CHAPTER XVIII
INTRODUCING MR. BROWN KIPPS
Deck Lyon did not like the service to which he had been assigned on thebridge. The importance of the duty, as laid down to him by his father,did not make the situation any pleasanter.
Though his conscience approved his conduct in taking the place withoutattempting to avoid the service, it would have suited him better toremain in the ranks, and have a part in the action which was soon totake place, as officers and privates all believed.
He had nothing to do after he had hauled down the flag,--at least,nothing but watch his father, whose plumed hat was the only one of thekind on the field; and he had no difficulty in keeping it in sight allthe time. He was not obliged to keep his eyes fixed on him every moment,for he knew when to expect the signal to hoist the flag; and it wouldnot be given till the first company had engaged the enemy somewhere onthe south road, between the top of the hill and the cross-roads.
He was all alone, and he could speak to no one. He had rolled up theflag with the halyards still attached to it, and placed it at the footof the pole. He had been sitting on his horse all day, and for a time heamused himself in walking up and down the bridge. It did not occur tohim that there was a human being anywhere near him except those who werein the camp below, and they were some distance from him. He looked atthe prisoners, and the cavalrymen who were keeping guard over them. Theywere not an interesting sight to him, for the former consisted mostly ofthe ruffians whom he had fought in the field and in the schoolhouse.
"Nothing to do, and nobody to help me," said Deck to himself, as heseated himself at the foot of the flagstaff, with his legs dangling overthe bank of the creek below. The pole had been set up where it was mostconvenient to fasten it, and the place was about ten feet from theabutment. The bridge spanned not only the stream of water, but thevalley through which it flowed.
This valley was crossed by the embankment to within forty feet of thecreek; and the south road passed under the bridge, close to theabutment. The high fence, or side of the shanty that had stood there,was on the solid ground, which had been filled in, and Deck was hardlymore than a rod from it. He had walked about here, and he concluded thatsome kind of a building had stood there; for he found a temporaryworkbench, which had doubtless been used by the bridge-builders.
The signalman at the flagstaff was fully armed, as when he dismounted;and when he seated himself on the plank of the bridge, his sabre hadnearly tripped him over the side of it to the ground below; but he wasvery active, and he saved himself. In this position he observed theoccupation of the prisoners, who appeared to have no interest whateverin the impending fight at the cross-roads. Some of them were playingcards, to which they were more accustomed than to the routine of thesoldier; some were asleep; and a few were mending their ragged garments.
They were not an interesting sight to the watcher on the bridge. Amongthem was his Uncle Titus, who sat on a log in front of his tent. Hewore a disgusted look, perhaps because he was deprived of his usualwhiskey rations; for Major Lyon refused to allow liquor to be served toany prisoner. He had chosen for himself, and had joined the Confederatearmy. He considered himself a sort of family martyr, because his brotherhad chosen to give his plantation to Noah instead of to him; and thisfeeling largely influenced him in his political choice.
Deck had only one wish, as he sat with his legs over the side of thebridge, and that was that the enemy would speedily appear on the southroad; for then his father would give him the signal to hoist the flag.When he had done that his mission would be ended, and he could hastenback to his place in the ranks, in season, he hoped, to take part in theaction. The more impatient he became, the more vigilant was his scrutinyof the plumed head of his father.
Several times he thought, when any movement was made by the soldiers,that the time had come. The minutes seemed to be longer to him than anyhe had ever known before. He looked at his watch, after he had refrainedfrom doing so several times by the thought of his own impatience, andhe found he had been on the bridge only half an hour; though it seemedto him that he had been there four times as long as that. But just atthat moment, and before he had restored the watch to his pocket, heheard sounds which turned his attention in another direction.
He heard footsteps near him. No one but himself had been sent to thebridge, and the sound gave him a decided sensation. They came from thenorth end of the bridge; and the high fence prevented him from seeingthe person whose tramp he heard. He was not alarmed; and he listened tothe footsteps, waiting for the individual to come out from behind theobstruction. Then the steps were accompanied by the whistling of a tune,as though the person was an idler, who had no other means of employinghis time.
Deck Lyon was not a musician, though he had done some singing before hisvoice changed. The whistling began to have an interest to him, and helistened with all his might. The person was either a Union man or aSecessionist; and the young cavalryman thought the air he selected mustgive him some information on this delicate point. If he whistled"Dixie," either from choice or from the force of habit, it would not bedifficult to determine on which side he had cast his political lot.
On the other hand, if he piped "The Star Spangled Banner," "Hail,Columbia!" or "John Brown's Body," Deck thought he should be morerejoiced to meet him at this particular moment. Possibly the whistlerhad not kept up with the times in his musical education, for he pipednone of the airs named; but presently the signalman recognized the notesof "Yankee Doodle," which answered his purpose even better than any ofthe melodies named. Secessionists had no taste for this ancient air atjust this time.
The man appeared to have stopped behind the high fence, and did notimmediately reward the expectant waiter with a sight of his person. Heheard some blows with an axe or heavy hammer upon the planks underfoot;then he resumed his whistling, which became more vigorous than artistic.It was evident even to Deck that the performer had not been trained inthe art he was practising, but he seemed to be plentifully suppliedwith wind, and he had just doubled the quantity of sound he produced;and the melody intended was unmistakably "Yankee Doodle," and this wasthe important point to the listener.
Still, the whistler did not show himself; though he was hardly more thanforty feet distant from his audience, and seemed to be unconscious thathe had a listener. Deck wanted to see that man, but he persistently kepthis body corporate behind the obstruction to his view. Arranging hissabre, so that it should not trip him up and tumble him off the bridge,he sprang lightly to his feet. He stepped back a couple of paces, andthen obtained a full view of the piper, who certainly was not skilfulenough to have "played before Moses."
He did not wear a uniform, and therefore he did not belong to the TexanRangers; for Deck had fought them, and knew how they were clothed. Thisstruck him as an important point; for he had made sure before he rosefrom his seat that his carbine, slung at his back, was in condition forinstant service. His regulation pistols were in the holsters on hishorse; but he had supplied himself with a small revolver at FortBedford, for there was a tendency with fresh recruits to overloadthemselves with weapons on entering active service, and thousands ofdollars worth of such were thrown away when they became a burden.
The stranger was dressed like a mechanic; and he seemed to be examiningthe planking of the bridge, which is not usually a matter of vitalimportance in such a structure for railroad purposes. The man stoppedwhistling, and began to use a middling-sized sledge-hammer, directinghis blows at the heads of the spikes under his feet. Then he dropped thehammer, and picked up an adze, with which he trimmed off the projectingedge of a plank. Deck thought this was very strange work for a man to bedoing at such a time, and in such a place.
But the mechanic was whistling a Union air; and this fact seemed to makeit all right, and prevented him from having a suspicion that all was notright in the presence of the man on the bridge. The railroad in Kentuckywas a loyal institution, as it was a disloyal one farther South. Decktherefore came to the conclusion that he was
an employee of the company.He decided to interview the stranger, and ascertain more precisely whoand what he was.
In matters of military duty Deck was a close constructionist; and thefirst question he asked himself was whether or not he ought to leave hispost, even to go a distance of forty feet. His sole occupation till hereceived the signal to hoist the flag, was to watch for it; and he kepthis father's plumed hat in sight all the time. But he could see thehandkerchief when it was waved as well from behind the fence as at theflagstaff; or, at most, he had only to step back a few paces to enablehim to command a full view of the expected battle-ground, and of thehill behind which Captain Truman was posted with his command.
He did not for an instant lose sight of his sole duty; but he walked afew paces at a time towards the fence, and then looked back, to makesure that he could see the plume of the major. As it was in sight allthe time, he continued to advance very slowly. When he reached the endof the fence the centre of his watch was still to be seen, and nothingseemed to be in progress in any of the roads visible from his position.
Just at the moment when he was almost within speaking distance of themechanic, who had ceased to whistle, the latter picked up his tools andmoved to the other end of the fence, where he began to hammer the spikesagain. The man appeared to take no notice of him, or even to be aware ofhis presence. Assured that he could see the skirmishers who had beensent beyond the hill if they were driven in, he continued to advancestill farther, though he went to the middle of the bridge, where thefence did not obstruct his view.
Deck wanted to know more about the man with the sledge and the adze. Theflag was to be hoisted as a signal for the second company to attack theenemy in the flank or rear, while the first engaged them in front. Thefight must begin before the signal could be required, and the signalmanwould have abundant notice when the firing began that his services wouldsoon be required. The fence was less than a hundred feet in length, andhe had not far to go to confront the mechanic.
Keeping the cross-roads in view till the fence shut it out, he made aquick movement to the immediate vicinity of the workman, who washammering away with the sledge with all his might. He made so much noisethat he could not hear the steps of the soldier.
"What are you doing here?" shouted Deck.
The mechanic took no notice of him, and did not seem to have heard him.He repeated his inquiry, this time a great deal louder than before. Theman stopped in his work, and looked at him with apparent astonishment,as though he had discovered his presence for the first time.
"I am fixing the bridge, don't you see?" replied the workman, as thoughhe deemed it a foolish question. "What are you doing here?"
"I am on duty on the bridge," replied Deck.
But he could not see the soldiers near the cross-roads, where his fatherhad been most of the time, and his conscience smote him as though he hadstolen the brood in a chicken-coop. He did not wait to say any more, buthe ran with all his speed till he reached a point where he could see theplume of the commander of the squadron.
"What's the matter? What you runnin' off fur?" shouted the mechanic."You needn't run; I won't hurt you."
Deck thought this was rather cool from a man apparently unarmed, to onewith a carbine slung on his back, and a sabre at his side; but he judgedthat the fellow aspired to be a humorist, for he looked as good-naturedas though he had just perpetrated a first-class witticism. But thecavalryman did not halt till he reached the end of the fence, where hemade a careful survey on the field of the expected combat. He was toobusy just then to notice the man.
"What is the matter, Mr.----? I reckon I don't know your name," saidthe man; and the sound indicated that he had followed the other nearlyto the end of the fence.
"They call me Deck, those who know me best," replied the trooper,willing to humor the mechanic. "Now, who are you?"
"My name is Brown Kipps; but most folks don't take the trouble to callme anything but Kipps, Mr. Deck."
"My front name is Dexter; Deck for short," added the soldier.
"What is your back name?"
"Lyon."
"You look like a lion," added Kipps. "Won't you take a seat on this oldbench, and let us talk it over?"
Deck declined the invitation.