CHAPTER XII.
_The Mountain Adventure._
LET us return to the army, which we left near Lebanon. The main forcewas to continue its march onward toward Rolla, while a battalion ofinfantry, a section of artillery, and a company of cavalry struck to thewest of the main road, and started for the point from which themessenger had arrived. It was a weary march, as the troops already hadproceeded twenty miles that day. But the dreadful atrocities related ashaving been committed by the guerrillas fired the hearts of the bravesoldiers, and they pressed forward with a will.
The troops at last reached the scene of the outrages, in the place knownas “Bohannan Mills Valley.” The deeds of blood and horror had not beenexaggerated by the messenger. Women had been murdered in their beds, oldmen were lying stiff and cold, with their brains beaten out, andchildren, helpless and weeping, were clinging to their dead bodies orwandering distractedly around.
The battalion which had been sent to this valley was the one to whichLieutenant Wells and Adjutant Hinton belonged. Wells was still sufferingfrom the terrible anxiety of mind which he had recently undergone, butdid not permit his own troubles to interfere with his discharge of duty.The troops camped in the little valley, to collect the scatteredfamilies, whose remaining members it was determined to take along withthe army in its retreat. Soon word was brought by a mountaineer that theguerrillas still were infesting the mountain, while the flames of aburning mill, seen below, seemed to give evidence that the miscreantsstill were at their work of blood. This decided the officers to scourthe mountain, if possible, to force the rebels to a fight, for there wasnot a man in the Union ranks who did not pant for a chance to meet thosedastards, who, under the protecting folds of the Confederate flag,committed atrocities at which humanity stood aghast. Wells was soon atthe head of a strong party of dismounted dragoons, and with them struckoff for the hills back of the burning mill. A weary march was brought toa sudden halt by a deep water gully, over which no perceptible fordoffered a passage. Up and down it Wells passed to reconnoiter. It was anugly spot to be caught in by a wily foe, and the troops were so disposedas to guard against a surprise. The men kept close under cover of thedense undergrowth, so as not to betray their position should theguerrillas come upon them. Lieutenant Wells and Adjutant Hinton wereproceeding up the watercourse, when a rattle of fire-arms arrested theirattention. It was evident some kind of a conflict was taking place overthe stream. The volley was not, however, answered by a return; only asingle shot was heard, and then a wild, frenzied shout, as if ofmaddened men. After a brief interval, another shot was heard, and asecond paralyzed howl was followed by shouts and curses, plainly heardby the two anxious senior officers.
“It must be the guerrillas after the poor Unionists who have fled to themountain,” said Hinton. “Our men must not be idle when such work isgoing on. You stay here, Wells, to watch further, while I go back tobring up our boys.”
Hinton hurried away, while Wells crept forward to the very edge of thedeep but narrow gully beyond which the sounds of conflict were heard.Hardly had he secured a spot for observation, ere he was startled by thecrash of the undergrowth and the voices of men not ten rods away. Ontoward the lieutenant’s place of concealment came the pursued andpursuers. The first was but a single man, whom Wells several timesdetected gliding along from tree to tree, keeping “under cover” like anexperienced woodsman. He was closely pursued by a band of theguerrillas, all dismounted, who were making the hills echo with theirdemoniac yells. Slowly the fugitive retired, holding his foes at bay byhis sagacious maneuvers. Wells became intensely excited over the scene,and resolved to rush at once to the brave fellow’s aid, but there laybefore him the impassable gulf over which few men could bound. Finallythe hunted man struck the gully, and saw at a glance that his retreatwas cut off. The enemy saw it, too, for they set up a shout ofcommingled derision and pleasure, which so maddened the fugitive that heyelled:
“Laugh away, you darn skunks. I’ll make more than one of your dirtycarcasses food for the crows before I go under.” And suiting the wordsto action, he fired two successive shots from what, apparently, was adouble-barrel fowling-piece. Two of the guerrillas must have fallen, forferocious shrieks of agony followed.
Wells could endure no more. There stood before him his brave friendWilliam Nettleton, hunted by a dozen fiends who must soon overpower himif aid was not quickly given. He started backward for a couple of rods,then rushed with almost flying swiftness up to the gully, and boundedover its sharply-cut edge. For a moment his desperate leap arrested allattention. Nettleton deemed it a new adversary coming upon him from anunexpected quarter, and turned, knife in hand, to close in with hisantagonist. What was his astonishment to welcome Lieutenant Wells to hisarms! What a shout followed! The guerrillas quickly sought cover, notknowing how many others might be lurking on the opposite side of theravine to give them a bloody welcome.
“Wells, by the jumping jingo! Where _did_ you come from and where _is_you going to? Give us yer hand and lend us yer revolver. Ah, got two of’em. _Hooray!_ Down on yer knees quicker’n lightnin’, for thewoman-murderers are after us, sharp!”
Down the two men fell, just in time to escape a volley from the carbinesof a squad of the murderers. With the dexterity of a squirrel, Nettletonrushed forward to a friendly tree, and fired quickly three shots fromthe revolver. It was a surprise to the enemy, for two of their numberfell, so true had the aim been. The squad retreated to reload, butNettleton had no idea of permitting that, and was about to press hisadvantage, when a powerfully-built rebel came rushing upon him, knife inhand, from the right side of the tree, unseen by the undaunted man untilit was too late for the use of his fire-arm. In a moment they wereclasped in the death-struggle. Three or four of the guerrillas rushed tothe spot, only to be shot down by Wells’ deliberate aim. No moreappeared, and the two combatants were left to their fearful work. Eachhad seized the knife-hand of the other. Then followed the strain ofmuscle for the mastery. The guerrilla, counting upon his tremendousstrength, doubtless hoped for an easy victory; but in that ungainly formhe found a bundle of nerves tough as whale-bone—a human frame elastic asindia-rubber but as invincible as steel.
Down toward the gully the combatants pressed. In vain did the rebel tryto force his antagonist to the earth. The supple form of Nettleton bentunder his adversary’s pressure, but his frame at length rebounded with aforce which bore the guerrilla to his knees. He drew the Federal downwith him, and on their knees the frightful combat was continued. Wellswould have advanced from his concealment to the rescue, but knew that arebel carbine would surely bring him down, and thus place it out of hispower to aid his friend at all. Slowly toward the chasm the men workedtheir way, struggling like two serpents striving for the death-triumph.It was an exciting but appalling spectacle, which the sudden roar offire-arms on the left did not serve to arrest. A shout followed, whichWells recognized as that of his own men, who must have discovered acrossing below, and have come upon the band of cut-throats unawares.There was a sudden scattering of those concealed in the immediatevicinity of the hand-to-hand contest, but one villain rushed from hiscover upon the writhing forms of the bleeding men, with the design ofdispatching the unconquered Federal. Wells was upon him like a tiger,and in a moment cut him down with his sword. Hinton beheld the stroke,and came rushing up to the spot just in time to behold the strugglingmen go over the gully’s bank together.
The two officers hurried to the bank. Some twenty feet below they coulddistinguish the forms of the combatants, both apparently lifeless.Without a moment’s hesitancy, Wells dropped from the brink, and fellcrashing through the dense jungle lining the water’s edge, to the bed ofthe stream. He was stunned but not injured, and arose to his feet tofind Nettleton in a sitting posture. Beside him lay the big guerrilla,silent in death.
“I’ll be danged if that wan’t the ugliest cuss as ever I tusseled with,breeches-holt, back-holt or rough-and-tumble.” This was his firstejac
ulation.
“Are you injured?” anxiously inquired Wells.
“Wal, let’s take a reconnoissance. Here’s a hole in this arm, that’ssp’iled the only good coat I ever had, dang it! Here’s a rip, too, inthe collar, whar that critter’s knife tried to cut my windpipe. He _did_scratch me thar, I believe,” he said, fingering his neck, down which theblood flowed freely. “By Jemima, ef I haven’t lost a finger!” he added,suddenly holding up his hand. “Now, that’s too bad, ef it is on the lefthand. I rayther think the reb got a mouthful when he chawed that off!”And thus he would have continued for another ten minutes had not shoutsfrom above aroused him.
“Who’s come?” he asked.
“Hinton and the battalion.”
“Glory! And have the rebs been caught in a trap?”
“I don’t know how many, but from the shots and shouts I don’t think manywill be permitted to escape.”
“All right. Now jist give us a lift, to see if my shanks is all right.There, that’s the juniper. Jist look at my back, and see if you find anyholes that want plugging.”
No “holes” were found, and the good-natured fellow came out of thecombat with only flesh-wounds, save the loss of one finger from the lefthand, which the guerrilla had bitten off. Nettleton was much exhausted,and was finally drawn up out of the gully with no little difficulty,when the men set up a shout which made the hills ring.
“There, boys, that’ll pay for the bruises; and now I guess you’ll haveto do me another favor—jist rub my shanks and the hinges in my back witha little whisky, if you can spare it.”
In a moment a dozen pocket-flasks were produced and willing hands gavehim a good rubbing, which gave his limbs new strength. It was evidentthat his muscles had been severely overtasked, for he was languid andincapable of exertion.
Nettleton now narrated the particulars of his and Fall-leaf’sadventures. Soon the troops were out on the search for Captain Hayward,while, assisted by a couple of comrades, the wounded hero of the hourmade his way down to the cabin of old Madge. The old creature receivedhim kindly and at once bestirred herself to make him strong again. Theair was soon odoriferous with the smell of distilling herbs.
A prolonged shout, ere long, came rolling down the hill. Nettleton wasaroused from a sleep into which he had fallen. His two comrades at oncehurried out to ascertain its cause. Old Madge paused in her toil andsaid:
“The captain’s found, I s’pose.”
“Hooray!” yelled the invalid, now an invalid no longer. Springing fromhis bed he rushed out, and away he went up the hills in the direction ofthe still continuing noise. His companions, astonished at his suddenrecovery, followed, and all were soon lost to sight.
Harry Hayward was indeed found, and the cavalcade, bearing him on a rudelitter, after a half-hour’s time, made its appearance coming down themountain. Nettleton was at his side, crying like a baby. Wells held thesick man’s hand, while his face, still expressing anxiety, beamed withjoy. Hayward was discovered hidden in a quiet, cool nook, where he layin a very exhausted condition. He had, in his fever-delirium, brokenaway from Madge’s custody, but, no sooner was he out in the cool shadeof the trees and rocks than his mind became clear and composed. Weak andill as he was he still had strength to seek a place of safety frompursuit, should it be attempted, as he supposed it would be. Atnightfall he had determined to seek out some respectable lookingfarm-house, and on the morrow to cast himself upon the mercy ofstrangers, knowing that even though that stranger might be a foe hecould not be more inhuman than men wearing the uniform of Confederateofficers. But the sufferer was spared further efforts. The shouts andreports of fire-arms Hayward distinctly heard, and at once surmised thata Union force was at hand. When the men scattered in squads for thesearch through the mountain, the captain beheld one of the partiespassing before his hiding-place. It was his moment of deliverance. Hestepped out before the astonished soldiers, who, not recognizing theapparition, did not at once welcome him.
“My men, don’t you know me?”
“Captain Hayward!” they shouted, as they rushed upon him, and claspedhim in their arms.
He was borne toward Madge’s cabin, to be welcomed on the way by thegathering men. Wells now appeared. The joy of that meeting can besurmised. The welkin was made to ring with the glad notes of thejubilant soldiers. These notes it was which aroused the sleeper in thecabin, and when at length he appeared, struggling wearily up the hill,the cavalcade paused to permit the overjoyed parties a few minutes ofundisturbed greeting. Nettleton was not even talkative—a circumstanceindicative of the depth of his feelings—and it was not until the captainwas fully domiciled in the cabin, that he could consent to talk of thepast and its painful incidents. He then narrated the events of Walker’splot, as we have here recorded them, ending with the tragedy of themill. It was a revelation of intense but most painful interest to thesick man; but he bore the affliction of his sister’s loss with greatresolution, sustained by the conviction that He who doeth all thingswell would not permit the evil one to triumph.
The Prisoner of the Mill; or, Captain Hayward's Body Guard Page 12
