University of Virginia Library

32. CHAPTER XXXII.

“You must understand, Captain,” continued
Schwartz, “that I had allotted to fall in with your
brother about Little Roanoke bridge, where our roads
come together. The people there are friendly, and
mighty clever people, and if they don't know all about
me, they don't want much of it; for they are our own
sort of folks, and true as steel. So I thought I could
depend on them to take notice for me when such a
man might pass, and let me know. When I got
there, by all I could learn, your brother had not gone
by; and, as I was pretty tired, and that is one of the
places where I commonly lie by to pick up news, I
thought I would stop a while.

“I had not been there long, before here comes
the Captain that commands the company at Farmville;
and, if ever I saw a conceited fool, you may
be sure he is one. What he was after, the Lord
knows. He said he was a reconnoitering, but I have

a notion he was just looking for some body to talk
to; and as the folks there an't got much chat for any
body, he just claps to talking to me. And he run
on about one thing and another, and there was
nothing I wanted to know but what he told me, only
just I knew it all before. But I thought, may be, I
might get something out of him, so I let him talk,
and I sot and listened.

“After a while he gets to talking about you. And,
Lord! how he wished you would come in his way;
and how he would have served you, if you had tried
to beat up his quarters, like you did them fellows at
Lynchburg. But he was in hopes to have a clip at
you yet, only just you were always hiding and
skulking in the mountains, like a wolf, and then
coming down in the night to kill sheep. And he
reckoned you knew where the dogs was, and took
care to keep out of their way. And then he laughed,
and thought he was mighty smart. So, thinks I,
`stranger, if you have a mind to get into hot water,
may be you may have a chance.' So I speaks up;
and, says I, `after all, that Captain Douglas an't
half the man he's cracked up for, no how.' ”

“Do you know him?” says he.

“I guess I do,” says I; “he is cunning enough,
and he has got tricks enough, and signs and countersigns
to keep out of harm's way; but,” says I,
“if a man could just get hold of his signs, and so

get at him, he an't nothing for a right, real, hard
fight.”

“They tell me,” says he, “there an't no such
thing as getting in twenty miles of him, or more,
may be; and all the folks through the country there
stands guard for him, and nobody else knows where
he is.”

“That's very true,” says I; “but then, you see,
stranger, when too many folks has got a secret,
then it an't a secret no more.”

“It's a wonder,” says he, “some of them don't
tell.”

“May be they cannot get any thing by telling,”
says I. “There's many a poor fellow there, to my
knowing, that don't see a dollar once a year, and its
mighty little the sight of a few yellow jackets would
not make them tell, only just they never seed any,
and don't know what they are. But they'd be right
apt to find out.”

“You talk like you know that part of the country,”
says he. “May be you know something about it.”

“May be I might,” says I. “But then,” says I,
“it don't become a poor fellow, like me, to know
any thing that a grand officer, with his fine apperlets,
all of solid gold, don't know. Lord!” says I,
“if I had but half the money you give for your
apperlets, I reckon I'd know something then.”

And with that, he looks right hard at me, and
says he, “may be you'd like to list for a soldier.”

“May be I would,” says I, “if they pays me
well. 'Cause, you see,” says I, “sir, as to the
country and the President, and all that, its what I
don't know nothing about; only I takes their part as
takes my part. And that's the reason,” says I, “I
would not stay up yonder.”

“Why,” says he, “do you live there, when you
are at home?”

“I cannot say,” says I, “that I have got a home
rightly any where. But I did live there, after a
fashion; and they wanted me to do like the rest of
them, and quit my business and keep guard, and
stop every man that could not give the signs. And
what was I to get by it? Just nothing at all. If I
had any bread of my own to eat, why, I might eat
it; and if I killed a deer, they'd take their share, and
thought they did great things if they let me keep the
skin; but as to pay, they don't think of such a thing.
But that would not do for me,” says I; “and, more
than that, it won't do for more, besides me, whatever
Captain Douglas may think of it, I can tell
him.”

“Well,” says he, “if you'll list with me you shall
have pay, and bounty, and clothes, and rations, and
all. 'Cause,” says he, “the President, he keeps
the key of the treasury, and we are his soldiers, and
we all live like fighting cocks, I can tell you.”

“Well,” says I, “I'd like to list well enough,
only just I guess if once you had me for a soldier,

you'd make me tell all I know, and ax me no odds;
and,” says I, “I have been a-thinking, if I could
meet with any right clever gentleman, that would
pay me for telling, I'd tell it all first, and then list
afterwards.

“Well,” says he, “do you know Douglas's signs,
enough to carry a man to his camp as a friend?”

“I guess I do,” says I, “and more than that,
too.”

“And what do you know,” says he.

“That's telling,” says I.

“But,” says he, “I want to know all about it,”
says he, “because Col. Mason, there, at Lynchburg,
is determined to break Douglas up, if he can get at
him; and he is looking every day for more men from
the North to help him.”

“Well,” says I, “I can put him in a way to get
at him, and not go up there into the mountains,
neither. 'Cause,” says I, “that's an ugly place. It
an't one regiment, nor two neither hardly, that could
do much there. And then, again, if Douglas was to
find too many coming against him, he'd be away
t'other side of Salem before they'd get there.”

“And how is a body to get at him?” says he.

“Ah!” says I, “that's a long story.”

“Well,” says he, “I see what you are after, and
if you'll put me in a way to give Col. Mason a fair
clip at him, it will make my fortune, and then I'll
be bound to see you paid handsomely.”

“That an't what I am after,” says I.

“Why, don't you want money?” says he.

“To be sure I do,” says I; “but that an't
money.”

“Well,” says he, “tell me what you can do, and
I will tell you what I'll do.”

“That's something like,” says I. “As to what
I can do, I can put you in a way to catch Captain
Douglas out of the mountains, with as many men as
you please to bring agin him.”

“Well,” says he, “if you'll do that, I'll pay you
a hundred dollars.”

“The dear Lord!” says I. “A hundred dollars!
I never expected to have that much money in my
life!”

“May be it's too much,” says he. “May be fifty
will do?”

“No, no,” says I; “a hundred will do mighty
well; so let me have the cash, and I'll tell you all.”

“That won't do,” says he. “How do I know
that what you are going to tell me will do me any
good?”

“Well,” says I, “I reckon if one won't another
will.”

So, with that, he studied a while, and says he:
“Well, I'll give you my note for a hundred dollars,
to be paid directly after Col. Mason gets a lick at
Douglas in the low country, by my help.”

“Cannot you give me an order on Mr. Morton,
here, in the same way?” says I.

“You are mighty tight,” says he; “but may be
I can.”

So, with that he speaks to Mr. Morton, and he
agreed to accept the order. You see, sir, Mr.
Morton, as I told you, is a true-hearted Virginian;
and he knows me, and I just sorter winked at him,
to let him know all was safe. For as to that fellow
paying him again, after he paid me, Mr. Morton
had'nt no thought of it, nor I neither. But he seed
what I was after, and says he to the Captain: “To
be sure, sir, its nothing I would not do to serve the
country.” And with that they fixed the order all
right, and gives it to me, and I slips it back again
into Mr. Morton's hand. And then I takes the
Captain out again, and tells him the way up here;
and, says I, “Now, if you can get to see Captain
Douglas, you must fix a good story to tell him.”

“And what must that be?” says he.

“Why, you have only just to tell him that you
have raised a parcel of men in Bedford county, or
somewhere thereaway, sorter toward Lynchburg,
and you want to know where to join him. Then
he'll be sure to tell you when he is coming down out
of the mountains, and he'll name a place for you to
meet him at, and then if you don't fix him about
right, it an't my fault.”

“But how am I to get to him?” says he.

“That's it,” says I, “and that's what you never
could do without help. You see,” says I, “sir, every
man in that country lives by hunting, more or less;
and every man has a rifle for himself, and one for
every one of his boys, and may be more. And when
a fellow is going any where, he never knows when
he may see a deer; so you never can catch them
without their rifles. But then you may travel all
through the country, and you won't see a man that
looks any ways like a soldier. And when they want
to stop a man, they don't bawl at him and ask
for the countersign. That sort of thing may do in
an army, but it won't do with folks that have not
got an army to back them. So you may fall in with
ever so many of them, and they'll find you out; but
if they choose to let you pass, you'll never find them
out, nor know what they are after.”

“But how are they to find me out,” says he, “if
they an't got no countersign?”

“They an't got no countersign, rightly,” says I;
“but it is pretty much the same thing, if a man asks
you a civil question, and you don't know what answer
to give him. Now, suppose you was travelling
along there, and you meets one of them fellows, and
he was to ask you, mighty innocent like, what parts
you were from. What would you say?

“I don't know,” says he. “May be I'd tell him
I was from down about Halifax court-house.”

“And that minute,” says I, “he'd know all about
you.”

“How's that,” says he.

“Why, that 's the way they ax for the countersign,”
says I.

“What is the countersign?” says he.

“Currituck,” says I; “when they ax you that,
you must say you come from Currituck.”

“And is that all?” says he. “Why, that is a
countersign, sure enough. But don't they never
change it?

“No,” says I; “the men are too much scattered
all through the country, for that; but it answers
mighty well, the way they fix it. They don't let
you off with one question, just so, but they'll ask
you a heap more; and they'll say a heap of simple
things to you, just to hear what you'll say; and just
about the time you think you have fooled them,
they'll find you out. There's a parcel of sharp fellows
up thereaway, mind, I tell you; and you'll have to
get your lesson mighty well before you go there.
You see, some will ask you one question and some
another. You don't know what its going to be; so
I must tell you all the straight of it, and you must
practise before we part; and then,” says I, “you
can write it all down, and all the way you go you
can be saying it over.” So, with that, sir, I tells
him the biggest part of our questions; but you may
be sure I give him wrong answers to every one of

them. But then I told our people at the different stations
along about him, and told them to pass him, and
never let him know but what his answers were all
right. So then I tells him that when he got to you,
you would want to know, may be, how he came by
the signs; and, says I, “when he axes you that,
you must tell him you got them from Job Dixon,”
says I. “That's a fellow the Captain keeps busy
recruiting away down the country, and when he
hears that, he wont suspicion you the least in the
world; 'cause you see,” says I, “the man they call
Job Dixon has got another name besides that, and
that name an't nothing but a sort of a countersign
for the Captain to know the men by that he sends
in.” You see, Captain, I fixed all this way, that I
might let you know exactly, so that if the fellow
should come when I was out of the way, you might
know what to think of him, just as if I was here.
And it won't do to let him see me, no how.”

“Job Dixon!” said Douglas. “Well, let me
make a memorandum of that name.”

Saying this, he took a letter from his pocket, and
endorsing the name of Job Dixon on the back of it,
as that of the writer, threw it on the table.

“That will do,” said Schwartz. “He will be
here bright and early in the morning, and when he
sees that, he will feel as safe as a rat in a mill.”

“Here in the morning!” said Douglas. “How
can you be sure of that?”

“I seed him from the top of the mountain,”
replied Schwartz, “when Witt stopped him. I told
Witt to keep him all night, and send him on in the
morning, with a couple of fellows to show him the
way, and guard him.”

“If that is the case,” said Douglas, “I can meet
him at the piquet, and stop him there; for I would
rather he should not see this place. But what
arrangement would you advise me to make with
him?”

“Why, the Colonel says,” replied Schwartz,
“that he wants you to join him at his rendezvous
about the last of November, or may be a little earlier;
so whatever you do ought to be done time enough
to fall back, if we get worsted, and slip along down
the line, according to your old plan. So I am a
thinking it would be well to fix the time for meeting
this fellow about the tenth of the month, and then, if
we can catch them in their own trap, we shall have
time to follow up the blow and break up their whole
establishment there at Lynchburg, and then march
boldly down the straight road.”

“Do you know of any crossing place on Staunton
river, in the direction of Lynchburg,” asked Douglas,
“that would answer for an ambuscade?”

“I have a notion,” said Schwartz, “that Jones's
Ford would suit as well as any other; because there's
a deep hollow comes down on both sides of it, and
thick woods on the hills.”

“That will do then,” said Douglas. “So now
let us take our supper and go to rest; for I must be
at the picket in time to meet your man. Before you
go to sleep, suppose you send one of our boys to
tell them to stop him if he gets there before me.”

The supper was produced, and fully justified
what Witt had told Arthur of the fare he might
expect. As to lodging, bear-skins were plenty, and
so were blankets, which had been collected during
the expedition against Lynchburg. But a rock is a
hard bed, put on it what you will. Yet youth, and
health, and high excitement, gave Arthur a most
luxurious supper, and a night of such sleep as the
best lodged prince in Europe might envy.