner caught it on his hook and towed it in. It bore the inscription,freshly cut:
Let our river alone Take in your lines You're in danger, As you'll soon see.
It was unsigned and they stared at it in wonder.
"Do you think this is really a warning?" said Pennington, "or is itsome of the fellows playing tricks on us?"
"I believe it's a warning," said Warner soberly. "Probably a farmer alittle distance up the stream has been cutting wood, and these chipshave come from his yard, but he didn't send them. Dick, can you tellhandwriting when it's done with a knife?"
Dick looked at the chip long and critically.
"It may be imagination," he said, "but the words cut there bear someresemblance to the handwriting of Harry Kenton. He makes a peculiar Land a peculiar A and they're just the same way on this chip. Thewriting is different on the other chip, but on this one I believestrongly that it's Harry's."
"It looks significant to me," said Warner thoughtfully. "A mile or twofarther up, this stream, so I'm told, makes an elbow, and beyond thatit comes with a rush out of the mountains. Its banks are lined withwoods and thickets and some of the enemy may have slipped in andlaunched these chips. I've a sort of feeling, Dick, that it's reallyyour cousin and his friends who have done it."
"I incline to that belief myself," said Dick. "You know they're readyto dare anything, and they don't anticipate any great danger, becausewe don't care to shoot at one another, until the campaign reallybegins."
"At least," said Warner, "it's best to apply to the problem a goodalgebraic formula. Here we are in a wood, some distance from our maincamp. Messages, bearing a warning either in jest or in earnest, havecome floating down from a point which may be within the enemy'scountry. One of the facts is x and the other is y, but what they amountto is an unknown quantity. Hence we are left in doubt, and when you'rein doubt it's best to do the safe thing."
"Which means that we should go back to the camp," said Dick. "Butwe'll take our fish with us, that's sure."
They began to wind up their lines, but knowing that departure would beprudent they were yet reluctant to go in the face of a hidden danger,which after all might not be real.
"Suppose I climb this tree," said Pennington, indicating a tall elm,"and I may be able to get a good look over the country, while youfellows keep watch."
"Up you go, Frank," said Dick. "George and I will be on guard, pistolsin one hand and fish in the other."
Pennington climbed the elm rapidly and then announced from the highestbough able to support him that he saw open country beyond, then morewoods, a glimpse of the stream above the elbow, but no human being. Headded that he would remain a few minutes in the tree and continue hissurvey of the country.
Dick's eyes had followed Frank's figure until it disappeared among thebrown leaves, and he had listened to him carefully, while he wastelling the result of his outlook, but his attention now turned back tothe river. No more chips were floating down its stream. Nothingforeign appeared upon the clear surface of its waters, but Dick's sharpvision caught sight of something in a thicket on the far shore thatmade his heart beat.
It was but little he saw, merely the brown edge of an enormousflap-brimmed hat, but it was enough. Slade and his men undoubtedlywere there--practically within the Union lines--and he was the danger!He called up the tree in a fierce sibilant whisper that carriedamazingly far:
"Come down, Frank! Come down at once, for your life!"
It was a call so alarming and insistent that Pennington almost droppedfrom the tree. He was upon the ground, breathless, in a half minute,his fish in one hand and the pistol that he had snatched from his beltin the other.
"What is it?" exclaimed Warner, who had not yet seen anything.
"Slade and his men are in the bush on the other side of the river. Thewarning was real and I've no doubt Harry sent it. They've seen Frankcome down the tree! Drop flat for your lives!"
Again his tone was so compelling that the other two threw themselvesflat instantly, and Dick went down with them. They were barely intime. A dozen rifles flashed from the thickets beyond the stream, butall the bullets passed over their heads.
"Now we run for it!" exclaimed Dick, once more in that tone ofcompelling command. All three rose instantly, though not forgettingtheir fish and their fishing rods, and ran at their utmost speed forfifty or sixty yards, when at Dick's order they threw themselves flatagain. Three or four more shots were fired from the thickets, but theydid not come near their targets.
"Thank God for that little river in between us!" said Pennington,piously and sincerely. "Rivers certainly have their uses!"
Then they heard a sharp, shrill note blown upon a whistle.
"That's Slade recalling his men," said Dick. "I heard him use the samewhistle in Mississippi and I know it. His wicked little scheme toslaughter us has failed and knowing it he prudently withdraws."
"For which, perhaps, we have a chip to thank," said Warner. "Shall werise and run again?"
"Yes," said Dick. "I think they've gone, but fifty yards farther andnobody in those thickets can reach us."
They stooped as they ran, and they ran fast, but, when they droppeddown again, it was behind a little hill, and they knew that all dangerhad passed. The thumping of their hearts ceased, and they lookedthankfully at one another.
"Our lives were in danger," said Warner proudly, "but I didn't forgetmy fish. See, the silver beauties!"
"And here are mine too!" said Pennington, holding up his string.
"And mine also!" said Dick.
"I don't like the way we had to run," said Warner. "We werepractically within our own lines and we were compelled to beundignified. I've been insulted by that flap-brimmed scoundrel, Slade,and I shall not forget it. If he hangs upon our flank in this campaignI shall make a point of it, if I am able, to present him with a bullet."
The sound of thudding hoofs came, and Colonel Winchester and a troopgalloped up.
"We heard shots!" he exclaimed. "What was it?"
Dick held up his fish.
"We've been fishing, sir," he replied, "and as you can see, we've hadsuccess, but we were interrupted by the guerrilla Slade, whom I met inMississippi, and his men. We got off, though, unhurt, and brought ourfish with us."
Colonel Winchester's troop numbered more than a hundred men, andcrossing th
e river they beat up the country thoroughly, but they saw noConfederate sign. When he came back Dick told him all the details ofthe episode, and Colonel Winchester agreed with him that Harry had sentthe warning.
"You'd better keep it to yourself," he said. "It's too vague andmysterious to make a peg upon which to hang anything. Since we'vecleared the bush of enemies we'll go eat the fish you and your friendshave caught."
Sergeant Whitley cooked them, and, as Dick and a score of others sataround the fire and ate fish for supper, they were so exuberant andchaffed so much that he forgot for the time all about Slade.