CHAPTER XVI.
_"Into the valley of death."_--Tennyson.
It was arranged that the command with which Griffith moved should, sofar as was possible, avoid collision with the enemy; move silently,swiftly or slowly as occasion demanded, but at all times do everythingpossible to give to the topographical engineers a clear, distinct andminute knowledge of the country, so that in future intelligent actioncould be sustained.
It was thought wise to take as few troops as safety would permit,and, wherever knowledge of the proximity of the Southern forces wasobtained in time, take some other road or retire temporarily tothe seclusion of the mountains. All fighting was, if possible, to beavoided. This was the plan of operations. At times they were far insidethe enemy's lines, but at distant points from the opposing force.
At other times they were again camped for a night with some advancedivision of the federal troops farther northward. To those to whom theirobject was unknown, their movements would have seemed unaccountable,indeed.
In road or pass or village, many a familiar face did Griffith see, andhis relief was intense, if no look of recognition came into it.His fatigue coat, from which the brass buttons had been taken, andbroad-brimmed, cord-decorated military hat, served as something of adisguise with those who had never seen him in other than clerical garb.Often a sharp pain shot through his heart as he rode through some oneof his old circuits, and a one time friendly face looked up at him,at first with simply the curiosity and dislike bestowed upon thestaff officers of a hostile force, and then with a sudden flashof recognition, there would come, also, a look of bitter personalresentment, not meant for the staff, but for that son of the South, who,as they felt, was betraying his friends. What his position or rank wasthey did not know. His uniform was that of a civilian, excepting onlythe hat; but that he was in and with and of the invading army wasenough. The information spread like wildfire.
"Griffith Davenport is with a brigade of Yankees! He knows every inch ofthis country!" What this meant to both sides, was quickly understood.Bitterness increased. That he should be shot at the first opportunitywas universally conceded. Griffith saw and felt it keenly. It made hisheart too heavy for words. At first he spoke to the General: "I knewthat man, General. He recognized me. Did you see how he turned suddenlyto look again? Did you see----?"
"Yes, I noticed, and I saw the look of hate, damn him; but you needn'tbe afraid. The first time any assassination business is tried they willfind who they have got to deal with. I'll burn every God-damned house Icome to, and shoot several citizens in retaliation! Oh, I'm not half somild as I look! Don't you be afraid! They'll all think hell has brokeloose on earth, if they fire from ambush at you! They'll have to get youin open battle, if they want to be treated with soldierly consideration,and we don't intend you to be in any battle; so don't you be----"
"It is not that! It is not that, General," Griffith would say. He triedto explain.
"Well, heavens and earth! What did you expect? You didn't expect 'em to_like_ it, did you?"
Griffith sighed and gave it up. No, he did not expect them to likeit. He did not even hope that they could understand it fairly, andyet----The home-coming was indeed bitter, and Griffith ceased to sing.He saw maps made of the places he loved, and he saw in the distancethe peaceful old haunts filled with contending armies. He looked atthe trees that were still old and warm and loyal friends, in spite ofdifference of creed or politics, and he dreamed of them when they shouldbe lopped of their branches and tom with shot and shell as they triedvainly to shield with their own sturdy limbs those who knew no betterthan to fight the battles of this life with sword and gun. One day, ashe rode slowly in advance of the rest, he suddenly looked up toward thegnarled branch of a great tree, where he recalled that an old friendof his had lived. The heads of three tiny squirrels peeped out, and themother frisked hard by. "Ah," he said, aloud, "how do you do,Bunnie? Still living at the old home-place. See! Is it you or yourgreat-grandchildren? There's such a strong family likeness I can'ttell." The little animal whisked nearer, and looked with curious eyesthat were not afraid. "You do not blame me, and you do not hate me,and you do not fear me, Bunnie. _You_ understand me better than men do,after all." He sighed and tossed a bit of cracker toward the nest. Itfell far short, but the mother-squirrel whisked about here and there, andflipped her tail and posed; but at last snatched up the proffered giftand scampered up the tree. Griffith smiled.
"I've broken bread with one of my old friends at last," he said aloud.
"What did you say?" asked the General, halting suddenly. He had loweredhis voice to the danger pitch, as he had mistaken Griffith's low tonefor one of caution. He lifted his hand, and each of his officers downthe line did the same. There was an instant halt.
"What was it?" he asked again, under his breath.
"A nest of squirrels right where they were fifteen or twenty years ago.I was renewing the acquaintance. _They_ were the first old friends thathave not been afraid of--who trusted me still. I was----"
A volley of oaths burst forth. "Attention! March!" he commanded, andas the line officers repeated the command, the General's wrath waxedfurious. He did not dare to wreak it directly upon Griffith. He dashedback down the line, swearing with that lurid facility and abandon forwhich he was famous, at the astonished, but case-hardened and amusedmen.
"Halted an army to talk to a God-damned squirrel!" he ground out betweenhis wrathful teeth, as he rejoined his staff. He whipped out a revolverand fired at the nest. The bullet flew wide of the mark, but the littleheads disappeared in affright. The staff-officers looked at each otherand smiled. The contrast between the two at their head was a source ofconstant, mild fun.
"Broken faith with even you, haven't I, Bunnie?" said Griffith,softly, as he rode on. "Do you think I threw you the cracker so that Icould the better shoot you? I didn't, Bannie--but you will never know."
A half-mile further on Griffith halted. "General," he said, "this is theonly place for some distance now that we can halt for the night undercover of a dense wood and still have water near. There is a creek justbelow that rise. It is good water. It curves around this way, and thehorses can be picketed near it and still be hid. After this it will beopen country for ten miles or more. If----"
"Halt! Throw out pickets! Dismount! Break ranks!"
The orders were given and repeated. The appearance of a camp grew uplike magic. No fires were to be lighted until scout and picket reportscame in, but the men went about feeding their horses and making readyfor the fires and for "grub," as they called it. They were glad tostretch themselves. It had been a long day's ride.
"We will signal from the rise over there, General," Griffith said. "Iffrom there we can see no camp-fires, there will be none near enough todetect ours. Shall I return here, General, or----"
"Return here. Pick your escort."
Griffith rode away with his three sharpshooters. The tired men watchedeagerly for the signal, as they lay about on the ground. A shout wentup when they saw it, and fires were lighted and rations brought forth.A young fellow with corporal's straps was humming as he lay on his backwith both feet far up on the body of a tree. He had carried with him allday an empty tin can, and now he was making coffee in it. He turned fromtime to time to peer into the can or readjust the sticks as they burned.
"We're tenting to-night on the old camp-ground."
His soft tenor rang out on the cool evening air as clear as the note ofa bird, despite his recumbent position. He lifted himself on one elbowand peered again into the coffee, but the song ran on--
"Give us a song to cheer."
A group near him was deep in a game of cards. "Here! It's Towsy'sdeal! Damned if I don't believe Jim would deal every hand if he wasn'twatched. He----"
"Our weary heart, a song of home----"
"Oh, dry up! Give us a rest!"
"Ouch! Stop that! If I don't----"
"Clubs again, by gad! Every time Stumpy deals, its clubs. I believe----"
"And friends we love so dear. Many are the hearts that are weary to-night, Wishing--"
The clear tenor had risen into steady continuity as the young corporalsat half up to shake the tin can again. The card dealer joined in witha mocking bass, then suddenly, voice after voice took up the refrain andthe very air seemed to come laden with it, from far and near. The volumeof sound died with the last note of the refrain, and once more the cleartenor, lying on his back now, with both hands under his head, ran softlyon alone:
"We've been tenting to-night on the old camp-ground. Thinking of days gone by--"
He drew a letter from his breast-pocket, and, as he unfolded it, stoopedover and took one swallow of the coffee, and replaced the can on thefire. Some hard tack lay beside him, and one biscuit reposed on hisstomach where he replaced it when he lay back again, and finished theverse slowly. When the refrain began again, the cards were held down,men in other groups straightened up from rekindling fires, othersstopped short in a game of quoits played with horseshoes picked up onthe banks of the creek. Water carriers set down their loads, or halted,with pails still in hand, and added their voices to the melody. Theeffect amongst the trees was indescribable. The picket in the distancehalf halted in his tramp, and turned to listen. The moon was beginningto swing up over the hill, from which the signal had come, and betweenthe trees it touched the face of the delicate-featured young corporalof the sweet voice, and he turned the letter to catch the light from it,and add to the glow of the firelight, that he might the better re-readthe treasured words. He was still humming softly, inarticulately, now. Astick burned in two, and the can of precious coffee was slowly emptyingits overturned contents on the ground.
There was but one bite gone from the biscuit which lay on the blue coat.Music and sentiment had triumphed over appetite and the young corporaldozed off, asleep now with the letter still in his hand and thenoisy players about him. In the distance Griffith and his escort werereturning. Suddenly a shot rang out in the clear air! Then anotherand another! The men were on their feet in an instant. The Generalwas hastily adjusting his field-glass, but in the moonlight it was butslight help. He could see, as the smoke cleared away, six men instead offour. So much he could make out, but no more. One was being lifted onto a horse. All were dismounted. There was activity in the camp. Hastypreparations were made to send a relief party. Who was shot? What didit mean? Was there an ambush? Was the Guide deceived as to the safety ofthis position? Would they have to fight or retreat? Had the Guidebeen killed? Had some angry native seen and assassinated Griffith?The officers consulted together hastily and orders were given, but thelittle procession was slowly approaching.
They were not pursued. At least there was not to be a battle--and therehad been a capture, but who was killed? The Government Guide? Two werewalking--were they the assassin and his companion? When the littleprocession reached the picket line it halted and there was somereadjustment of the body they were carrying, stretched between twohorses, where it lay motionless except as others lifted it. Beside itwalked another figure not in the federal uniform. Tall, lank, grim, andlimping painfully, with a blood-stain on the shoulder and a bullethole in the hat. The sharpshooters had done their work--but who wasit--_what_ was it that lay across those two horses that they wereleading? The whole camp was watching and alert. Cards, quoits, lettershad disappeared. At last they could see that the Body was not Griffith.He still sat astride his splendid chestnut horse and the relief partywere talking to him. The procession moved to the General's tent.Griffith looked pale and troubled. The sharpshooters were radiant. TheBody was lifted down, and its long pendant beard was matted and massedwith blood.
The pride, the joy, the ambition of Whiskers Biggs was brought low atlast! He was breathing still, but the feeble hand essayed in vain tostroke the voluminous ornament and ambition of his life. The hand hunglimp and mangled by his side. The General questioned the other prisonerin vain. He pointed to Griffith and preserved an unbroken silence.Griffith spoke to him aside. The prisoner turned slowly to thecommander:
"I'll tell _him._ Few words comprehend the whole." Then he lapsedinto silence again and nothing could induce him to speak. The Generalthreatened, coaxed and commanded in vain. The imperturbable mountaineerstood like one who heard not. All that the sharpshooters could tell wassoon told. Some one had fired from ambush, apparently at Griffith. Theyhad returned the fire instantly. Then they had found this man who wasdying and the other one beside him. "I know this man, General," saidGriffith. "He says that he will talk to me alone. May I--shall I----"
"He'll talk to _me_, God damn him! or he'll get a dose of---- Did youfire at our men?" he demanded of the mountaineer. Lengthy Pattersonshifted his position to relieve his wounded leg. He gazed stolidly,steadily, expressionlessly before him, and uttered not a sound. His gunhad been taken from him, and his hands seemed worse than useless withoutthis his one and only companion from whom he never separated. The handsmoved about in aimless action like the claws of some great lobster.
"It will go a good deal easier with you, you infernal idiot, if you'llout with your story, tell your side of it How'd this thing happen?"
Lengthy glanced sidewise at the Body as it lay on the ground. "Friend ofmine," he said, and lapsed into silence again.
"Will you tell me, Lengthy?" asked Griffith. "Will you tell me in thepresence of the General? It would be better for us both if you will. Iwish----"
"'Twill?" asked Lengthy giving Griffith a long, slow look. "Better feryoh?"
"Yes," said Griffith, half choking up. He thought he had solved theproblem of why, with these two mountaineer marksmen as their antagonistsnone of their party had been shot in the encounter. "Yes, better for me.Do you care for that, Lengthy?" The woodsman gave another long look atGriffith, and then pointed with his thumb at the figure on the ground.
"I done hit. Whis aimed t' kill yoh. Few words comp--" Griffith graspedthe great rough, helplessly groping hands in his. "I thought so, Ithought so," he said brokenly.
"And you stood by me even---- He was your friend, and----" Griffith'svoice broke.
In the pause that followed Lengthy was staring at the form on theground.
"Yes. Whis wus a frien' er mine; but Whis tuck aim at yoh.Few-words-comprehends-th'-whole!" The last sentence seemed to be all oneWord. Griffith was still holding the great hands.
"Did you know I was with Northern troops, Lengthy? Did you know----?"
"Knowed hit wus you. Didn't keer who t'other fellers wus. He tuck aim.Seed whar he wus pintin'--Few words----"
"Are you a Union man, Lengthy?"
"Naw."
"Rebel, are you?" asked the General, sharply. There was a profoundsilence. The mountaineer did not even turn his head.
"I asked you if you were a rebel, God damn you! Can't you hear?" shoutedthe General thoroughly angry. "I'll let you know----"
"Are you on the Confederate side, Lengthy?" began Griffith. Themountaineer had not indicated in any way whatever that he had heardany previous question. "Naw," he said slowly and as if with a mentalreservation. The General shot forth a perfect volley of oaths andquestions and threats, but the immobility of the mountaineer remainedwholly undisturbed. There was not even the shadow of a change ofexpression on the bronzed face.
"What the General wants to know--what I want to know is, Lengthy, whichside are you on? Are you----"
"On youm."
"On Davenport's side against the world!" remarked a staff officer aside,smiling. The mountaineer heard. He turned slowly until the angle of hisvision took in the speaker.
"On his side agin the worl'. Few words----"
The rest was drowned in a shout of laughter, in which the irascibleCommander joined. Griffith's eyes filled. Lengthy saw--andmisinterpreted. He forgot the wound in his leg, and that his trusty gunwas his no more. He sprang to Griffith's side.
"On his side agin the _hull_ o' yuh!" he said, like a tiger at bay. Thesorely tried leg gave way and he fell in a heap at Griffith's feet.
"Here! Quick! Get the surgeon. We forgot his wounds. He is shot in theleg and here----" Griffith was easing the poor fellow down as hetalked, trying to get him into a better position. Some one offered hima canteen. The surgeon came and began cutting the boot from the swollenleg.
"Do _everything_ for him, Doctor--everything you would for me," saidGriffith hoarsely. "He killed his friend and risked his own life to saveme. He----"
His voice broke and he walked away into the darkness. Presently Lengthyopened his eyes and asked feebly, "Whar's the Parson?"
"Who?"
"The Parson."
"Oh," said the surgeon kindly, "you want the Chaplain. Oh, you're notgoing to die! You're all right! You've lost a lot of blood and stood onthat leg too long, but----"
"Whah's Parson Dav'npoht?"
A light dawned upon the surgeon. He had never thought of Griffith as aclergyman only as he had heard it laughed over that the General swore socontinuously in his presence. He sent for Griffith. When he came Lengthysaw that his eyes were red. He motioned the others to go away. Then hewhispered, "Th' other fellers--our soldiers--th----"
"You mean the Confederate troops, the Southern men?" asked Griffith, andLengthy nodded; "Jest over yander. Layin' fer ye."
"I looked everywhere for smoke, Lengthy. I didn't see any signs of campfires. I----"
"Jest what me an' Whis was doin' fer t'other side when we seed ye.Hain't got no fires. Hain't goin't' make none."
"Do you mean that you were doing a sort of scout or advance duty for thereb--the Confederates, when you met us, Lengthy?"
He nodded. "Jest thet."
"You were to go back and tell them about----"
"We wus. Saw you. Didn't go. Him 'n me qua'l'd 'bout----"
"About shooting me?"
Lengthy nodded again. "He aimed at ye. I got him fust." There was a longpause.
"Do you want to go back to your camp, Lengthy, if--"
"Naw."
Presently he said: "They's mo' o' them then they is o' you alls."
Griffith grasped his idea. "You think we better leave here? You thinkthey will attack?"
"Kin leave me layin' here. They'll git me--'n' _him_;" he pointed withhis thumb again toward the friend of his life--the body that layawaiting burial on the morrow.
"Would you rather go with us?" began Griffith, and the swarthy facelightened up.
"Kin you alls take me?"
"Certainly, certainly, if you want to go. We won't leave you. TheGeneral----"
"Hain't goin' with him. Goin' 'th you."
"All right, all right, Lengthy. You shall go with _me_ and you shall_stay_ with me."
The mountaineer turned his head slowly. The narcotic the surgeon hadgiven was overcoming him. He did not understand it, and he was vainlystruggling against a sleep which he did not comprehend.
"You--alls--better--light--out. They is mo' o' them and--they--ismad--plum--through. Few--words--com--com----"
The unaccustomed effort at linguistic elaboration exhausted him, and,together with the sleeping potion, Lengthy was rendered unconsciousof all pain, and an hour later he was borne on a stretcher between twohorses as the engineer's party silently retraced its steps and left thecamp deserted and desolate with its one silent occupant lying stark inthe moonlight, with its great mass of matted beard upon its lifelessbreast.