Part 23 (1/2)
He had fully and successfully accomplished the arduous purposes of his mission. He had examined the positions, and counted the forces of the rebels. He had received very valuable information from Mr. Raynes, and from others whom he had encountered in his walk through the enemy's lines. He was satisfied that he should receive a warm welcome from those who had sent him upon the perilous tour. He had earned the first bar to his shoulder-straps, and was proud of his achievement.
The work had been done, and he was within a short distance of the Union lines--within a short distance of the devoted Hapgood, who was patiently but anxiously waiting to give him a soldier's reception. Above all, he was safe; and he trembled when he thought of the perils through which he had pa.s.sed, of the consequences which must have followed the discovery of his real character. As he thanked G.o.d for the boon of life after the battle was over, so now he thanked Him for the signal success which had crowned his labors in the good cause. The last article of his raiment was put on and adjusted; he rose from the ground to walk towards the Union lines.
”I say, Yank, you look better'n you did 'fore yer changed your clothes,”
said a voice, which struck his ear with startling distinctness.
Somers looked in the direction from which the voice came, and discovered a villainous-looking countenance, that had just risen from the tall swamp-gra.s.s, within a couple of rods of the spot where he stood. The man was unmistakably a rebel--one of the most savage and implacable of rebels at that; such a character as we read of in connection with slave-hunts in Mississippi, or ”free fights” in Arkansas. He wore a long, tangled beard; and his hair had probably never known the use of a comb. The grayback looked as cool and impudent as though he was perfectly a.s.sured of his prey, and intended to torture his victim with his tongue, as he would with his knife or his rifle if occasion required.
”I say, Yank, you look better'n yer did 'fore yer changed your colors,”
repeated the rebel, as he received no reply to his first salutation.
Somers looked at him again; indeed, he had hardly taken his eyes off the savage-looking fellow, who would have made a very good representative of Orson in the fairy story. He held a rifle in his hand, the muzzle of which could easily be brought to bear upon his victim. Our lieutenant at once understood the humor of the fellow; and, having recovered his self-possession in the momentary pause, he determined not to be behind his foe either in word or in deed.
”I say, reb, when did you shave last?” demanded Somers, with something as near akin to a laugh as he could manufacture for the occasion.
”'Fore you was born, I reckon, Yank,” replied the rebel; ”and I sha'n't shave ag'in till after you're dead. But I reckon I sha'n't hev ter wait long nuther.”
”I suppose you don't know what a comb is for, do you?” continued Somers, who was, however, thinking of some method by which he might get out of this sc.r.a.pe.
”I reckon I've heerd about such things; but Joe Bagbone ain't a woman, and don't waste his time no such way. I say, stranger, you've got about three minutes more to live.”
”How long?”
”Three minutes, stranger, I've sat here by them clothes, like a dog at a 'possum's nest, all the arternoon. Now I've treed the critter, and I'm gwine to shoot him.”
”Is that so?”
”That's so, stranger.”
”Do you usually shoot any man you happen to meet in the woods?”
”Well, I don't reckon we do, every man; but some on 'em we does. I calkilate you got on Tom Myers's clothes now, and yer shot the man 'fore you took the rags.”
”I didn't shoot him.”
”No matter for that, stranger; he was shot by a Yank, and you've got to settle the account.”
Somers began to be of the same opinion himself. The grayback had evidently found the clothes, and suspected the purpose for which they were concealed. It was possible he had even more definite information than this; for he seemed to be prepared for precisely what had taken place.
”My friend----”
”I'm not your friend, stranger. You kin say anything you like, if yer don't insult me; Joe Bagbone don't take an insult from any live man.”
”Well, Joe Bagbone,” continued Somers, who was disposed to parley with the fellow to gain time, if nothing else, ”if you shoot me, you will make the worst mistake you ever made in your life; and I can prove it to you in less than five minutes.”
”No, yer can't, stranger. Don't waste yer time no such way. If yer want ter say yer prayers, blaze away lively, 'cause three minutes aren't long for a man to repent of all his sins.”
”I have a pa.s.s from General M----, which permits me to go in safety through these lines,” persisted Somers. ”The sergeant above just examined it, and pa.s.sed me through.”
”Don't keer nothing about yer pa.s.s. I respects Jeff Davis just as much as the best man in Mississip'. If yer had a pa.s.s from him, you mought as well not have it as have it. Tom Myers was killed, and somebody's gwine up for him.”