‘i? . Published Semi-Monthly. kes STAITS TEN CENT | a : KK jj. (if ee OLD GUESS MARKHAM. FRANK, STARR & CO,, 41 PLATT STREET, N. Y: : 2 The New England News Co., Boston, Mass, ° Er aREEEEEnErS TN Vou. XVI] JUNE 24, 1876. QLD GUESS MARKHAM: OR, % or igs BY J. THOMAS WARREN, AUTHOR or “ DoBLADO, THE OvuTLAW, » « Orp Hat WILLIAMS,” ETC., "Ere, # NEW YORK: % ts A es STARR & CO., PUBLISHERS, : 41 Platt Street. ithe y A ae, Pas / ee ST eee —— Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 186L, by Sryciarr Tousry, Publishers’ Agent, in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York. OLD GUESS MARKHAM. CHAPTER I. The “ Scout” has an Adventure. Trme—The spring of 1865. Prace—The siege of Richmond. The earth and sky were glorious in the splendor of the rising sun. The waters of the Appomattox shone in a blaze of yellow light, while the long lines of fortifications, the waving flags, the thousands of soldiers, ~ and all the paraphernalia of dreadful war, combined to form a landscape worthy of the artist’s pencil, or the painter’s brush. A lengthy cordon of forts and earthworks, of abatis and rifle-pits, stretched for miles in almost uninterrupted succession from the river below Petersburg, around nearly to the river miles above, and these were held by the forces of General Grant, who was daily and hourly “ fighting it out on this line,” and weaving a net, sure and deadly, about the despairing but desperate troops of the rebellion. Our story opens at a spot two miles be- yond the extreme left wing of the Union line. A country road, in tolerable condi- tion, runs in a north-easterly direction; and along this, at the time in question, was rid- ing a solitary horseman—if the term is ap- plicable to one who rides a mule, for the personage we are about to introduce was seated astride of an animal which even the ‘ost careless observer would at once assign to that species of much-abused but really deserving beast. The mule was a stout creature, and «| good traveler, but, like the majority of army mules, had, undoubtedly, been on half-ra- tions, ¢. ¢., a quarter ration of hay and oats, and the other quarter made up from occa- nal nips at sundry fence-rails and sutlers’ Nevertheless, with a very contented over its head. Lar’ ye a-stoppin’ fur? Gee-up—g’lang !” © ven philosophical air, his muleship jogged along without requiring any corpo- real punishment to expedite his gait. The rider of this animal was not a man of the most prepossessing appearance in the world. He had traveled considerably. more than half the journey of life, if gray hair mingled with the dark be any criterion of age. The distressed look upon his face, was only equaled by the distressing appear- ance of his clothes, for if the former was well battered, assuredly the latter were mightily tattered, and fearfully bespattered with the villainous mud of the Old. Domin- ion. ‘ A dirty haversack hung from the pom: mel of the saddie, which latter article, it is to be hoped, had seen better days, for now one of the flaps was gone, and the other was only retained by a bit of a string. The bridle was a rare combination of rope and strap, more useful than ornamental, and, on any other beast, probably neither. » “Pesky bad trav’lin’, durned ef it hain’t !” growled the old man, as he wriggled in the rough saddle; “ an’ desp’rit hard on one’s clothes,” he added, despondently, as, with a lunge, the mule splashed through a chuck- hole, and showered the mud over the rider. “ But thet comes o’ wearin’ a feller’s best clothes everyday. Yes, not only bad tray’- lin’, but dangerous, too !” he continued, as the - mule gave a peculiar snort, and stopped short at a gully, nearly tossing the man “See hyar, Buceperlus, what The mule was obedient, and, taking the rider at his word, “g’langed” right hand- somely, making at least ten miles per hour, nose and tail widely extended on a level. — “Halloo! old codger!” cried a hearty | voice, as two rebel soldiers ran out of the woods, through which the rider was now passing, and attempted to catch the mule. PGR eet tee Re Magda a Ses ) fons avi Ske oe “Whoa! wh-o-a!” cried the rider, sawing fearfully at the bit, as if making a strong effort to stop his beast. He was unsuccess- ful, either because he was not anxious to succeed, or because mules seldom stop when you want them to. The mule and rider were rapidly vanishing from view up the road, when the rébels threw up their mus- kets and blazed away. One ,ball plowed a small furrow along the road near the mule’s heels, while the other cut the twigs from the highest branches of a sturdy oak. “Ha! ha!’ roared the old man, “ thet’s extreme shootin’! Bah! ef I couldn’t do better, ’'d be afeard o’ shootin’ the man in the moon! Whew! Buceperlus, we ar’ done fur now !” A squad of ten rebels, under command of a sergeant, marching down the road, was the cause of this sudden alarm to the rider, who cast hurried glance about him to dis- cover what chances there might be for escape, for he was evidently not particularly anxious to fall into the hands of the rebels. Before him in the road was the rebel de- ‘tachment, behind him were the two rebels who first appeared ; while, on either side, was a piece of dense forest, whose under- brush was too thick to offer much of an op- portunity for a horseman. The rider took all the situation in at a glance, and made up his mind to surrender, but to ease off the thing a little, he began to see-saw upon the bit, and to cry out lustily: “Whoa! w-h-o-a! Buceph! WHain’t ye g’wine ter stop. Halloo, thar’! you-uns, help stop the critter.” “You-uns” were evidently quite ready to accede to this request, for they deployed across the road, and presented bayonets in a highly dangerous manner. “Hold on! Don’t shoot, fur the Lawd’s sake d-don’t t-tech the triggers o’ yer pesky shootin’-irons. The mule ’ll stop, sart’in.” And stop the mule did, quite suddenly. The soldiers now surrounded the old man, and the two rebels who had fired also came up. “Finally got stopped, old codger, eh ?” said one of the soldiers, who seemed to be in command, and whose chevrons indicated a sergeant’s rank. “T hain’t an old dedicat !” said the rider. “ Thar’s no use o’ callin’ a feller names. I never dodged nobody. That hain’t my style. J allers faces the music, I doos.” “No, ye don’t!” exclaimed a ruby-faced _ rebel, with a jolly red nose, and a swagger- sina cli with i: OLD GUESS MARKHAM. ing air, that betokened the bully, and who was a corporal. “ Thar’s one kind o’ music it seems ye wa’n’t in no hurry ter face.” “ What kind o’ physic is thet ?” asked the old man. “The music 0’ them bullets thet we sent arter ye. He! he! he !’ shouted the ruby faced rebel, whose name was Bill Sykes, “Lawd! ye don’t pertend ter say thet ye war’ a-shootin’ at me, does ye?” asked the rider. “Is' ’posed ye war’ a-pepperin’ at the squirrels up in the trees, from the way the leaves come a-rattlin’ down.” This sally produced a laugh at the ex- pense of Bill Sykes, who, it was easy to see, was no great fayorite. Bill’s face turned instantly from ruby-red to burning crimson, and he at once moved a step toward the rider, and said, in a very angry tone: “T hey’ a mind ter jerk ye off yer hoss!” “Off my hoss, hay ?” said the old man, with a broad grin. “Ha! ha! call this hyar critter a hoss?” and the old fellow actually laughed until there was imminent danger of his damaged breeches bursting. “ Why, whar’s yer eyes? Ever see sech ears on ahoss? Ha! ha! Ef this hain’t a jolly go! See hyar, sonny,” continued the old fellow, resting his chin on his hand and his elbow on the pommel of the saddle, and looking quizzically into the face of Bill Sykes. “Sonny! ef ye call this hyar crit- ter a hoss, jest tell a feller whar’ ye’d git a mule? He! he! ha! ha!” Again the crowd roared with mirth e the sport. Corporal Bill Sykes was sensitive to rae cule, and, finding that he was no match for the old man with the tongue, was re- duced to the other alternative of ruffianism —brute-force. $o he now leaped forward, and, seizing the mule by the bit with one hand, stretched out the other to drag the rider from his seat. As the rebel was a stout fellow, he might readily have accom- plished his purpose, had not he been again outwitted. The old man quietly patted hig beast on the neck, which was a sign well understood between them, for the mule, with a sudden jerk, whipped her head around to the left so unexpectedly that the rebel was brought sprawling upon the ground, in a very undignified manner. “Blast the critter!” roared Bill, scram- bling up, and snorting with pain and rage, “ Bit her, eh?” asked the old man, wi an expression upon his face that wa perfection ofinnocence. “0” "eguires i tin oe ibe A QUEER must hey’ bit her, or the mule would never hey’ acted so. Spec’ it war a gad-fly. Hain’t hurt, hay ?” Bill was on his feet again madder than ever, and rushed wildly upon the mule, dealing the beast a furious blow upon the nose. Bucephalus couldn’t stand this, and, urged on by a sly thrust in the ribs from the rider’s heel, the mule opened his mouth and made a dive at Bill. The rebel-had no special desire to be bitten, and so he very naturally began to back. This encouraged the mule, which, _ at once, took straight after him. Bill turn- ed and ran, and the mule ran too. Four legs are better than two, and the rebel was speedily overtaken. Bucephalus nabbed him by the coat-collar, and, under the in- spiration of his master’s voice and heel, gaye the fellow a terrible shaking, very much as a dog would shake a rat. The valiant Sykes roared lustily. “Help! help! Good Lawd, I’m killed ! I'm teetotally chawedup! Mercy! mercy! mercy !” Bill’s coat-collar, poor shoddy, probably, gave way and he was released from the jaws of his enemy, and with a single bound ne cleared the ditch and landed in the brush beyond, whence he cast a frightened look back again. The boisterous yells of derision that greeted him, did not have any very remark- ably soothing effects upon his spirits, and so he sat down on the greensward, rubbing his bones, and glowering sulkily out upon the road, “See hyar!” said the rebel, who had first spoken, and who rejoiced in the cog- noman of Gus. Smythe—or to give the Evil One his due, Sergeant Augustus Smythe, C. 8. A— "we hey’ hed about foolin’ enough.” “Twas kind o’ tough; thet’s so,” re- sponded the old man, “ but it war’ his fault. T couldn’t hold in the mule, nohow.” “Come, thet will do,” continued the sergeant, testily. “We want to know what ye mean a-prowlin’ around hyar ?” “ Howlin’ around hyar? I hain’t been a-howlin’ at all. Hain’t sed nuthin’ above & whisper, ’cept ter sing a song back thar’ a piece—” “We don’t care fur yer singing,” inter- rupted the sergeant. _ “Singing! Yes, I ar’ good at singin’. ter teech a singing-sch ol down nigh urs.” ; ' CUSTOMER. 9 “Bah! whar' ar’ ye goin’ ?” “Who am I owin’, did yer say ?” “ Where are you goin’ ?” roared the ser- * geant. “ Goin’ ter Richmond.” “Ter Richmond! What fur ?” “Wal, ‘ye sees,” said the old man, “I hey’ allus been considered a splendid singer, an’ hey’ estableeshed quite a repetishun fur musickal abilities. They say thet Gin- eral Lee ar’ hevin’ very melankolly turns these hyar days, an’ he hes consequently sent fur me ter make an application o’ the soothin’ influences 0’ song an’ melerdy, An’ I'm going ter Richmond ter cheer him up.” “Bosh! what a lie!” exclaimed the crowd, in a breath. “ High? Yes, sing high or low, jest as occa- shun requires,” said the old man, apparently misconstruing the comments of his hearers. “Ye see ef a man ar’ in good sperits he likes ter hey’ a loud, strong tone o’ the voice, an’ ter hear suthin’ thet’s quick an’ spirited like; but, ef he ar down in the mouth, an’ ar’ under the weather, or hey’ an attack o’ the blue-imps, or hes been caudled by the ole woman ter home, why, then, he wants ter hey’ a sort 0’ a minor tune, sech as old Windham, or suthin’ o’ thet sort, ter correspond with the state © o’ his feelin’s. Now, thet’s what most folks think is the proper style o’ singin’, an’ so it ar’ perviden a feller wants ter remain in the same sort o’ feelings, but not other- wise. Fur instance, now: I hain’t a-goin’ up ter Richmond ter sing old Windham to Gineral Lee, cos it ud make him feel wuss nor ever. Why, jest think o’ it! Sing a minor psalm ter Gineral Lee when old Grant ar’ soekin’ it to him right an’ left, an’ keepin’ a-peggin’ away, an’ a-crowdin’ him up inter close quarters! No, sir-ee ! Thet hain’t the style o’ music he wants. Tll slap him on the shoulder, an’ I'll say, ‘Gineral, listen to this hyar Oad.’ ” And the old fellow became enthusiastic, — and struck up a song in a voice trembling with age and quivering with excitement, all the while beating regular time with his right arm and hand, sawing the air like a coun- try singing teacher. “Four quarters ter a meesure. Down, left, right, sing : Jeff Davis is the man for me, ~ An’ Bobby Lee ar’ handy ; We'll knock the Yankees ag ye’ll see, An’ squash their Doodle Dandy! Xe, Pew ae Wests ear: FE MON ST Ta Ee RPL Meese ee me ae Page «“Thar’! hain’t thet a scrumptious song ? By hokey! won’t thet put Bobby inter a good humor ?” “Stop, stop !” cried Sergeant Smythe. “ Ye make enough noise ter wake the seyen snorers.” é “Seven sleepers, ye mean?” suggested the old man. “Wal, what’s the difference. Hain’t snorers an’ sleepers all the same thing? Answer me thet,” asked the sergeant, testily. “Not allus, I reckons!” returned the old man. “ Hyar’s Buceperlus, he ar’ a power- ful sleeper, an’ he never snores. ‘ Tired natur’s sweet rebalmer, storied sleep.’ Musick an’ the poicks go together allus, ye know : “The stars go singin’ as they shine, The music o’ the spheres.’ ” “Blast the spears an’ ye too!” cried the sergeant. “TI hey’ a great notion ter jest conyvart this bayonet inter a spear an’ guy’ ye a taste o’ it, Ye ar’ the craziest fool I ever sot eyes on, What’s yer name ?” “My game?” “No, no, yer name, and quick too, ef ye hey’ one.” “©? course I hey’ a name. All honest men hey’, My name, as it ar’ writ down in the family record, ar’ a good name—” “ Wal, what is it ?” “ Guess.” “Guess ?” roared the sergeant. ‘“ D’ye take me fur a fool? How could I guess yer pesky handle? It might be Jones or it might be Dusenberry. Spin it out! What’s yer name ?” “T told ye oncet.” “Ye must hey’ whispered it, then,” said the sergeant. “My name ar’ Guess, jest as I told ye.” “Oh, oh! Guess is yer name, hay? Thet ay’ a queer sort o’ aname. What's the rest o’ it? Yer surname, I mean.” “ Sir name? Whew! blarst me ef I know what ye mean. I know what sir means, an’ I kin tell good Orleans syrup when I taste o’ it, which, by the way, I hain’t done fur nigh three year or sech, but as fur sirname that doggers me teetotally. Say, don’t ye mean my maiden-name? I kin tell thet, sart’in. My christianized name are Guess, an’ my maiden-name ar’ Markham. Thar’ ye hey’ it, an’ ef he ar quiche in addition, jest add the two together an’ ye hey’ my hull name in a jifly—Guess “Markham.” “Wal, — Mister Markham, I reckon 10 OLD GUESS MARKHAM. - yell hey’ ter be toted ter camp, aa’ be persented ter the colonel,” said the sergeant. “ Mebby, as he hes l’arnin’ an’ sech things, he can make suthin’ out o’ ye; but, as fur myself, I'll be honest enuff ter own up thet eether ye ar’ a durned fool or else Sergeant Augustus Smythe ar’, an’ blow me ef I kin edzactly tell which at present, fur as fur makin’ head or tail out o’ sech a critter ag ye ar’ goes clean beyond my abilities eethur in figgers or Yarnin’. Corporal Sykes !” Corporal Sykes was still sitting on the opposite side of the ditch, where he had fled for safety from the mule, but he now got up on hearing the sergeant’ 8 voice, and said : “ What’ll ye hey 2” . “ Consider yerself and four men detailed ter convey this Mister Markham ter camp. Be expeditious, fur I want ye back ag’in.” “ An’ the mule?” asked Sykes, casting a glance at the beast, which now stood de- murely enough in the road. “He goes too. Hurry up now.” “ All right,” returned the corporal, jump- ing across the ditch with a malicious twinkle in his gray eyes, as he said to himself in a low tone—‘ Skin me alive! ef I don’t hev’ my revenge out o’ yer hide, old mule, fore long.” ; The detail now set out, the prisoner in their midst, the corporal leading the way, and all with muskets ready for use if Markham ‘attempted to escape, which ee however, not very likely. “Durn it! I bleeve I'll ride,” said ‘the lazy corporal. “See hyar! old feller, ye. git off thar’, an’ let meon. Thar's no sort o’ use 0’ us escortin’ ye inter camp in this hyar way. It ar’ much more becomin’ that the leader o’ this detachment should ride, an’ the prisoner should walk, an’ as I likes ter see things in thar’ proper posish- un, why I’ll trouble ye ter dismount.” « Jest as ye sez, corp’ral!” returned old Guess, “but, as I wouldn’t like ter see ye git hurt, I mou’t as well jest tell ye thet the critter hain’t used ter being rode by every- heey, an’ it ar’ mor’n likely he won't ride easy.” “Much obleeged fur yer suggestions, Mister Markham,” said the corporal, with a wink to one of the soldiers, “ ae I hlegre. I'll try him, anyhow.” The old man dismounted, but as he aia go he laid the ropes for trouble to the cor. poral. He patted the mule gently o rump while the officer mounted, mea ‘ Shi, AN ENCOUNTER. plucking a bur from his clothes, for having ridden through the woods a piece, there were a number sticking to him, the old man quietly slipped it beneath the mule’s tail, and stepped aside. “ Now then, old mule,” said the corporal, exultingly, “ye kin travel. The man what ar’ a sottin’ on ye ar’ not ter be denied bein’ aD. ornament ter society an’—” Bucephalus took the “ ornament” at his word, and feeling the pricking of the bur the instant he dropped his tail, the mule “traveled” off at a fearful rate. Then he stopped and began to kick and prance fu- riously, rearing up on his hind-legs, and threatening to hurl the rider to the ground. The worthy corporal grew white in the face, which was a great improvement over his natural complexion, which was about that of a white-washed negro, except when flushed with whisky to a fiery red, and throwing his arms about the mule’s neck, he exerted all his powers to retain his position upon the beast. “ Ketch the critter !” he roared. _ The soldiers, leaving Markham standing in the road, ran to the help of their com- rade, but it was too late. A sudden bolt “and as sudden a stop sent the unlucky rebel flying head-over-heels into a cluster of brier-bushes by the wayside, while the mule, relieved of his burden, turned and kited down the road like lightning. Old Guess, with remarkable agility, leaped into the woods and disappeared. “Wal! I declar’ !” said Corporal Sykes, with a bewildered air, as he crawled out of the bushes, and saw the mischief that three ‘minutes had worked. The corporal had obtained his revenge ! CHAPTER IL Eteutenant Marsh gets into a Cistern and falls into something else. Tre day before the events just narrated occurred, a party of ten horsemen were slowly traversing a by-road that ran at right “angles to the one described in the last chap- ter. They were a lieutenant, a sergeant and eight privates, and wore the blue uni- form of the Union cavalry service. The men were stout, hearty fellows, with a bold, independent air, and rode well-made a well-groomed horses. Their scabbards 11 and spurs jingled merrily as they trotted along, and the gleams of the morning sun glanced cheerfully from the bright barrels of their carbines. The lieutenant and the sergeant rode at the head of the detachment, and the others followed three abreast. “Tt must be about three miles. to camp, Sergeant Miller,” said the lieutenant, who was a finely-formed and good-looking young man, with brown hair, heavy whiskers, and hazel eyes. “ And I’m glad it’s no more.” “About that distance, I judge, Lieuten-— ant Marsh,” returned the sergeant, with a quiet air. “These early morning rides. don’t agree with my comfort a bit.” “The early bird catches the worm you know,” suggested the lieutenant, with a smile, ; “Served the worm just right, then,” re- torted Sergeant Miller. “ He had no busi- ness to be out so early.” Both officers laughed, and then remained, silent. “What noise was that?” suddenly ex- claimed the lieutenant, checking his steed. “ Halt!” The troop drew rein, and listened, The road ahead of them took a bend to the north, and owing toa strip of woods became invisible to the party. The noise was soon explained. A clatter of horses’ feet was heard galloping over the hard road. “Hal” exclaimed the lieutenant. probably! Wonder how many.” “Tf they are not a score they have brought their sack to the wrong mill,” said Sergeant Miller. “We'll thrash the John- © nies into a jelly in a twinkling.” “ Unsling your carbines, men,” said the lieutenant, “and look well to your pistols.” The men had scarcely time to comply with the order, when around the bend of the road dashed about a dozen rebel cayal- ry, coming at a furious pace. The twe parties were thus brought within a hundred yards of each other, and the sight of the Union squad was undoubtedly a ee surprise to the rebels. “Fire !” cried Lieutenant Marsh. ward, men!” A volley was discharged, and the troop dashed toward the rebels, who, so unex- pected and furious was the attack, at once broke, leaving several dead and wounlt upon the ground, and turning, ven at full speed up the road. - “Hit the nail on the head that time,” : “Rebs, . For- oo —— ee ea Cees Le ia i =e 12 OLD GUESS MARKHAM. exclaimed Sergeant Miller, as he discharged his revolver, anc saw a trooper fall from the saddle. On swept the two parties, the rebels some hundred yards in advance, and the others in hot pursuit, cracking away mer- rily with their revolvers and carbines. How long the chase might have continued we know not, but a very unexpected reén- forcement to the rebels put an entirely new phase upon the state of affairs. The fugitives suddenly wheeled from the road, and urged their horses into an open lot, where, in front of an old rickety cabin, were not less than a score of rebel cavalry. These latter had heard the sound of the firing, and were just mounting their horses to ascertain the cause. The hasty arrival of the discomfited rebels, with the loss of one-third of their number, furnished a very | - lucid explanation. The sounds of the ap- proaching pursuers were now plainly heard, and the rebels rode out into the highway to meet the enemy. : Lieutenant Marsh discerned at a glance that he was largely outnumbered; and being a prudent as well as a brave officer, he accepted the altered condition of affairs, and ordered his band to wheel and fly. “They are too many, boys; retreat !” he shouted, and the little detachment turned as on a pivot, and galloped down the road again. — “ Each one for himself, and the John- nies take the hindmost,” cried Sergeant Miller, as he thrust the spurs into the sides of his black horse. “ A stern chase, how- ever, is a long one, and there’s luck in that.” The rebels’ horses were entirely fresh, and it was evident, almost on the start, that the Union squad stood a splendid chance of being captured, every one Of them. “ Seatter, boys!” cried the lieutenant. “Each fellow must save himself, or we'll all be gobbled up shortly.” . Without waiting to see the effect of his order, the lieutenant turned his horse’s head to the side of the road, and, with a leap that would have done credit to an English racer, the gallant steed cleared the rail- fence, and swept swiftly across a large open pasture lot. It was comparatively level, and free from stumps, so that the rider seemed in a fair way of reaching a dark tuip of woods that bounded the field be- yond. ; Half a dozen rebels followed with a yell, and an exciting race began. The lieuten- ibe ant’s horse tossed his head high up in the air, and blew great flecks of foam from his mouth and nostrils, catching the spirit of the race, while he was» obedient, neverthe- less, to the slightest movement of the reins. The rebel cavalry urged their beasts in turn with whip and spur, disdaining, how- ever, to fire, for they hoped to capture their man alive. The fugitive had now nearly reached the wood, when the sharp crack of a rifle was heard from the edge of the forest, and a ball grazed the rump of the lieutenant’s horse. The animal was both frightened and enraged by the wound, and, snorting with pain, it swerved suddenly, almost un- seating the lieutenant, and tore along the edge of the wood at a furious rate, dis- tancing in a few moments all pursuers. Fence after fence was cleared with an en- ergy almost frightful to behold, until, after climbing a gentle ascent, the panting horse stopped in the door-yard of a country man- sion, literally exhausted, The lieutenant turned and cast a rapid glance over the path he had come, A hundred rods behind him, he saw the rebel horsemen beginning to climb the | ascent. His horse was so spent that it seemed cruel to attempt to urge him fur- ther, so the young officer leaped with great agility from the saddle, and drawing his heavy cavalry pistols from their cases, he thrust them in his belt, unfastened his sword, and was about to dash on foot across the greensward to the rear of the - farm-buildings. These consisted of three structures. The mansion was an old-fashioned brick build- ing, with a wing on either side, and a large hall-door in front, with a small porch, half concealed with clustering vines. To the right of the mansion, and distant some ten yards, was a one-story frame carriage-house, and still further to the rear was a capacious barn. Beyond the barn was a wheat-field, and then came the strip of woods, dense and leafy. The young officer’s attention was now arrested by the appearance of a young lady, who was standing upon the piazza, and who beckoned to him to approach, and as he advanced, she said, hurriedly : “You are in danger! You must not seek the wood !” ; “Why not, miss !” “ A squad of rebels are hovering along the edge.” é siceamnldthldirntaentent ‘a party of rebels in a cistern. water, IN A CISTERN. 18 “Then I am lost! confound the luck !” said the officer, in a disappointed tone. “It was the only chance left.” “You are mistaken, sir!” replied the young lady. “ Will you follow my direc- tions? I can save you.” “T should be ungallant to refuse any re- quest from so fair a lady, and foolish to re- ject this offer, since I have no taste of a sojourn on Belle Isle.” } “Then, come! We have no time to lose.” “ By Jove ! that’s so,” exclaimed the offi- eer, as he followed the lady to the rear of one of the wings of the mansion. Without a moment’s delay, the lady raised a small trap-door in the floor of the porch that ran along the north side of the wing. “Tt is our cistern. There is but little water in it, and you will scarcely be found there. Down quickly !” The lieutenant hesitated. He didn’t ex- actly relish the idea of seeking refuge from It smacked a little, he thought, of cowardice. “Why do you hesitate?” asked the lady. “Perhaps you do this to render my cap- ture certain, and to disgrace me too,” sug- gested the lieutenant. The lady’s dark eyes flashed with spirit at this imputation of treachery, and with a haughty air she replied : “Act your own pleasure, then, sir! If you prefer the horrors of Libby to an hour’s shelter in this cistern, you are at liberty to choose it.” A yell from the rebel squad in front of the house decided the matter, and the lieu- tenant quickly dropped himself into the cistern, while the door closed over him. He found himself standing knee-deep in and surrounded by Cimmerian darkness. He stretched out his hand, and it struck against the side of his narrow prison-house. He now moved himself as close to the side of the cistern as possible, knowing that in that position he would more easily escape notice, should any one by chance be curious enough to peep through the trap-door. Soon he heard the rude voices of the dragoons in the yard, and then the echoes of their heavy boots upon the porch. “See hyar, Miss Trowbridge, we'll be much obleeged ter ye ef ye'll p’int out ter us the direction thet the Yankee officer went, thet we chased in hyar,” said a gruff, masculine voice, whose intonations were plainly heard by the fugitive in the cistern. “fe ran through the yard, sir!” replied the young lady, with a calmness that was forced, for her heart was really in a fluttér for fear. the soldiers might suspect her of duplicity in the matter. “The last I saw of him he was near the end of the porch there.” “ Goin’ down the slope o’ the hill, eh ?” asked the rebel sergeant, quickly. “ Going down, sir.” “Thar’s a little creek, thar’,” continued the sergeant. “ Did he go into the water ?” “ Yes, he went into the water,” returned Miss Trowbridge, rejoicing that the eager- ness of the sergeant was leading him astray. “Come on, boys!” cried the sergeant, in loud tones, and, followed by his men, the valiant fellow threw himself on to his horse and away the squad trotted down the hill and through the creek, toward the forest beyond. : With great presence of mind Annie Trowbridge walked into the house, and, peeping through the half-closed shutters, watched the retreating troopers as they dis- appeared in the distance. She spoke a kind word to her father, who was an ‘in- firm old gentleman of sixty, and who was afflicted with partial blindness and deafness, saying that a cavalry troop had passed. The servants, of whom there were three that remained upon ‘the place, had been so terrified at the visit of the rebels, that they had fled for safety to the upper part of the house, where they still remained, carefully secreted, t Annie Trowbridge now made her ap- pearance upon the porch, and after taking a rapid glance around the premises, and discovering no signs of loitering enemies, she raised the cover of the cistern, and said : “They have gone.” “ Bravo !” cried Lieutenant Marsh. “The next thing is to get out of this bath-house.” “Wait a moment. There is a light ladder that is used for cleansing the cistern. I will drop it to you.” The ladder soon was thrust down, and, in a minute, the young officer was upon the porch. “A thousand thanks, miss, for your cour- ageous and generous conduct!” said. the lieutenant, earnestly. “You have doubt- less saved my life.” or io “Hist !” said the lady. “We must not Ae regiment. Me OLD GUESS MARKHAM, a. ' 7 stand here. We can readily be seen, and[ brush since the attack on Sumter. His then you would be caught beyond doubt. Step within the house, if you please.” “Thanks!” said the lieutenant, as he followed the lady into a comfortable, well- furnished room. “ You have been so kind _to me I should like to know your name.” “Call me Annie Trowbridge, sir,’ re- sponded the lady, with a cheerful smile. “You are a Union officer I see.” “My name is Walter Marsh, a lieutenant in the Twelfth cavalry, serving in the Union army. We were out on a scout last night, and, in making a forced march, became detached from the main body of the e fell in with a superior force of the enemy and had to fly. Is it not strange that you, a Virginia lady, should aid a Union officer ?” “ All Virginian families, sir, are not ene- mies !” said the lady, with spirit. “‘ Through motives of policy, somehow, we often con- ceal our true feelings. We remain here comparatively undisturbed, although so near . the rebel army, for my father was formerly an intimate friend of General Lee, and now | that he is too old and infirm to be of any use to himself or to others, the Commander- jn-Chief has caused his house to be respect- ed and us left undisturbed.” “Exactly! I understand,” replied the lieutenant, who, however, was guilty of some prevarication just then, for, to tell the truth, his mind was rather upon the hand- some face and pretty eyes of his fair com- panion than upon the words she spoke. “You can scarcely venture to leave here before nightfall,’ said Miss Trowbridge, “for the house may be watched, and yet I scarcely know,” she continued, with a laugh, “where we can put you, so that you may be safe and yet comfortable. The cistern is safe, but not pleasant for a protracted stay. Let me think.” “Ha! ha! ha!’ roared a hearty voice, and aman thrust his head through the open window. “ We kin save o any trouble on thet score, Miss Trowbridge.” ‘Both the young lady and Lieutenant Marsh started up in amazement at this un- expected interruption. The speaker was a stout fellow, dressed in what might have once passed for gray cloth, although its original colorhad become decidedly variegated by the stains of mud and weather. He had a shaggy head of hair and whiskers, which doubtless had been innocent of contact nn comb and -young lady thar’ does. head, which was round as a pumpkin, was set, by means of a bull-dog neck, upon a broad, square pair of shoulders, which indi cated immense physical strength. The fellow, who rejoiced in the cogno- men of Corporal Bill Sykes, wore a broad grin upon his uncouth face, as he poked a pair of pistols through the open window, and covered the lieutenant’s head, “Come! thar’s no use resistin’,’ he said, as he saw unmistakable ev idence of defen- sive preparation on the part of the lieuten- ant. “Put up yer pistols, Yank, and ef ye think thar’s no more hyar than me, ye is dreffully mistakened.” “Thet’s so! responded another voice, and three soldiers entered the door, mus- : kets on a level, and bayonets ready for use, — “Surrender! for mercy’s sake,” said Annie Trowbridge, in a low yoice. “ oe brutes may tuke your life.” The lieutenant was as brave a fellow as ever faced an enemy, nevertheless, he wag not a fool, and, whatever he might have | recklessly done an hour before, he had now suddenly conceived a wonderful desire to — live. Whether the piquant manners, hand: some face, and courageous spirit of Annie Trowbridge had any influence in strength- ening this desire, we leave the reader to guess. At all events, we do the lieutenant but simple justice in saying that, had he been alone, he would have risked the con- sequences, and fought the four rebels, sooner than surrender; but when the charming young lady at his elbow, who al- ready had done so much to aid him, re- quested him to surrender, he gracefully bowed, and handing his weapons. to pi poral Sykes, said: — “Tt is your turn now ; I submit!” “Thet’s the talk, Yank!’ said the cor- poral, with a snort, which he probably de- signed for a laugh. asked Lieutenant Marsh. j “Over ter the camp nigh the run.” “ Who is in command ?” “ Kunnel Willard.” “Ah?” replied the lieutenant, “D’ye know him, eh ?” “ Not particularly.” “@osh!” chuckled the Sotponal ye want to know consarnin’ ’im, he! he!” Lieutenant Marsh noticed that Misa “Ye ar’ a heap more. accommodatin’ than J war’ afeerd ye’d be.” - “Where do you propose to take me?” _ “the She'll tell ye all” Trowbridge blushed a trifle at the rude speech of the soldier, but instantly recover- - ed herself, and said : orale know him to be as hot-headed a rebel as lives.” * An’ an ardent lover too, mebby,” snick- ered the corporal, who now ordered the men to watch the prisoner, while he ob- tained a jug of water at the well. As the soldiers offered no objections, but stood by the door very orderly, the lieu- tenant whispered a few words to Miss Trowbridge. “Will you do me a favor, Miss Trow- bridge ?” “ Certainly, sir.” “Tt is asking a good deal.” “T think I haye proven that I am will- ing to yenture a great deal for a Unionist in trouble.” “So you have. God bless you for it! I want word sent to the colonel of my * regiment that I am a prisoner at the camp of Colonel Willard.” “ Where is your regiment ?” “ At Doane’s church, five miles hence.” “J will do it. He shall know it by sun- set.” “Thanks, thanks! you, my dear friend.” “Enough! we work in the same cause. Good-by ! the corporal is coming.” Lieutenant Marsh had scarcely time to press Annie Trowbridge’s proffered hand, when the corporal entered, and gave orders to proceed to the camp of Willard’s com- I will remember ‘mand. The sounds of their departing footsteps grew faint in the “distance, and Annie Trow- bridge dropped into a chair, and remained buried in thought. After a while she rose and left the apartment, saying to her- self: “Tt’s rash, but I'll do it. good cause !” Iv’s for the CHAPTER II. Plot and Counterplot. Anni TROWBRIDGE was as courageous as beautiful, which is saying a great deal, for the loveliness. of her person was the theme of all the gallants for miles around. Moreover, she was a patriotic, Union-loy- ing girl, who mourned the terrible strife that was in progress-over the land, and prayed nightly that. the dreadful contest ANNIE TROWBRIDGE. 15 might. be stayed, and the halcyon days of peace once more bless the country. From the position of her father’s mansion, which was on what might perhaps not In appropriately be termed neutral ground, (that is, not in actual possession of either of the contending armies, but traversed al- ternately by parties of each,) her time was not unfrequently employed in tender offices to the wounded or sick, who were accident- ally thrown within her sphere. On such occasions, she never allowed herself to ask the question whether the sufferer belonged to the Union army or the rebel, but gave freely to all alike, evincing thus that unselfish nobility of soul, which finds its highest development only in the female character. Nevertheless, all her proclivities and hopes were with and for the eventual success of the Union troops, in whom she recognized the legitimate de- fenders of the Republic. _ She therefore had, at times, been able to give such items of information as had, in a small way, benefited the cause in which her heart was enlisted. Annie was, also, a girl of fine siucatae, good mental abilities, a strong will, and de- cision. With her, to adopt a plan, was to execute it; therefore, her mind no sooner had settled upon a course of action in re- gard to the request of Lieutenant Marsh, than she set about putting it into execu- tion. If by any means she could procure the release of the officer, she felt that it would be something done for the cause, and would, _ also, be a personal kindness to one who, though a stranger to her, yet had impressed her favorably—one in whom she instinct- ively recognized a 4 gentleman and a true patriot. The resolve which Annie had made was, for herself to bear the information to Colonel Kershaw, regimental commander at Doane’s church, with whom she had no acquaintance, it is true, but who had stop- ped more than once at their mansion in his scouting expeditions. True, she might have sent old Croppy, a faithful negro ser- vant, but she somehow felt a peculiar anxiety that there should be no mistake in the matter; and so, to guard against any miscarriage, she had decided on going her- self. . So she bade old Croppy saddle her black pony, and get ready to accompany her on a short ride. The faithful ola E iS By Pe Eee ea SOT Bae 1€ OLD GUESS MARKHAM. negro, who was wonderfully devoted to his mistress, obeyed the orders with alacrity, and, in a few minutes, the two set out on their trip, Miss Trowbridge wearing a somewhat faded riding-skirt (for new articles of dress were decidedly scarce) and a low-crowned, wide-brimmed hat, to protect her from the rays of the hot sun, while old Croppy walk- ed briskly by her side, as chatty as a parrot. It was about five miles to the “ church,” by the usual country road, but old Croppy declared he knew a way shorter by a mile, and more retired. Therefore, both to save distance, and to avoid observation, Annie determined to follow the negro’s guidance. After having journeyed a half-mile along the road, they turned to the right, through a piece of woods, where they found the shade of the trees a great protection from the heat. The path seemed but little trav- eled, and was, evidently, not often used. So, without fear of interruption, the mistress and servant moved pleasantly along. “Thar’s a nice little creek somewhar’ on dis path,” said Croppy, as they journeyed. “Ts there a bridge over it?” asked Miss Trowbridge. “Bridge! Lor no, missus. What's the use ob a bridge ober a creek dat ole Croppy kin wade frough?” “No use at all, Croppy; but I didn’t know but it might be wide and deep, and so hinder us.” “Lor bress ye, chile!” returned the faith- ful fellow, with a chuckle. “’Spose ole Crop ’ud git ye insech a scrape as thet? Drefful poor ’pinion you must hab o’ dis nigga’s de- pravity.” ° “ Depravity ?” laughed Annie. “ You mean sagacity !” “Sgacity! Dat’s jus’ what I sed,” re- torted Croppy. “ Dis nigga don’t use sich big words as some ignorant niggas duz, cos’ he don’t say nuffin’ ’cept what he cl’arly apprehends !” “Comprehends, you mean, Croppy.” “*Zactly ; dat’s what I sed,” insisted the servant, who all at once stopped, and, look- ing around, he said: “ Dar’ is de creek, missus.” They stopped on its brink to let the horse drink. The stream was clear and swift- flowing, but not broad or deep. Croppy was about to draw off his coarse shoes, a heavy, well-worn pair, that he had confis- cated from a dead rebel a short time before, when he pricked up his ears and listened attentively. : “ Golly, missus, dar’s somebody a-comin’ dis way !” “No! I hear nothing,” returned the lady. “But dis nigga duz. Hi! Croppy's big ears not made fur nuflin’.” “Which way are they coming ?” “From t’odder side de creek.” The banks of the stream were covered with a heavy growth of bushes and young saplings, and the path, after crossing the creek, turned abruptly to the south, effect- ually preventing a lengthy view ahead. “ Dar’ be two hosses comin’, an’ morn likely dey critters hab menon’em. Gorry!. what shall we do ?” “Tf we only knew whether they were friends or foes,” said the mistress, in an anx- ious voice. “We'll find dat out ’fore de day’s many minutes longer. We hed better be a hidin’ ef we kin.” “Where?” “Golly |! ’mong dem big willows an’ eld- ers. A t/?ousand men could hide dar’, an’ a crow couldn’t find ’em.” “Well, let us hurry.” Croppy led the pony from the stream into a dense thicket of bushes, where, with- in ten yards of the ford, they were entirely concealed from view themselves, *but yet commanded a good view of the, crossing. The servant at once took off his coat, and fastened it about the mouth of the pony, so that any chance neigh the animal might give, owing to the proximity of other horses, should not betray them, They then pa- tiently waited the approach of the new- comers, the noise of whose horses could ‘now be distinctly heard. The next moment two horsemen appear ed, and, riding into the stream, stopped to let their beasts drink. One rode a large, gray animal, with a flowing mane and tail. He was a tall, well-made man, in the prime of life, with black hair and long beard. He wore a suit of gray, as did his companion. The former was a rebel colonel, and the lat- ter a captain. Miss 'Trowbridge shrunk back instinctive- ly, as she saw the men, and recognized in the tall man the rebel Colonel Willard. His companion she did not know. “Golly !” whispered the negro, in a low tone, “what’s up now? Dat’s de rebel kunnel, sart’in. Hi!” “ Hist! Croppy,” said his mistress, “Listen | they are talking.’ PASSING THE SENTRY. The two rebels were engaged in an ear- nest conversation, and were oblivious of outward matters. “Yes, Captain Fox,” said Colonel Willard, “T shall expect you to lead the expedition. I give you the position of leader freely and willingly, for an opportunity, in my judg- ment, is here afforded to remove the ob- loquy that you know hangs over you on ac- count of your faux pas at the Woodworth house last month. Remember, captain, that I do not blame you for your conduct in that affair, for, in my opinion, you were not at fault; but it is useless to disguise the fact that the men of the regiment are dis- posed to censure your management. A lucky blow here will more than retrieve it all.” “Thanks! Colonel Willard,” responded the captain. ‘“ You were always a sincere friend. I shall be glad to avail myself of this fortunate opportunity. I will gobble up the whole Yankee battalion, beyond doubt. How many men were there at the crossings? It is an advance post, you said ?” “Yes, Colonel Kershaw, in command , t Doane’s church, has thrown forward “about one hundred cavalry, and they are now located at the “crossings.” I shall al- low you, say, one hundred and fifty men, which, with the surprise, will certainly give you an easy victory. Bring in all the prison- €rs you can. The Yankees are getting ahead of us on that score.” “Tshould think so!” said the captain, a little angrily. “They are having a good run of luck lately.” “Well,” said the colonel, as the two spurred on their beasts, and rode out of hear- ing, “ the tables will be turned in less than—” Annie Trowbridge strained her ears, but heard nothing more. She had heard enough to know that mischief was on foot, but, un- fortunately, the important matter of time was not ascertained, She determined, how- ever, to impart what she had discovered to the Union colonel. “ Come, Croppy, let’s be going,” she Said, and the negro at once removed his coat from the pony’s head, and led him into the path again. The two crossed the creek, and pursued their way even faster than before, for Annie Trowbridge felt that the sooner Colonel Ker- shaw knew of the intended expedition of the rebels, the better. s Three miles more of forest and clearing 17. were passed, when the steps of tle travel- ers were arrested by the firm voice of a sentry, who stepped out fram behind, a clump of bushes, and presenting his musket, said ; “ alt 1” The man was dressed in blue; hence Miss Trowbridge regarded him as a friend, and knew that she had reached the vicinity of the “ church.” In obedience to the summons, Annie and her companion paused. “ Advance and give the pass!” said the sentry. “ We do not possess it,” said Miss Trow bridge, who could scarcely suppress a smile at the matter-of-fact manners of the senti- nel. “TI desire to see Colonel Kershaw, if, as I suppose, you are one of his men. Can I see him ?” “Don’t know, madame.” “ Will you permit us to pass ?” “ Of course not, unless you have the pass- word.” “Will you go and tell him a lady is here ?” The man in blue grinned, as he replied : “ Of course not.” “You seem to be ungentlemanly, sir, and unaccommodating.” “Not a bit of it. “Which are—” “To permit no one to pass without the word, and not to leave my post till regular- ly relieved,” replied the man of duty. “ But, if you think it worth while, I can commu- nicate with the camp.” “Please to do so. My visit is of im- portance.” The sentry walked a few paces, and made a sign to some one at a short dis- tance. He then stationed himself at his post again, as silent as before. Only a few moments elapsed when two officers approached, and, addressing the sentry, said : “Where are the persons ?” “There!” replied the sentry, pointing to the trees beneath whose shade were awaiting Miss Trowbridge and the negro. Annie now urged forward her pony again, and was met by ,one of the officers, who politely touched his cap, and said: “What do you wish, madam ?” “To see Colonel Kershaw, sir.” “Ah! and what is your name ?” “ Annie Trowbridge, sir.” “Live at the old brick mansion, beyond the creek e Only obeying orders.” Pore ie tit eee a 18 - OLD GUESS MARKHAM. “ Yes, sir,’ replied the lady. “I have communications of importance.” “Oh, oh! that's it, eh ?” replied the offi- cer. “Ride this way, then, if you please, Miss Trowbridge.” The officer led the way and the others followed. After traversing a few rods, they came upon the highway, and a little beyond they passed a second line of senti- nels, and reached the camp, which surround- ed the old building known as “ Doane’s Church.” The “ church” was a very unpretending edifice, being a small one-story frame build- ing, wood-colored, and sadly out of repair. It furnished fair quarters for the colonel, and thus was occupied as head-quarters. The arrival of a young lady on horse- back was a very unusual affair, and, as a natural consequence, Annie found herself the observed of all observers. No rude looks nor impolite speeches were made, but simply the pardonable gratifica- tion of a natural desire to look upon a handsome face and graceful female figure, which many of the brave fellows had scarcely seen since they bade adieu to their sweethearts among the bracing hill-breezes of the North. ey "The colonel was disengaged, and, with a bow, bade the lady dismount, himself assist- ing her in the act. “T await your commands, madam—or, miss, as Tam inclined to judge it should be.” “Miss Annie Trowbridge,” replied the | lady. “And I desire your attention a mo- ment, alone, if possible.” “Certainly, Miss Trowbridge, certainly. Step within! I am entirely at your ser- vice.” The two entered the “church, ” and, offering the lady a seat, the colonel bowed again, and said : “Now, miss, I am ready to hear what you desire to offer.” Miss Trowbridge, with an effort, conquer- ed a feeling of reserve and timidity that embarrassed her, and proceeded at once to business. “T visit you at the request of Lieutenant Marsh—” “The deuce!” ejaculated the colonel, jumping up, and then recovering himself, he said: “Pardon my abruptness, and words, miss, but, the truth is, I had just Jearned from some of the lieutenant’s men that he was killed in the skirmish, and am only too glad now to hope the report was an error, Please go on.” “ Lieutenant Marsh was not killed,” con- tinued Annie, with a slight blush, which the colonel detected, and hemmed very proyok- ingly. “He was taken prisoner and- brought to our house. While there he held a moment’s conversation with me and I agreed to let you know that he was captur- ed by some of Colonel Willard’s men, and that he was taken to that officer’s camp.” “ Prisoner, eh?” said the colonel. “That's bad! better though than being shot. And Willard’s got him! That’s an- other mark against you, Colonel Willard.” “ But, as we came hither, another piece of information was accidentally placed with- in my possession, which perhaps requires your attention,” said Annie, “Ah! what's that?” said the colonel, wonderingly. “You have an outpost at ssc * Cross- roads ?” “Yes! But how know you that? The thing was meant to be sort of quiet.” “ You have a hundred men there ?” con- tinued Annie. “T declare !” exclaimed ‘the colonel, in amazement, “ youastonish me. I don’t see how you got the information.” Annie laughed as she went on: © “That outpost will be attacked by one hundred and fifty of Willard’s command.” “ When ?” cried the colonel, getting fairly roused. “J have told you all I know. I regret to say that I failed to learn the time of the proposed attack.” “ Well, well!’ hummed Kershaw, as he tapped the floor with the heel of his boot. | “ This must be looked to. I don’t believe they’d catch Drummond napping; still, he might be overpowered. How learnt you all this ?” “T overheard Colonel Willard in conver- | sation with the one who is to command the expedition. I would have ascertained the time, had they tarried a little longer.” “ Well, Miss Trowbridge, your informa- tion, although not as complete as I could desire, is, nevertheless, very important, both -|as regards Lieutenant Marsh and also this contemplated attack on the “ crossings.” They shall both be looked to. I think my scouts will enable me to tell the time of the attack. At all events, ‘forewarned is fore- ‘armed,’” Miss Trowbridge now rose to depart, as certain. here, s’pose I go, and'while the detachment ene A BROWN STUDY, aoe 19 having performed her mission, and, after receiving the thanks of the colonel, she was conducted from the camp, and proceeded homeward, No sooner had she left the “ church,” than the colonel fell into a deep study, and thus communed with himself : “Blame it! The girl must be honest. She would scarcely take the trouble to come here to deceive us. ‘To be sure there’s any amount of duplicity afloat, but, I can’t be- lieve so honest a face as her’s would deceive, No, no! I'll trust what she said and act as if it were true, anyhow. I will then be on the safe side. Let's see! I have here six hun- dred men, and the hundred at the “ cross- ings” make seven hundred. Willard can’t have over five hundred, unless he has been retnforced very lately, which is not likely. Now, suppose we come a little strategy. He sends, say one hundred and fifty men, to attack the “crossings.” If I reénforce Drummond with another hundred, and he is on the watch, what'll be the result? Why, the reb’s ’ll get awfully flaxed, that’s Then—haying five hundred men of rebs are being whipped by Drummond, T attack the others in camp—who will not be over three hundred and fifty strong— what then? Hang me! but we'll gobble them all up at once! Now, if I knew the time. Ah! there's the rub! .Stay,.J must call in the officers and we'll see.if we can’t discover the whole plot. If we could only bag the lot, and release Marsh too, it would be glory enough for one day. ‘Besides, I owe Willard a good pounding for his at- tempt to cut me up in detail last month. Pil send out the old scout and if he don’t smell his way through the rebels’ riddles then I'm mistaken: Ah! that Miss Trow- bridge is a handsome girl. Splendid grit, too! Bah, old Kershaw! you mustn’t think of such things! What would Betsy and the four little Kershaws at home think ofyou? Wonder if there’s any thing be- tween her and Marsh? Good fellow, that Marsh. Now for the caucus with the boys.” , CHAPTER IV. Old Guess rides into Luck “Wuew !” snorted old Guess Markham, as he pulled up for breath beneath a wide- spreading oak tree, and sat down upon the greensward. ‘“Thet’s what I call a close sort 0’ a nip. Hope I'll never be so nigh bein’ hornsoggled ag’in! It war’ an ow- dashusly narrer escape fur me life. These hyar pesky shootin’-irons are dug-goned onsafe things onless keerfully handled. Oh, my! I ar’ clean out o’ breath. Hain’t hed sech a turn o’ exercise fur a. coon’s age. Whew !” ; The old fellow keeled over on the grasa and lay flat on his back, blowing off the sur- plus steam, like a young porpoise, and winking at the fleecy clouds as they drifted lazily southward in the azure sky. “ Can’t be drefful fur ter Colonel Willard’s camp, I reckon. Wish I war’ thar’. Won- der ef he keeps young Marsh shut up, some- whar’? Hope he hain’t toted him off ter. Libby. My eyes! how the Kunnel Ker- shaw would swear, perviden’ he war’ a pro- fane man, w’ich I hev’ heard he ar’ not. He! he! Guess I'll hev’ ter git out o’ these woods somehow. Can't try the road fur it’s full o’ rebs. Hyar goes fur some- whar’. T’'ll see daylight after a bit, I reck- on.” ' Up rose the old man and -started again through the woods. He had not gone far when he came to a clear spring that bubbled up from the .roets of an immense oak, and forming a little rivulet disappeared in the adjacent thicket. “ Ah, ha! lucky fur oncet, anyhow,” solil- oquized the old man. “ Drefful dry work this. Must hev’ a taste.o’ that beverage, that ar’ brewed in the clouds o’ heaven, an’ filtered throogh the everlasting hills! Thet sounds.sort o’ poetic, dog me ef it don’t. But, I b’lieve ’'d rayther hey a quart o’ thet stuff that old Sands brews down ter Sheca- go! Sands’ dubble ex. ale! Aggrayation to dry throat an’:cracked lips! Hoorah for Sands!” \ “See hyar, old scarecrow! Sands ?” The voice came from behind old Guess, who quickly threw his eye over his shoul- der, and saw a couple of Confederate sol- diers just approaching. One carried a musket, and the other a pail, evidently visiting the spring for water. “Who is Sands?” cried the old man, whose wits were by no means disconcerted . by the unexpected appearance of the rebels. “Don’t know. Tl go and see!’ And be- fore the Johnnies could open their lips to answer, old Guess leaped into the heavy coppice, and was off like a shot. who is ae eee Pe eee — SS BaagyEt Se 20 OLD GUESS He heard the report of a musket, and a loud voice calling out: “Stop ! stop !” “Ho! ho!” yelled the old fellow. “Of cowrse I will—when T git out o' breath.” He heard the cracking of twigs, and the snapping of branches, as the two rebels tore through the bushes after him, evidently bound to secure a prisoner. “Guess my legs are a leetle the longest this time,’ chuckled the fugitive, as he covered the ground like a race-horse on the home-stretch. The “ home” was a little nearer, however, than old Guess imagined. Before him was a low hedge, and just be- yond be saw the bright sun streaming down into a clearing. “Now then,” said Guess, as he dashed straight at the hedge. “ Ef them pesky rebs war’ a-lookin’, they’d see how an old chap like me kin jump. Thar’s lots o’ spring in these hyar legs o’ mine. The bone hes turned inter whalebone, I s’pect.” Old Guess threw up his head like a blooded horse, and cleared the hedge with an astounding agility. “ Gosh ! what a jolly go!” exclaimed he, as he found hisaself landed, fair and square, upon the back of a stout ox, which was quietly grazing close to the hedge. It was doubtful which was most surprised at this unexpected result of the jump, old Guess or the ox. At all events, the quadruped was so frightened that he gave a terrific snort, tossed. his head and tail up into. the air, and, waking the air resound with his bellowing, he took a straight line across the open lot. Old Guess could do nothing more nor less than’ to hold on as best he could, and let the creature take its own course. Across the lot, through a narrow. strip of woods, and out again into an open piece of ground, tore the beast, like one pos- sessed. Old Guess now in turn gave an exclama- tion of surprise, as he found himself with- in the confines of a camp, which was none other than that of the rebel Colonel Wil- lard. The outer line of sentries was passed in a twinkling, and, amid the roars of laughter and shouts of several hundred cavalrymen, the ox brought up in the mid- dle of the encampment. “How dye do, boys!” exclaimed the old man, determined to make the most of a bad scrape. “ Whatll ye guy’ fur my hoss ?” MARKHAM. And then, before any reply could be made, he stood up on the ox’s back, and, working his elbows much as a rooster would its wings, and cocking up his head to one side, the old fellow gave vent to a prolonged and shrill crow. “ Cock-a-doodle-d-o-o !” The whole thing was so amazingly ab- surd and ridiculous, and, moreover, the crow so well executed, that the crowd of soldiers hooted and yelled in the excess of their merriment. To add to the effect of the thing, a pretty little bantam-cock, a pet of the regiment, which was perched on the shoulder of a tall dragoon, piped up its lit tle voice, and uttered a loud, defiant crow. “ Bully fur bantam !” yelled the tall dra- goon. “Try ag’in, old butternuts,” cried another to old Guess, who again flopped his elbow- wings, and opened his lips: “ Cock-a-do-do—” The ox couldn’t stand it, and bolted, pitching old Guess right into the crowd, who caught him in their arms, and set him on his feet. “ Doodle-do-oo!” continued he, as he found himself on terra-firma again. The mirth and boisterousness of the crowd now suddenly became moderated, ag a tall officer approached, and said, in an im- patient tone: “ What means this hubbub, men ?” “This old rack of bones is the cause,” said the tall dragoon, pointing to the new- comer. P “ Yes, s’pec’ so!” chimed in old Guess. “Allus did hey’ ter take the brunt o’ all the cussin’ thet’s goin’ on. I ar’ a wery harmless an’ innocent indiwidual; never did no wrong ter nobody, but ar’ allus git- tin’ inter hot water. Thet’s the way if war down ter Lynchburg. Taught singin’ school thar. Had a row with the scholars one night. War’ a good-lookin’ feller in them days, slick as a wax candle. Wanted ter go home with a purty gal, what sung superanno. Nuther chap what sung bas- ser profunder, cut me out. Pitched into him an’ got orfully licked. Jes’ my luck. Bleeve I was born with an iron spoon in my mouth.” The colonel, for the officer was Colonel Willard, smiled at the fellow’s speech. This was all the crowd desired, for that smile contained a license for them to laugh, and so the uproar became greater than ever, © a ae ae go — ot nel ch. hat ater —e low, with a grin. THE REBEL CAMP. “ What do you want here?’ asked the colonel. “ Nuthin’.” “Why did you come?” “Bless ye! I couldn’t purwent it,” said Guess. “It was one o’ them unlucky runs 0’ mine. I come fur the same reason thet Lewis Cass didn’t git ter be President.” “What is that ?” “Oh! on account o’ sarcumstances thet I couldn’t control.” “ What is your name ?” “ Guess Markham.” “You guess it’s Markham, do you? Well,” satd the colonel, with a laugh, as he prepared to turn away, “I should judge you would have to guess your own name, About as big a fool as I’ve met lately.” “One word, colonel,” said the old fellow. “Kin I stay fur dinner, now thet Tm hyar ?” : : “Any thing, so you keep out of my way,” said the colonel, with a laugh. “Golly, what a scrumptious nice camp ye hey’ got hyar, boys,” continued old Guess, as he began perambulating slowly about the camp, followed by a lot of the soldiers, to whom the old chap’s antics were a source of great amusement. “He’s. crazy as a loon,” said the tall cavalryman. “Hain’t been out o’ a lunatic asylum Jong, I should say,” added another. “Yes! he ar’ a non-composser, sarin,” chimed a third. Still old Guess sauntered about, talking incoherently, and singing snatches of songs occasionally. At last he observed a small log barn near the edge of the camp. It was a rude, but strong structure, with a heavy oaken door, secured by a stout staple and hasp. He noticed, also, that a sentry paced to and fro in front of this door. Old Guess’ curiosity was aroused. He walked that way, followed by three or four troopers. “ Halloo ! is yer name Gin’ral Lee 2” he asked of the soldier who stood guard at the door. “No! I wish. it was,’ said the fel- “My eyes! Wouldn’t I hey’ a jolly time. Nary a beat ter pace, an’ plenty 0’ rum punch ter drink.” The fellow was loquacious, which was a favorable sign. So old Guess strutted about with a great deal of dignity, and said, in a pompous tone: “Do yer dooty, an’ oe make ye a major- 21 “You will?” said the sentry, with a snort. ‘“ Who ar’ ye, hay ?” “My name ar’ Jefferson Davis,” said the , old fellow, as soberly as if he was in earn- est; “ President o’ this galorious Confede- racy. Some ill-bred people say I’m crazy, which only goes ter show thet they ar’ blamed fools. Say, boss, kin ye sing ?” “ Sing !” answered the sentry. “ Yes! like a cow.” “ How’s thet, eh ?” “Bellow, 0’ course! He! he!” and the fellow laughed at his own humor. “ Come, old tooter !” said the tall dragoon, with a nudge in the ribs, “ye sed ye war good on a sing. Can’t ye guv’ us a speci- ment 0’ yer talent ?” “O’ coorse! Rather sing than eat, any day. What’llye hey’? Ever hear o’ Brian O’Linn, eh 2” “Brine O’Linn! What's thet ?” respond- ed the dragoon. “ No, never heerd o’ any sich brine. The only brine I ever heerd 0’ war’ the salt-brine, thet we used ter soak the pork in, down in old Mississip.” “Bah! Brian O’Linn war’ a naked Irish — man.” “Naked! I hope he lived in a hot cli- mate.” “JT shood judge he did, from the song. Listen a minit.” Old Guess began sawing the air, and started off, “ Do, me, sol! There, tHed’s the pitch: : ‘“Oh! Brian O’Linn had no breeches to wear ; So he killed him a sheep and made him a pair ! With the fleshy side out, an’ the woolly side in, ‘They ar’ warm fur summer, I’m thinkin’, said Brian, O’Linn.” Old Guess had a stout pair of Jungs, and always used them when he sung. The small audience evidently was pleased with the performance; even two faces appeared at the window of the log structure, and looked out from between the heayy oaken bars nailed across the opening. A peculiar smile flitted across the old man’s countenance as he caught a glimpse of those two faces behind the bars. It was but momentary, and his features at once re- sumed their usual expression. “ Say, ar’ them fellers pris’ners ?” he asked, “Yes! Two Yanks!” “ Hi! thet’s gay,” replied Guess, “ Whar’ did ye cotch ’em ?” “Oh! took ’em in a little brush, yester- day mornin’.” Gin’ral, sir ! Ps 30 g a “Ah! whar’ did it happen ?” Meee ere a ie < ue ty ba is ie Sat Reha ee ees ee “Over nigh the Trowbridge House.” “One ar’ a hossifer, been’t he?” “Yes, a leftenant. One o’ Kershaw’s Yanks,” responded the sentry, with a con- temptuous sneer. “Twish it war’ old Kershaw himself!” exclaimed Guess. “Why so? D’ye know him?” “fe ay’ an or’nery mean man. He hed me ’rested oncet fur takin’ a bit o’ his musty hard-tack,” and old Guess looked the embodiment of injured innocence. “Say, d’ye’s’pose them Yanks kin sing ?” “Bless ye! how kin I tell? Hain’t heerd ’em sing much, ye kin bet, since they war’ ketched an’ cooped up hyar.” “S’posen’ I stir ’em up a little. It'll be gay fun.” And suiting the action to the word, old Guess crossed the line and ap- proached the window. The others also be- gan to cross, but the sentry aione them back. “Tt ar ag’in’ orders ter let ye pass.” _“ Then fetch the old fool back,” growled they. “Pshaw ! hehain’t nobody,” retorted the sentry. ‘Go ahead, old tooter, stir up the Yanks! Sing suthin’ sassy.” “Edzactly,” returned old Guess. “ I'll make ‘em t’arin’*mad! I allers did hey’ a spechial delight in tormentin’ Yankees !” He had now approached within a couple of yards of the opening, when the sentry called out: “Stop! Year nigh enough. Stay thar’.” “ Jes’ as ye sez,” returned old Guess. He then looked straight at the opening, and began to sing: ‘* Jeff Davis is the man fur me! An’ Bobby Lee ar’ handy! We'll coteh ye Yankees, as ye see, _ An’ scotch yer Doodle-Dandy !”” The moment he ceased singing, old Guess spoke in a very low tone, and said: “ Fave courage, Marsh; your friends are active.” The. young lieutenant—for one of the prisoners was Walter Marsh—started with joy, for he had recognized the old man, and was in anxious doubt whether he knew of his own capture and incarceration. These words, therefore, satisfied the lieuten- ant ‘that Miss Trowbridge had delivered his message, and that his friends were on the alert to assist him, He therefore, to keep up the deception that he saw the old man was practicing, reached his arm through the bars, and, shaking it fiercely, cailed out, Meee. OLD GUESS MARKHAM in so loud a tone that the rebels could dis- tinctly hear him: “Qlear out, you vile dog, or I'll chastise you on the spot. You are a coward, to in- sult Seeanee with your wretched, abusive songs.” In a lower tone of voice, he said: “Thanks, Markham !” “¥le’s a spunky chap, hain’t he? ” said old Guess, turning to the rebels, who were hugely tickled at the lieutenant’s futile efforts to vent his wrath. “He puts me in mind o’ a hyener thet I see’d oncet jm a show. The more yee punch him up the wusser — he’d growl.” He added, sotto: “To-morrow night or the next, probably, Marsh !” “T understand,” replied the lieutenant, who then raised ‘his voice and | cried out to the sentry: “Tf you permit me to be insulted thus, } will complain to the colonel. It is a iat . ful? The sentry now held a moment’s conver- sation with the tall dragoon, the result of which was that they called to Guess to come > away. “Sart’in! Tallers cha aes !” return- ed the old fellow, who again sauntered along by the barn, making a circuit around it, and strolling down the other side of the camp. He now threw himself upon the ground, and, drawing his hat over his face, appeared to drop off into a deep slumber, occasionally snoring loudly. The old fellow was, how- ever, any thing but asleep, as any one watching him closely might have discover- ed, for every now and then his keen black eyes would open and take a glance about him. At last he said to himself: { “Wal, I guess I onderstand the lay 0’ the land purty well. Next thing ar’ ter git out o’ hyar as soon as I kin. ‘T'won’t do ter git up an’ try ter put, fur thet might seem suspichus,” Luck again fayored the old fellow, for, just. then, the tall dragoon passeds with a pail in his hand. He paused, and ‘gave Guess a punch with his foot. Guess stretch- ed out his legs, yawned and woke UR 1 “Seelhyar! What’s the use o’ bein’ so lazy as ter sleep all day. Git up, an’ fotch a pail o’ water far me, The spring ar’ beyond thet strip 0’ woods.” “ Sart’in !” ejaculated old Guess, scramb- ling to his feet. “ Any thing ter accommo- date, Allers reddy ter ’arn my dinner.” The old man took the pail, swung it on r, ve h- so. ch ar’ nb- no- Colonel Willard and a rebel soldier ! good round pace, evidently anxious to place Woods again. THE BLACK BOTTLE. 28 his arm, and walked slowly across the camp.