Castlemon Harry
Rodney The Partisan

CHAPTER XVIII
CONCLUSION

General Howard did not look or act like a man who was very badly overworked, nor did he seem to be at all anxious over the result of the heavy firing that was going on on the left of the line. He had pulled off his coat and riding boots, and when the orderly entered to tell him that Private Rodney Gray of the – th Missouri Cavalry had come there to see him by his orders, he was tilling his pipe preparatory to indulging in a smoke. He greeted Rodney pleasantly, and pointed with the stem of his pipe to an empty cracker box.

"Turn that up and sit down," said he; whereupon the orderly opened his eyes in wonder. There was a much wider gulf between the officers and privates in the rebel army than there was in our own, especially after the war had been going on for about a year. The sons of rich men, who had shouldered a musket at the beginning, began working their way out of the ranks, leaving behind them only those who were too poor or too low in the social scale to command the influence that was necessary to bring them a commission. As a rule rich people in the South did not think much of poor white trash. The latter were good enough to fight and obey orders, but scarcely good enough to be treated with civility; so when General Howard told his visitor to turn up the cracker box and sit down on it, the orderly straightway made up his mind that Rodney Gray was a little better than the common run of folks, even if he was a private soldier.

"I don't suppose you have thought of me once since I bid you good-by at that woodcutters' camp," said the general, throwing himself upon a rude couch and propping his head up with his hand. "But I have often thought of you, and a few months ago I was down Mooreville way on a scout. I passed right by your father's plantation, and finding out who he was, and being a trifle hungry besides, I dropped in and invited myself to dinner with him and your mother."

Rodney was delighted to hear this, but all he said was that he hoped the general had enjoyed his visit.

"I assure you I did, and the dinner too," was the smiling reply. "And during the hour I passed there I learned a good deal concerning your life in Missouri, and heard some portions of your letters read. Your parents were much surprised to know that I met you on your way up the river, and I renewed to them the promise I believe I made you on the steamer that if I could ever do you a fatherly kindness I would. I am glad to see you in my brigade, but I don't quite understand how it comes that you are still a private. Haven't you done your duty, or wouldn't your officers push you?"

"The fault is my own, sir," answered Rodney. "I might have gone higher but I didn't care to."

Then he went on to tell the general about Dick Graham. The latter was a Barrington boy too, he said, and they had made it up between them that it wouldn't be worth while for them to accept promotion, for they had only a year to serve, and besides they did not want to run the risk of being separated.

"Oh, as to that, you mustn't expect to stick together all the time," replied the general. "The exigencies of the service will not admit of it; you know that yourself. Still I will try to do something for your friend too, if I find upon inquiry of your regimental and company officers that he is worthy. I lost four of my staff at the battle of Farmington, and, if you like, will order you and Sergeant Graham to present yourselves for examination."

Rodney fairly gasped for breath, and wished that the general had not taken quite so deep an interest in him. The crisis was coming now, and he nerved himself for it.

"I am very much obliged, general," he faltered. "But my time will be up in about two weeks, and I should like to go home and see my folks."'

Rodney expected that his superior would be surprised to hear this, and his actions showed that he certainly was, and a little angry, as well. He arose to a sitting posture on the couch, and jammed the tobacco down in his pipe with a spiteful motion as he said, rather curtly:

"You must give up all such nonsense. I am not going to deplete my brigade, at this most critical time, by letting everybody go home who takes a fool's notion into his head that he wants to. According to law I am obliged to discharge all one year's men when their term of service expires; but they shall never get out of my lines. I'll conscript them as fast as a provost guard can catch them."

The general settled back on his elbow again and looked at his visitor as if to inquire what he thought of the situation. Rodney thought it was dark enough, and showed what he thought by the gloomy expression that came upon his face. He gazed down at the cap he was twirling in his hands and said nothing. The general relented.

"I don't want to be hard on you, Rodney," said he, speaking in much the same tone that a kind and indulgent father might use in reproving an erring son, "but can't you see for yourself what would happen to us and our government if we should weaken our armies by discharging troops at this juncture? The enemy has a hundred and forty thousand men in our front at this minute, and more coming. Memphis is taken, New Orleans has fallen, the railroads, except those that run south of us, are in Halleck's possession, and if the enemy along the river moves quickly, the troops we have sent to fortify Vicksburg will not have time to lift a shovel full of dirt before the Mississippi clear to the Gulf will be lost to us. I tell you the situation is critical in the extreme, and if we don't look out, and fight as men never fought before, the Lincoln government will have us in the dust in less than two months. I'll not let a man of you go, and that's all there is about it."

The general puffed vigorously at his pipe and looked as though he meant every word he said. Was this the man who had promised on two different occasions that he would lend Rodney a helping hand if the opportunity was ever presented? Discouraged and perplexed as he was, the boy could still think clearly enough to draw a contrast between this arbitrary action of a so-called government, which claimed to be fighting for the rights of its people, to do as they pleased and the course pursued by the Union General Lyon at the battle of Wilson's Creek. Rodney learned through some prisoners his regiment captured (and history to-day confirms the story) that Lyon had seven thousand men when he reached Springfield; two thousand short-term men demanded their release and got it; and the Union commander went on and fought the battle with five thousand. Perhaps the old government was not quite so bad after all.

"But you see, sir," said Rodney, after a moment's reflection, "my comrade and I do not come under the terms of the Conscription Act. We are not yet eighteen years of age."

The surprised look that came over the general's face showed very plainly that that was a point that had slipped his mind entirely. The boy had him there, and he hardly knew whether to laugh or get angry over it.

"And do you intend to take advantage of that provision of the Act?" he inquired.

"We'd like to, sir," was all Rodney thought it prudent to say in reply. His superior was nettled, and the boy wanted to leave him in good humor and get out of his presence as soon as possible.

"That settles it," said the general, getting upon his feet and knocking the ashes from his pipe in a manner which seemed to say that the interview was at an end. "I'll take pains to see your colonel, but I do hope there are not many in my command whose ages are under eighteen or over thirty-five. However, I may be able to infuse a little patriotism into them, and shall have something to say about it in a general order."

"I thank you, sir, for the assurance," replied Rodney.

He made his best salute and retired, but during the rest of the day he was not as jubilant as he had been when he came off post; and when he went back that night to do duty at the general's tent, he took note of the fact that his commander paid no more attention to him than he would have paid to an entire stranger. Rodney felt hurt at that, and as soon as he could do so, after guard-mount the next morning, he hunted up his friend Dick and told him the whole story. He wanted sympathy and encouragement and got both.

"You did perfectly right," said Dick, emphatically. "We could have passed the examination easy enough, and in a week or two might have been galloping around camp covered with gold lace, and looking as sweet as two government pets; but we don't care half as much for staff office as we do for our discharges. You made the general mad and I am sorry for that; but after all it's natural, for the commander who discharges the smallest number of men will stand highest in the good graces of his superiors. See? So long as he keeps his troops in the service, it doesn't make a particle of difference whether he keeps them in by promises or threats. He's a bully fellow, and the despots at Richmond will reward him."

Some of the sergeant's words were confirmed that very afternoon, and in a most startling manner. For days it had been whispered about among the men that there was trouble brewing in General Bragg's corps, and on this particular day it was brought to a head by the mutiny of a Tennessee regiment, who stacked arms and refused to do duty. The twelve months for which they volunteered had expired and they wanted to go home. Before entering the service they made provision for their families for just one year, and since that time their State had been over-ran with raiding parties from both armies, their crops had been destroyed, their stock killed, their buildings given to the flames, and their wives and children turned out into the weather. They wanted to see these helpless ones taken to places of security, and then they would return to a man, and stand by their comrades until the last Yankee invader had been driven into the Ohio river. But Bragg said they shouldn't go, and fixed things so they couldn't. He did just what Beauregard did when Hindman's Arkansas troops prepared to return to their State to repel the "invasion" of General Curtis. He told them that if they didn't pick up those guns in less than five minutes he would have the last one of them shot, and they picked them up; but in an hour's time it was whispered through the ramp that all the service old Daddy Bragg would get out of those Tennesseans wouldn't amount to much. We shall presently see how much truth there was in the report.

A few days after this the order of which General Howard had spoken was issued, and read to those regiments in the brigade whose term of service was about to expire. They were informed that they would now come under the Conscript Act, and that every man of them who was subject to service under that Act would be summarily conscripted unless he chose to re-enlist. The regiments to whom the order was addressed had all performed gallant service and gained imperishable honors, and the general hoped they would preserve both their name and organization by volunteering in a body to serve for two years, or until the end of the war. If they did, they would have the privilege of electing their own officers, and would be placed on the same footing as the other volunteer regiments; and those of their number who, by reason of age, were not subject to conscription, would serve until the 15th of July, when they would be discharged.

The order concluded with a fierce denunciation of General Butler's rule in New Orleans and a glowing appeal to their patriotism, all of which the men cheered lustily; but when the ranks were broken and the different "cliques" got together, they did not try to keep up any show of spirit. So far as Rodney Gray could learn, there was not a man in his regiment who would have volunteered if he had seen a fair chance to desert and get across the river. Desertion was a thing that had never been talked of before among Price's men. As volunteers, they would have died rather than think of such a cowardly way of getting out of the army, but it was different now. Even, if they re-enlisted under the provisions of the Conscript Act, how much better would they be than conscripts while bearing the name of volunteers? They would be forced into the army against their will, wouldn't they and wouldn't that make them conscripts? They appeared to submit because they could not help themselves; but desertions took place every day. Some got safely off, but those who were caught in the act were shot without any trial at all. The men were sullen, talked mutiny among themselves, and Rodney Gray looked for nothing else but to see them rise in a body, kill their tyrannical officers, and disperse to their homes. It was a terrible state of affairs, the nearest approach to anarchy there ever was or ever will be in this country, and during those troublous days and the subsequent retreat to Tupelo, General Halleck received into his lines no less than fifteen thousand deserters.

The farce of electing new officers and reorganizing the various companies and regiments in the brigade took place in due time, and once more Dick Graham found himself in the ranks. He was not a candidate for any office and neither was Rodney, although they might have had commissions if they had chosen to accept them. They did not so much as hint that they had been offered something better than the company or regiment could give them – a position on the general's staff – for they did not think it would be policy to do it. There were plenty of mean men in their regiment, as there were in every one in the service, and since they could not get discharges themselves, they would have been glad if they could have kept Rodney and Dick from getting them; and if they had suspected that Rodney had a friend in the general of the brigade, they would have reported him every chance they got, no matter whether he had done anything wrong or not. After this the two friends waited with as much patience as they could for the time to come around when they would be free once more.

During this time almost constant fighting had been going on somewhere along the line, and although Rodney and Dick could not see the use of it, those in authority could, for they were quietly making preparations to withdraw from a place which was no longer of use to them. On the 26th, 27th, and 28th of the month, the fighting was very severe, and Rodney's regiment, which was at the front, was badly cut up. Although Dick Graham was now a private he was called upon at times to do duty as a sergeant, and on the afternoon of the 28th, he was sent with a small squad, one of whom was Rodney Gray, to take charge of an advanced post. It was much nearer our lines than were the trenches in which the regiment was fighting, but it was also much safer, for the shells from both sides went high over their heads. Here they remained in perfect security, talking, laughing and telling stories while the roar of battle was going on all around them, and waiting for their relief, which was to come at six o'clock. It did not come, however, until after nine, and by that time it had grown so dark that it was only after infinite trouble and bother that they succeeded in finding their way back to the main line, only to learn after they arrived there, that their regiment had been withdrawn three hours before, and nobody could tell where it was now. Dick Graham didn't care much where it was, for he had no intention of going to it that night. It was more than three miles to camp, and Dick saw, when he passed that way three days before, that the road was blocked with wagons, artillery trains and stable-lines, and to these obstructions were now added sleeping men, who would not be over civil to any one who chanced to stumble against them in the dark. So Dick drew his squad off into the woods out of the way and went into camp; that is to say, he ate the little piece of hard tack he found in his haversack, washed it down with a drink of warm water from his canteen, rolled himself up in his blanket and went to sleep.

"There goes reveille," exclaimed Rodney, hitting him a poke in the ribs the next morning about daylight. "But it's in the enemy's camp, and I don't think we'll pay much attention to it. I am going to sleep again."

"Say," said one of the men, "I reckon we'd best be toddling along, for if I didn't hear wagons and troops moving all night, I dreamed it. Let's get up and go as far as the diggings any way, and get a bite to eat."

The "diggings" referred to was a pile of hard-tack which, when Rodney first saw it, was almost as long and high as the railroad depot. There were several thousand boxes in the pile, and there they had been beside the road, exposed to all sorts of weather, ever since they arrived in Corinth. Why they were not served out to the men instead of lying there to waste no one knew or cared to ask; but every squad that passed that way made it a point to stop long enough to break open a few boxes and fill their haversacks. Toward these "diggings" Dick and his men bent their steps, and before they were fairly out of the woods in which they had slept, they became aware that they had been deserted. There was not a man in sight, and the guns which looked threateningly at them over the top of the nearest redoubt, they found on inspection to be logs of wood.

"Beauregard's whole army has fallen back, and done it so silently that they never awoke us," said Dick. "Let us hurry on and get into our lines before some of the enemy's cavalry come along and gobble us up. What do you see, Rodney?"

"I am afraid we are gobbled already," was the answer, "I saw some men dodging about in the woods over there. If they are not the enemy's pickets they must be our rear guard, and as we can't get away we had better go over and make ourselves square with them."

This proposition met with the approval of his comrades, but it did not seem to suit the men in the woods, for Dick's squad had not gone many steps in their direction when some one called out:

"By the right flank, march!" and the command was emphasized by the sudden appearance of half a dozen muskets which were pointed straight at them.

"Who are you, and what are you doing there?" demanded Dick.

"Who are you, and what do you want of us?" asked one of the men in reply. "Are you from Tennessee?"

"No; Missouri."

"By the right flank, then, and toddle right along. You want no truck with us; but if you meet old Daddy Bragg tell him to come and see us. We've got something for him."

"All right," answered Dick, as he and his squad faced to the right and marched away. "Good-by, and good luck to you. I don't think old Bragg will come out," he added, when the men had been left out of hearing. "They'd shoot him as quick as they would any other varmint. There must be two or three hundred in that party, and they straggled out of the ranks last night in the dark. They'll stay there until the enemy's advance passes, and then they'll come out and give themselves up. Slick scheme, but I'd die before I would do it myself."

The squad halted at the "diggings" long enough to fill their haversacks, and then kept on after the army, marching with a quick step and keeping a good look-out for the Federal cavalry, which they knew would be sent out to pick up stragglers as soon as Beauregard's retreat became known to Halleck. They were in no hurry to overtake their comrades, for they were doing very well by themselves, and neither did they want to be picked up and treated as deserters by their own rear guard. But if therewas any rear guard they never saw it, although they ran into another body of Tennesseans, more than a thousand of them this time, who told them that the army gone on toward Tupelo, thirty-five miles from Corinth. No one seemed to know why Corinth had been abandoned, and it turned out afterward that the Richmond government disapproved of it, for the command was taken from Beauregard and given to Bragg, the man whom all his soldiers feared and hated, and who, a few months later, said to the people of Kentucky, "I am here with an army which numbers not less than sixty thousand men. I bring you the olive-branch which you refuse at your peril." But proclamations and threats did not take Kentucky out of the Union.

It took the boys five days to cover the thirty-five miles that lay between Corinth and Tupelo, and they were by no means the last of the stragglers to come in. The men who had been left behind, and who had no intention of deserting, were nevertheless bound to enjoy their liberty while they had the chance, and some of them did not arrive for two weeks.

In process of time the descriptive list and discharges of those who came under the exemption clause of the Conscription Act were made out, but there was so much red tape to be gone through with before all the provisions of the Act could be carried out, that the two friends were in a fever of suspense for fear that something might happen at the last minute to blast their hopes. Their officers did not want to let them go, and the slightest hitch in the proceedings would have made conscripts of them. But in their case everything worked smoothly, and finally all they had to do was to go to the paymaster and get their Confederate scrip. Being provided with passes which would take them as far as the lines of the Confederacy extended, they took leave of their friends, not without a feeling of regret it must be confessed, and boarded the cars for Camp Pinckney, which was located a hundred miles from New Orleans. After they left the camp their passes would be of no use to them, for it was said that the country between there and Mooreville, forty miles east of Baton Rouge, was over-run with Federal cavalry. They reached the camp without any mishap, ran the guard in order to get out of it (but that was not a difficult thing to do, for nearly all the soldiers in camp were conscripts who had not had time to learn their business), and before they had gone ten miles on their way toward Mooreville, came plump upon a small squad of Union cavalry, who covered them with their carbines and told them to "come in out of the rain." It was hard to be "gobbled up" within two days' walk of home, but the boys put a bold face on the matter. The corporal and his three men seemed to be a jolly, good-natured lot, and the ex-Confederates knew they would be sure of kind treatment as long as they remained in their hands.

"You've got us easy enough," said Dick. "Now what are you going to do with us?"

"Take you down to Baton Rouge and put you where you'll not have a chance to shoot any more Yanks," replied the corporal. "Where's your regiment?"

"We don't know; and not wishing to give you a short answer, we don't care. We never shot any Yanks, and neither do we mean to go where they are again if we can help it. We've got our discharges in our pockets."

"Seeing is believing. Hand 'em out."

The boys complied, and as they did so Rodney remarked that if they had known that the corporal was as white a man as they had found him, they wouldn't have "come in out of the rain" so readily. They would have taken to their heels and trusted to his forbearance.

"I am glad you didn't try it," replied the corporal, reading the discharges one after the other and passing them over to his men. "A gray-back streaking it through the bushes would be a mighty tempting target, even to fellows like ourselves who don't shoot only when we have to. Have you got enough of the service?"

"More than we want," answered Dick.

"Well, you can't be forced into the army until you are of the right age, and in the meantime I don't suppose you will do us any great damage. What do you say, boys?"

"I say let 'em go home and see their mammies," replied one of the squad; and the others nodding assent, the corporal jerked his thumb over his shoulder and told them to "git."

"It is no more than we expected of you, but we thank you all the same," said Rodney, gratefully. "I live down this way, three miles from Mooreville, and if you ever come along our road, drop in and we'll treat you right. The mouse did the lion a favor once, and who knows but that a boy who is not old enough to be conscripted, may be able to do something for one of Uncle Sam's men?"

"Good for you, Johnny. You're no reb. Any up this way?"

"None nearer than Camp Pinckney. If there are we did not see them."

With hearts full of thankfulness the boys resumed their journey, and on the afternoon of the second day following, came within sight of Rodney's home. It set his eyes to streaming, and gave such elasticity to his step that Dick could scarcely keep pace with him. As he led his friend up the wide front steps he recalled to mind the parting that had taken place there more than fifteen months before, and the confident words he had uttered about "driving the Yankees out of Missouri." He and his friends had been driven out instead, and there was no hope that Missouri would ever belong to the Confederacy.

"Alabama – here we rest," exclaimed Rodney, pushing Dick into an easy chair in the parlor, which they found to be unoccupied. "Stay there till I find somebody."

"I don't look fit," began Dick, glancing down at his dusty uniform; but just then a door opened, a lady came in, and the words "Mother!" and "Oh, my son, my son!" told Dick that "somebody" had found Rodney.

If ever a boy appreciated home and its comforts it was Rodney Gray, no longer a wild, unreasoning partisan, but sober and thoughtful beyond his years. Here we will leave him until the time comes for us to tell how Dick Graham got across the river, and take up the history of the adventures and exploits of our Union hero, Marcy Gray, whom we left in his home in North Carolina. Marcy's "Secret Enemies" and his determination to be "True to his Colors" brought him into difficulty more than once; and what those difficulties were, and how he came through them, shall be told in the third volume of this series, which will be entitled "MARCY, THE BLOCKADE-RUNNER."

THE END