The first thing that entered my mind was: Kidnapped. I mounted Sampson and we continued skirting the Yankee column for a few hundred yards. I figured that the Yanks had their hands full with the woman. Her capture had bought me some time.
I started angling Sampson toward the River Road. After what seemed like an eternity, we entered the aforementioned byway, and I kicked Sampson hard. This time I was ready for his burst of speed when we took off like a shot. I ran him at full gallop for about twenty minutes, but it seemed like an hour. I started to see more houses the closer we got to Harpers Ferry.
Suddenly, the road turned southwest. I wanted to go south so I left the road and angled cross-country toward Bolivar Heights. I reasoned that, if there were any Confederates in the area, they would have a lookout post on the highest point this side of the two rivers.
Sampson was starting to fade so I slowed him to a lope. When we hit the road that ran along the top of the heights, we began to encounter people walking along the road. I reined Sampson to a halt next to a well-dressed gentleman walking along the road and asked, “Where’s the closest Confederate contingent located?” He pointed straight ahead and informed me, “’Bout two more blocks that a way.” I thanked him and kicked Sampson hard. We rode off in a cloud of dust that hopefully didn’t soil the gentleman’s suit.
We covered the two blocks to the Confederate outpost in nothing flat. I jumped down off Sampson and tied his reins to a column of the outpost porch. As I ran toward the front door of the small command center, an armed soldier at the door brought his musket from the Order Arms position with the butt of the weapon on the wood porch to a menacing Port Arms position with the musket held diagonally across his body. He also moved in front of the door to prevent me from entering the building and demanded, “What cha want herah?”
I blurted out, “Thar’s Yankee cavalry down tha River Road about four miles and they’s headed thissa way.”
That brought a captain out of the building. He looked me up and down and asked, “Well sir, did ya actually see this herah Yankee cavalry?”
I responded, “Yes, I saw ‘em and their captain asked me if therah were any Confederates in Harpers Ferry. I told him I didn’t know. It looks like they captured a woman rider also.”
He rebutted with a dubious tone, “Would ya be willing to lead us to tha place ya last saw this herah cavalry?”
I assured him, “I would most gladly do so.”
Taking me at my word, he immediately called out the guard and told the adjutant to have his horse saddled and to telegraph the garrison’s cavalry contingent down in Harpers Ferry to meet us on the River Road in twenty minutes.
With the orders given, the Captain turned back to me and asked, “Would ya like something to drink?”
I replied, “Let me see to my horse first.” He acquiesced and I took Sampson to a water trough next to the garrison outpost. I didn’t let him drink too much. He was still breathing hard and was frothy. I asked the soldier at the door if there was something that I could use to wipe down my horse. He nodded yes and returned quickly with an old blanket. I rubbed almost all the froth off Sampson. He must have enjoyed the rubdown because he stood contentedly as I administered to him. I let him have one more quick drink of water before our return trip.
The adjutant returned with the Captain’s saddled horse, a beautiful roan mare. Sampson whinnied his approval and the Captain and I had a good laugh. We mounted and the captain inquired, “Are ya armed.”
I affirmed, “Yes Sir, I was given a colt revolver by a lady from whom I was loaned this noble steed.” He raised his eyebrows, nodded and we set off toward the River Road.
We loped our horses cross country and arrived at the River Road in just a few minutes. Sampson had very quick recuperative powers. He did not seem to be tired at all from our previous hurried travel.
However, the Confederate cavalry contingent hadn’t arrived.
While waiting on them to appear, I asked him, “If I may be so bold, what’s yar name, Sir.”
He replied, “Captain John Mosby.” I nearly fell out of my saddle.
Chapter 7
Captain Mosby gave me a curious glance due to the reaction to his name. He ventured, “Is something wrong?”
I quickly answered, “No, not at all.” I looked more closely at the Captain’s face. He was clean shaven, which had confused me, because I had always remembered a picture of him sitting amongst his men and having a beard. But focusing more closely on his features, I recognized him.
Due to my forwardness, he asked, “Have we met before?”
I simply answered, “Yes, in another lifetime.”
He was surprised by my reply, but he didn’t ask for further explanation because his contingent of Confederate cavalry came galloping down the road.
There were about sixteen troopers in a column of twos. As they came to a halt, a second sergeant, who was apparently in charge, saluted smartly and reported for duty. Captain Mosby asked if any more troopers were on the way. The sergeant replied twenty more were coming, but it would be about forty-five minutes before they would be able to rendezvous with us. Captain Mosby indicated that we couldn’t wait. We had to move now. So, we headed north on the River Road to find the Yanks. Captain Mosby was in the lead with me by his side as the guide.
We thundered down the road for about three miles without seeing any Yanks. I could feel the Captain’s eyes on me and I knew he was thinking I had brought him on a wild goose chase or possibly even into an ambush.
However, as we rounded a bend in the road, a civilian flagged us down. He introduced himself as Jonathan Shumaker and said that a bunch of Yanks had passed his place about thirty minutes ago and took off cross country to the west, probably to hit the Shepherdstown Pike. Captain Mosby touched his hand to the brim of his hat, thanked the man profusely and promised, “We a-gonna give those Yanks wat fur.” I looked at him skeptically since our unit was only about half as big as theirs.
All of a sudden I understood the danger that I had gotten myself into. I could get permanently and truly dead from this little adventure.
We exited the River Road to the west and quickly picked up the Yankees’ trail. It wasn’t easy going due to the thickness of the woods, but we were able to proceed at a fast trot. After about twenty-five minutes, Captain Mosby held up his hand and we all stopped immediately. He motioned for the sergeant to come forward. Once his sergeant had come abreast, he pointed ahead and said in a whisper, “Yankee cavalry.”
In a low voice Captain Mosby ordered the sergeant, “Have the men maneuver as quietly as possible into a single line facing tha Yanks.”
The message was relayed to the troopers and they deftly walked their horses into a battle line behind us. I turned around and saw they were centered on the Captain and me, which put us out front and subject to being shot first. I sort of gulped and looked at Mosby. He grinned and winked at me. He slowly pulled his revolver from his holster with his right hand and held his horse’s reins in his left hand. I mimicked him by pulling my revolver from my belt with my right hand and gripped Sampson’s reins with my left.
Our unit was hidden from view in very thick dark woods. The Yanks had already been through this area and had broken out into a field of two foot high wheat. They were about seventy-five yards from us walking their horses in a column of twos heading west with their backs to us. They had no flankers or rear guard probably due to their rapid movement and no enemy contact had lulled them into a false sense of confidence.
Captain Mosby looked to his left and right to make sure the troopers were looking at him. When he had made sure that all eyes were on him, he lifted his right hand and holding it above his head began to walk his horse forward. I kept pace with him and our cavalry contingent followed close on our heels.
To say that I was scared is an understatement. Adrenalin must have been flowing in my body like Niagara Falls because my heart was beating ninety to nothing. I was sweating profusely. My palms were so wet that it
was hard to hold my revolver and Sampson’s reins. But, I kept to the right and abreast of the Captain.
Sampson must have felt my anxiety because I was having a hard time holding him back. I don’t know if he sensed what was about to occur and wanted to either fight or take to flight. In my case it was flight. I was just hoping that Sampson would not let go with one of his famous whinnies. I guess the pressure of the bit on his mouth applied by my frequent pulling back on the reins kept his mind off making any sound.
Just as we reached the edge of the wheat field, Captain Mosby brought his right arm down and yelled, “Charge.”
I kicked Sampson and he shot forward like a lightning bolt. I was ready for it and bent forward so I wouldn’t be thrown out of the saddle. Our line of troops broke from the woods in an almost perfect line, which quickly disintegrated into an uneven gaggle as everyone focused on the Yanks. Captain Mosby let loose with a “rebel yell” and fired his revolver. We all echoed the famous battle cry and most of the men fired their first rounds at the Yanks. I didn’t because I had only one revolver. Our troopers had at least two and a few had three.
The Yanks were taken completely by surprise.
The Union Captain, who I saw peel out from the head of the column to look at us, yelled some orders to his troops. They tried to maneuver into a line of battle to face us plus unsheathe their sabers, but we were upon them in a jiffy.
Our unit began to rapid fire as we closed with their confused numbers and our boys unseated about six of them. They were still in one big bunch and our troopers were smart enough to avoid close contact and getting sliced with a sword. We broke off to the left and right and rode around them like a band of Indians circling a wagon train firing at the bewildered melee. I saw some more Yanks fall off their horses during our encirclement.
I had gone to the right of the Yankee contingent. As I neared the front of the column, I saw the Yank captain about thirty yards ahead hightailing for a tree line. He had the horse’s reins of the woman, who I had witnessed being taken by the Yanks back near the River Road, and was pulling her along behind him. Captain Mosby saw them at the same time as he came around the left side of the Yankee jumble. We both urged our horses forward with renewed vigor. Sampson was by far the fastest mount and I was about ten yards ahead of Captain Mosby gaining on the escaping Yankee captain and his female prisoner.
The Yank captain looked back, saw the futility of keeping ahead of us with the woman in tow and let go the reins of her horse. The woman’s horse now became a runaway. It just kept galloping after the Yank, but the female rider had no control of her mount because her horse’s reins were dragging the ground.
I shoved the borrowed Colt into my belt. I gave Sampson a kick and pointed him toward the beleaguered female rider. Sampson quickly came abreast of the woman’s horse, which allowed me to reached down and grab the side of the bridle that ran along the right side of the horse’s head and jaw. I slowly started to rein Sampson to a stop. This allowed the woman’s horse to slow down and come to a complete stop without turning abruptly and throwing her from her side saddle. As I caught up with the woman, Captain Mosby flew past us after the Yankee captain. I heard a few shots and looked up to see Mosby enter a stand of trees at the west end of the wheat field.
I turned to look at the woman and my heart went up into my throat. She was the most gorgeous example of womanhood I had ever seen. She had brown eyes that you could drown in. Her ebony hair was in long tresses and pulled back and captured under a blue riding hat with a short brim. Her face was egg-shaped with a nose that wasn’t too long or too short and a mouth that turned up at the corners, giving her a perpetual smile. Her complexion was as white as confectionery sugar. But the single most striking factor about her countenance was that she was the spitting image of my wife when she was about sixteen years of age back in my old universe. I looked at this woman as if I had been hit by a bolt from out of the blue.
At this moment, I realized here was the love of my life and how much I missed her double in my universe. I know I probably had the most ludicrous slack-jawed expression on my face. My heart was racing as I just sat there on Sampson holding the woman’s horse and looking into her lovely face. All the recent hellacious trials and tribulations just welled up in me and tears came to my eyes.
I was shocked when the lady, who had started to cry, said in the most beautiful Virginia southern drawl, “Oh thank ya sah! From tha bottom of my heart, thank ya!”
I was a little choked up myself, but was able to croak out, “Please don’t cry. I can’t stand it when ya cry.”
I said the words as if I knew her, because she looked bewildered and asked, “Do I know ya, sah?”
“Yes,” I answered, “I have known ya all my life.”
Our strange repartee was interrupted when Captain Mosby galloped up and declared, “That Yankee officer had tha fastest horse I’ve ever seen.”
His sudden presence jolted me back to the present. It took all the self-control I could muster to gather my emotions, which I had been wearing on my sleeve, and shove them back into my heart. It hurt me to the core of my being, but I was able to do it.
Captain Mosby solicitously asked the lady, “Are ya alright, Daphne?”
She looked at me and, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief that had suddenly appeared in her hand, answered, “Yes, thanks to tha actions of this gentleman.”
She smiled at us and said, “I owe y’all tha greatest debt. Will ya both please join our family for dinnah tonight?”
The Captain and I both looked at each other and answered almost in unison, “I would be delighted.”
I got down off Sampson, retrieved the reins of the lady’s horse and handed them to her. She smiled graciously and accepted them.
Further observation of the damsel allowed me to take note of her wardrobe and riding equipment. She was riding side saddle, which was the only respectable mode of horseback riding allowed a lady in the 19th century. She was wearing a blue frilly blouse with white lace that acted as a collar around her throat. The blouse was the same light blue that matched her hat. Her riding skirt was a darker blue and reached the top of her black boots. Her hands were covered in white gloves with lace around the wrists. She had a brown riding crop that was looped around her left wrist.
Her horse was still spooked from the confrontation. So I took time to rub the troubled mount’s forehead and nose and speak gently to it. After the short massage, the wild eyes and laid back ears of fright were replaced with a sense of calm.
I looked at the lady and said, “Yar horse is okay to travel now.”
She looked at me with a solemn expression and declared, “Again, I must thank ya for yar endeavors on my behalf.” She then smiled broadly, revealing the cutest dimples imaginable, extended her hand and said, “Lula Belle and I thank ya for yar gallantry.”
I accepted her hand in both of mine and stammered, “It was my pleasure.” I hoped my utterances weren’t being too forward, but she didn’t act offended. So I guess what I said was respectful. I realized I had held her hand too long because she sort of tilted her head and looked at me with an inquiring expression. I quickly let go of her hand and uttered, “I don’t even know yar name.”
She voiced a delightful little peal of laughter and answered, “I’m Daphne Jane Newcomer and may I ask who is addressing me?”
I smiled from ear to ear and found myself responding, “James Edward Hager, at yar service.”
She returned, “Well James Edward Hager, we need to be on our way. I have a lot of things to arrange for our dinnah.”
She then looked at Captain Mosby, who had been patiently witnessing the tete-a-tete with a smile, extended her hand and exclaimed, “We meet again Captain. Yar quick action has saved our city and me, personally. Harpers Ferry and my family owe ya a great debt of gratitude.”
He rode his horse close to Ms. Newcomer, accepted her hand and bowed from the waist while removing his hat. It was a sheer act of chivalry and nicely done. It als
o caused more than a tinge of jealousy to rear its ugly head in my heart. I might have a rival for Ms. Newcomer’s affections. What was I thinking? I shouldn’t even be considering such thoughts. I was a happily married man already. But I had to ask myself, “How can she look just like my wife, but at a younger age?”
The three of us headed back to the site of the skirmish. The Captain and I were walking our horses to give them a breather, while Ms. Newcomer followed us on Lula Belle.
Sampson must have been in the prime of life because he kept looking back at Lula Belle. When he let out one of his boisterous whinnies, I jerked his reins so that his head was brought close to mine and I said in a stage whisper, “Behave yourself.”
I glanced back at Ms. Newcomer, who suddenly averted her gaze, but couldn’t conceal the smile on her face. I turned beet red and continued walking my noble but randy steed toward the gaggle of soldiers.
The Dark Mage’s Log: ‘Earth 3’ Date: 18620918
Jargunn had set up his ambush north of the farm where the imposter had procured a large four-legged creature of great strength. When the imposter didn’t arrive, he sensed something amiss.
He willed his ACV to appear and in stealth mode traversed the road back to Harpers Ferry. It was then that he spied a small armed unit of men all in like-colored clothing on four-legged animals common to this era deploying in a long line at the edge of some foliage. It appeared that they had surreptitiously moved to a point at the rear of a larger armed group.
This larger group also had common colored clothing, but it was a different hue from the group to their rear. The large group moving across the open area was also on animals of the same four-legged species as the smaller group.
It seemed that the small stealthy group was about to attack the larger group, which was ludicrous.
Assassins of History- Transference Page 13
