by Oliver Optic
CHAPTER XV
THE SHARPSHOOTER IN THE WOODS
Somers found the picket guard nearer the rebel line than he hadanticipated; but the exhibition of his pass, which had been prepared withspecial reference to this purpose, prevented any long detention, though asergeant had to be called who was scholar enough to read the mysteriousdocument.
"I reckon you haven't got the best place to go through," said thesergeant, after he had examined the pass, and satisfied himself of itscorrectness.
"Why not?"
"There's a whole squad of Yankees a good piece in there," he replied,pointing in the direction of the Federal lines. "They've been there allday watching for something."
"What do they want?"
"There was a man run through the line this forenoon from their side, andI reckon they are trying to find him."
"Was he a Yank?" asked Somers, desirous of obtaining their idea of thefugitive.
"Dunno what he was. We didn't see him till he got a good piece behind us.We were chasing the Yanks who run away when they saw us."
This was satisfactory to our scout; for the sergeant appeared to have noknowledge that would be dangerous to him, and none of the graybacksrecognized the pants he wore. He advanced cautiously, as though he wasafraid of stumbling upon the squad of Yankees described by the sergeant,till he could no longer be seen by the pickets. The last obstacle seemedto be overcome; and he hastened to the place where he had concealed hisuniform, which he wished to put on before he approached the pickets onthe other side. It was now nearly dark, and he had no time to spare; for,if he approached his own men in the darkness, he would be in danger ofbeing shot before they discovered who he was, though he had fullconfidence in the discretion of Hapgood.
Without difficulty, he found the place where he had concealed hisclothes; and, after assuring himself that none of the rebel pickets werein sight, he hastily put them on. To prevent any unpleasant suspicions,he took the precaution to hide the gray pants he had worn, in the longgrass of the swamp, so that they need not attract the attention of anystroller who might pass in that direction. Though we have frequently heldour hero up as a model of modesty, we are compelled to acknowledge thathe felt exceedingly well satisfied with himself on the present occasion.He felt that he had done what, in the homely vocabulary of the boys ofPinchbrook, might well be called "a big thing."
He had fully and successfully accomplished the arduous purposes of hismission. He had examined the positions, and counted the forces of therebels. He had received very valuable information from Mr. Raynes, andfrom others whom he had encountered in his walk through the enemy'slines. He was satisfied that he should receive a warm welcome from thosewho had sent him upon the perilous tour. He had earned the first bar tohis shoulder-straps, and was proud of his achievement.
The work had been done, and he was within a short distance of the Unionlines--within a short distance of the devoted Hapgood, who was patientlybut anxiously waiting to give him a soldier's reception. Above all, hewas safe; and he trembled when he thought of the perils through which hehad passed, of the consequences which must have followed the discovery ofhis real character. As he thanked God for the boon of life after thebattle was over, so now he thanked Him for the signal success which hadcrowned his labors in the good cause. The last article of his raiment wasput on and adjusted; he rose from the ground to walk towards the Unionlines.
"I say, Yank, you look better'n you did 'fore yer changed your clothes,"said a voice, which struck his ear with startling distinctness.
Somers looked in the direction from which the voice came, and discovereda villainous-looking countenance, that had just risen from the tallswamp-grass, within a couple of rods of the spot where he stood. The manwas unmistakably a rebel--one of the most savage and implacable of rebelsat that; such a character as we read of in connection with slave-hunts inMississippi, or "free fights" in Arkansas. He wore a long, tangled beard;and his hair had probably never known the use of a comb. The graybacklooked as cool and impudent as though he was perfectly assured of hisprey, and intended to torture his victim with his tongue, as he wouldwith his knife or his rifle if occasion required.
"I say, Yank, you look better'n yer did 'fore yer changed your colors,"repeated the rebel, as he received no reply to his first salutation.
Somers looked at him again; indeed, he had hardly taken his eyes off thesavage-looking fellow, who would have made a very good representative ofOrson in the fairy story. He held a rifle in his hand, the muzzle ofwhich could easily be brought to bear upon his victim. Our lieutenant atonce understood the humor of the fellow; and, having recovered hisself-possession in the momentary pause, he determined not to be behindhis foe either in word or in deed.
"I say, reb, when did you shave last?" demanded Somers, with something asnear akin to a laugh as he could manufacture for the occasion.
"'Fore you was born, I reckon, Yank," replied the rebel; "and I sha'n'tshave ag'in till after you're dead. But I reckon I sha'n't hev ter waitlong nuther."
"I suppose you don't know what a comb is for, do you?" continued Somers,who was, however, thinking of some method by which he might get out ofthis scrape.
"I reckon I've heerd about such things; but Joe Bagbone ain't a woman,and don't waste his time no such way. I say, stranger, you've got aboutthree minutes more to live."
"How long?"
"Three minutes, stranger, I've sat here by them clothes, like a dog at a'possum's nest, all the arternoon. Now I've treed the critter, and I'mgwine to shoot him."
"Is that so?"
"That's so, stranger."
"Do you usually shoot any man you happen to meet in the woods?"
"Well, I don't reckon we do, every man; but some on 'em we does. Icalkilate you got on Tom Myers's clothes now, and yer shot the man 'foreyou took the rags."
"I didn't shoot him."
"No matter for that, stranger; he was shot by a Yank, and you've got tosettle the account."
Somers began to be of the same opinion himself. The grayback hadevidently found the clothes, and suspected the purpose for which theywere concealed. It was possible he had even more definite informationthan this; for he seemed to be prepared for precisely what had takenplace.
"My friend----"
"I'm not your friend, stranger. You kin say anything you like, if yerdon't insult me; Joe Bagbone don't take an insult from any live man."
"Well, Joe Bagbone," continued Somers, who was disposed to parley withthe fellow to gain time, if nothing else, "if you shoot me, you will makethe worst mistake you ever made in your life; and I can prove it to youin less than five minutes."
"No, yer can't, stranger. Don't waste yer time no such way. If yer wantter say yer prayers, blaze away lively, 'cause three minutes aren't longfor a man to repent of all his sins."
"I have a pass from General M----, which permits me to go in safetythrough these lines," persisted Somers. "The sergeant above just examinedit, and passed me through."
"Don't keer nothing about yer pass. I respects Jeff Davis just as much asthe best man in Mississip'. If yer had a pass from him, you mought aswell not have it as have it. Tom Myers was killed, and somebody's gwineup for him."
"But I have important business on the other side."
"I knows that, stranger," replied the imperturbable Joe Bagbone. "Itdon't make no difference."
"I am sent over by General M----. I belong to the Fourth Alabama."
"Shet up! Don't tell no lies, 'cause yer hain't got no time ter repent on'em."
"Then, if I understand it, you mean to murder one of your own men in coldblood."
"Nothin' of the sort; only gwine to shoot a Yank."
Somers looked into that hard, relentless eye; but there was not theslightest indication of any change of purpose. He felt that he stood inthe presence of his executioner. All the errors of his past life crowdedupon him, and the grave seemed to yawn before him.
"Call the sergeant above, and he will satisfy you that I am all right,"said he,
making one more effort to move the villain from his wickedpurpose.
"Don't want the sergeant. Yer time's out, stranger."
"Let me call him, then."
"If yer do, I'll fire. Say yer prayers now, if yer mean ter; but I reckonthe prayers of a Yank ain't of much account," replied Joe with a sneer.
Somers stood within a few feet of a large tree. Joe had several timesraised his rifle to his shoulder; but, when he magnanimously offered hisvictim the last moment of grace, he dropped it again; and our lieutenant,taking advantage of this interval, darted behind the tree. Joe raised hispiece quicker than a flash; but he did not fire, for the reason that hecould not secure a perfect aim, and because he was sure of a betteropportunity. Our lieutenant, who had carefully preserved his revolverduring the various changes he had made in his dress, now took it from hispocket, and prepared to contest the field like a man.
The grayback, chagrined at this movement on the part of his victim, whomhe had evidently intended to intimidate by his coolness and his ferociouswords, rose from his seat in the long grass, and moved towards the treebehind which Somers had taken refuge. Probably he was not aware that theYankee was armed; for he adopted none of the precautions which such aknowledge would have imposed upon any reasonable man.
"Come out from that tree, stranger, or you shall die like a hog, with aknife; not like a man, with a rifle-ball."
"I intend to die by neither," said Somers resolutely, as he dischargedhis pistol in the direction from which the voice of the grayback came;for he dared not take aim, lest the bullet of the ruffian should piercehis skull.
He might as well have fired into the air, so far as any injury to hisenemy was concerned; but the report had the effect to assure the rebelthat he was armed, and thus put an end to his farther advance in thatdirection. Somers listened with intense anxiety to discover the nextmovement of his wily persecutor. He had only checked, not defeated him;and an exciting game was commenced, which promised to terminate only inthe death of one of the belligerents. Somers hoped that the discharge ofhis pistol would bring the sergeant down to his relief; but then to bediscovered in Federal uniform was about equivalent to being shot by hisrelentless foe, burning to revenge the death of Tom Myers.
The report of pistols and muskets was so common an occurrence on thepicket-lines as to occasion nothing more than a momentary inquiry. No onecame for his relief, or his ruin, as the case might be; and he was leftto play out the exciting game by himself. The grayback, with a wholesomeregard for the pistol, had retired beyond the reach of its ball, while hewas still a long way within rifle-range of his doomed enemy. Somers darednot look out from the tree to obtain even a single glance at the foe; forhe knew how accurate is the aim of some of these Southern woodsmen. Hehad nothing to guide him but the rustling of the dried branches beneathhis tread, or the occasional snapping of a twig under his feet.
Joe Bagbone, after retreating beyond pistol-shot from the tree, hadcommenced describing a circle which would bring him into a position thatcommanded a view of his concealed victim. It must be confessed that Joe'stactics were singularly deficient in range; for nothing but a surprisecould make them successful. While he was moving a hundred rods to securehis position, Somers could defeat his purpose by taking a single step. Assoon as he determined in what direction his persecutor was going, hechanged his position; and Joe discovered the folly of his strategy, andsat down on a stump to await a demonstration on the part of his victim.
The game promised to be prolonged to a most unreasonable length; andSomers, now in a measure secure of his life, was impatient to join hisanxious companions, with whom he had parted in the forenoon. He wassatisfied that Joe would never abandon the chase, and the slightestindiscretion on his own part would result in instant death. It was afearful position, and one which was calculated to wear terribly upon hisnerves. He was anxious to bring the contest to a conclusion; and, whilehe was debating in his own mind the chances of escaping by a sudden dashin the direction of the Union lines, a happy thought in the way ofstrategy occurred to him.
He had determined as nearly as he could the situation of his bull-dogopponent, and thought that, if he could draw his fire, he might get outof range of his rifle before it could be reloaded. Placing his cap on thebarrel of his pistol, he cautiously moved it over, just as it would haveappeared to the rebel if his head had been inside of it, and projected ita little beyond the tree. He withdrew it suddenly two or three times toincrease the delusion in the mind of his enemy. He could not see theeffect of the stratagem; but he was hopeful of a satisfactory result. Hecontinued to repeat the operation with the cap, till he was confident Joewas not to be fooled in this way. He was probably one of thesharpshooters, and had too often fired at empty caps to be caught in thismanner when success depended upon the single charge of his rifle.
Somers did not despair, but slipped off his coat; and, rolling it up soas to form the semblance of a head, he placed the cap upon the top of thebundle, and cautiously exposed the "dummy" on the opposite side of thetree. The crack of Joe's rifle instantly followed this exhibition, andSomers felt the blow of the ball when it struck the cap. The criticalmoment had come; and, without the loss of a second, our lieutenant dartedtowards the Union lines. This movement was followed by a shrill yell fromthe Mississippian, which might have been a howl of disappointment at hisfailure; or it might have been intended to startle, and thus delay thefugitive.
Somers had listened to that battle yell too many times to be moved by it,especially when uttered by a single voice; and, with all the speed ofwhich his limbs were capable, he fled to the arms of his friends. Joe wasnot content to give up the battle; and, dropping his rifle, he drew hislong knife, and gave chase. They made a long run of it; and it was onlyended when Tom heard the demand of his faithful sergeant--
"Who goes there?"
"Friend," gasped Somers, utterly exhausted by his exertions.
"Lieutenant Somers? God be praised!" replied Hapgood, instantlyrecognizing his voice.