CHAPTER XIX.
_"How dear to my heart are the scenes of my childhood."_
When the news of the battle reached Katherine, she was still alone.Griffith had not completed the task set, and was still in the tentof the irascible General, whose chief acquaintance with the Englishlanguage appeared to lie in his explosive and ever ready profanity. Heswore if things went right, and he swore if they went wrong. If he likeda man, he swore at him playfully, and if he disliked him, he swore athim in wrath. His ammunition might give out, but a volley of oaths wasnever wanting to fire at the enemy. It sometimes seemed to Griffiththe irony of fate that he should be placed in the same tent and closelyassociated with such a man, for, although Griffith said nothing, itgrated sadly upon his ears, and he sometimes wondered if the Almightywould prosper an expedition led by this man, for Griffith had keptstill, through all the years the primitive idea of a personal God whotakes cognizance of the doings of men, and meets and parries them bydevices and schemes of His own.
As time went on, and Lengthy Patterson recovered from his wound so asto be always in evidence, he came in for a large share of the General'sexplosive and meaningless oaths. Sometimes it was half in fun, moreoften it was in memory of the fact that Lengthy had ignored him and hisquestions upon their first meeting, and that up to this day the lankmountaineer took his orders and his cue from Griffith only. He hadattached himself to the sharpshooters and rarely left Griffith's side.As silent and faithful as a dog he rode day after day, with watchfuleyes, by the side of or just behind "the Parson," as he still called theobject of his adoration. He watched Griffith narrowly. He noticed thegrowing sadness of the old-time merry face. He felt that something waswrong. At last the silence could be preserved no longer, he must knowwhat the trouble was. They were near the borders of the county whereGriffith's old home was. Lengthy had expected to see his face growinterested and bright, but instead there seemed to come over it a drawnand haggard look that was a puzzle and a torment to the woodsman. Heventured a remark as they rode apart from the rest. "Sick?"
"No, no, Lengthy. I'm not sick. Why?"
"Yeh never talk no mo'. Heard yeh kinder groan.Few-words-comprehends-th'-whole." Griffith turned his face full uponhim.
"Lengthy, it is almost more than I can bear to do this work. I--itis--sometimes I think I _cannot_ take them over there." He held out hishand toward the beautiful valley in the distance. They could see thethread of the river winding through the trees and out into field andfarm. It was the river in which Lengthy had seen this friend of hisbaptized, so many years ago, when both were young men, and now both weregrowing gray!
Lengthy made no reply. The silence stretched into minutes. They haltedfor the noon meal and to feed and rest the horses. They all lay about onthe hill, and Griffith talked to the engineers. They drew lines andmade figures and notes. An hour later they pushed on toward the river.Lengthy and Griffith rode in front. The old mill where Pete had run awayappeared in the distance. The river was very near now. A heavy sigh fromGriffith broke the silence. He was looking far ahead and his face wasdrawn and miserable.
"What d' yeh go fer?"
Griffith did not hear. His chin had dropped upon his breast, and hisface was pale. His lips moved, and the mountaineer waited. At last hesaid: "What yeh do hit fer?"
"What?"
"What yeh do hit fer,'f yeh don't want teh?"
"Do what? Go here?"
"Yeh?"
"I am a Union man, Lengthy. The President sent for me and asked me to doit. He made me see it was my duty. There was no one else he could trust,who knew the country. I----"
There was a long pause. The mountaineer threw his leg up over the frontof his saddle, and ruminated on the new outlook. Presently Griffith wenton: "Some one _must_ do it, but--"
He lifted his face toward the blue above him; "Oh, my God, if this cupcould but pass from _me!!_" he groaned aloud. "It seems to me I cannotcross that river! It seems to me I _cannot!_" His voice broke and therewas silence.
"Don't need teh'."
Griffith did not hear. His eyes were closed and he was praying for lightand leading, as he would have called it--for strength to do the dreadedtask, if it must be done. Lengthy looked at him, and then at the not fardistant river, and waited in silence. A half mile farther on he said, asif the chain of remarks had been unbroken: "Don't need teh cross. I willfer yeh."
"What?" cried Griffith, like a man who has heard and is afraid tobelieve.
"Said yeh didn't need teh cross. I will fer yeh.Few-words-comprehends-th'-whole," he repeated, in the same level key,looking straight at his horse's ears.
Griffith's bridle fell upon his horse's neck. Both arms liftedthemselves up, and both hands spread as if to grasp something. "Oh, myGod, is my prayer to be answered so soon? Do you mean--oh, Lengthy,do you mean that you will save me from this terrible trial? Do youmean----"
"I does." He was gazing straight ahead of him now, with elaboratepretense of indifference. He had begun to grasp the situation.
Griffith dropped both hands upon his uplifted face, and a cry as of onein great pain escaped him, "O-h-h," in a long quaver. The mountaineerturned his eyes. Griffith was looking straight at him now, like a huntedman who at last sees hope and rescue ahead, but dares not trust it lestit prove but an illusion. He tried to speak, but his voice failed him.The mountaineer understood.
"Yeh kin go home. I'll do hit. Few words----"
Griffith was overtaken with hysterics. He threw both arms above his headand shouted, "Glory to God in the highest! Peace and good will to men!"and covered his face with his hands to hide the emotion he could notcontrol.
They were on the banks of the river now, and the commander dashed up."What in hell's the matter now?" he demanded.
"Hit's the river done it," put in the mountaineer, to save his friendthe need of words. "Baptized thar."
"What? What in the devil are you talking about? What in----"
He was looking at Griffith, but Lengthy broke in again with hisperfectly level and emotionless voice. "Baptized thar, I sez.Few-words-comprehends-th'--"
"Will you dry up? You infernal-- What does this mean?" He turned again toGriffith, who had regained his self-control. The commander usually actedupon him as a refrigerator, so incapable was he of understanding humanemotion that reached beyond the limits of irritability.
"General," he began, slowly, "I have just arranged with Mr. Pattersonfor him to take my place as Government Guide. I can go with you nofarther. That house over there in the distance"--he stretched out hishand--"used to be my old home. I love the people who live here--allabout here. This river----"
A volley of oaths interrupted Griffith. The command had come up, and thestaff-officers sat listening and waiting. The General was changing hisfirst outburst into arguments. Griffith met them quite calmly. It seemeda long time now since he had found the relief he felt. It did not seempossible that it was only ten minutes ago that it had come to him.
"This man knows the country even better than I do, General. He iswilling to go--to take my place--and he is perfectly loyal--_loyal tome_. He will--what Mr. Lincoln wanted was that the work should be done,and done by one he could trust--it was not that he wanted _me_ to do it.I will stake my honor on this man's fidelity. He--" The word "deserter,"mingled with threats, struck Griffith's ear; he did not pause to analyzeit. "Mr. Lincoln told me that I was to return to him whenever I----"
"God damn Mr. Lincoln! _I_ am in command of these troops! Mr. Lincolndidn't know he was giving me a couple of lunatics to deal with! If youattempt to leave you will be shot as a deserter, I tell you! I'll doit myself, by God!" Griffith's head dropped against his breast. Hedismounted slowly and handed his bridle to the mountaineer. Lengthyhooked it over his arm and waited. Mr. Davenport deliberately knelt bythe bank of the river, with his face toward the old home.
"Shoot. I will go no farther!" he said, and closed his eyes.
Instantly the mountaineer's gun went to his shoulder. His aim was at theGeneral's breast. "F
ew-words-comprehends-th'-whole," he said, and thehammer clicked. The General smiled grimly.
"Get up," he said. "I had no right to make that threat. You are aprivate citizen. You came of your own accord. You _are_ under Lincolnonly. Get up! Can we trust this man, damn him?"
Griffith staggered to his feet. The storm had left him weak and pale.The mountaineer dismounted and stood beside him.
"You mean to take my place in good faith--to lead them right--I know,Lengthy; but tell him so _for me_," Griffith asked, in a tired voice,taking the swarthy hand in his. "You will do your best as a guide in myplace, won't you?"
Lengthy's response was unequivocal. "I will," he said in his monotonoustone, and somehow, as they stood hand in hand with the curious groupof men about them, the reply reminded every one of the response in themarriage service, and a smile ran around as the men glanced at eachother.
"You promise to do all in your knowledge and power to enable them to getaccurate knowledge and make their maps, don't you, Lengthy?"
"I do."
The similitude struck even the commander, and when Griffith turned, theirascible General was trying to cover a smile.
"Are you satisfied, General? I will stake my life on both his capacityto do it--even better than I--and on his honor when he promises to do itfor me. Are you satisfied?"
"Have to be satisfied, I guess. Mount! March!"
Griffith lifted the hard, brown, rough hand in both of his and gravelykissed it. "You are the truest friend I ever had, Lengthy. God bless andprotect you! Good-bye."
The mountaineer laid the great hand on the palm of its fellow, andlooked at it gravely as he rode.
"Kissed it, by gum!" He gazed at the spot in silent awe."Few-words-comp-----" His voice broke, and he rode away at the head ofthe command, still holding the sacred hand on the palm of the one not soconsecrated, and looked at it from time to time with silent, reverentialadmiration. His gun lay across his saddle, and the horse took the fordas one to the manner born. On the farther bank he turned and lookedback. Griffith waved his handkerchief, and every man in the commandjoined in the salute when Lengthy's shout rang out, "Three cheers forthe Parson!"
Even the General's hat went up, and Griffith rode back alone over thepath he had but just come, alone--and unguarded--but with a great loadlifted from his shoulders, bound for Washington to make his final reportto the President, and then return to the ways and haunts of peace.
"Homeward bound! homeward bound! thank God!" he said, aloud, "withlife's worst and hardest duty done. Surely, surely, my part of thisterrible straggle is over! It has shadowed me for twenty long years. Thefuture shall be free. Peace has come for me at last!"
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