Rodney The Partisan

"They're a good deal better than they look," said the captain, when Rodney called his attention to the fact that the sentry "slouched" rather than walked over his beat, and that he didn't know how to hold his gun. "They are not very well drilled yet, but they'll fight, and that is the main thing. Think of Washington and his ragamuffins at Valley Forge the next time you feel disposed to criticise the boys."

"Where is the enemy?" inquired Rodney.

"He is supposed to be concentrating twenty thousand men at Springfield, thirty-five miles east of here." replied the captain. "When McCulloch gets up from Arkansas we'll have a little more than fifteen thousand. But that's enough. We'll be in St. Louis in less than a month. That victory at Bull Run will nerve our boys to do good work when they get at it. Now where shall I go to find my regiment? The colonel is the man I want to report to."

While the captain was looking around to find an officer of whom he could make inquiries, there was a loud clatter of hoofs behind, and a moment afterward a spruce young fellow, handsomely mounted and wearing a uniform that Rodney Gray would have recognized anywhere, dashed by and held on his way without once looking in their direction.

"There he is now," exclaimed the captain, before Rodney had time to speak. "Oh, sergeant!"

The horseman drew up and turned about just as Rodney's hand was placed upon his shoulder. The greeting was just such a one as any two boys would extend to each other under similar circumstances, and so we need not say any more about it. Rodney and Dick Graham were shaking hands at last, and two brothers could not have been more delighted.

"How in the world did you get through St. Louis without being put in jail, and where did you pick him up, captain?" were the questions Dick asked when he recovered from his surprise. "Lyon is between us and St. Louis, but we manage to get our mail pretty regularly – Heard about Bull Run? Wasn't that a victory though? Fifteen thousand against thirty-five thousand! When we were at school, captain – "

"Where's the regiment?" interrupted the latter. "I am ordered to report to the colonel at once."

"Over there," replied Dick, sweeping his right arm around the horizon so as to include the whole camp on that side of the street. "Come on, and I will show you the way. When we were at school the Union boys made sport of us rebels because we shouted ourselves hoarse over the victory in Charleston Harbor, and declared that we ought to be ashamed of ourselves for it. Five thousand men against fifty-one was not a thing to be proud of. But they couldn't say that now if they were here. We won a fair fight on the field of Bull Run, although the enemy outnumbered us more than two to one. I say we are going to repeat the good work right here in Missouri."

"Are you Confederate?" inquired Rodney.

"Not much. I'm State Rights. That's me."

"And you'll not be ordered out of your State?"

"I may be ordered but I won't go. That's me. Seen Jeff Thompson's last proclamation? In it he calls Lyon's Dutchmen Hessians and Tories, and says our first hard work must be to drive them from the State. After that has been done, then we'll decide whether or not we want to join the Confederacy."

"If the Governor of Louisiana had talked that way I would not be here now," said Rodney. "He tried to swear us into the Confederate service against our will, and that broke up the company. I have as much to tell you as you have to tell me, and I propose that we postpone our talking until we can sit down somewhere and have it out with no fear of interruption. Do you suppose I can get into your company?"

"I suppose you can," replied Dick, with a laugh. "When the captain sees your writing he will make you orderly so quick you will never know it."

"Then he'll never see any of my writing," said Rodney, earnestly. "If you so much as hint to him that I know a pen-point from a pen-holder, I'll never forgive you. Captain Hubbard's men wanted to make me company clerk, but I couldn't see the beauty of it, and so they elected me sergeant. But I don't want any office now. I want to remain a private so that I will have a chance to go with you if you are sent out on a scout. But bear one thing in mind," he added, in a lower tone, "you needn't order me to burn any houses, for I'll not do it."

"I am down on all such lighting myself," replied Dick, with emphasis. "If we ever go out together I will show you as many as half-a-dozen houses that would be ashes now if it hadn't been for me, and one of them covers the head of one Thomas Percival – when he is at home."

Dick thought Rodney would be much surprised at this, but he wasn't. All he said was:

"Does Tom know it?"

"I don't suppose he does, or his father, either; but I have the satisfaction of knowing that I have done something to strengthen the friendship that existed between Tom and myself while we were at Barrington. You will know how hard a time I had in doing any thing for the Percivals when I tell you that Tom is suspected of belonging to a company of Home Guards."

"Suspected, is he?" said Rodney, with a knowing wink. "Is that all you know about him? He's captain of a company he raised himself, and rode all the way alone to St. Louis to ask Lyon if he could join him. He was afraid to trust the mails. He told me that the Vigilance Committees had a way of opening letters from suspected persons, and he didn't want to run any risks."

"Well now, I am beat," said Dick, who had listened to this revelation with a look of the profoundest astonishment on his face. "But how does it come that you know so much more about him than I do? Have you been corresponding with him?"

"I never heard a word from him from the time I left Barrington until I met him at Cedar Bluff landing in a nest of Confederates. Tom was a prisoner, was known to be Union, accused of being a horse-thief and in a fair way of being hung; but he got out of the scrape somehow, and I hope is safe at home by this time."

"Well, well," repeated Dick, growing more and more amazed. "So do I hope he is safe at home, and if he got within a hundred miles of Springfield I reckon he is. The country is full of Federal cavalry, and how your squad came through without being molested is more than I can understand. You will find the colonel in this tent, captain," said he, dismounting and drawing some papers from his pocket. "I must report too, for I have been on an errand for him. I'll be out in a minute, Rodney."

Dick followed, the captain into the colonel's tent, and Rodney sat on his horse and looked around while he awaited his return. He thought of what the captain had said regarding the Continentals at Valley Forge, but did not see that there could be any comparison drawn between the two armies. Price's men seemed to be well clothed, provisions were plenty, and as for their arms, they had an abundance of them such as they were, and a charging enemy would find their double-barrel shotguns bad things to face at close quarters. But a few months later the comparison was a good one. During the "little Moscow retreat," after the battle of Pea Ridge (which Van Dorn's ambition led him to fight contrary to orders), along a route where there were neither roads nor bridges, through a region from which the inhabitants had all fled, leaving the country "so poor that a turkey buzzard would not fly over it," with no train of wagons, or provisions to put in them if there had been, and no tents to shelter them from the cold, biting winds and sleet and snow – when Rodney Gray found himself and companions in this situation he thought of the Continentals, and wondered at the patriotism that kept them in the ranks. But it wasn't patriotism that kept Price's men together. It wasfear and nothing else.

But this dark picture was hidden from Rodney's view as he sat there on his horse waiting for his friend Dick Graham to come out of the colonel's tent. The martial scenes around him, the military order that everywhere prevailed, the companies and regiments drilling in the fields close by, the inspiriting music that came to his ears – these sights and sounds filled him with enthusiasm; and if any one had told him that the time would come when he would think seriously of deserting the army and turning his back upon the cause he had espoused, Rodney Gray would have been thunder struck. But the time came.

CHAPTER XV

A FULL-FLEDGED PARTISAN

Having transacted his business with the colonel, Dick Graham came out of the tent and mounted his horse.

"Of course I had to wait until the captain had made his report," said he, in a suppressed whisper, "and in that way I happened to hear a little about yourself and Tom Barton. I knew enough to keep still in the presence of my superiors, but I did want to ask the captain to say more about Tom Barton. Was it Percival?"

Rodney winked first one eye and then the other and Dick was answered.

"It's the strangest thing I ever heard of, and I am in a hurry to know all about it, Come on; our company is up at the end of the street. We occupy the post of honor on the right of the line, because we are the only company in the regiment that is fully uniformed. We'll leave our horses at the stable line, and Captain Jones will make a State Guard of you before you know it."

Not to dwell too long upon matters that have little bearing upon our story, it will be enough to say that Rodney was duly presented to Captain Jones, who was informed that he had come all the way from Louisiana to join a partisan company. He was a Barrington boy, well up in military matters, and desired to be sworn into the State service without the loss of time. Dick was careful not to say too much for fear that he should let out some secrets that Rodney had not yet had opportunity to tell him. Of course the captain was delighted to see the recruit from Louisiana, shook him by the hand as if he had been a younger brother, and sent for an officer to take his descriptive list. He was not required to pass the surgeon, and the oath he took was to the effect that he would obey Governor Jackson and nobody else. This being done Dick took him off to introduce him to the members of his mess.

"But before I do that," said Dick, halting just outside the captain's tent and drawing Rodney off on one side, "I want to know just where you stand, and whether or not you have had any reason to change your politics since I last saw you. Are you as good a rebel as you used to be?"

"I never was a rebel," exclaimed Rodney, with some heat. "I am ready to fight for my State at any time; but I deny the right of my Governor to compel me to obey such a man as General Lacey. I didn't want to be sworn into the Confederate army, and that was what sent me up here."

"That's all right," replied Dick. "I'm glad things turned out that way; otherwise you wouldn't be in my company now. But you don't seem to be as red-hot as you used to be. You say you don't believe in burning out Union men."

"I certainly do not. I believe in fighting the men, but not in abusing the women and children."

"The Union women are like our own – worse than the men," answered Dick. "That is what I was trying to get at, and I must warn you to be careful how you talk to anybody but me; and I, being an officer of the State Guard, can't stand too much treasonable nonsense," he added, drawing himself up to his full height and scowling fiercely at his friend.

"I suppose not; but I don't see that there is anything treasonable in my saying that I don't believe in making war upon those who cannot defend themselves."

"If some of those defenseless persons had been the means of getting you bushwhacked and your buildings destroyed, you might think differently. But come on, and I will make you acquainted with some of the best among the boys."

There were only two "boys" in the tent into which he was conducted, and they were almost old enough to be gray-headed; and as they were getting ready to go on post, Rodney had little more than time to say he was glad to know them. Then Dick said he had some writing to do for the captain that would keep him busy for half an hour, and in the meantime Rodney would have to look out for himself.

"Here's a late copy of the Richmond Whig, if you would like to see it," said one of his new messmates, who having thrown a powder horn and bullet pouch over his shoulder, stood holding a long squirrel rifle in one hand while he extended the paper with the other. "There's an editorial on the inside that may interest you. If the man who wrote it had been trying to express the sentiments of this mess he could not have come nearer to them. Good-by for a couple of hours."

When he was left alone in the tent Rodney hunted up the editorial in question and read as follows:

"We are not enough in the secrets of our authorities to specify the day on which Jeff Davis will dine at the White House, and Ben McCulloch take his siesta in General Siegel's gilded tent. We should dislike to produce any disappointment by naming too soon or too early a day; but it will save trouble if the gentlemen will keep themselves in readiness to dislodge at a moment's notice. If they are not smitten, however, with more than judicial blindness, they do not need this warning at our hands. They must know that the measure of their iniquities is fall, and the patience of outraged freedom is exhausted. Among all the brave men from the Rio Grande to the Potomac, and stretching over into insulted, indignant and infuriated Maryland, there is but one word on every lip 'Washington'; and one sentiment in every heart vengeance on the tyrants who pollute the capital of the Republic!"

The paper was full of such idle vaporings as these, but they fired Rodney Gray's Southern heart to such an extent that he was almost ready to quarrel with Dick Graham when the latter came into the tent an hour later, and began discussing the situation in his cool, level-headed way.

"Yes; I have seen the article," said he, when Rodney asked him what he thought of it, "and it is nothing but the veriest bosh."

"Dick Graham, how dare you?" exclaimed Rodney.

"Oh, I have heard such talk as that before, and right here in this tent from boys who have known me ever since I was knee-high to a duck," replied Dick. "'The tyrants who pollute the capital of the Republic!' The men who are there, are there because they got the most votes; and in this country the majority rules. That's me. Now mark what I tell you: The majority of the people will say that this Union shall not be broken up."

"Then you believe that might makes right, do you?"

"I don't know whether I do or not. If we have the power, we have the right to rise up and shake off the existing form of government and form one that will suit us better. Abe Lincoln said so in one of his speeches, and that's his language almost word for word. But whether the Northern people, having the power, have the right to make us stay in the Union when we don't want to, is a question that is a little too deep for me."

"They have neither the power nor the right," said Rodney angrily. "But you always were as obstinate as a mule, and we can't agree if we talk till doomsday. Now listen while I tell you what I have been through since I said good-by to you in the Barrington depot."

To repeat what he said would be to write a good portion of this book over again. He told the story pretty nearly as we have tried to tell it, with this difference: He touched very lightly upon the courage he had displayed and the risk he had run in helping Tom Percival out of the corn-crib in the wood-cutters' camp, although he was loud in his praises of Tom's coolness and bravery. Dick Graham found it hard to believe some parts of the narrative.

"So Tom wasn't satisfied with risking his neck by going to St. Louis to see Lyon, but had to come back through Iron and St. Francois counties and try to raise another company of Home Guards there. He's either all pluck or else plum crazy."

"He's got a straight head on his shoulders; I'll bear witness to that," replied Rodney. "What do you suppose he will do at home? Where's his company?"

"When the hunter blows his horn his puppies will howl," answered Dick. "His men are scattered here and there and everywhere; but he knows where to find them, and if we ever meet those troops that are concentrating at Springfield, we'll meet Tom Percival. You did a neighborly act when you shoved him your revolver. I wouldn't have given much for you if that – man what's his name? – Westall had found it out. Those Emergency men are nothing but robbers and murderers."

"That was about the idea I formed of them, and I say they ought to be put down if this war is going to be conducted on civilized principles. Where were you when Lyon captured that camp at St. Louis?"

"I was getting ready to go to Booneville. I was in that scrimmage and have smelled powder on half-a-dozen occasions."

"Was that a Secession camp or not?"

"Not as anybody knows of," replied Dick. "It was composed of the State militia which the Governor had ordered out for drill. Under the law he had a right to call them out."

"Now what's the use of your trying any of your jokes on me?" demanded Rodney. "You don't believe a word you have said, and I know it. Be honest now, and have done with your nonsense."

"Well, General Frost, who commanded the camp, assured Captain Lyon that he was not hostile to the government," answered Dick. "But when Lyon got hold of it, he found that the two main streets were named Davis and Beauregard; that a good portion of the men were in rebel uniform; and that they were mostly armed with government muskets which you Louisiana fellows stole out of the Baton Rouge arsenal. Lyon's action in that matter was what caused the riots. I'll say one thing in your private ear: The old flag floats over St. Louis and it's going to stay there."

"I'm not going to get into any argument with you, but you will see that you are wrong. We must have that city in order to command the Mississippi to the Gulf. Wasn't Jackson's proposition and Price's, that the State should remain neutral, a fair one?"

"That's a question that will be settled when this war is over, and not before."

"How do you make that out?"

"If there is such a thing as State Rights, it was a fair proposition; if there isn't, it wasn't. It implies the right of a State to make terms with the government; and that is the very point we are wrangling over. There's but one way to decide it, and that is by force of arms."

"Do you still think we are going to be whipped?"

"I am sure of it."

"And if we are, will you give up the doctrine of State Rights?"

"I'll have to. I can't do anything else. But such talk will lead us into argument, and you say you don't want to argue. I have been in a fever of suspense ever since you sent that second telegram to my father in St. Louis. In it you said, in effect, that you would start up the river on the first boat; and father wrote me that when he got it, he was ready to dance."

"With delight?" asked Rodney.

"Not much. With apprehension. He supposed you were coming up with your whole company. You asked him, for the company, if Price would accept you, and he met Price on the street and showed him the dispatch. Price said he would be glad to do it; and when you sent word that you were coming, father thought, of course, that you were all coming, and he knew that if you did, Lyon would make prisoners of the last one of you the moment you touched the levee."

"Your father didn't give us credit for much sense, did he?" said Rodney, with some disgust in his tones. "The boys wouldn't come and so I had to come alone. I hope that second dispatch did not put your father to any trouble, but I was obliged to send it to throw those telegraph operators off my track and blind them to my real intentions. I suppose that St. Louis cotton-factor was on the watch?"

"Of course; and the minute he put his eyes on that roan colt, he would have pointed you and him out to the soldiers. Your second dispatch frightened father, but it did not put him to any trouble. About that time he received a hint that he was being watched, that he was believed to be hanging about the city for the purpose of picking up information that would do us rebels some good, and so he dug out. He's at home now; and if we get a chance, we'll ride down there some dark night. I should like to have you acquainted."

"Thank you. I'll go any time you say the word; but why do you persist in speaking of our side as 'rebels'? I say we are not. We simply desire to resume the powers which our forefathers were foolish enough to delegate to the general government. Why, the great State of New York, in adopting the Federal Constitution, reserved the right to withdraw from the Union in case things were not run to suit her."

"Yes; but the great State of New York isn't foolish enough to try any such game as that. She'd be whipped so quick that it would make her head swim; and that's just what is going to happen to South Carolina. But you always was as obstinate as a mule, and. I don't care to get into any argument with you."

Rodney Gray was now a full-fledged partisan; but the company to which he was attached was more like mounted infantry than cavalry, for with the exception of the commissioned officers, there was scarcely one among the men who was provided with a saber. The most of Price's men were armed with shotguns and hunting rifles, and in some respects were superior to cavalry. They could move rapidly, fight as infantry, and if worsted in the engagement, jump on their horses and make a quick retreat. Their uniform was cadet gray with light blue slashings, and so nearly like the one that had been worn by the Barrington students, that all Dick Graham had to do to pass muster on dress parade was to add a sergeant'schevrons to the old uniform he had worn at school. Rodney Gray was an "odd sheep in the flock," but Dick had two suits of clothes, one of which his friend Rodney always wore when he was on duty, for Captain Jones was somewhat particular, and wanted his men to appear well on post and when they were ordered out for drill. The mail-carrier who took Rodney's first letter to his father from the camp, took also an order for a full outfit which was addressed to a merchant tailor in Little Rock. Being shut off from St. Louis by Lyon's advancing troops, all the mail, with the exception of some secret correspondence which was kept up during the whole of the war, was sent by courier to Little Rock and New Madrid, and from these places forwarded to its destination in the South.

Rodney Gray arrived at Price's camp during the latter part of June; and almost immediately became aware that preparations were being made for an event of some importance. There was much scouting going on, although he and Dick took no part in it, much to their regret, and now and then there was a skirmish reported. The junction of Price's forces with those of Jackson and Rains, which Siegel hoped to prevent by a rapid march upon Neosho, took place at Carthage, as we have said; but in spite of this Siegel resolved to attack. He left Neosho on the 4th of July, and on the 6th, fought the battle of Carthage against a greatly superior force. Rodney's regiment was in the thickest of it. It tried to outflank Siegel in order to seize his wagon train, but could not stand against the terrible cross-fire of the Union artillery, which mowed them down like blades of grass. The first man killed in Rodney's company was the one who had given him that copy of the Richmond Whig. While charging at Rodney's side he was struck in the breast by a piece of shell, and in falling almost knocked the Barrington boy out of his saddle. There was no time to be frightened or to think of lending a helping hand to his injured comrade, for the line in the rear was coming on, yelling like mad, and anything that opposed its progress would have been run down; anything, perhaps, except that well-managed battery on their right, whose steady, merciless fire was more than living men could endure. They broke and fled, and were not called into action again that day; for when Siegel, finding that he could not take the town, withdrew from the field for the purpose of effecting a junction with another Union force stationed at Mount Vernon, midway between Carthage and Springfield, the road he followed led through thick woods in which mounted troops could not operate. Here the Union commander, aided by his superior artillery and long range rifles, held his own until darkness came on and the Confederates retreated. It was a drawn battle. The Confederates did not dare renew the attack, and Siegel was afraid to hold the field long enough to give his weary troops a chance to rest. He marched all night and reached his destination the next day.