The Red Mist. Randall Parrish

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      "What Federal troops are now garrisoning Charleston, Swan?"

      ​"An Ohio brigade, with a regiment of Pennsylvania cavalry. There is also a company of heavy artillery outside the town."

      The commander leaned his head on his hand.

      "I would like to suggest, sir," I ventured to say respectfully, "that General Ewell's plan be adopted. I think I shall have no difficulty in assuming the role."

      "You are willing then to assume the risk?" He looked at me gravely. "It may eventually mean a drum-head court-martial, and death as a spy."

      "If I fail—yes, sir; but this method surely offers the greatest possibility of success."

      "I can clearly perceive that, but it was not my original plan to send you into the lines of the enemy in Federal uniform. However General Ewell's judgment is probably correct. Have you a late Army List there, Colonel Swan?"

      "Yes, sir, issued the fourteenth." He turned the pages slowly, leaning forward to the light. "Here is a Lieutenant Raymond, Third U. S. Cavalry, reported on recruiting detail. His regiment is stationed at Fairfax Court House."

      "He will answer as well as any other. It is scarcely probable the man would be known in that remote section. What is the full name? and where is he from?"

      ​"Charles H.; appointed from Vermont."

      "Is this choice satisfactory to you, sergeant?"

      "Perfectly, sir."

      "You are prepared to depart immediately?"

      "As soon as I can be furnished with the necessary papers and equipment."

      "Colonel Swan will arrange the first, and the quartermaster can doubtless supply the other requirements. Orderly, have Major Kline step in here at once. Ah, Kline, have you among your trophies of war a Federal lieutenant's uniform which will probably fit this man?"

      "I believe so, sir," and the officer addressed ran his eyes appraisingly over my figure. "Any particular regiment?"

      "Third, United States Cavalry. Have it pressed and sent here at once, securely wrapped, together with saber and revolvers. Where is your horse, sergeant?"

      "Tied to the palings outside."

      "Do you desire a better mount?"

      "No sir, the animal is fresh, and a good traveler."

      "Then that will be all, Kline; except, of course, complete Federal cavalry equipment for the horse."

      The officer saluted, and disappeared, the door instantly closing behind him, cutting off the hum of voices without. There was a moment of silence.

      ​"You had better retain your present dress until after you leave the valley," counseled Jackson, slowly. "Swan will furnish you with a pass, which should be carefully destroyed after passing our pickets at Covington. It will be of no service to you beyond that point. My best wishes for your success, Sergeant Wyatt."

      He stood up, and I felt the firm grasp of his hand. Then Ashby gripped my shoulder.

      "Wyatt," he said kindly, "if you ever desire to change your arm of the service, you are the kind of man I want to ride with me."

      I smiled in appreciation, but before I could answer, the man who had been sitting silently in the corner arose, and stood erect in the light. The gleam of the lamp instantly revealed his face still shadowed by the wide hat brim, the firm, bearded chin, the gravely smiling eyes.

      "General Ashby," he said with quiet dignity, "Sergeant Wyatt, I am sure, performs this important duty without thought of reward. It is the South that has need of such men in every branch of her service." He came forward, and extended his hand cordially.

      "I am General Lee, and am very glad to greet, and wish God speed to the son of Judge Wyatt. If you return in safety, you will report to me in person ​at Richmond. General Jackson will so arrange with your battery commander."

      They were all upon their feet, standing in respectful attention. I murmured something, I scarcely knew what, bowing as I backed toward the door. And this was Lee—Robert E. Lee—this man with the kind, thoughtful face, the gentle voice, the gravely considerate manner. And he had greeted me in words of personal friendship, had spoken to me of my father. I know I straightened to soldierly erectness, every pulse thrilling with a new resolve. A moment I stood there, my eyes on the one face I saw before me, and then went out into the darkness. The orderly closed the door.

      ​

      CHAPTER II AN UNWELCOME COMPANION

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      IT WAS in the chill of a cold, gray morning that I rode into Strasburg, jogging along at the rear of a squadron of Fifth Virginia cavalrymen who chanced to be headed for the same place. These found quarters in the town, but I proceeded a mile or more south on the valley pike, until I reached a cabin hidden behind a low hill, and so surrounded by a dense growth of scrubby trees as to be nearly concealed from observation. Only a chance glance in that direction had revealed its presence, but its very look of desolation instantly attracted me. Here was a place to rest quietly for a few hours in safety. I turned my willing horse aside, following an ill-defined path through a tangled mass of shrubbery, until I attained the door. The building was a single-roomed cabin, exhibiting marks of age and neglect, yet still intact, heavy wooden shutters barring the windows, the door closed and securely fastened. The place to all appearances was deserted, and had been for a long while. Although situated scarcely a hundred ​feet back from the valley turnpike, which was never without its travelers, and along which armies marched and counter-marched, the surroundings were those of a remote wilderness. I bent down from my saddle, and rapped sharply on the wood. There was no response from within, not even when I struck more heavily with the butt of a revolver. There was a faint trail leading about the corner, and, grown curious and impatient, I dismounted, and leading my horse, pressed a difficult passage through the bushes. To my surprise the rear door stood slightly ajar, and my eyes perceived the movement of an ill-defined shadow within.

      "Hello, there!" I called out, yet instinctively drawing a step backward. "Is there any room here for a tired man?"

      The tall, angular figure of a mountaineer immediately appeared in the doorway, and a gray, wrinkled face, scraggly bearded, looked forth, the eyes glinting, and filled with suspicion.

      "Wus it you-all poundin' at the door?"

      "I knocked—yes."

      "Knocked! Ye made noise 'nough ter raise the dead."

      "It seems I didn't raise you."

      "I want lookin' fer no visitors. Wal, who be ye? an' whut do ye want yere?"

      ​"I am a soldier," I replied, rather shortly, not particularly pleased with either the man's appearance or manner. "Myself and horse are about worn out. I mistook this for a deserted cabin."

      "Wal, it ain't precisely. Are you СКАЧАТЬ