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AT THE BATTLE OF ANTIETAM.—Page 143.

FIGHTING JOE;

OR,

THE FORTUNES OF A STAFF OFFICER.

A Story of the Great Rebellion.

BY

OLIVER OPTIC,

AUTHOR OF “THE SOLDIER BOY,” “THE SAILOR BOY,” “THE YOUNG LIEUTENANT,”

“THE YANKEE MIDDY,” “RICH AND HUMBLE,” “IN SCHOOL AND OUT,”

“WATCH AND WAIT,” “WORK AND WIN,” “THE RIVERDALE

STORY BOOKS,” “THE BOAT CLUB,” ETC.

BOSTON

LEE AND SHEPARD PUBLISHERS

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1865, by

WILLIAM T. ADAMS,

in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.

Copyright, 1893, by William T. Adams

FIGHTING JOE

TO

F. ORMOND J. S. BAZIN

This Book

IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED,

BY HIS FRIEND

WILLIAM T. ADAMS.

PREFACE.

This volume, the fifth of “The Army and Navy Stories,” is not a biography of the distinguished soldier whose sobriquet in the army has been chosen as its principal title, though the prominent incidents of his military career are noticed in its pages. The writer offers his humble tribute of admiration to the energetic and devoted general who will be recognized under the appellation given to this work; but perhaps the object of the volume may be better represented by the second title. It follows Tom Somers, “The Soldier Boy” and “The Young Lieutenant,” in his brilliant and daring career as a staff officer, through some of the most stormy and trying scenes of the late war.

As in the volumes of the series which have preceded it, the best sources of information upon military events have been carefully consulted; and to the extent to which the book is properly historical, it is intended to be faithful in its delineations. But the work is more correctly a record of personal adventure, no more complicated, daring, and romantic than may be found in the experience of many, who, through trial and tribulation, through victory and defeat, have passed from the inception to the gigantic failure of this gigantic rebellion.

More earnest than any other purpose in the production of the book, it has been the object of the writer to exhibit a character in his hero worthy the imitation of the boy and the man who may read it; and if it does not inculcate a lofty patriotism, and a noble and Christian morality, it will have failed of the highest aim of the author.

With the still stronger expression of gratitude which the increasing favor bestowed upon previous efforts demands of me, I pass the fifth volume of the series into the hands of my indulgent friends, hoping that it will not fall short of their reasonable expectations.

WILLIAM T. ADAMS.

CONTENTS.

FIGHTING JOE.

FIGHTING JOE;

OR,

THE FORTUNES OF A STAFF OFFICER.

CHAPTER I.
A FIGHTING MAN.

“WELL, Alick, I don’t know where I am,” said Captain Thomas Somers, of the staff of the major general commanding the first army corps of the Army of the Potomac, then on its march to repel the invasion of Maryland, which had been attempted by the victorious rebels under General Lee.

“Well, massa, I’m sure I don’t know,” replied Alick, his colored servant. “If you was down ’bout Petersburg, I reckon I’d know all ’bout it.”

“We must find out very soon,” added Captain Somers, as he reined in his horse at a point where two roads branched off, one to the north-west and the other to the south-west.

“Day ain’t no house ’bout here, massa.”

“I don’t want to lose my way, for I have no time to spare.”

“Dar’s somebody comin’ up behind, massa,” said Alick, who first heard the sounds of horses’ feet approaching in the direction from which they had just come.

Captain Somers, after receiving the agreeable intelligence of his appointment on the staff of the general, in whose division he had served on the Peninsula, hastened to Washington to report for duty. He had hardly time to visit his friends, and was obliged to content himself with a short call on Miss Lilian Ashford, though he had an invitation to spend the evening with the family, extended for the purpose of enabling the young gentleman to cultivate an acquaintance with the beautiful girl’s grandmother!

Lilian’s father’s mother was certainly a very estimable old lady, and her granddaughter loved and reverenced her with a fervor which was almost enthusiastic. It was quite natural, therefore, that she should wish Captain Somers,—for whom she had knit a pair of socks, which had been no small portion of his inspiration in the hour of battle, and for whom she had contracted a friendship,—it was quite natural that she should wish to have the captain well acquainted with her grandmother. She loved the old lady herself, and of course so brave, handsome, and loyal a person as her friend had proved to be, must share her reverence and respect. Besides, the venerable woman remembered all about the last war with Great Britain. Her husband had been one of the firemen sent out with axes to cut away the bridges which connect Boston with the surrounding country, when an invasion of the town was expected. She could tell a good story, and as Somers was a military man, it was highly important that he should know all about the dreaded invasion which did not take place.

Captain Somers was obliged to deprive himself of the pleasure of listening to the old lady’s history of those stirring events, for more exciting ones were in progress on the very day of which we write. He was sorry, for he anticipated a great deal of pleasure from the visit, though whether he expected to derive the whole of it from the presence of the grandmother, we are not informed; and it would be wicked to pry too deeply into the secrets of the young man’s heart. We are not quite sure that Lilian was entirely unselfish when she described what a rich treat the old lady’s narrative would be; but we are certain that she was entirely sincere, and that it was quite proper to offer some extra inducement to secure the gallant captain’s attendance.

The captain did not need any extraordinary inducements, beyond the presence of the fair Lilian herself. We even believe that he would have cheerfully spent the evening at No. — Rutland Street, if there had been no one but herself to give him a welcome, and aid him in passing away the hours. Nothing but a high sense of duty could have led him to break the engagement. The rebel hordes, victorious before Washington, and elated by the signal successes they had won, were pouring into Maryland, menacing Washington, Baltimore, and Philadelphia. It was a time which tried the souls of patriotic men—a time when no man who loved his country could rest in peace while there was a work which his hands could do.

The young staff officer called upon the lady and stated his situation. She blushed, as she always did in his presence, and gave him a God-speed on his patriotic mission. She hoped he would not be killed, or even wounded; that his feeble health would be restored; and that God would bless him as he went forth to do battle for his treason-ridden land. She was pale when he took her hand at parting; her bosom heaved with emotions, to which Somers found a response in his own heart, but which he could not explain.

He went to Washington; but the gallant army, still suffering from the pangs of recent defeat, but yet strong in the cause they had espoused, had marched to the scene of new battles. Somers had already provided himself with his staff uniform, and he remained in Washington only long enough to purchase two horses, one of which he mounted himself, while Alick rode the other, and started for the advance of the army. The roads were so cumbered with artillery trains and baggage wagons that his progress was very slow, and the corps to which he now belonged was several days in advance of him. By the advice of a general officer, he had made a détour from the direct road, and passed through a comparatively quiet country.

The rebels were at Frederick City, and their cavalry, in large and small bodies, was scattered all over the region, gathering supplies for the half starved, half clothed men of Lee’s army. Thus far Somers had met none of these marauders, nor any of the guerillas, who, without a license from either side, were plundering soldiers and civilians who could offer no resistance. Somers had ridden as rapidly as his feeble state of health would permit; but his enthusiasm had urged him forward until his horse was more in danger of giving out than the rider. But when he reached the cross-roads, at which we find him, doubtful about the right way, he had slept the preceding night at a farm-house, and horse and rider were now in excellent condition.

“Are your pistols ready for use, Alick?” asked Somers, as he heard the sounds of the horses’ feet.

“Yes, sar; always keep the pistols ready. But what you gwine to do wid pistols here?” replied the servant, as he took his weapon from his pocket.

“The country is full of rebels and guerillas; they may want our horses, and perhaps ourselves. I can’t spare my coat and boots very well at present.”

“Guess not, massa,” laughed Alick, as he examined the lock of his pistol.

“I have never seen you in a fight, Alick. Do you think you can stand up to it?”

“Well, massa. I don’t want to say much about that, but I reckon I won’t run away no faster’n you do.”

“If I get into trouble with these ruffians, I shall want to know whether I can depend on you, or not.”

“Golly, massa! You can depend on me till the cows come home!” exclaimed Alick. “I doesn’t like to say much about it, but if these yere hossmen wants to fight, I’m not the chile to run away.”

“They don’t look much like rebels or guerillas,” added Somers, as he obtained his first view of the approaching horsemen. “But you can’t tell much by the looks in these times, for the villains have robbed us till half of them wear our own colors. Those people certainly wear the uniform of our army.”

“Dar’s only two of ’em, massa. I reckon they don’t want to fight much.”

“I only wished to be cautious; very likely they are loyal and true men,” replied Somers, as the strangers came too near to permit any further remarks in regard to their probable character.

Both the travellers were evidently officers of the army, though, as Somers had suggested, it was impossible to tell what anybody was by the looks, or even if he was seen to take the oath of allegiance. As they came round a bend of the road, and discovered the captain and his servant, they reined up their steeds, and seemed to be disturbed by the same doubts which had troubled the first party. But they advanced, after a cautious survey, and each of them touched his cap, when they came within speaking distance. Somers politely returned the salute, and moved his horse towards them.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” said he. “Can you inform me which is the road to Frederick City?”

“The left, sir. If you are going in that direction, we shall be glad of your company,” replied one of the officers.

“Thank you; I shall be glad to go with you.”

“I see by your uniform that you belong on the staff,” added the officer who had done the talking.

“Yes, sir;” and Somers, without reserve, informed him who and what he was.

“Somers!” exclaimed the stranger. “I have heard of you before. Perhaps you remember one Dr. Scoville, of Petersburg?”

“Perfectly,” laughed Somers.

“Well, sir, he is an uncle of mine.”

“Indeed? I took you to be an officer of the United States army.”

“So I am; but my father married a sister of Dr. Scoville.”

“Dr. Scoville is a very good sort of man, but he is an awful rebel. I suppose he bears no good will towards me and my friend Major de Banyan.”

“Perhaps not; but the affair was a capital joke on the doctor. And since he is a rebel, and a very pestilent one too, I enjoyed it quite as much as you did.”

“I feel very grateful to him for what he did for me. I went into his house without an invitation; he dressed my wound, and nearly cured me. When the soldiers came upon us, he promised to give us up at the proper time, and pledged himself for our safety. We left him, one day, rather shabbily, I confess; but we had no taste for a rebel prison, for the rebs don’t always manage their prisons very well.”

“I have heard the whole story. It’s rich. If you please, we will move on.”

“With all my heart, major,” replied Somers, who read his rank from his shoulder-straps.

“I am Major Riggleston, of the —nd Maryland Home Brigade, on detached duty, just now.”

“I am glad to know you, Major Riggleston, especially as you are a relative of my friend Dr. Scoville, and on the right side.”

“This is Captain Barkwood, of the regulars.”

Somers saluted the quiet gentleman, who had hardly spoken during the interview. Major Riggleston was dressed in an entirely new uniform, and rode a splendid horse, which led Somers to believe that he belonged to one of the wealthy and aristocratic families of the state which so tardily embraced the cause of the Union. On the other hand, Captain Barkwood looked as though he had seen hard service; for his uniform was rusty, and his face was bronzed by exposure beneath the fervid sun of the south.

The party were excellently well acquainted with each other before they had ridden a mile. After the topics suggested by the first meeting had been exhausted, Somers mentioned his fear of the guerillas and rebel marauders, who kept a little way in advance of the invading army. The travellers were now farther north than Frederick, and some distance from the advancing line of the Union army. The road they had chosen was not one of the great thoroughfares of the state; consequently it was but little frequented.

“I don’t object to meeting a small party of guerillas,” said Major Riggleston; “for, gentlemen, if you are of the same mind that I am, we should show them the quality of true Union steel.”

“I hope we shall not meet any; but if we do, I am in no humor to lose my horse or my boots,” replied Somers. “But we may meet so many of them that it would be better to trust to our horses’ heels than to the quality of our steel.”

“True—too many would not be agreeable; but, say a dozen or twenty of them. We could whip that number without difficulty. The fact is, gentlemen, I am a fighting man. There has been too much of this looking at the enemy, and then running away. I repeat, gentlemen, I am a fighting man.”

“I am glad to hear it, and glad to have met you, for I am told there are a good many of these small plundering parties loose about this region; and I would rather fight than lose my boots,” laughed Somers.

“Three of us can do a good thing,” added the major.

“Four,” suggested Somers.

“Four?”

“My man can fight.”

“But he is a nigger; niggers won’t fight.”

“He will. By the way, he came from your uncle’s, at Petersburg.”

“Alick!” exclaimed the major, glancing back at the servant.

He did not seem to be well pleased to discover one of his uncle’s contrabands at this distance from home; for, with many other chivalrous southrons, he believed it would be a good thing to preserve the Union, if slavery could be preserved with it. He spoke a few words to Alick, but did not seem to enjoy the interview.

“Yes, we can whip at least twenty of the villains,” added the major, as he resumed his place between Somers and Captain Barkwood. “What do you think?” he continued, turning to the regular.

“I hope we shall not meet any. I am a coward by nature. I would rather run than fight, any time,” replied the captain. “Of all things I dislike these small skirmishes, these hand-to-hand fights.”

“I like them; I’m a fighting man,” said the major.

“I’m afraid you will have a chance to test your mettle,” said Somers. “Those fellows are guerillas, if I mistake not,” added he, pointing to half a dozen horsemen who were approaching them.

CHAPTER II.
A SKIRMISH ON THE ROAD.

THE horsemen who had attracted the attention of Captain Somers were hard-looking fellows. They were dressed in a miscellaneous manner, their clothes being partly civilian and partly military. Portions of their garb were new, and probably at no distant period had been part of the stock in trade of some industrious clothier in one of the invaded towns; and portions were faded and dilapidated, bearing the traces of a severe march through the soft mud of Virginia. It was not easy to mistake their character.

The guerillas perceived the approaching party almost as soon as they were themselves perceived. They adopted no uncertain tactics, but instantly put spurs to their horses and galloped up to the little squad of officers. They appeared to have no doubts whatever in regard to the issue of the meeting, for they resorted to no cautionary movements, and made no prudential halts. They had evidently had everything their own way in previous encounters of this description, and seemed to be satisfied that they had only to demand an unconditional surrender in order to find their way at once to the pockets of the travellers, or to appropriate their coats and boots to the use of the rebel army.

“Halt!” said the nondescript gentleman at the head of the guerillas.

“Your business?” demanded Major Riggleston.

“Sorry to trouble you, gentlemen, but you are my prisoners,” said the chief guerilla, as blandly as though he had been in a drawing-room.

“Who are you, gentlemen?” asked the major.

“I don’t like to be uncivil to a well-dressed gentleman like yourself; but I haven’t learned my catechism lately, and can’t stop to be questioned. In one word, do you surrender?”

“Allow me a moment to consult my friends.”

“Only one moment.”

“Don’t you think we had better surrender, Captain Somers?”

“I thought you were a fighting man,” replied Somers.

“I am, when circumstances will admit of it; but they are two to our one.”

“Just now you thought we were a match for at least twenty of these fellows.”

“Time’s up, gentlemen,” said the dashing guerilla.

“What do you say, Captain Somers?”

“You can do as you please; I don’t surrender, for one.”

“But this is madness.”

“I don’t care what it is; I am going to fight my way through.”

“Do you surrender?” demanded the impatient chief of the horsemen.

“No!” replied Somers, in his most decided tone.

“Then you are a dead man!” And the guerilla raised his pistol.

Somers already had one of his revolvers in his hand, and before the villain had fairly uttered the words, he presented his weapon and fired, as quick as the flash of the lightning. The leader dropped from his horse, and his pistol was discharged in the act, but the ball went into the ground. Almost at the same instant the quiet captain of the regulars fired, and wounded another of the banditti. The others, apparently astonished at this unexpected resistance, discharged their pistols, and pressed forward, with their sabres in hand, to avenge the fall of their comrades.

Somers rapidly fired the other barrels of his revolver, and so did Captain Barkwood, but without the same decisive effect as before, though two of the assailants appeared to be slightly wounded. There was no further opportunity to use firearms, and the officers drew their swords, as they fell back before the impetuous charge of the savage guerillas. Major Riggleston followed their example, and for a moment the sparks flew from the well-tempered steel of the combatants. Our officers were accomplished swordsmen, but the furious rebels appeared to be getting the better of them. Major Riggleston contrived to wheel his horse, and was so fortunate as to get out of the mêlée with a whole skin.

At this point, when victory seemed about to perch on the rebel standard, Alick, who had thus far been ignored, brought down a third guerilla with his pistol. The negro was cool, collected, and self-possessed. He had not fired before, because the officers stood between him and the assailants. Now, as he had no sword, he stood off, and took deliberate aim at his man.

Captain Barkwood, who was a man of immense muscle, succeeded, after a desperate hand-to-hand conflict, in wounding his opponent in the sword arm. The fellow dropped his weapon, and turning his horse, fled with the utmost precipitation. The only remaining one, finding himself alone, immediately followed his example. The battle was won, and the coats and boots were evidently saved.

“Why don’t you follow them?” cried Major Riggleston, rushing madly up to the spot at this decisive moment. “Hunt them down! Tear them to pieces.”

“We’ll leave that for our fighting man to do,” replied Somers, with a smile, though he was so much out of breath with the violence of his exertions that he could scarcely articulate the words.

“Don’t let them escape,” added the major, furiously. “Cut them down! Don’t let them plunder the country any more.”

As he spoke, he put spurs to his horse, and dashed madly up the road in pursuit of the defeated guerillas.

“Your hand, Captain Somers,” said the regular. “You are a trump.”

“Thank you; and I am happy to reciprocate the compliment,” replied the young staff officer, as he took the proffered hand of Captain Barkwood.

“As a general rule, I don’t think much of volunteer officers,” continued the regular; “but you are a stunning good fellow, and as plucky as a hen that has lost one of her chickens.”

“I am obliged to you for your good opinion, and especially for your ornithological simile,” laughed Somers, who, we need not add, was delighted with the conduct of his companion.

“My what?”

“Your ornithological simile.”

“My dear fellow, you must have swallowed a quarto dictionary. If you had only used that expression before the fight, the rebels would certainly have run away, and declined to engage a man who used words of such ominous length. No matter; you can fight.”

“I can when I am obliged to do so. You remarked, a little while ago, that you were a coward by nature.”

“So I am; but it was safer to fight than it was to run.”

“You did not behave like a man who is a coward by nature.”

“But I am a coward; and I dislike these hand-to-hand encounters.”

“You didn’t appear to dislike them very much just now,” added Somers, who was filled with admiration at the gallant bearing of the regular.

“I do; war is a science. I play at it just as I do at chess. By the way, Captain Somers, do you play chess?”

“Only a little.”

“Well, it’s a noble game; and I may have the pleasure of letting you beat me some time. War is like chess; it’s a great game. I like to see a well-planned battle, and even to take a part in it. But these little affairs, where everything depends on brute force, are my particular abomination. There is no science about them—no strategy—no chance to flank, or do any other smart thing.”

“Here comes the major; he didn’t catch his man,” said Somers, as the “fighting man” was seen galloping towards them.

“He’s a prudent man,” replied the regular, hardly betraying the contempt he felt for this particular volunteer.

“He’s a Maryland man.”

“So am I,” promptly returned Captain Barkwood, as though he feared that something might be said against the bravery of the men of his state. “I was born and brought up not ten miles from the spot where we now stand.”

“Why didn’t you follow me?” demanded the major, in a reproachful tone, as he reined in his panting steed.

“We had got enough of it,” answered the regular.

“We might have brought them down if you had joined me in the pursuit.”

“We might, if you had stuck by us in the fight,” said Somers, with a gentle smile, to break the force of the rebuke.

“Stood by you?” exclaimed Major Riggleston, his face flushed with anger. “Do you intend to insinuate that I did not stand by you?”

“You did, but at a safe distance.”

“Didn’t I do all the talking with the villains?” foamed the major.

“Certainly you did,” replied the regular.

“Didn’t I bear the whole brunt of the assault at the beginning?”

“Undoubtedly you did,” responded Captain Barkwood, before Somers could speak a word.

“Didn’t I fight like a tiger, till—”

“Unquestionably you did.”

“Till my rein got entangled in my spur, and whirled my horse round?”

“My dear major, you behaved like a lion,” said Barkwood, in tones so soothing that the anger of Riggleston passed away like the shadow of a summer cloud.

“I am a fighting man.”

“That’s so.”

“And I dislike this marching and countermarching in the face of an enemy.”

“There we unfortunately disagree for the first time. That is strategy,—the art of war,—and all that makes war glorious.”

“I believe in pitching into an enemy, and, when he is beaten, in following him up till there is nothing left of him. I regret, gentlemen, that you did not join in the pursuit of the two miscreants with me. We might have annihilated them as well as not.”

Somers did not understand the humor of the regular, and could not fathom his object in permitting the coward still to believe that he was a fighting man. While the conversation was in progress, Alick had removed the bodies of the two dead rebels from the road, and placed the other two, who were severely wounded, in a comfortable position under a tree. He had filled their canteens with water from the brook which ran across the road a short distance from the spot, and left them to live or die, as the future might determine. He had also transferred a good saddle from one of the guerillas’ horses to his own animal, which had not before been provided with one.

The party moved on again. Major Riggleston talked about the fight; for some reason or other he could speak of nothing else. He still called himself a fighting man, and still talked as though he had fired the most effective shots and struck the hardest blows which had been given. The regular agreed with him in all things, except when he impugned the sacred claims of strategy.

“Never cross a fool in his folly, nor ruin a man in his own estimation,” said Captain Barkwood, when Somers, at a favorable moment, asked an explanation of his singular commendation of the poltroon.

“But he is a coward.”

“Call no man a coward but yourself. There is hardly an officer in the army, from the general-in-chief down to the corporal of the meanest regiment in the service, that has not been called a coward. You don’t know who are cowards, and who are not.”

“Perhaps you are right.”

“I know I am. I am a coward myself, but I know nothing about anybody else.”

“I differ with you.”

“You don’t know anything about it. The major don’t love you over much now for what you hinted. Never make an enemy when there is no need of it.”

The approach of Major Riggleston put an end to this conversation. Somers could not help noticing that the major treated him rather cavalierly; but as he was not particularly anxious to secure the esteem of such a man, the manner of his companion did not disturb him.

In the afternoon the party reached Frederick, which had just been abandoned by Lee’s rear guard, and was now occupied by a portion of McClellan’s advance.

“Gentlemen, we have had a hard ride, and I know you must be tired as well as myself,” said Major Riggleston, as they entered the city. “You will permit me to offer you the hospitalities of my father’s house.”

“Thank you; I accept, for one,” replied Captain Barkwood. “I am not tired, but I am half starved.”

“And you, Somers?” added the major, with a degree of cordiality in his manner which he had not exhibited since the skirmish on the road.

The young captain had been in the saddle all day; his health was feeble, and he was very much exhausted by the journey. He had hoped to reach the headquarters of the first army corps that night; but he was still several miles distant from his destination, and his physical condition did not admit of this addition to his day’s travel. With many thanks he accepted the invitation, apparently so cordially extended, and the little party halted, soon after, in the grounds of an elegant mansion. The tired horses were given into the keeping of the servants, and Major Riggleston led the way into the house.

They were ushered into the drawing-room, where the major excused himself to inform the family of their arrival. He left the door open behind him.

“They are Yankee officers!” exclaimed a female voice. “What did Fred bring them here for? Get out of sight, Ernest, as fast as you can.”

A door leading from the entry closed, and the visitors heard no more. The regular paid no attention to the remark, and Somers followed his example.

CHAPTER III.
FIGHTING JOE.

CAPTAIN SOMERS, though he said nothing to his companion about the remark to which they had listened, could not help thinking about it. The regular and himself had been alluded to as Yankee officers. It was evident that some one was present who ought not to be present; but as a guest in the house, it was not competent for him to investigate the meaning of the suspicious words.

Major Riggleston presently returned to the drawing-room, attended by an elderly gentleman, whom he introduced as his father, and a beautiful but majestic and haughty young lady of eighteen, whom he introduced as Miss Maud Hasbrouk. When Somers heard her voice, which was as musical as the rippling of a mountain rill, he recognized the tones of the person who had used the doubtful words in the adjoining room.

The old gentleman was happy to see the visitors, especially as they belonged to the Union army, whose presence was welcome to him after the visit of the rebels. He hoped that General McClellan would be able to drive the invaders from the soil—conquer, capture, and exterminate them. His words were certainly strong enough to vouch for his loyalty; and these, added to the fact that the major was an officer in the Maryland Home Brigade, satisfied Somers that he had not fallen into a nest of rebels and traitors, as the obnoxious remark, not intended for his ears, had almost led him to believe.

“The more true men we have here the better; for we have been completely overrun by traitors,” said the old gentleman, alluding to the visit of Lee’s army.

“You use strong words, Mr. Riggleston,” added the lady, whose bright eyes flashed as she spoke.

“I say what I mean,” continued the host.

“Is there any doubt of the fact that the state has been invaded by the rebels?” asked Somers, with a smile.

“None whatever; but Mr. Riggleston called them traitors,” replied Miss Hasbrouk.

“Is there any doubt of that fact?”

“Are men who are fighting for the dearest rights of man traitors?” demanded she, warmly.

“Undoubtedly not. But the rebels are not fighting for any such thing.”

“I beg your pardon, Captain Somers. I think they are. Permit me to add, that I am a rebel.”

“I am very sorry to hear it,” laughed Somers, pleased with the spirit, no less than the beauty, of the lady.

“I suppose you are,” replied she. “The South is fighting for the right of self-government—for its own existence. The right of secession is just as evident to me as the right to live.”

The question of secession was fully discussed by the lady and Somers, but both of them were in the best of humor. Neither contestant succeeded in convincing the other on a single point; and when the party were called to supper, they had advanced just about as far as the statesmen had when the momentous issue was handed over to the arbitrament of arms. It was a matter to be adjusted by hard fighting; and as Miss Hasbrouk and Somers did not intend to settle the question in this rude manner, the subject was dropped.

The family, so far as Somers could judge, were loyal people. The imperial young lady, who was a fit type of the southern character, was only a visitor. In spite of her proud and haughty bearing, she was a very agreeable person, and the guests enjoyed her society.

“I am a rebel,” said she, as they sat down to supper; “but I am, sorely against my will, I confess, a non-combatant, and we are now on neutral ground. We will bury our differences, then, Captain Somers, and be friends.”

“With all my heart,” replied the gallant young captain.

A very pleasant evening was spent in the drawing-room, during which Miss Hasbrouk affected the company of Somers rather than that of the regular, who appeared to be as stoical in society as he was on the road. She was lively, witty, and fascinating, and seemed to be very much delighted with the society of the young staff officer. He was an exceedingly good-looking fellow, it is true; but he was a Yankee, and she made no secret of her aversion to Yankees in general. He was an exception to the rule, and she compelled him to relate the history of his brief campaign at Petersburg. She laughed at the chagrin of Dr. Scoville, when his invalid took to himself wings and flew away; but she took no pains to conceal her sympathy with the cause of the Confederacy.

At an early hour the officers retired; and as they announced their intention to depart at daylight in the morning, they took leave of the ladies. Miss Hasbrouk was so kind as to hope she might meet the captain again; for notwithstanding his vile political affinities, he was a sensible person.

Before the sun rose, Somers and the regular were in the saddle. The major, whose route lay in a different direction, was no longer their companion. The headquarters of the first army corps were on the Monocacy; and thither the travellers wended their way through a beautiful country, which excited the admiration even of the stoical captain of the regulars, though it was no new scene to him.

The reveille was sounding in the camps of the Pennsylvania Reserves as they passed through on their way to the tent of the commanding general. They reached their destination, and their names were sent in by an orderly in attendance.

“Captain Somers, I am glad to see you,” said the general, at a later hour, when they obtained an audience.

“Thank you, general; I am very grateful for the kindness and consideration you have bestowed upon me,” replied Somers.

“You are an aid-de-camp now; but I ought to say that I gave you the appointment because you are a good fellow on a scout.”

“I will do my best in whatever position you may place me.”

“You were rather unfortunate in your last trip, but you accomplished the work I gave you to do. We shall do some hard fighting in a day or two, and there will be sharp work for you before that comes off.”

“I am ready, general. Every man is ready to march or fight as long as he can stand while you are in command.”

“I will see you again in an hour, Somers,” said the general, as he turned to Captain Barkwood, who belonged to the engineers, and had been assigned to a position on the staff.

Somers soon made the acquaintance of the general’s “military family.” His position and rank were defined in the general orders, and duly promulgated. From those around him he obtained all the current knowledge in regard to the situation of the rebel army, which was posted in the Catoctin valley, with the South Mountain range in the rear, whose gaps and passes it was to defend.

At the time appointed Captain Somers again stood in the presence of the general, who was his beau-ideal of all that was grand and heroic in the military chieftain. He was a tall, straight, well-formed man, with a ruddy complexion, flecked with little thready veins, and a muscular frame. His eye was full of energy; he spoke with his eye as much as with his voice. His military history was familiar to the nation. He was a decided man, and his decision had won him his first appointment in the army. He said what he meant, and meant what he said. His energy of character had made him a success from the beginning. His faith in himself and his faith in the loyal army were unbounded. He fought and conquered by the force of his mighty will. He attempted only what was possible, and triumphed through the faith of an earnest soul. His military judgment was of the highest order, and when he had decided what could be done, he did it. His conclusions, however suddenly reached, were not the offspring of impulse; they were carefully drawn from well-founded premises. His quick eye and his solid judgment rapidly collated all the facts in regard to an enemy’s strength, relative situation, and advantage of position; and from them he promptly deduced the conclusion whether to fight or not—how, when, and where to fight.

The general’s pet name was “Fighting Joe;” and by this appellation he was known and loved in the army. But he was not a rash man; he made no unconsidered movements. If the term implies rashness and blundering impetuosity, it is a misnomer; but, after Williamsburg, Glendale, Malvern, South Mountain, Antietam, Lookout Mountain, who could mistake its meaning? for his battles were too uniformly successful to be the issues of merely headlong courage and unmatured strategy. All his operations on the splendid fields where he has so gloriously distinguished himself, exhibit a head as well as an arm; carefully considered plan, as well as bold and determined execution.

The mention of “Fighting Joe” warmed the hearts of the soldiers. He was more popular than any other general in the army. Our soldiers were thinking men, as well as brave ones. They could not love and honor a general who led them into the forefront of battle to be entrapped and sacrificed. They could not believe in a man whose highest recommendation was brute courage. “Fighting Joe” was one of the ablest strategists in the army; and, wherever he has justified his title as a fighting man, he has also displayed the highest skill and judgment, and a profound knowledge and appreciation of the science of war.

Somers stood before the general with a certain feeling of awe and reverence, which one experiences in the presence of a truly great man. There was no time to talk of the past, for the present and the future were full of trials and cares—were full of a nation’s life and hope. Fighting Joe was cool and self-possessed, as he always was, even in the mad rage of the hottest fight; but he was earnest and anxious. He was even now doing that work which wins battles quite as much as the fiery onslaught.

Burnside was in command of the right wing of the army, which occupied the vicinity of Frederick. The rebels had just been driven out of Middletown, and the cannon was roaring beyond Catoctin Creek; but it was evident to the general that no pitched battle could take place that day. He wanted certain information, which he thought Captain Somers was smart enough to procure for him. A map lay on the table in the tent, and in a few telling words he explained what he wanted.

“Don’t be rash, Somers,” said he, as the aid-de-camp rose to depart. “Intelligent courage is what we want. I shall depend upon you for skill and discretion as well as dash and boldness.”

“I will do the best I can,” replied the captain, as he left the tent and mounted his horse.

He dashed off towards Middletown, as the army commenced its march in the same direction. He reached this place before noon, and agreeably to his instructions, pursued a northerly course, until he reached a point beyond the active operations of Pleasanton’s cavalry, which was scouring the country. Leaving his horse at a farm-house, he advanced on foot to the westward of the creek, until he discovered the outposts of the rebel army. Small squads of Confederate cavalry were beating about this region, and Somers was obliged to dodge them several times. But he obtained his information, and fully acquainted himself with the nature of the country, and the situation of the rebels to the north of the Cumberland road.

It was three o’clock in the afternoon when he had completed his reconnaissance, and he was nearly exhausted by the long walk he had taken, and the excitement of his occupation. He was at least two miles from the farm-house where he had left his horse. He had eaten nothing since breakfast, and he was faint for the want of food. He walked one mile, and stopped to rest near an elegant mansion, which evidently belonged to one of the grandees of Maryland. He was tempted to visit the house and procure some refreshment; but, as he was alone, and knew nothing of the political status of the occupants, he did not deem it prudent to do so.

After resting a short time, he rose and continued his weary walk towards the farm-house. As he passed the door of the elegant mansion, a chaise stopped at the gate, and a young officer handed a lady from the vehicle. A servant led the horse away. The lady paused at the gate, and appeared to be observing him. Somers could think of no reason why the lady should watch him, and he continued on his course till he came within a few feet of the spot where she stood.

“Captain Somers!” exclaimed she; “I am delighted to see you again so soon.”

“Miss Hasbrouk,” replied he, not a little surprised to find in her his rebel friend, whom he had met in Frederick the preceding evening.

“This is an unexpected pleasure,” added she, extending her hand, which the young man took.

“I should hardly have expected to meet you at this distance from Frederick.”

“O, I reside here; this is my father’s house. You are some distance from the Yankee army.”

“As you are a rebel, it is hardly proper for me to inform you why I happen to be here,” laughed he. “I am an invalid, and am walking for my health.”

“It is well you are away from your army, for they will all be captured in a few days.”

“Perhaps not; but I shall be with the army before night.”

“This is Major Riggleston,” said she, turning to the gentleman, who had followed the servant to the stable, and had just returned.

“How do you do, again, major?” said Somers.

“Happy to meet you, Captain Somers,” replied the major, not very cordially.

“Now you must come into the house, Captain Somers. It is just dinner time with us,” continued the lady.

Somers was too faint and hungry to refuse.

CHAPTER IV.
MISS MAUD HASBROUK.

THE lady conducted Captain Somers to the sitting-room of the house. He was followed by Major Riggleston, who, judging by his looks and actions, regarded the staff officer with no special favor. Miss Hasbrouk did all the talking, however, and seemed to do it for the purpose of keeping the major in the shade, for she carefully turned aside two or three observations he made, as though they were of no consequence, or as though they might provoke an unpleasant discussion.

“I am particularly delighted to meet you again, Captain Somers,” said the imperial beauty, as they entered the apartment.

“Thank you,” replied he; though he could see no good reason why Miss Maud Hasbrouk should be particularly delighted to see him.

He was a Union man and a loyal soldier, while she was a rebel, with strength of mind enough to regret that her sex compelled her to be a non-combatant. She was a magnificent creature, even to Somers, whose knowledge of the higher order of beauties that float about in the mists of fashionable society was very limited. She was fascinating, and he could not resist the charm of her society; albeit in the present instance he was too much exhausted by ill health and over-exertion to be very brilliant himself.

“This is very unexpected, considering the distance from the place at which I met you last evening,” said he.

“O, it isn’t a very great distance to Frederick. The major drove me over in three hours,” replied she.

“Three and a half, Maud,” interposed the major, apparently because he felt the necessity of saying something to avoid being regarded as a mere cipher.

“How do you feel to-day, after the little brush we had yesterday, major?” added Somers, turning to the gentleman.

“What brush do you refer to?” asked Major Riggleston, rather coldly.

“The little rub we had with the guerillas.”

“Really, you have—”

“Now, gentlemen, will you excuse me for a few moments?” said Miss Hasbrouk, very impolitely breaking in upon the major’s remark.

“Certainly,” replied Somers, with his politest bow. “You are a fighting man, Major Riggleston; and the affair of yesterday was pretty sharp work for a few minutes.”

“Of course I’m a fighting man; but—”

“Major, you promised me something, you will remember,” said the lady, who still lingered in the room; “and now is the best time in the world to redeem your promise.”

“What do you mean, Maud?” demanded the major.

“Why, don’t you remember?”

“Upon my life I don’t.”

“Perhaps Captain Somers will excuse you for a few moments, while I refresh your memory.”

“Certainly; to be sure,” added the polite staff officer.

He moved towards the door at which the lady stood. Somers saw her whisper something to him as she took him familiarly by the arm.

“O, yes, I remember all about it now!” exclaimed he, with sudden vivacity. “I will return in a few moments, Captain Somers, if you will excuse me.”

“By all means; don’t let me interfere with any arrangement you have made.”

They retired, and the door closed behind them. Somers was not a little befogged by the conduct of both the lady and the gentleman. Several times she had interrupted him, and the major had an astonishingly bad memory. He seemed not to remember even the skirmish on the road; and he was equally unmindful of what had passed between him and the lady at some period antecedent to the present.

They were quite intimate; and, slightly versed as the young officer was in affairs of love and matrimony, he had no difficulty in arriving at the conclusion that the interesting couple who had just left him were more than friends; and though he had not the skill to determine what particular point in the courtship they had reached, he ventured to believe they were engaged. Though it was rather a rash and unauthorized conclusion, it was a correct one; showing that young men know some things by intuition.

Somehow Major Riggleston did not appear exactly as he had appeared the preceding day. His uniform did not look quite so bright; his manner was more brusque and less polished; and he spoke with a heavier and more solid tone. But men are not always the same on one day that they are on another; and it was quite probable that the major was suffering for the want of his dinner, or from some vexation not apparent to the casual observer.

Somers wanted his dinner; not as an epicure is impatient for the feast which is to tickle his palate, but as a man who knows and feels that meat is strength. His health was not yet sufficiently established to enable him to endure the hardship of an empty stomach; for his muscles seemed, in his present weak state, to derive their power more directly than usual from that important organ. He did not, therefore, worry himself to obtain a solution of what was singular in the conduct of the lady and her lover.

They were absent but a few moments before the major returned. If he had been gone seven years, and passed through a Parisian polishing school in the interim, his tone and his manner could not have been more effectually changed. He looked and acted more like the Major Riggleston of yesterday. He was all suavity now; and, what was vastly more remarkable, his memory was as perfect as though he had made mnemonics the study of a lifetime. He remembered all about the skirmish on the road, and even recalled incidents connected with that affair of which Somers was profoundly ignorant.

“Captain Somers, that was the hardest fight for a little one I ever happened to be in,” said the major, after the event had been thoroughly rehearsed.

“It was sharp for a few moments. By the way, major, what is your opinion of Alick now?” asked Somers.

“Well, I was rather surprised to see him go in as he did. He is a brave fellow.”

“So he is; I did not know whether he would fight or not; but I thought he would.”

“O, I was sure of it.”

“Were you? Before the fight you seemed to be of the opinion that he was of no account.”

“That was said concerning niggers in general. I always had a great deal of confidence in Alick. When he fired his gun I knew what the boy meant.”

“His pistol, you mean; he had no gun.”

“You are right; it was a pistol,” said the major, with more confusion than this trifling inaccuracy justified.

“In the pursuit of the guerillas—”

“Yes, in the pursuit Alick was splendid,” continued Riggleston, taking the words out of Somers’s mouth.

“You forget, major; you conducted the pursuit alone,” mildly added the staff officer.

“O, yes! so I did. I am mixing up this matter with another affair, in which my boy Mingo chased the Yankees—”

“Chased the what?” interposed Somers, confounded by this singular and inappropriate remark.

“The guerillas, I said,” laughed the major. “What did you think I said?”

“I understood you to say the Yankees.”

“O, no! Yankees? No; I am one myself. I said guerillas.”

“If you did, I misunderstood you.”

“Of course I didn’t say Yankees. That is quite impossible.”

Somers was disposed to be polite, even at the sacrifice of the point of veracity; therefore he did not contradict his companion, though he felt entirely certain in regard to the language used.

“Of course you could not have meant Yankees, whatever you said,” added Somers.

“Certainly not. Do you know why I didn’t catch those—those guerillas?” continued the major.

“I do not,” replied Somers; but he had a strong suspicion that it was because he did not want to catch them; because it would have been imprudent for him to catch them; because it would have been in the highest degree dangerous for him to catch them.

“I’ll tell you why I didn’t catch them,” added the major, rubbing his hands as a man does when he has a point to make. “It was because their horses went faster than mine.”

“Good!” exclaimed Somers, who had the judgment to perceive that this answer was intended as a joke, and who was politic enough to render the homage due to such a tremendous effort—a laugh, as earnest as the circumstances would permit.

“Or possibly it was because my horse went slower than theirs,” added the major, with the evident design of perpetrating a joke even more stupendous than the last.

We beg to suggest to our readers, young and old, that a person lays himself open more by his jokes, his puns, and his witticisms, than by any other means of communication between one soul and another with which we are acquainted. Hear a man talk about business, politics, morality, or religion, and you have a very inadequate idea of his moral and mental resources. Hear him jest, hear him make a pun, hear him indulge in a witticism, and you have his brains mapped out before you. We have heard a man get off a witticism, and felt an infinite contempt for him; we have heard a man get off a witticism, and felt a profound respect for him. It is not the thing said; it is not the manner in which it is said; it is not the look with which it is said. It is all three combined. He who would conceal himself from those around him should neither get drunk nor attempt to be funny.

Major Riggleston had revealed himself to Captain Somers more completely in that unguarded joke than in all that had passed between them before. The young staff officer was not a moral nor a mental philosopher; but that agonizing jest had given him a poorer opinion of his companion than he had before entertained. It was fortunate for the major that Miss Hasbrouk returned before he had an opportunity to launch another witticism upon the sea of the captain’s charity, or the latter might have prematurely learned to despise him.

“We have not lately been honored by the voluntary presence of gentlemen at dinner, Captain Somers; and you will pardon me for lingering an extra moment before my glass,” said the merry lady.

“Happy glass!” replied Somers.

“Thank you, captain; that was very pretty.”

“Excellent!” added the major, who seemed to be hungering and thirsting for something funny or smart.

A bell rang in the hall, which Somers took to be the summons for dinner; and he was thankful, and took courage accordingly; for however much he enjoyed the society of the fascinating Maud, he could not forget that he owed a solemn duty to the outraged member of his body corporate, which had been kept fasting since an early breakfast hour.

“Now, gentlemen, shall I have the pleasure of conducting you to the dining-room?” continued Miss Hasbrouk.

“Thank you.”

“Your arm, if you please, Captain Somers,” said the brilliant lady.

Of course Somers complied with this reasonable request, though he had not been in the habit of observing these little courtesies at the cottage in Pinchbrook, nor even in some of the best regulated families at the Harbor, making no little pretensions to gentility. It seemed to him that it would have been more proper, in the present instance, and with the supposed relation between them, for the lady to take the arm of the gentleman to whom she was engaged; but he had not very recently read any book on the etiquette of good society, and he was utterly unable to settle the difficult question.

They passed through the hall and entered the dining-room. The table was laid for only three; and while Somers was wondering where the rest of the family were, a tremendous knocking was heard at the front door.

“Somebody is in earnest,” said Maud. “He knocks like a sheriff who comes with authority. Take this seat, if you please, captain.”

“Thank you, Miss Hasbrouk,” replied Somers, as he took the appointed place.

“I hope that isn’t any one after me,” added the major, as he seated himself opposite to Somers. “I don’t want to lose my dinner.”

“You shall not lose it, major,” answered Maud, as a colored servant entered the room with a salver in his hand, on which lay a letter.

“For Major Riggleston,” said the man, as he presented the salver to him.

The major took the letter and broke the seal, apologizing to Somers for doing so. His eyes suddenly opened wider than their natural spread, and his chin dropped till mouth and eyes were both eloquent with astonishment. He sprang out of his chair, and assumed an attitude in the highest degree dramatic. Somers almost expected to hear him perpetrate a witticism.

“What is it, major?” demanded Maud, who seemed to be enduring the most agonizing suspense.

“I must go this instant!” exclaimed the major, still gazing at the momentous letter.

“What has happened?”

“Don’t ask me, Maud,” answered he, in excited tones. “I will be back before night; perhaps in an hour. You will excuse me, Captain Somers.”

“Certainly,” replied Somers.

The major rushed to the door, cramming the letter into his pocket, or attempting to do so, as he moved off. The document fell on the floor without the owner’s notice.

“What can it mean?” said Maud, with a troubled look.

Somers did not know what it meant; if he had, it is doubtful whether he would have had the temerity to stop to dinner.

CHAPTER V.
THE BOOT ON ONE LEG.

“WHAT can have happened?” said Maud, apparently musing on the event which had just transpired. “The major is not often moved so deeply as he appeared to be just now.”

“Something of importance, evidently,” said Somers. “He has dropped the letter on the floor.”

“So he has,” said she, glancing at the document. “Thus far I have resisted the propensity of Mother Eve to know more than the law allows; and I think I will not yield to it now. It would hardly be honorable for me to read the letter after the major has declined to inform me what has occurred. But, whatever it may be, we will have some dinner.”

Whatever opinions Somers may have entertained on some of the other points suggested by the fair hostess, he had none in regard to the last proposition. He was absolutely and heartily in favor of the dinner, without regard to Mother Eve’s curiosity, or her favored representative then before him. The dinner was a good one, though the rebels had so recently gathered up all the provision which the country appeared to contain. With every mouthful that he ate Somers’s strength seemed mysteriously to return to him.

The dinner was not so formal as might have been expected in the house of a Maryland grandee, and did not occupy over half an hour; but in that half hour he had grown strong and vigorous again, and felt equal to any emergency which might occur. However agreeable the society of the fascinating Maud had proved, he began to be very impatient for the moment when he could, without outraging the laws of propriety, break the spell which bound him. He had faithfully discharged his duty to the inner man, and he bethought him that he owed another and higher obligation to his country; that the commanding general of the first army corps was expecting to hear from him, though the time given him to complete his mission had not yet expired.

While he was considering some fit excuse with which to tear himself away from his interesting companion,—for it was not prudent to inform an avowed rebel lady that he had been engaged in collecting information for the use of a Union general, and must return to report the result of his mission,—while he was thinking what he should say to her, he heard something which sounded marvellously like the tramp of horses’ feet on the walks which surrounded the mansion. These sounds might have been sufficient to create a tempest of alarm in his mind if he had not believed that he was far enough from the camps of the rebels to insure the estate from a visit of their cavalry. He did not know exactly where he was in relation to the line of either army; but he felt a reasonable assurance that he was out of the reach of danger from the enemy.

He listened, therefore, with tolerable coolness, to the clatter of the horses’ feet, and finally concluded that the animals belonged to the estate. This conclusion, however, was soon unpleasantly disturbed by other and more suspicious sounds than the tramp of horses—sounds like the clatter and clang of cavalry equipments. More than this, Maud looked anxious and excited, when there appeared to be not the least reason for anxiety and excitement on her part.

“Won’t you take another peach, captain?” said she glancing uneasily at the window, and then at the door.

“No more, I thank you, Miss Hasbrouk,” replied Somers. “You seem to be having more visitors.”

“No, I think not,” answered she, with assumed carelessness.

“What is the meaning of those sounds, then?”

“They are nothing; perhaps some of the servants leading the horses down to the meadow.”

“Do your horses wear cavalry trappings, Miss Hasbrouk?”

“Not that I am aware of. Do you think there is any cavalry around the house?”

“I am decidedly of that opinion; and, with your permission, I will step out and learn the occasion of this visit,” said he, rising from the table, and making sure that the two revolvers he wore in his belt were in working order.

“I beg you will not leave me, Captain Somers,” remonstrated Maud.

“I only wish to ascertain what the cavalry are.”

“I depend upon you for protection, captain,” said she, as she rose from her seat at the table. “Ah, here comes some one, who will explain it all to you,” she added, as the front door was heard to open rather violently.

“I think it won’t need much explanation,” replied Somers, as through the window he discovered two gray-back cavalrymen. “It is quite evident that the house is surrounded by rebel cavalry.”

At this moment the door of the dining-room opened, and Major Riggleston stalked into the apartment. He looked at Somers, and then at the lady. The troubled, astonished expression on his face when he went away had disappeared, and he wore what the staff officer could not help interpreting as a smile of triumph.

“Well, Maud, how is it now?” asked the major, as for the sixth time, at least, he glanced from Somers to her.

The brilliant beauty made no reply to this indefinite question. Instead of speaking as a civilized lady should when addressed by her accepted lover, she threw herself into a chair with an abandon which would have been creditable in a first lady in a first-class comedy, but which was highly discreditable in a first-class lady discharging only the duties of the social amenities in refined society. She threw herself into a chair, and laughed as though she had been suddenly seized with a fit of that playful species of hysterics which manifests itself in the cachinnatory tendency of the patient.

Somers was surprised. A less susceptible person than himself would have been surprised to see an elegant and accomplished lady laugh so violently, when there was apparently nothing in the world to laugh at. He could not understand it; a wiser and more experienced person than Somers could not understand it. He knew about Œdipus, and the Sphinx’s riddle which he solved; but if Œdipus had been there, in that mansion of a Maryland grandee, Somers would have defied him to solve the riddle of Miss Maud Hasbrouk’s inordinate, excessive, hysterical laughter. If Major Riggleston, from the great depository of unborn humor in his subtle brain, had launched forth one of the most tremendous of his thunderbolts of wit, the mystery would have solved itself. If the major had uttered anything but the most commonplace and easily interpreted remark, Somers might have believed that he had perpetrated a joke which he was not keen enough to perceive.

The house was surrounded by rebel cavalry; that was no joke to him; it could be no joke to the major, for he was an officer in the Maryland Home Brigade, “on detached service,” and what proved dangerous or fatal to one must prove dangerous or fatal to the other. But Riggleston did not seem to be in the least disturbed by the circumstance that the house was environed by Confederate cavalry. He stood looking at his lady-love, as though he was waiting her next move in the development of the game.

“What are you laughing at, Maud?” asked he, when he had watched her until his own patience was somewhat tried, and that of Somers had become decidedly shaky.

“Isn’t it funny?” gasped she, struggling for utterance between the spasms of laughter.

“Yes, it is, very funny,” replied he, obediently, though it was quite plain that he did not regard the scene as so excruciatingly amusing as the lady did.

“Why don’t you laugh, then?”

“I would if I had time; but I must proceed to business.”

“Don’t spoil the scene yet,” said she, with difficulty.

“Hurry it up, then, Maud.”

“Captain Somers,” added she, repressing her laughter to a more reasonable limit, “I am your most obedient servant.”

“Thank you, Miss Hasbrouk,” replied he, beginning to apprehend, for the first time, that he was individually and personally responsible for the joke which had so excited the lady’s risibles. “If you are, you will oblige me by informing me what you are laughing at.”

The lady broke forth anew, and peal on peal of laughter rang through the room. Somers tried to think what he had said or done that was so astoundingly funny, satisfied that his humor would certainly make his fortune when given a wider field of operations. It was evident that it would not do for him to be as funny as he could thereafter in the presence of ladies, or one of them might yet die of hysterics.

“Do you really wish to know what I am laughing at, Captain Somers?” asked she, at another brief interval of apparent sanity.

“That is what I particularly desire.”

“I am laughing at the situation. Do you know that there is something irresistibly ludicrous in situations, captain? I delight in situations—funny situations I mean.”

“Really, I don’t see anything very amusing in the present situation,” replied the puzzled staff officer.

“Don’t you, indeed? Well, I’m afraid you won’t appreciate the situation from your stand-point. What a pity we haven’t a photographer to give us the scene for future inspection!”

“Well, Miss Hasbrouk, you seem to be making yourself very merry at my expense. I am happy to have afforded you so much amusement; but I fear I am still your debtor for the bountiful hospitality of your house.”

“Don’t mention it, captain; and you won’t wish to mention it a few hours hence.”

“I assure you I shall ever gratefully remember your kindness to me.”

“Perhaps not,” laughed the maiden.

“Captain Somers,” interposed the major, “I think we have carried the joke far enough; and we will now proceed to the serious part of the business. In one word, you—”

“Stop, Major Riggleston, if you please,” interrupted Maud. “This is my affair.”

“Hurry it along a little faster, then, if you will, Maud. The people outside will get tired of waiting.”

“Don’t you interfere, major. You forget that you are a Union officer, belonging to the Maryland Home Brigade. Captain Somers insists that you are; and of course you are.”

“Of course I am; I had almost forgotten that little circumstance,” laughed the major.

“Well, Miss Hasbrouk, since you are to manage the affair, I will thank you to inform me what it all means,” demanded Somers, with the least evidence of impatience in his tones.

“With the greatest pleasure; with a pleasure which you cannot yet appreciate, I will inform you all about it. But, my dear Captain Somers, in deference to a lady who has admired you, fêted you, dined you, you will answer a few questions which I shall propose to you, before I proceed to the explanation.”

“Be in haste, Maud,” said the major.

“Major Riggleston, if you hurry me, I shall be obliged to ask you to leave the room,” answered she, with a resumption of the imperial dignity she had partially abandoned.

“I’m dumb, Maud.”

“Keep so, then. Now, Captain Somers, you are one of the heroes of the Yankee army; a down-east pink of chivalry. At Petersburg you were within the Confederate lines doing duty as a spy. First question: Is this so?”

“That would be for a rebel court-martial to prove, if I should happen to be captured.”

“First question evaded. Taking advantage of the hospitality and kindness of Dr. Scoville, who had pledged his honor that you should be delivered up to the proper authorities as soon as you were able to be moved, you escaped from his custody. Second question: Is this true?”

“I was under no pledge, and was not paroled.”

“Second question evaded. You are on the staff of the general of the first army corps, and you have been sent out to procure information. Third question: Is this true?”

“You have said it; not I.”

“Third question evaded. By your own confession, made to me yesterday, within the Federal lines, you are a spy. You have resorted to certain Yankee tricks to escape the penalty of your misdeeds. Now—fourth question: Would it not be fair to capture you by resorting to a trick such as those you have practised?”

“It would depend on the trick.”

“Fourth question evaded. You have abused the sacred rites of hospitality at the mansion of Dr. Scoville, in Virginia. Should you regard it as anything more—fifth question—than diamond cut diamond, if you should be captured in Maryland by a similar abuse of the sacred rites of hospitality?”

“That would depend on circumstances.”

“Fifth question evaded. All of them evaded, as I supposed all of them would be; for a Yankee can no more avoid prevarication than he can avoid talking through his nose.”

“Thank you for the handsome compliment. I cannot forget that I am speaking to a lady, and therefore I can make no answer,” replied Somers, with gentle dignity, as he bowed to the tormentor.

“That is more than I expected of a Yankee,” said Maud, a slight flush upon her fair cheek assuring her victim that his rebuke had been felt. “I am a lady; but before the lady, I am the Confederate woman, having a cause dearer to my heart than anything save only a woman’s honor.”

She spoke proudly, and her head rested with imperial grandeur on her neck as she uttered her impressive words.

“Now, Captain Somers, you understand my position, and you understand your own position,” she continued. “I invited you to dine with me for a purpose. That purpose is now reached. The house is surrounded by Confederate cavalry. Captain Somers, you are a prisoner!”

CHAPTER VI.
THE BOOT ON THE OTHER LEG.

LONG before the imperial, and now imperious, lady announced the conclusion of the whole matter, Somers realized that he was the victim of a conspiracy; that he had been invited to dinner in order to procure his capture. He had listened to the fallacious argument embodied in the five questions, and was prepared to refute it if occasion required. He had no difficulty in perceiving that he had got into trouble. The house was surrounded by a squad of rebel cavalry, and it would be folly to attempt to fight his way through them.

Nevertheless, Somers had coolly and decisively made up his mind not to be a prisoner. He had been invited into the house under the guise of friendship. The lady had pretended to cherish an excellent feeling, amounting almost to admiration, towards him; had treated him as a friend, and detained him until the cavalry could be sent for. The trap had been set, and he had certainly fallen into it. The circumstances were not at all like those under which he had entered the house of Dr. Scoville; he had not been invited there; he had gone in as a hunted fugitive, and the host had received and taken care of him without any pledge, expressed or implied, on his part, or that of Captain de Banyan, who accompanied him. His conscience, therefore, did not reproach him for any violation of the law of hospitality.

“You are a prisoner, Captain Somers, I repeat,” said Maud—“my prisoner, if you please.”

“Miss Hasbrouk, I have always cherished a feeling of admiration and regard for the ladies; but I regret, in the present instance, to be compelled to contradict you. I am not a prisoner, if you will excuse me for saying so,” replied Somers, calmly.

“The house is surrounded by Confederate cavalry,” added she. “It only remains for me to call them in and end this scene.”

“Allow me to observe that the part which remains will be infinitely more difficult than the part already performed.”

“Am I to understand, Captain Somers, that you propose to resist twenty men, who stand ready to capture you?” demanded the lady, with a triumphant smile.

“Excuse me if I evade that question also for the present. Perhaps you will still further pardon me, if, in this delicate and difficult business, I venture to ask you a few questions, which you will answer or evade, as you please.”

“With great pleasure I submit to be questioned, Captain Somers,” answered she, with a merry twinkle in her eyes, which told how much she still enjoyed the “situation.”

“Thank you, Miss Hasbrouk. You are one of those brawling rebel women who have done so much to keep up the spirits of the chivalry in this iniquitous rebellion. You are one of the feminine Don Quixotes who have unsexed themselves in the cause of treason and slavery.”

“I will not hear this, if you will, Maud. Sir!” exclaimed the major, advancing towards the bold and ungallant speaker, “your foul mouth—”

“Stand where you are, Major Riggleston!” said Somers, fiercely, as he pointed a pistol at his head. “If you stir a step, or open your mouth again, you are a dead man!”

The major seemed to be taken all aback by this decided demonstration. He had no pistol about him; and though he was a “fighting man,” Somers was pretty well satisfied that he would “hold still” until it was safe for him to move. Judging from her looks, Maud seemed to be taking a slightly different view of the situation.

“Excuse my rude words, Miss Hasbrouk,” continued the captain, with a gentle inclination of the head. “As this is your affair, I will thank this gentleman not to interfere. Shall I repeat what I said before?”

“It is not necessary,” replied she, coldly.

“Then we will proceed. First question: Did I correctly state your position?”

“Is a woman who strengthens the hearts of those who are fighting for the right to exist—”

“First question evaded,” interposed Somers. “You invited me to this house; and, by the laws of hospitality, which even the heathen respect, you were impliedly pledged to treat me as a friend, and not as a foe. Second question: Is this so?”

“Did you learn to respect the law of hospitality at Dr. Scoville’s?” sneered she.

“Second question evaded. Dr. Scoville made no pledges to me, nor I to him. No person can blame me for leaving his house when I got ready. Accepting his hospitality and his kindness did not pledge me to go to a Confederate dungeon, where prisoners are systematically murdered. To proceed: By your own confession you invited me to dine in order to make me a prisoner, and take my life by having me hanged as a spy. If you sought to capture me by a trick, would it not—third question—be equally fair for me to escape by a trick?”

“But it is utterly impossible for you to escape,” replied she, glancing through the window at the cavalry on the lawn.

“Third question evaded. You are a lady; and as such, under ordinary circumstances, you are entitled to be treated with the delicacy and consideration due to your sex. But as you have ceased to be a non-combatant,—which you were sorely against your will, and are now actively engaged in the war, conducting the business of capturing a prisoner,—under these circumstances, would it not be entirely fair for me to treat you as a combatant, precisely the same as though you had not unsexed yourself, and were a man?”

“You seem to have already forgotten what is due to a lady,” replied she, her cheek flushed with anger.

“Fourth question evaded.”

“Sir, I decline to hear any more of this coarse abuse!” exclaimed she, stamping her foot.

“Indulge me for one moment more, and I will endeavor as much as possible to avoid talking through my nose, and making pretensions as a hero of the Yankee army, or a down-east pink of chivalry.”

Perhaps the imperial beauty thought that these expressions, borrowed from her own elegant discourse, were not especially refined for a lady to use; it may be that they sounded coarse on a repetition, but she made no acknowledgment to that effect.

“Your silence consents: thank you. Miss Hasbrouk, you speak with chivalrous contempt of what you are pleased to term ‘Yankee tricks;’ at the same time, you were thrown into spasms of laughter by the apparent success of one of your own tricks. Now, permit me to ask whether you would equally appreciate—fifth question—a trick quite as smart as your own?”

“You have insulted me long enough, sir!” replied she, haughtily. “Now, sir—”

“Fifth question evaded. I have no more to ask.”

“Now, sir, I will hand you over to your masters,” said she, moving a step towards the door.

“Excuse me if I take the liberty to decline being handed over to my masters,” said Somers, stepping between her and the door, and now occupying a position between the lady and the discomfited major.

“Sir, what do you mean?” demanded the lady, her bosom heaving with angry emotions, as she found herself confronted by the young officer, who looked as firm and immovable as a mountain of granite.

“I mean all that I say, and much more,” answered he, with an emphasis which she could not fail to understand.

“Sir, I desire to pass out at that door.”

“I positively forbid your passing out at that door.”

“Sir!” gasped she, almost overcome by her angry passions.

“Miss Hasbrouk!” replied he, bowing.

“You are no gentleman!”

“When I came here I regarded you as a lady, and one of the brightest ornaments of your sex. What I think now I shall keep to myself.”

“I shall go mad!”

“I hope not; though I fear you have been tending in that direction for the last hour.”

“Major Riggleston!” cried she, turning to her lover, “will you stand there and permit me to be insulted in this manner?”

“Major Riggleston will stand there. If he moves hand or foot, or opens his mouth to speak, I will blow his brains out. He is a villain and a traitor, and of course he is a coward!”

The major winced under these strong words; but there was death in the sharp, snapping eye of the young officer, and he dared not move hand or foot, or even speak. Perhaps he thought that, as the lady had insisted on managing the affair herself, it was quite proper that she should be indulged to the end.

“I can endure this no longer!” exclaimed Maud, as she took another step towards the door for the purpose of calling in the troopers.

“Stop, Miss Hasbrouk!” said Somers, pointing a pistol at her head with his right hand, while that in his left was ready to dispose of the major.

THE BOOT ON THE OTHER LEG.—Page 73.

“Is it possible that you can raise your weapon against a woman?” cried she, shrinking back from the gaping muzzle of the pistol.

“Let us understand each other, Miss Hasbrouk. I am not to be captured. If you attempt to leave the room, or to call in the rebel soldiers, I will shoot you, as gently and considerately as the deed can be done; but I will shoot you, as surely as you stand there and I stand here.”

He cocked the pistol. She heard the click of the hammer. She stood in mortal terror of her life.

“You forget that I am a woman,” said she, in tones of alarm.

“I did not forget it until you had forgotten it yourself,” answered Somers. “You have abused and insulted me. Under the guise of friendship you are attempting to hand me over to death by my enemies. Did you think I would be dropped gently into the arms of the rebels, and be hung as a spy? If you insist on pursuing your plan to the end, it will be death to you or death to me. I am not quite willing to die for any rebel woman, and especially not for one who is seeking my life. It would grieve me to shoot one so fair and fascinating as Miss Hasbrouk; I should remember it with sorrow to the end of my days; but my duty to myself and my country requires the sacrifice, and I would shoot you if it broke my heart.”

“Are you in earnest, Captain Somers?” asked she, still struggling under the violence of her emotions.

“Maud,” said the major.

“Silence, sir!” added the captain, sternly. “Miss Hasbrouk, I am in earnest. The situation has changed. Would you like a photographer to preserve the scene for future inspection?”

“You would not kill me?”

“I would, as you would kill me.”

“But the soldiers are impatient outside, and they may come in without my call,” suggested she, glancing at the window, while every muscle in her frame shook with terror.

“If they do, it will cost you your life, unless they are more reasonable than you are.”

“Good Heaven! You mean to murder me?”

“Not if I can help it. When I fire, it will be from a solemn sense of duty; for your cutthroats would hang me to the nearest tree if they knew as much of me as you do.”

“What shall I do?” asked she, wildly, as she looked around the room.

“Now you are reasonable. Let your servant bring pen, ink, and paper.”

She ordered the man who had waited on the table to bring the required articles, and Somers gave him a charge to be discreet as he left the room. In a few moments he returned with the writing materials, and laid them on the table. The negro was even more terrified than the lady, and there was no fear that he would venture upon any bold enterprise.

“Now, Major Riggleston, sit down at the table,” said Somers. “You will remain where you are, Miss Hasbrouk.”

“What am I to do?” asked the major.

“You will write what I dictate. Did you call this cavalry?”

“I did.”

“Then you are a loyal Marylander with a vengeance, and a worthy officer of the Maryland Home Brigade; but I will warrant there is not another such a scoundrel in the organization.”

“That is a personal insult, for which—”

“Silence, sir. Who commands the cavalry outside?”

“A sergeant.”

“How many men has he?”

“Twenty.”

“Now write. ‘Sergeant: The matter upon which I called you was all a mistake. Your services will not be required, and you will retire from the house without delay.’ Sign it as you please.”

Somers looked over his shoulder to satisfy himself that the major wrote what he said, and nothing else.

“It is possible we may get through this business without shooting either one of you,” added the captain, as the scribe folded up the note. “Give the paper to the servant.”

“Go to the front door, boy, and deliver this note to the sergeant in command of the squad of cavalry,” continued Somers.

“Yes, sar.”

“Stop a moment. You are not to say a word to him.”

“No, sar.”

“If one of those soldiers should come into the house, it might cost your mistress her life.”

“De Lo’d forbid, massa!”

“Do you understand me, boy?”

“Yes, sar. Dey shan’t come in, massa, no how.”

He departed on his mission. Somers still stood in the attitude for action, and Maud and the major looked as cheap and as chapfallen as though they had not another hope in the world. They waited with even more impatience than the captain for the departure of the cavalry, both of them fearing that some unfortunate accident might bring the desperate young man to the execution of his horrible threat.

The sergeant outside was, luckily, not of an inquiring mind. The clatter of horses’ feet and the clanking of sabres were heard again, and the cavalry dashed down the road to more hopeful scenes.

CHAPTER VII.
SOUTH MOUNTAIN.

SOMERS returned the pistols to his belt as he listened to the sounds of the retreating cavalry. This action on his part seemed to afford Maud and the major an immense relief. Death no longer stared them in the face, and both of them began to grow bold again.

“Now, Major Riggleston, when you see your uncle, Dr. Scoville, again, you will have a story to tell him,” said Somers.

“I shall not be likely to tell him of it.”

“I think we have obtained some new ideas concerning the Yankees, to-day,” added Maud, spitefully. “I had supposed their making war on women and children was merely a poetic figure; but it appears to be literally true.”

“Pray, am I to regard you as a woman or a child, Miss Hasbrouk?” asked Somers; “or as both?”

“I hope I shall have the pleasure of seeing you hanged!” exclaimed she, with compressed lips.

“That’s the sentiment of a woman, rather than a child,” laughed Somers.

“How long before we shall be rid of your presence, Captain Somers?”

“How long will it take your servants to bring up the horse and chaise in which I saw you arrive?”

“Not ten minutes; if that will facilitate your departure, the chaise shall be brought up instantly,” replied she, directing the waiter present to give the stable boys the necessary orders.

“Thank you, Miss Hasbrouk. May I trouble you also to get ready to accompany me?”

“Accompany you, sir!”

“I do not regard myself as entirely safe yet,” replied the staff officer, taking one of the pistols from his belt. “Before I am out of sight, my friend the major may feel justified in calling for the cavalry again.”

“They are five miles off, or will be by the time you have started,” said the major.

“I think not. When I fall among people who are as sharp as you are, I always use extraordinary precautions. It is part of my purpose that you should go with us, my dear major.”

“Go where?” demanded the traitor, intensely alarmed.

“I will not trouble the lady to go any farther than the farm-house where I left my horse. In regard to yourself, I shall have to insist upon your going with me to headquarters.”

“Why so?”

“You are a traitor of the blackest stamp, and it is quite proper that you should be attended to before you have done any more mischief.”

“You are quite mistaken, Captain Somers. I am—”

“I will pledge myself not to prevent your escape,” interposed Maud, apparently unwilling that the major should say too much.

“Excuse me, if, after what has happened, I decline to trust you.”

“This is insolent, sir.”

“It is open to that construction, I admit,” said Somers, as he picked up the letter which the major had read with so much astonishment.

It was a blank sheet, but the direction on the outside was in a lady’s handwriting, evidently Maud’s. It was nothing but a “blind,” to afford a reasonable pretence for the major’s sudden departure. Somers put it in his pocket for future reference.

“The chaise is ready, captain,” said Maud.

“So am I; but you are not.”

“My hat and shawl are in the entry,” she replied, sullenly.

They passed out of the house when she had robed herself for the ride. Somers assisted her into the vehicle.

“Where is the major?” asked he, turning to the spot where he had stood a moment before. Maud’s reply was a silvery laugh, which was a sufficient explanation that he had taken himself off.

“So much the better,” said Somers. “Good afternoon, Miss Hasbrouk,” he added, as he walked rapidly up the road, in the direction of the farm-house.

She was so surprised by this sudden and unexpected change in the programme, that she could make no reply. She did not know whether the movement boded good or evil; whether the captain had gone in pursuit of the major, or to the place where he had left his horse.

Somers, when he discovered that the major had escaped him, was afraid to trust himself in the family chaise, which would too surely betray his movements to a pursuing force, if the traitor could find one in the vicinity. He decided that it would be safer for him to walk, and then he could avoid the public road if it became necessary for him to do so. Though he would have been glad to hand the treacherous scoundrel over to the military authorities for punishment as a deserter, or for giving aid and comfort to the enemy, he would have been a great encumbrance to him on the road. As events often happen for the best, he consoled himself with the belief that the traitor’s escape was not the worst thing that could have occurred.

He walked rapidly till he obtained his horse. Whatever his late friends had done to secure his capture, he was not molested on the road, nor did he discover any pursuers behind him. His horse was fresh, after the long rest he had had, and Somers rode at a break-neck gait till he reached the headquarters of the general. On the way, after he had carefully arranged in his mind the information he had obtained, he could not help thinking over the exciting events of the afternoon. Major Riggleston’s conduct was very strange. On the preceding day he had been a loyal soldier; now he was apparently in full sympathy with the rebels. It was a sudden change, if it was a change at all.

But the major, like a lobster, had a lady in his head, and it was quite impossible to tell what a major or a lobster would do, with a lady in his head. Somers had met the beauty at the house of Mr. Riggleston, in Frederick. They had ridden over to her home that morning in the chaise; and the best solution which he could give of the matter was, that Maud had converted him from one side to the other. As this seemed to be a satisfactory explanation of the singular conduct of the fighting man, he was satisfied with it, and gave the subject no further consideration.

His ride was not so long as it had been in the morning, for the army had advanced some miles; and at sunset Somers reported his information to the general. He also told his story about the attempt which had been made to capture him, and in the course of his narrative involved the loyal major of the Maryland Home Brigade in trouble and dishonor. The general was not a little amused at the story, and hoped other officers, who were invited to dinner by fair rebel ladies, and then entrapped, would resort to similar strategy. But the information which Somers brought was the most interesting and valuable part of the proceeds of his trip, and the general was soon busy in the study of his maps in the new light he had obtained.

The next day was Sunday; but it was not the quiet sabbath of the soul that rests the body, and renews the spirit’s waning hope; it was a day of storm and battle—a day of death and destruction. Somers performed his first staff duty in the field on this occasion. During the forenoon the artillery thundered along the range of the South Mountain. The enemy was posted on the steeps, and all along the side of the mountain, on both sides of the Cumberland road, which is the direct route to the Upper Potomac. Beyond the hills were the wagon and ammunition trains of the rebels, as well as the more considerable portion of their army. The possession of this road was necessary to their safety, as well as to the success of their grand scheme of carrying on a war of invasion.

The battle was opened by the corps of General Reno, next to which in the line of march was the first army corps. During the early part of the day, the action was fought with artillery, and was an attempt to dislodge the enemy from the strong position they had taken. The slope of the mountain was rugged, consisting of irregular ledges, and the whole covered with wood, which grew out of the interstices of the rocks, and on the shelves where there was earth enough to give life to a tree. In these woods and among these rocks the rebels were located,—infantry and sharpshooters,—while their cannon were placed in such positions that they commanded all the approaches to the Gap, through which the road passed.

An attack of infantry was ordered, and the gallant fellows went forward with alacrity to execute the command. They rushed boldly up the steeps, to a stone wall behind which the main line of the enemy rested, driving the skirmishers before them. Torrents of blood flowed, and moistened the soil where hundreds of brave fellows gave up their lives; but they won the ground, and held it. The rebels fought with desperation, and their generals rallied them in vain to do what could not be done.

Partial successes and partial reverses occurred in different parts of the line until noon, when the artillery alone was actively engaged. The day was not yet won, and hundreds more were to fall on the field before the obstinate foe would yield the position.

At two o’clock in the afternoon the head of the first army corps appeared, which had been ordered forward by General McClellan to the support of Reno’s hard-pressed forces. As “Fighting Joe” appeared before the lines, the utmost enthusiasm was manifested by the troops. They cheered him as though he had already saved the day. The general was examining the ground. His quick eye had already grasped the situation. He had been ordered by the general commanding to make a feint in favor of Burnside’s forces; but, satisfied that an attack on the south side of the road would not be a success, he turned his attention to that portion of the rebel line at the north of the road, which had been reported upon by Captain Somers.

The general proceeded, as he always did, directly to the front. He seemed to know precisely what he was about, and to have all his force entirely in hand. Then he began to send off his orders, and the members of his staff were dashing about in every direction, till the line was formed. Batteries were posted behind the troops, and the shot and shell whizzed through the air over the soldiers’ heads. The order to advance was given; the line moved up the precipitous steeps, and for half an hour the battle raged with tremendous fury.

Somers found every instant of his time occupied, as he dashed from one division to another; while shot, shell, and bullets flew through the air like hailstones. Kind Providence protected him again, as it had before, and he escaped all injury. On marched the victorious line, conquering every obstacle, and driving the rebels before them; but it was long after dark before the red field was entirely won, and the Union troops were in possession of the crests of the mountain.

“Captain Somers, you have done admirably, and fully justified my selection of you for the important and difficult position to which you have been assigned.”

Somers bowed, and felt as happy as though he had commanded the successful army.

“One more task to-night, captain. You will ride to the headquarters of the army, give my compliments to General McClellan, and inform him that we have carried the position, and routed the enemy.”

Somers saluted the general, and urged forward his weary horse towards Middletown. He found the commander-in-chief still in the saddle, and delivered his message. He was directed to bear the congratulations of General McClellan to the commander of the first army corps on his success, with instructions to follow up the retreating rebels, and to employ General Richardson’s division, which had been sent forward to report to him, in this work, if the condition of his own troops required it.

Somers made his salute, and was riding off, thinking over what had just been said to him, as he had learned to do when sent on an errand in his childhood. He was fully absorbed in his thoughts, when a voice pronounced his name.

“Captain Somers, I am glad to see you again,” said an officer, urging forward his horse to intercept him.

Somers looked at him, and was not a little surprised, in the darkness of the evening, to recognize Major Riggleston, who appeared to be one of the numerous staff of the commanding general. Perhaps it was fortunate for the messenger that he had already faithfully conned his errand, or the appearance of the traitor would have forever driven it from his mind.

“Major Riggleston!” exclaimed he, hardly able to believe the evidence of his own senses.

It was plain, after all, that he had not been fully converted to the rebel faith by the blandishments of the beautiful Maud; but he was occupying a worse and more disgraceful position, in Somers’s estimation, than to have stood square up with the enemies of the country. It was most audacious in the major to hail him, after what had occurred at the mansion of the Maryland grandee, and Somers regarded him not only as a rebel, but as the stupidest rebel he had ever met.

“The same, my boy,” replied the major, familiarly. “Ride on, and I will go with you a short distance, to hear the news. They say Reno was killed.”

“I am sorry to say it is true,” replied Somers, coldly.

“He was a brave fellow, and a splendid soldier. You must have had a warm time over there.”

“Rather.”

“You are tired, arn’t you, old fellow? Can’t you talk?”

“Not much to you,” answered Somers, bluntly.

“To me? Why, what the dickens is the matter?” demanded the major, with apparent surprise.

“The matter, indeed! How does it happen that you are here?”

“Why shouldn’t I be here, old boy?”

“After the affair of yesterday—”

“What affair of yesterday?”

The major had entirely lost his memory again. He had not heard a word about the adventure at the mansion of Maud’s father.

CHAPTER VIII.
BEFORE THE GREAT BATTLE.

CAPTAIN SOMERS was as thoroughly bewildered as he would have been if the mountains around him had suddenly commenced dancing a hornpipe; or if the trees, horses, and men before him had turned bottom upwards, and the whole order of nature had been reversed. He was entirely satisfied, on reflection, that the event of the preceding afternoon had been a reality; entirely satisfied that Major Riggleston had been a party to the infamous conspiracy by which the fair Maud had sought to capture him; and the unblushing impudence of his companion in denying it passed his comprehension.

“I think you must be dreaming, Captain Somers,” said the major, with a light laugh.

“Either I am, or you are; I will not pretend to say which,” replied Somers, almost convinced by the words, and especially by the easy assurance of the major, that no attempt had been made to capture him; that no such person as Maud Hasbrouk had an existence.

But of course the traitor would deny his guilt; that was to be expected. It was not to be supposed that he would engage in such a nefarious scheme as that which had been exhibited at the Hasbrouk house, and then confess his participation in it. The major had actually returned to the Union lines, and had the temerity to take his place in the ranks of the defenders of the Union, even while he was, not only in heart, but openly, engaged in the service of treason and rebellion.

“Now, captain, let us be friends,” continued the major; “for it really seems to me that you are disposed to provoke a quarrel with me.”

“I cannot be the friend of one who is an enemy to his country,” replied Somers, stiffly, and with a proper display of dignity.

“My dear fellow, I don’t understand you.”

“Don’t understand me, Major Riggleston?” Somers began to be stern and savage.

“Upon my word I do not,” protested the major, earnestly. “If you insist on picking a quarrel with me, pray tell me what it is all about.”

“This is all idle talk, sir.”

“You have accused me of being an enemy to my country.” The major began to be slightly indignant.

“Most distinctly I accuse you of it.”

“That’s a grave charge.”

“I am aware of it; and I speak advisedly when I make it. If I had met General Lee himself within our lines, I should not have been more astonished than I was to see you, after what has happened.”

“Will you be so kind as to tell me what has happened?” demanded the accused officer, manifesting no little excitement.

“At no distant day I shall do so before a court-martial.”

“What do you mean?”

“Have you any doubt whatever in regard to my meaning?”

“Upon my word and honor as an officer and a gentleman, I have not the remotest idea what you mean.”

“Major Riggleston, if the nature of my mission would permit, I would return to the headquarters of the commanding general and denounce you as a traitor.”

“Captain Somers, those are words which no man can use to me with impunity,” replied the major, indignantly. “I shall hold you personally responsible for them.”

“I am willing to be held personally responsible for what I say,” answered Somers, coolly. “If you mean violence by that remark, I shall not be off my guard.”

“Captain Somers, you are a brave man. You have proved yourself to be a brave and true man,” said the major, with more calmness. “I think you are too noble a fellow to vilify me without giving me an opportunity to defend myself.”

“Of course you will have an opportunity to defend yourself.”

“You propose to denounce me as a traitor, you say.”

“I do.”

“You are aware that the people of my state are divided on the great question that now disturbs the country; consequently a charge, however weak and unfounded, against me, would find plenty of believers. I have enemies. All I demand is fair play.”

“You shall have it, major; for, deeply as you have injured me, or attempted to injure me, I assure you I bear no personal ill will towards you.”

“Thank you for so much; but you say I have attempted to injure you. I am not conscious of any such attempt.”

“Major Riggleston, this is all idle talk while you assume that position—while you pretend to be ignorant of the matter with which I charge you; and I must decline holding any further intercourse with you at present. Let me add, however, that I will not make charges until you are present to defend yourself.”

“So far your conduct is honorable; if you would go a step farther, and state distinctly with what you charge me, I should be infinitely obliged to you.”

“That is useless. From a gentleman I should not expect such duplicity as you exhibit in pretending to know nothing about the charge.”

“I have pledged you my honor that I don’t know what you mean; that I am not conscious of having given you any offence, much less done anything which can justify you in calling me a traitor.”

“Do you know Miss Maud Hasbrouk?” demanded Somers.

“Of course I know her. You are perfectly aware that, though she is a rebel, she is a friend of our family.”

“Good night, Major Riggleston,” said Somers, as he put spurs to his steed, and dashed down the hill, leaving his companion to infer what he meant from his connection with the lady, if he needed anything to enable him to explain the nature of the charge.

The staff officer was excited and indignant that the traitor should attempt such a bold and foolish subterfuge. It was almost incredible that he should have the audacity to pretend that he did not know what the charge meant. There was no room for a doubt or a mistake. The major had positively received the blank letter; had positively gone after the rebel cavalry; had positively sustained Maud in her attempt to capture him. It was not possible, therefore, that he had done the culprit any injustice.

Thus assured that he had not wronged the major, Captain Somers again turned his attention to the message which he was to deliver to his general, and urged forward his weary horse at his best speed. He found the troops of “Fighting Joe” resting from the hard-fought action, and engaged in preparing their simple supper of coffee and “hard tack.” He delivered the orders of the commanding general, and the division of Richardson was accordingly sent forward to pursue the fleeing rebels.

Early on the following morning the army advanced, and Somers found no time to think of private grievances. The general did much of his own reconnoitring on this occasion, though the members of his staff were kept constantly employed. The enemy had fallen back in disorder from South Mountain; but at ten o’clock in the forenoon the advance of the first corps came up with the position which the rebels had taken, to dispute the farther progress of the now victorious army. But the general had not at this time a sufficient force to make an attack. Antietam Creek lay between the two armies; and the bridge over it at this point was protected by the batteries which the rebels had planted to defend it.

The enemy, in two lines on the west side of the creek, were believed to consist of fifty thousand men; and the brave general impatiently awaited the arrival of the rest of the corps. It looked like an opportunity to fight a successful battle, and he was determined to cross the stream at the first practicable moment.

“General, the enemy are breaking into column and marching towards Williamsport,” said Somers, as he rode up from the point at which he had been surveying the movement on the other side of the creek.

“They are on the retreat, then,” replied the general.

Captain Somers and an officer of the engineers were then sent to examine the creek in search of a ford by which to transfer the troops to the other side as soon as the force of the rebels should be sufficiently reduced to justify an attack. The general chafed under the restraint which the circumstances imposed upon him; but he was too prudent to risk an attack while the advantage was so strongly against him. A ford was found near a mill, farther up the creek, and the officers reported the fact; but the arrival of the commanding general at this time prevented “Fighting Joe” from ordering an advance.

The corps remained at this place until the afternoon of the next day, when orders came to cross the creek. The troops proceeded up the stream, and went over by a bridge and by the fords which had been examined by the staff officers. The outposts of the enemy were soon discovered and driven in, and the gallant corps continued to push the force in front till it was too dark to proceed any farther, at which time the resistance was fully equal to the power of the advancing host. This was the night before the great battle of Antietam.

The weary troops lay down to rest in the cornfields where they had halted. The rebels were close by, and the pickets of the two armies were within gunshot range of each other. There was no rest yet for the general and his staff; for it was evident that a great battle was to be fought on the morrow—a battle on which the destinies of the Union depended. If the grand army of the Potomac was defeated, there would be nothing to stay the march of the invaders. The fair fields and the prosperous cities and towns of the North would then be open to them. The great heart of the nation, beating timidly as the rebel hordes advanced, sickened by previous disasters, might sink into despondency, and the bright hopes of a great people be forever crushed. It was no time for the brain of the army to slumber.

“We want information,” said the general, after he had sent an aid to General McClellan to announce his intention to attack the enemy at the earliest dawn.

The commander of the first army corps always wanted information, for he never moved in the dark. His brain and his arm were twin brothers in the conflict. Somers and Barkwood volunteered to procure the information, and left the headquarters for this purpose. It was useless to attempt to penetrate the heavy picket line of the rebels in the cornfields, and they descended the hill beyond a farm-house, till they came to a ravine through which flowed a considerable volume of water.

“Here’s our chance,” said Somers, in a low tone.

“That’s so; but you know I am a great coward, and this looks like risky business,” replied Captain Barkwood.

“If you are, I think there is no need of more than one of us going through.”

“O, my dear fellow, I will go with you.”

“I think it would be safer for us both to separate here.”

“I agree with you.”

“Then I will take this ravine, and you may see what you can find farther to the north.”

“Good! Now be scientific, my boy; we want to know the topography of the country as well as the position of the enemy.”

“Certainly; I think I understand what is required,” replied Somers, as he descended the steep bank of the ravine into the water.

The banks of the stream were of course occupied by the pickets of the two armies, and his course led him through both of them. He was just as much exposed to a shot from one as from the other. Somers was a man of experience in this business. He had earned a reputation as a scout, and had on three occasions brought in information of the utmost value to the Union commanders. Indeed, his skill in this particular branch had procured for him his promotion and his present honorable position on the staff of “Fighting Joe.” He was now to undertake a fearful risk—more fearful, perhaps, than any he had before incurred; but the greater the danger, the more valuable the service rendered; and the result of to-morrow’s battle might depend upon the fidelity with which he discharged his difficult duty.

He wore his long boots, and he continued to feel his way on the verge of the stream, without going in beyond his depth. The ravine was fringed with a thick growth of bushes, which shielded him from the observation of the pickets; but the slightest sound would expose him to the fire of the men. In many places the trees formed an arch over the brook, and the darkness was so dense that he could hardly distinguish an object six feet from him. He did not walk; he crept, putting his feet down as a cat does when she is on the point of pouncing on her prey.

After advancing a short distance he heard low voices on the banks above him. He was passing the first line of pickets—that of the Union army. His progress was very slow, but he succeeded in his purpose without drawing the fire of the sentinels. He was now between the two lines, and he quickened his pace a little.

While he was thus creeping through the shallow water, he discovered in the gloom a dark object before him. He paused, and ascertained that it was a human figure—a man, who had also stopped; but whether friend or enemy he could not determine.

CHAPTER IX.
BETWEEN THE PICKETS.

THE man in the ravine stood stock still, and Somers stood stock still. Each had apparently discovered the other at the same moment, and each was disturbed by the same doubts in regard to the other. It was a dead lock, to all intents and purposes, for neither was willing to advance and betray himself to the other. Somers had his pistols; but a shot, if he was compelled to shoot the stranger, might call forth the fire of the pickets on both sides.

It was not a pleasant situation for either party; and they stood like black statues, each waiting for a movement on the part of the other. The only thing that Somers could do was to retire in the direction he had come; but this involved the failure of the enterprise in which he had engaged, and possibly endangered the result of the next day’s battle. He was not disposed to withdraw; for if the worst came, he could shoot his opponent, and lie down under the bank of the ravine to shelter himself from the fire of the pickets. He waited a reasonable time for the dark stranger to say or do something; but as he seemed to be endowed with the patience of Job, our scout decided to take the initiative himself.

“Friend or foe?” demanded Somers, in a low tone; for he was disposed to confine the conversation to themselves.

“Friend, of course,” replied the other.

“Which side do you belong to, friend?” asked Somers, deeming the answer rather indefinite.

“To the Union side, of course,” replied the stranger, with refreshing promptness.

There was no non-committal about him, as might have been expected, half way between the lines of the two armies, and Somers was pretty well satisfied that he was what he claimed to be.

“Where are you going?”

“That’s rather a delicate question, Captain Somers, my dear fellow,” responded the stranger. “You are evidently at your old tricks, captain.”

“Who are you?” demanded Somers, not a little surprised and disconcerted at being recognized in his present situation.

“Don’t you know me?” added the stranger, advancing cautiously towards the captain.

“I haven’t that pleasure.”

“Yes, you have; though it is rather dark here for a man to make out even his best friend. I am Major Riggleston.”

“Are you, indeed?” exclaimed Somers, taken all aback by the announcement.

He would rather have met Stonewall Jackson under the circumstances. He could not imagine what the major could possibly be doing in such a place at such an hour of the night, unless he was crawling into the rebel lines, to take a part with the foe in the expected battle. He was tempted to shoot him on the spot, and thus, while he removed an obstacle in his own path, rid the country of a traitor and a dangerous enemy; but Somers never had the nerve to do anything that looked like deliberate murder.

“Major Riggleston, you are a mystery to me,” said he.

“So I am to all who know me,” replied the major. “Come, captain, let us sit down and talk over the matter. If we speak low, the pickets will not hear us. You are a man after my own heart, and I desire to have you understand me better.”

“I think I understand you very well.”

“No, you don’t; you just now said I was a mystery to you,” chuckled the major.

“I mean that I understand your objects—that you are a traitor to your cause and country.”

“My dear captain, you never made a greater blunder in your life.”

“I don’t see it.”

“You shall see it, in the course of ten minutes, if you will hear me.”

“It is useless for me to hear you. I shall not believe a word you say, after what passed between us yesterday.”

“What was that?”

“Didn’t you deny all knowledge of the affair at the Hasbrouk house.”

“’Pon my word I did not.”

“You did not?”

“No.”

“You have the worst memory of any man in Maryland.”

“That may be.”

“Did you, when we met last evening—”

“We didn’t meet last evening,” interposed the major.

“You have a most astonishing memory. I denounced you as a traitor.”

“It wasn’t kind of you to do that,” laughed Riggleston.

“Perhaps not; but it was true. You didn’t know what I meant; you hadn’t the least knowledge of the affair at the Hasbrouk house?”

“Of course not, over there!”

The major took off his cap and scratched his head. The act seemed suddenly to vivify his memory.

“O, I do remember meeting you last night,” said he.

“Very good; I have some hope of you, at last. Now, can you recall the event to which I alluded?”

“Perfectly.”

“That you, in connection with Miss Hasbrouk, attempted to procure my capture by the rebels?”

“I acknowledge the soft impeachment; but the affair is susceptible of a different construction from that you put on it.”

“I think not.”

“Upon my word it is, my dear fellow. I intend to prove it, and I am sure you will agree with me.”

“First, will you explain to me how you happen to be in this ravine, at this hour of the night, and when we are on the eve of a great battle?” asked Somers.

“I could explain it to your undoubted satisfaction, my dear captain; but you must excuse me for the present.”

“I can’t excuse you; and we may as well fight it out now as at any other time. You are a rebel, and I am a Union man. In the words of Mr. Seward, there is an irrepressible conflict between us. You have caught me, and I have caught you. I don’t propose to shirk the responsibility of my position; but I suppose one of us must die, or be severely wounded, to insure the safety of the other.”

Somers cocked his pistol. He had already made up his mind in regard to the presence of Major Riggleston at this place. His theory was, that the fellow was a scout, like himself, if he was not a professional spy; that at the time they happened to meet, the major was passing over from the Union to the rebel lines, for the purpose of imparting to Stonewall Jackson, who was understood to be in command of the Confederate left wing, information in regard to the strength and position of General McClellan’s forces.

“For Heaven’s sake, Captain Somers, don’t fire upon me!” exclaimed the major, as he heard the click of the pistol.

There could be no doubt of the sincerity of the fellow in the use of these words. Somers judged, from what he had seen of him, that he was one of those persons who were born to creep, but by some blunder had walked upright, and thus deceived the world in regard to their true character. Though he called himself a fighting man, he was a cringing coward, as Somers had twice before had occasion to observe.

“I have no wish to shoot you, Major Riggleston. I would much rather be spared that pain,” said Somers. “You have crossed my path, and you interfere with my plans.”

“You are mistaken again. I propose to explain everything, and then we shall understand each other perfectly. You are a scout, and so am I. You are obtaining information; so am I. You are a true Union man; so am I.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Here is my pass; that will convince you.”

“I can’t see to read it.”

“I will light a match. It will not be seen in this hole.”

The major handed him a paper, and struck a match against the inside of his cap.

“Now read quick.”

Somers read: “The bearer, Major Riggleston, of the —nd Maryland Home Brigade, is a true and loyal man, and as such entitled to receive protection and assistance from all officers and soldiers of the United States.” The document was duly signed and countersigned by high and proper authority, and the date was within the current month and year. The captain was astonished beyond measure, for he had no doubt of the correctness of this safe-conduct. It knocked his little theory all to pieces, and he was forced, for the first time, to believe that he had misjudged the major.

“Where are you bound now?” asked he.

“Just where you are.”

“Do you carry this paper with you?”

“Always; my life would not be safe a moment without it.”

“I should say your life would not be safe with it, if it were discovered upon you within the rebel lines.”

“There is no danger on that score. I take good care of it. Are you satisfied, Captain Somers?”

“I am satisfied with the paper; but I think your employers do not expect you to entrap Union officers, as you attempted to do at the Hasbrouk house.”

“My dear fellow, I did not intend to do anything of the kind.”

“You were certainly a party to the transaction.”

“Apparently I was; really I was not. Now that you understand the first part of the story, I will explain the second. You know Miss Hasbrouk?”

“Certainly I know her.”

“She is a beautiful girl—isn’t she?”

“There can be no doubt on that point; but I suppose you will tell me next that she is not a rebel, and that she was working for the United States government when she got up that little conspiracy, and attempted to have me hung.”

“On the contrary, she is a rebel. Jeff Davis himself is not a more thorough-going rebel, and she was fully in earnest when she attempted to make you a prisoner.”

“But you assisted her.”

“Apparently only; if you had been handed over to the cavalry, as I supposed you would be, it would have been my privilege, as it would have been my duty, to get you out of the scrape, which I could very easily have done. Maud regards me as a rebel.”

Somers could not help thinking that she was more than half right, but he was prudent enough not to give voice to his thought on this subject.

“You helped her through with the whole thing.”

“Undoubtedly I did, but with the intention that you should not suffer. You are aware that she planned the scheme herself; I was dragged into it, and I could not resist without impairing her confidence in me.”

“You seem to value very highly the confidence of a rebel woman.”

“For the sake of my suffering country I do. Maud is a beautiful girl; you acknowledge that. Well, the rebel officers think so, too,” added the major, pausing as if to give his companion an opportunity to comment on this remarkable partiality; or perhaps to note the bearing of the fact on their intimate relations.

“They are gentlemen of taste,” was all the comment Somers deemed it necessary to make.

“Maud is an enterprising woman. She takes a deep interest in all army movements, and worms out of the rebel officers much valuable information, which I in turn worm out of her; for I need hardly tell you that the relations between Maud and myself are of the pleasantest character.”

“Lovers?” added Somers.

“Yes, if you please.”

“It seems to me that is using a very sacred relation for a very vicious purpose,” replied the captain, whose fine sentiment was not a little shocked at the thought of lovers mutually deceiving each other.

“We work for our country, Captain Somers.”

“Go on, major.”

“Don’t you understand it all now?”

“I think I do; at least, enough of it to comprehend your position.”

Somers, in spite of himself, was not entirely satisfied; certainly not with the character of the man, if he was with the genuineness of his mission.

“Which way were you going when I met you?” asked he.

“The same way that you were,” replied the major, with some hesitation. “If you please, we will go on together. You report to one general, and I to another; but the substance of our information must be the same. We will go on together, and return together.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“I am entirely safe within the rebel lines. If we have passed the Yankee pickets, we have nothing more to fear.”

The Yankee pickets! This was not the form of expression usually adopted by loyal men; and it was the second time he had detected his interesting companion in using it. It seemed to be habitual with him; but perhaps it was because he had spent so much of his time within the rebel lines, pursuing the duties of his calling.

“I think we had better keep within the ravine.”

“Very well; but I have a rebel safe-conduct.”

“Would you let me see them both, if you please.”

“Certainly, if you desire it,” replied the major, but with evident reluctance.

He produced them both, with the remark that it was not necessary to read the true one again; but Somers wished it, and he yielded. The major lighted a match, and the captain read both the documents. As he finished the match went out, and they were in total darkness again.

“What’s that?” said Somers, suddenly springing to his feet, with the papers in his hand.

It was a shot from the pickets; but there had been one every ten minutes since they sat down.

CHAPTER X.
MAJOR RIGGLESTON.

SOMERS had thrust the papers into his pocket, pretending to fear a sudden onslaught of the pickets; but the alarm passed without any consequences, serious or otherwise.

“We are perfectly safe, captain,” said Major Riggleston. “I believe you did not give me back my papers.”

“Here they are,” replied he, handing him the blank letter which had played so important a part in the attempt to capture him at the Hasbrouk house, and which he had put in his pocket at the time. “We are losing the whole night, and we had better move on. I am satisfied with the prospect, but I would rather not expose myself to the rebel pickets.”

“As you please; we can go through this place without being seen or heard. But I am well known all through the rebel army, and I shall not be molested when I give my name.”

“Then you will be a useful friend to me.”

“That’s what I have been trying to prove to you. Perhaps I ought to say that I actually hold a commission in the Confederate cavalry, which enables me to stand square before the rebels while I give information to our own people. You understand me.”

“Perfectly.”

“I have told you what no other living man knows; for even the high authority that employs me has no conception of the means by which I procure my information. I have trusted you, because you are a man after my own heart. What you did in Virginia endears you to me. We are kindred spirits, and it is proper that we should understand each other.”

Somers hoped they were not kindred spirits; for if the major was what he claimed to be, there could be but little sympathy between them. He was a coward and a brag; and he told more lies than even his dangerous profession required. He used the sacred relations of life for his own purposes. But Somers was not satisfied, as we have before suggested. The major had a safe-conduct from the authorities on both sides; and whatever weight he had given to the loyal one was neutralized by the production of the other. It was possible that he had procured it for the purpose of doing Union work; but one pass nullified the other; and the captain was still in doubt as to which side his versatile companion actually belonged—so much in doubt that he was fully determined not to run any risks.

Major Riggleston led the way up the ravine, both of them creeping and crawling at a snail’s pace, so as not to attract the attention of the pickets on the bank above them. Somers would not have been very much surprised if the “kindred spirit” before him had summoned the soldiers to make him a prisoner; but he stood prepared for such an emergency. His pistol was ready for immediate use; and if a scene occurred, he trusted to the darkness of the night and the friendly shelter of the ravine to promote his escape.

Apparently the highly respectable scout in his company had no intention of betraying him, for they passed in safety through the line of rebel pickets, and emerged from the ravine into a grove of oaks. If the major had set a trap to make him a prisoner, or had resorted to a scheme to save himself from a personal encounter in the lonely gorge, there was no longer any need that he should keep up his pretensions, for the camp fires of the rebels were to be seen in every direction. Only a few rods from the spot where they stood there was a body of cavalry bivouacking on the ground.

Somers was a prey to the most painful doubts. Uppermost in his mind was the wish to discharge with fidelity the difficult and dangerous task which had been imposed upon him; and if Major Riggleston was what he claimed, he would be an invaluable assistant to him. His two passes, one from each party in the great strife, proved nothing for or against him. It was utterly impossible, therefore, to reach a satisfactory conclusion in regard to his companion. But it was not prudent to place himself in a situation where he could be easily captured. All he could do was to permit affairs to take their own course until some further developments should enable him to act intelligently. As they were now actually within the rebel lines, the conclusion of the whole matter must soon be reached.

“This is rather dangerous business,” said the major, as they stepped from the bank into the oak grove.

“We must proceed with the utmost caution,” replied Somers, nervously, as he gazed earnestly at his associate, to obtain, if he could, any clew to his purpose.

“If you confide in me, Captain Somers, you will be safe, unless some stupid sentinel takes it into his head to fire upon us, which is really the only danger we incur.”

“I think we had better avoid these camps and squads of soldiers as much as possible. Do you know where the main line of Jackson’s army is?”

“Certainly I do; I will show it to you in due time.”

“Is he fortified?”

“You shall see in a short time.”

“How many men has he?”

“About seventy thousand.”

Somers knew better than this; and the answer sounded very much like a Confederate reply to a Union question.

“Now follow me,” said the major, “and whatever happens, don’t be alarmed.”

Riggleston led the way through the grove; but they had advanced only a few paces before they were challenged by a rebel soldier. The major replied to the demand with easy self-possession, informing the soldier who he was. It was all right, and they were permitted to proceed on their way.

“You see it is all right, captain,” said the major, as they entered the open field beyond the grove.

“They know you very well.”

“Of course they do.”

“If you know all about the situation and the force of the rebels, what is the use of going any farther?”

“I don’t know,” replied the major, rather confused at the question. “But, Somers, you wear your staff uniform.”

“I do.”

“That’s a mistake. It will expose yourself and me,” he added, with some appearance of alarm. “If I had seen what you had on before, I should not have dared to come with you.”

“I don’t intend to show myself to these people.”

“But we were challenged only a moment since; and if the soldiers had noticed your uniform, they would have detained you.”

“If I had been alone, I should not have exposed my self to their gaze.”

“It’s a mistake, and we must correct it.”

“Half the rebel officers wear Union colors. They rob our people of their coats, and don’t scruple to wear them.”

“But a staff uniform!”

“I think we had better separate here; I will take care of myself, and you can pursue your investigations in your own way.”

“You would be taken in less than half an hour. There is a house over here, where I can get you a farmer’s frock, or something of that kind.”

“Then, if taken, I am an officer in disguise; and it would go hard with me.”

“I think it would any way.”

“Perhaps it would.”

“You are pretty well known by reputation. You had better change your name.”

“Perhaps I will, if I have to give my name.”

“Who goes there?” demanded a squad of men, as they were on the point of crossing a rough farm-road.

“Friends,” replied the major.

“Who are you?”

“Major Riggleston.”

“We have just caught a Yankee spy—a fellow crawling into our lines,” replied one of the men.

There were four of them; they had a prisoner whom they were conducting up the road towards the main body of Jackson’s division.

“Where did you get him?”

“Up in the cornfield beyond. He was crawling on his hands and knees between the rows, and had got almost through when we found him. We shall do some hanging in the morning. What shall we do with him, major?”

Somers looked with interest and sympathy at the poor fellow thus entrapped; but the major was a Union man, and of course he would save him from his fate the moment he could consistently with the duty of keeping up appearances.

“Take him up to this house,” said the major, pointing in the direction he was leading Somers.

The men obeyed. Their dangling sabres indicated that they belonged to the cavalry; and the obedience they rendered to Major Riggleston further indicated that they belonged to his battalion.

“Why should these men obey you?” asked Somers, wishing to settle this point.

“They are my men. I told you I held a commission in the cavalry—for the good cause, you know.”

“I understand.”

“By the way, captain, have you seen Miss Hasbrouk since we met last?”

“I have not.”

“She follows the army.”

“Which army?”

“The rebel army, of course.”

“What for?”

“Because she likes it, I suppose. She is very useful as a nurse, they say. Of course I don’t discourage her; for I make her serviceable to the good cause, you know.”

The farm-house was now in sight, and there was a light in one of the front rooms. Without the ceremony of knocking, the major opened the door and entered, ordering the four cavalrymen to follow him with their prisoner.

“Come in,” said he.

“Who is in this house?” demanded Somers, shrinking from the light which he saw within.

“Only women, with a few wounded men. I want to see this prisoner, and find a good excuse for letting him go,” replied the major, in a whisper.

Somers entered the house, where the prisoner had already been conducted. To his surprise and chagrin he discovered that the unfortunate was Captain Barkwood, but the major did not seem to recognize his companion in the skirmish on the road and at the house of Mr. Riggleston in Frederick.

“Two of you hold your prisoner,” said the major to the soldiers, as they entered the small room.

“Now, Captain Somers,” he added, when Captain Barkwood had been placed in a corner with two men holding him, “allow me to add, that we have carried this farce quite far enough, and that you are also a prisoner.”

At this moment, to the astonishment of Somers, Maud Hasbrouk entered the room to learn the cause of the commotion,—for it appeared afterwards that she was here nursing a couple of officers who had been wounded at South Mountain.

“Why, major, I did not expect to see you at this early hour of the night,” said she.

“I have brought up one of your friends,” added he, laughing, as he pointed at Somers.

“Captain Somers!” exclaimed she, as a smile of triumph lighted up the features of the beauty. “This is an unexpected pleasure. I hope you are quite well, Captain Somers.”

“As well as usual, I thank you,” replied he.

We need not add that he was bewildered by the new situation, and roundly condemned his own folly in permitting himself to be led into such a trap. It was quite evident that the treacherous major had brought him to this house for the purpose of permitting Miss Maud to enjoy the triumph. He was determined not to afford her much satisfaction. It might prove to be a hanging affair to him, and he felt himself warranted in resorting to the most desperate remedies. It was better to die by a bullet or a sabre cut than perish by the rope.

“I have been entertaining our friend the captain for the last hour with an account of my services to the Yankees, all of which he has swallowed as a fish does a worm, without seeing the hook within. He came here like a lamb; and as you had some sparring with him on a former occasion, when he rather got the better of you, I thought you would like to see him before I send him and the other enterprising gentleman to the rear.”

“I am delighted to see him. And the other gentleman is Captain Barkwood. He belongs to the regulars.”

“I never saw him before,” replied the major.

Somers thought he had another attack of bad memory; but the situation was too exciting to permit him to dwell on minor discrepancies. When the major called him a prisoner, Somers had quietly fallen back into the corner of the room behind the door by which he had entered. Barkwood had been thrust back into another corner at his left, while Maud and the major stood diagonally opposite to him, and near the door by which she had entered from the chamber of her patients. The two cavalrymen not employed were standing half way between Somers and Barkwood.

“I’m sure I am delighted to see you, Captain Somers,” laughed Maud. “I came over here to take care of two sick friends, and expected nothing but a melancholy time. Your presence fills me with satisfaction.”

“I am greatly obliged to you, and thankful that I am able to do something more towards discharging the debt of gratitude I owe to you for your kindness on a former occasion. You are fond of situations, and I am again the central figure in one,” answered Somers, without any apparent appreciation of the difficulty and danger of his position. “Would you like to ask me any questions?”

“I cannot stop to question you now; my patients need my care. You would evade them if I did; besides, this is Major Riggleston’s affair, not mine,” replied she, with a mocking laugh.

“And I will take care that this affair don’t go wrong,” said the major. “Soldiers, secure your prisoners.”

The two men moved towards Somers in the corner.

CHAPTER XI.
SHOT IN THE HEAD.

THE critical moment, when everything depended upon the wisdom and energy of the next move, had arrived. As Major Riggleston issued his order, Somers raised one of his pistols, and, taking hasty but careful aim at his treacherous companion, fired. While her accepted suitor was uttering his mandate, Maud, as if fearing a repetition of the uncomfortable proceeding at the Hasbrouk house, retreated into the apartment occupied by her patients. The ball struck the major in the head, and he fell, with a shock that caused the rude structure to tremble.

A half-suppressed shriek from the sick room assured those in the front apartment that Maud was aware active proceedings had commenced, though she could not have known who was the first victim in the encounter. The two soldiers, who had been ordered to arrest the staff officer, were bold enough to move upon their intended victim; but they only rushed upon the barrel of a revolver, pointed by the hand of one skilled in the business, and collected enough to do his work carefully and effectively.

Again Somers fired, and the foremost of the two soldiers fell dead upon the floor. He fired a third time, and the other soldier shrank back with the ball in his right shoulder. The two men in charge of Captain Barkwood had been too often in the midst of death and carnage to be appalled by these exciting events.

“Hold this man!” exclaimed the more decided of the two, “and I will make short work of that fellow.”

“Shoot him,” replied the other. “Do it quick.”

He attempted to do it quick; too quick, for he missed his mark. He fired again, but the smoke impaired his aim. At this moment Captain Barkwood, conscious that the time for a demonstration in favor of his friend had come, with a sharp, nervous movement, freed himself from the grasp of the rebel in charge of him, and struck him a tremendous blow in the temple with his bare fist, which felled him to the floor. Not satisfied with this deed, he sprang upon the other soldier, who was in the act of firing upon Somers for the third time. Grasping him by the shoulders with both hands, he brought his knee violently into the small of his back, and thus threw him down. Seizing his pistol, he struck him a heavy blow on the head with the weapon.

“I surrender,” said the wounded man,—who was the only one of the four in condition to speak,—as Somers moved towards him.

The young captain took the sabre from his belt, and opening the window, tossed it out. All active opposition had been conquered, but two of the men were only stunned, and in a short time they would probably be able to speak and act for themselves.

“Captain Somers, I would hug you if I had time,” said Barkwood. “What shall we do next?”

“I hardly know,” replied Somers. “If we leave the house, we may fall into the hands of the first squad of soldiers we meet. Besides, we have not done our work yet. We must first look after the lady.”

Somers, stepping over the body of Major Riggleston, which lay near the door, entered the apartment occupied by the wounded officers. There was no light there, and he returned to bring that in the front room. He found Maud standing in the middle of the room, apparently paralyzed with terror.

“Miss Hasbrouk, here is another officer who needs your care, if he is not already past it.”

“What do you mean?” asked she, in husky tones.

“Major Riggleston has fallen.”

She uttered a faint scream. She was so enfeebled by terror that she seemed not to have the strength to do anything. She was more at talking than she was at acting.

“What shall I do?” asked she.

“Come and see,” replied he.

She timidly followed him into the adjoining room, and gazed with fear and trembling upon the form of the major.

“Is he—is he—dead?” gasped she.

“I don’t know,” replied Somers, stooping down, and glancing at the wound on the major’s head. “No, he is not dead, and probably will not die with that wound.”

“What shall I do? Will you call a surgeon?”

“I think not.”

“We have no time to spare, Captain Somers,” interposed the regular, with a smile at the simple question of the frightened Maud.

“We will make our escape. We will go by the grove to the north of the house—to the north,” said Somers, with peculiar emphasis.

“To the north,” repeated Barkwood, with the same emphasis, though he did not understand the strategy of his companion.

“We need not hurry; the more haste, the less speed in the business,” replied Somers, as he bent over the prostrate form of the major again.

This time he took from his body the large, loose coat which the treacherous rebel had worn, and picked up the felt hat, adorned with a black feather, which had dropped from his head.

“He is killed,” said Maud, who was beginning to recover her self-possession.

“Perhaps he is; but that is his fault, not mine,” replied Somers, as he led the way out of the door, followed by the regular. “If either of you attempt to follow us, or leave the house within half an hour, it will cost you your lives,” he added, addressing Maud and the wounded soldier.

“May I not send for a surgeon?” asked she, with a meekness which ill comported with her former imperious manner.

“No.”

“But the major will die.”

“I can’t help it.”

“I will not say anything about you, if you will allow me to send for assistance.”

“Half an hour will make no difference to him,” answered Somers, as he left the house. “Come with me,” added he to the regular, when they reached the open air.

He led the way to the rear of the house, where there were a number of sheds, and other out-buildings, used for various farm purposes. One of these he entered, followed by the regular, who seemed to repose unlimited confidence in the tact and ability of his young companion.

“What next, Somers?” asked Barkwood, in a whisper

“Nothing just yet. There will be a tremendous row round here in the course of ten minutes, or at most half an hour. All we want just now is a snug place to lie by in until the tempest blows over.”

“But you are not going to stop here—are you?” demanded the regular, in a tone which sufficiently expressed his astonishment at such a policy.

“This is the best place in the world for us. I am not a strategist, as you are, captain; but I have a fixed principle for use in cases of this kind, and that is, to stow myself away in a place where they are least likely to look for me.”

“Very good; but where is that place?”

“Here, in this house.”

“That’s cool.”

“But it is the best logic in the world. I don’t want to influence you in your movements, Captain Barkwood; but I don’t intend to return without the information which I came out to procure. If you want to return to the camp, I will tell you how you can manage, though I think you had better remain with me.”

“I am entirely of your opinion,” whispered the regular, with a suppressed chuckle. “You are an old head at this business, and I am as green at it as a two months baby.”

“As you please, captain. For my own part, I feel tolerably safe now. I was a fool to trust that Riggleston.”

“He is an infernal villain.”

“Hush!” said Somers, finding his companion was becoming a little too emphatic for safety. “I must find a place to stow you away.”

In the back room of the house, which was only a shed attached to the rear of the building, Somers found a large closet, which seemed to be a kind of lumber room. In this he bestowed his companion, and rolled a large chopping-block up before the door. While he was engaged in this operation, the door leading from the kitchen into the shed opened, and an old black woman rushed out, apparently deeply moved by some circumstance which Somers had no difficulty in understanding. She had a light in her hand, which at once revealed to her the presence of a stranger upon her own peculiar territory.

“De Lo’d!” exclaimed she, starting back with alarm.

“Silence, aunty! Don’t speak again,” said Somers, in a low tone.

“Gracious! Dat’s Massa Riggleston!” added she, shrinking back.

The scout had put on the great coat and feathered hat of the major, which seemed to explain the terror of the woman.

“Where are you going, aunty?”

“For de doctor,” said she; “but if you be de ghost ob Massa Riggleston, ’taint no use for de doctor, for de major must be dead.”

“No matter what I am, aunty. Come with me.”

“De Lo’d sabe us!”

“If you behave yourself, and don’t make a noise, I will not hurt you,” said he, as he led the way out of the shed.

“Where be I gwine, massa?”

“No matter; keep still.”

A few steps from the door was a small tool-house, which Somers opened, and ordered the woman to go in. She tremblingly obeyed, and he closed the door upon her, with an injunction to keep entirely silent, which she seemed disposed to obey. Fastening the door upon her, he returned to the house, satisfied that she would not further interfere with his plans.

The black woman had left the kitchen door open, and Somers walked in, with the light in his hand. There was a fire in the stove, on which there were several dishes of gruel, and other articles necessary for the sick room. It was evident that the farmer and his family had been turned out of the house, for no other persons appeared to disturb his operations. His long, heavy boots were not favorable to stealthy movements, and he retired to the back room to remove them. After satisfying himself, by a further examination, in regard to the structure of the house, and the position of the doors and windows, he extinguished the light, and passed from the kitchen to the front entry.

The door connecting with the front room, where the exciting events of the evening had occurred, was open. Maud, in the deepest distress, was talking to the wounded soldier. He was unable or unwilling to do anything, and Maud depended upon the black woman for aid. Somers concealed himself under the stairs, and waited for further developments.

He was not compelled to wait long; for presently he heard footsteps, which indicated the arrival of at least half a dozen persons.

“It is hardly time for the return of Major Riggleston,” said one of them.

“We are rather early; but when he comes, he will bring us the fullest intelligence,” added another, as they entered the front room.

Then there was a commotion, which was produced by the discovery of what had taken place in the apartment. There was nothing but a board partition between Somers and the interior of the room, and he could distinctly hear everything that was said. Maud told, in few words, what had happened in the room; that Major Riggleston had been shot in the head in his attempt to capture two prisoners, and that the men who had done the foul deed had escaped. From what was said it was evident that one of the officers was a person high in command—a general of division, if not Stonewall Jackson himself. The others called him simply “general,” and Somers could not determine who he was. The officers with him were probably members of his staff.

The general immediately despatched one of his officers to institute a strict search for the spies who had done this terrible work. He regretted that it had not been discovered before; for the miscreants, as he called them, in the most complimentary terms, were probably a good distance from the house by this time.

“I know which way they went, general,” said Maud, eagerly. “They went to the north of the house.”

“To the north, general,” added the wounded soldier; for both of them had carefully treasured up this information, dropped hastily from the mouths of the scouts, for future use, as Somers intended they should.

“Very well; pursue them towards the north, colonel,” resumed the general. “But don’t say a word about what has happened in this house till morning. It will help us in the search.”

The speaker proceeded to give very careful directions for the pursuit and the search, to all of which Somers listened with the deepest interest. The colonel who had been charged with the duty, departed.

“What do you think of him, doctor?” asked Maud, revealing to the listener the fact that one of the officers was a surgeon.

She was sad and depressed, and asked the question with trembling tones, which betrayed her solicitude for the wounded major.

“I don’t think he is very badly wounded. The ball has passed through his head; but worse cases than this have occurred, and the patients are alive and well to-day,” replied the surgeon.

The wounded man was taken up and borne to a bed in the chamber with Maud’s other patients; after which the soldiers received some attention.

CHAPTER XII.
THE COUNCIL OF OFFICERS.

SOMERS heard all that was said in the front room, and judged from that, and the sounds which reached him, what was taking place there. The two men who were stunned came to their senses, after a while, and they were sent off with the dead and the wounded ones; for it appeared that the general wanted the apartment for a consultation with his officers. It was expected that Major Riggleston would be present at this place with fresh information from the Yankee lines; and the listener congratulated himself that he had been able to disappoint them in this respect.

The major had chosen the ravine for his passage through the pickets, and it was now evident that he intended to resume his work as soon as he had disposed of his prisoner. The fellow was armed with a pass, and, Somers well knew, was regarded in the loyal lines as a major of the —nd Maryland Home Brigade, and could therefore go where he pleased, even into the very councils of the general commanding the army of the Potomac.

Somers believed he had made a great discovery. The rebels always knew precisely when and where the army of the Potomac were going to move. When McClellan had actually made up his mind to attack the forces fortified at Manassas, they suddenly decamped. All his movements for months were mysteriously communicated to the enemy, even before the general officers of the loyal army were informed in regard to them. People wondered, the press commented severely, and the government was perplexed.

Captain Somers thought he understood all about it now, and believed that he had laid out the man who had done all this mischief. Much as we admire the captain, our hero, we are compelled to say that he was mistaken. He had really made no such discovery, and had achieved no such tremendous result as the killing of the one who had done this immense injury to the loyal cause, as future pages in our history will show. But he believed Major Riggleston, whom he had seen in the staff of the general commanding, was the man who had conveyed all this information; he believed he had made this great discovery, accomplished this big thing; and he took courage accordingly.

Major Riggleston was not there to speak of what the Yankees had done, and what they intended to do; but for all this, the consultation of officers proceeded. Somers heard them discuss their own position and that of the enemy; he heard them suggest all manner of possibilities and probabilities, and how to meet them; but they did not speak so definitely as he wished they would. They alluded to a line of field-works, which the listener was unable to locate.

Somers was coiled up behind a chest of drawers, and did not concern himself at all about his personal safety. He was too deeply interested in the labors of the council to think of himself. He had a tolerably good idea of the rebel plans, and wondered whether the man who was called “general” was really Stonewall Jackson. He could not reach a satisfactory conclusion on this point, but he was strongly in favor of the supposition.

“It is one o’clock, and we must get a little sleep,” said the mysterious general, as Somers heard the rattling of chairs when they rose from the table.

“Some of us will probably make a long sleep of it to-morrow,” added one of the officers.

“Don’t trifle with a matter so serious,” continued the general, solemnly. “Ah, here is the colonel,” he added, as the door opened, and two or three persons entered the house. “What news do you bring? Have you captured those Yankees?”

“I have neither captured them nor heard a word of them. Not a soul within our lines knows anything about them,” replied the colonel, in tones of disgust and mortification.

“That’s singular. Our sentinels are sleepy; they must be stirred up. The miscreants had not been gone from this house more than twenty minutes when we arrived, according to the statement of the lady.”

“Nothing was ever more thoroughly done than the search we made; but I am positive they have got through.”

“Perhaps not,” suggested the general.

“I have searched every house, grove, and clump of trees; every hole, ditch, and cornfield within two miles of this spot. I am satisfied, but I believe there are traitors within our camp. They could not have got through without help from our side of the line.”

“We will look into that matter at the first opportunity,” replied the general, with a long gape.

They left the house in a body, and all was silent within, except the step of Maud Hasbrouk, as she attended to the wants of the sufferers in her care. Somers had done all he could do in this place, and he was satisfied that the search for himself and Captain Barkwood had been abandoned. He crawled out of the corner in which he had been coiled away for over two hours, intent upon the great duty which was still in a measure unperformed. He had some doubts whether his friend in the closet had been patient under the long delay; and he was in haste to relieve him from the suspense and discomfort of his situation.

There was no one in the house but Maud and her three patients. There was, therefore, nothing to fear, and he crept towards the door leading from the entry into the kitchen. He softly opened it, and was stealthily making his way towards the shed, when the door of the front room was thrown wide open, and Maud, apparently in a great hurry, stepped into the kitchen. She had a bowl in her hand, and was intent upon the object which had brought her there, so that she did not at first see Somers, who stood in the middle of the floor.

When she discovered him she screamed, and started back in astonishment and terror, dropping the dish; but she still held the light which she had brought from the sick room. Somers regarded the meeting as a very unfortunate occurrence, and wished he had been prudent enough to go out at the front door; but it was too late to indulge in vain regrets, and the situation was sufficiently perilous to induce him to resort at once to decisive measures, for the tongue of the woman was hardly less dangerous than a squad of rebel cavalry.

“Who are you?” asked the lady, when she had recovered herself sufficiently to speak.

“It matters not who I am,” replied Somers, disguising his voice as much as he could.

“Captain Somers!” exclaimed she, shrinking back still farther.

“I am sorry, for your sake, that you have recognized me,” replied he, dropping the collar of his coat, which he had drawn up over his face. “Miss Hasbrouk, your discovery endangers my life; I am compelled either to shoot you, or—”

“To shoot me!” exclaimed she, with horror.

“What is the matter, Maud?” said a voice from the front room, which was followed by the appearance of Major Riggleston, whose head was tied up with bandages, as the surgeon had dressed it.

“It is Captain Somers,” said she, in trembling tones.

“It seems that I did not fully do my work,” added Somers, taking a pistol from his belt.

“Don’t fire, Somers, don’t,” said the major, in tones so feeble and piteous that Somers could not help being moved by them. “You have nearly killed me now, and you ought to be satisfied.”

“It is your life or mine, Major Riggleston, and I have no time to argue the matter. In five minutes more you will have the whole Confederate army at my heels. I run no risks with a villain like you,” replied Somers.

“Don’t fire!” begged Maud; “I will do anything you desire, if you will spare me.”

It was something to see a brawling rebel woman, the most pestilent and inveterate enemy the government had in the contest, in a pleading posture. It was something to expose the ridiculous pretensions of one of that army of female rebels, fiercer and more vindictive than the men, and to demonstrate that she had none of the courage of which she had boasted. Maud regretted that her sex compelled her to be a non-combatant; it was doubtful whether she would ever again regret it.

“I wish not to take the life of either of you; but my own safety compels me to use strong measures,” said Somers, as he cocked his pistol.

“For mercy’s sake, don’t fire!” gasped Maud.

“Don’t kill me, Somers; I will pledge you my word and honor not to expose you,” added the major.

“What are your word and honor good for, after what has happened this night?” sneered Somers.

“I will give you all the information you require, if you will spare my life.”

“That would not save my life.”

“I will give you the countersign.”

“That’s something towards it.”

The wretch gave him the word, and while he received it, he despised the major more than ever before. He was now a traitor to both sides; but all this, and more, would he give in exchange for his life. Somers then questioned him in regard to the position of various bodies of rebel troops, and the miscreant answered him promptly, and, as it was afterwards shown, correctly.

“You know me now, Major Riggleston and Miss Hasbrouk; and you must understand that I go about with my life in my hand. I am not to be trifled with. I will not take your life yet.”

“I will swear never to reveal your presence to a living soul,” exclaimed the major.

“You need not; you have given me better security than your oath that you will not expose me. If I am taken, I shall be taken with the countersign in my keeping. I had it from you. If you have given me the wrong word, I shall be turned back.”

“I have given you the right word,” interposed the major.

“If I am turned back, I shall come here first, and complete my work,” added Somers, sternly.

“You shall have my pass.”

“I have it already. I have not yet exhausted all my resources,” said the scout, producing the two passes, which he had neglected to return in the ravine.

He opened them; but though the wounded major was surprised, he was too weak and broken in spirits to ask any questions, or even to care where his late companion had procured them.

“All I ask of you, Major Riggleston, and of you, Miss Hasbrouk, is to keep still,” continued Somers.

“I will,” replied Maud, eagerly.

“And I will, Captain Somers. What I have done here to save my life has ruined me. I shall never be seen in the service again.”

“I think you are coming to your senses, major.”

“May I ask you to keep quiet in regard to what I have done? for you know the penalty of that which I could not have done if I had not stood on the brink of the open grave.”

“That will depend on your own conduct. Return to your bed; and if you are treacherous, you will suffer for it.”

“I may die,” groaned the major, who had sunk into a chair, for he believed his wound was much worse than it really was.

Perhaps some twinges of remorse had induced him to aid Somers in his mission more than he otherwise would; he was not a man of nerve, or a man of much nobility of purpose, and his severe wound had worked a great change in his moral and mental organization. The fear of death had deprived him of what little manliness he possessed, and under the pressure of that terror, he had sunk lower down in the scale of humanity than it would have been possible for him under any other circumstances. He had absolutely betrayed the cause for which he professed so earnest and sincere a devotion. His boasted honor was a delusion. He was an exception, even in the ranks of southern heroes.

Somers was satisfied with what was promised, and with what had already been performed. He restored his pistol to his belt, and hastened to the back room, where Captain Barkwood was no doubt anxiously waiting to hear from him.

“Come out, captain,” said he, as he threw open the door.

“Is that you, Somers?” replied the regular, as he stepped from his narrow quarters. “I had given you up for lost, and was just thinking of engaging in a little enterprise of my own. Where have you been?”

Somers, as briefly as possible, explained the events that had transpired during his absence, to which the regular listened with wonder and admiration. It was now two o’clock in the morning, and there was much still to be done before they could return to the camp. Somers, still wearing the coat and feathered hat of Major Riggleston, left the back room, followed by Barkwood, and for three hours wandered about the camps of the rebels. They were often challenged; but Somers gave his name as Major Riggleston, and produced the pass when called upon, or gave the countersign. The day was breaking in the east when they finished the examination.

CHAPTER XIII.
THE BATTLE OF ANTIETAM.

“WE have been detained a long time,” said Somers, when they reached the ravine through which it was necessary to pass on their return; for it was not likely that the rebel pickets would permit even the ubiquitous Major Riggleston to go over to the Yankees.

“Too long, too long,” replied the regular, rather nervously for him. “I am afraid we are too late to be of much service.”

“The general grinds up his information rapidly. If we see him before be commences the action, we shall be all right.”

Slowly and carefully they worked their way through the ravine, for they felt that they were treasure-houses of information, which must not be needlessly exposed to destruction; and a little hurrying not only imperilled their own lives, but endangered the good cause to which both of the scouts were devoted. With all the haste which the circumstances would permit, it was broad daylight when they emerged from the ravine within the Union lines.

They hurried to headquarters. Though no drums beat or bugles sounded, the note of preparation had passed silently along the lines. The orders of the general had been fully and carefully executed, and brigades and divisions were in column, ready for the advance. “Fighting Joe” and his staff were already in the saddle; and half a mile off, on a little eminence, Somers discovered the general on his white steed. Alick had groomed his horse and saddled him, though with many fears that his master would never return to use him again.

As Somers approached, the faithful fellow saw him, and led up the horse. He was overjoyed to see him once more, and made a beautiful exhibition of ivory on this interesting occasion. The young staff officer, nearly exhausted after the perils and labors of the night, filled his haversack with “hard tack,” and leaped into the saddle. There was not a moment to be lost, and he dashed away towards the spot where the general was busily employed in making his preparations for the attack.

The excitement of the moment enabled him to triumph over the bodily fatigue which had weighed him down, and he urged on the noble animal he rode to his utmost speed. The horse seemed to participate in the interest and excitement of the occasion, and galloped as though he was conscious of the importance of his master’s mission. As he approached the spot where the general and his staff stood, Somers reined in his steed, and nearly threw him back upon his haunches, when he raised his sword to give his commander the usual salute. It was a proud, a triumphant moment for him; and the gallant steed behaved as though it was his duty to make the utmost display as he introduced his rider to the general.

“Captain Somers!” exclaimed the general. “I gave you up this morning when I learned that you had not been heard from.”

“I have the honor to report that I have fully performed the duty entrusted to me,” replied Somers, employing rather more formality than usual in his address.

The scout gave his information, the most important parts of which were the fact that Stonewall Jackson’s troops were concentrated on a fortified line, and that General Lee had massed his entire force behind the crests of the hill, in readiness for the great battle, which was apparently to decide the fate of the nation.

Then commenced that greatest and most momentous battle of the series of engagements in Maryland, which checked the invasion, and drove the rebels from the north to the south side of the Potomac. It was a fearful strife, a most determined battle, fought with a bravery, on both sides, bordering upon desperation. The event was to involve a mighty issue—no less than the fate of a great nation; for the moral effect of a victory by the rebels on the soil of the North would be disastrous, if not fatal, to the loyal cause, while it would open to the half starved and impoverished Confederacy the vast storehouses of wealth of the free North.

Those who fought on that day, from the skilful generals, who directed the operations, to the humblest private, who cheerfully and zealously obeyed the orders of his superiors in the midst of the terrible carnage of the battle-field, understood and appreciated the issues of that day. The sons of the republic will gratefully remember them all, and none with a more lively sense of obligation than “Fighting Joe,” whose skill and judgment, no less than his heroic bravery, brought victory out of the stubborn fight entrusted to him, upon which, more than upon the operations of any other portion of the line, the fate of the day rested. He was face to face with Stonewall Jackson, the most vigorous and determined leader of the Confederacy, the pet of the rebels, and the hope of the commanding general of the invading hordes. He was pitted against this man, who was the executive of Lee’s brain, without whom Lee’s strategy lost its power.

The battle on the right was fought and won, but not till mighty sacrifices had been made of precious life. It was one of the most obstinate conflicts of the war; and for hours the issue swung back and forth, and it was doubtful upon which side it would rest. The first corps went forward and were driven back in places; divisions were reduced to brigades, and brigades to regiments, before the terrible fire of the rebels; and nothing but the indomitable will and the admirable skill of the general saved the day. Every weak point in the line was strengthened, every advantage was used, and every disadvantage counterbalanced, till a splendid triumph was achieved.

Stonewall Jackson was ably and prudently supported by General Lee; troops from other portions of the line were sent to this imperilled position, in a vain attempt to save the failing fortunes of the day. Fresh troops were from time to time hurled against the hard-pressed brigades of the first corps, which were forced back, but only to be again strengthened and urged on by the masterly genius of “Fighting Joe,” until all that had been lost was retrieved. Later in the day, when the attack was made by the left and centre, the rebel line had been weakened by the large drafts required to meet the waste on the right, and of course the resistance was correspondingly diminished. With less stubborn and skilful fighting than that done on the right, the assaults of Burnside on the left, and of French and Richardson in the centre, could hardly have been successful.

The noble and gallant Burnside won immortal honors on that terrific day. He fought against every disadvantage, which he bravely and skilfully overcame. The result of the battle was less decisive than had been hoped and expected from the splendid fighting and the brilliant partial results achieved. The rebel army was severely handled; its resources and its prestige tremendously reduced; and the object of the campaign was actually accomplished; but whether the results of the several successful operations on the field were prudently agglomerated, whether the greatest practicable use was made of the victory, we must leave the historian to decide.

While Captain Somers was making his report, Captain Barkwood arrived, and was congratulated upon his safety and success. As an engineer he gave his opinion, and was able to supply information which Somers had not the scientific skill to deduce from what he had seen. The order was given to advance. The eye of the general was everywhere, even while his mind was occupied with the details furnished by the scouts. He sent members of his staff in every direction. He held the vast and complicated mechanism of his corps at his fingers’ ends. He knew where every brigade and every battery of his force was at that moment, and where it was to be an hour hence. He moved them all about, as a skilful weaver tosses the many shuttles, each with a different colored thread, through the fabric before him. He was weaving history on a gigantic scale.

Somers sat upon his restless horse, eating the “hard tack” he had brought, but ready to dash away upon any mission on which he might be sent, when an aid from the general commanding rode up and delivered an order to the commander of the corps. Somers did not particularly notice him at first, but as the staff officer turned, his teeth suddenly suspended their useful and interesting occupation, leaving his mouth half open, where it remained in the condition to express the wonder and astonishment which the presence of the officer excited.

“Major Riggleston!” exclaimed he, almost choking himself with the unmasticated block of “hard tack” in his mouth.

“Captain Somers, good morning,” replied the major, with a pleasant and friendly smile.

“Is it possible?” stammered Somers.

“What possible?” demanded Riggleston.

“That you are here,” replied the bewildered Somers, gazing at the major attentively, and surveying him from head to foot.

It was the same new and bright uniform which the major had worn when they met on previous occasions on the road; it was not the same which he had worn in the rebel lines, or at the Hasbrouk mansion; but the face was the same, the whiskers and mustache were the same in cut and color; and Somers, in spite of the doubt which at first assailed him, was even now ready to make oath that he was the same man he had shot in the head the preceding evening.

“Why shouldn’t I be here, my dear fellow?” laughed the major. “We are going to have hot work about here to-day.”

“How is your head, major?” demanded Somers, who could think of nothing at this moment but the amazing fact that he again stood in the presence of Major Riggleston.