Chapter XVII: The Capture of a Spy

For the instant, after making his important discovery, Louis knew not what to do. That the fellow who was advancing so cautiously was an enemy there could be no doubt. That being so, why was the Confederate taking so much pains in the rain and darkness to enter the Union lines?

There could be but one answer to this question. He must be a spy, bent upon some secret and important mission.

As the truth forced itself home to the young Union soldier’s mind, he took a step in the direction of the roadway, feeling that the eyes of the man by the rock were upon him and that if he knew he was discovered it might prove a case of “who shot first” as to who remained alive to tell the story afterward. He must not show his hand until in a position to use his gun with quickness and accuracy.

Turning from the roadway, he walked slowly back toward the big oak. As he did this he noted that the man had shifted his position and was now some six feet closer to the woods, where a low fringe of brush stuck up, and where the rain had formed a pool of shallow water extending a distance of several yards.

Unionist and Confederate were now less than fifty feet apart, and the rain was coming down furiously upon both. Two steps more and Louis was close to the shelter of the tree. He listened intently. The man by the bushes made no sound; Harry’s footsteps were some distance away. Something had attracted his attention at the other end of his beat and he remained there.

It must be acknowledged that Louis’s heart now beat like a trip-hammer. He felt it his duty to challenge the man, and, if his answer was not satisfactory, and he tried to escape, to shoot him on the spot. On the other hand, he knew that a single word from his lips might be the signal for a shot from the unknown, who would then make a rush for the woods on the opposite side of the little clearing. He was not certain, but he imagined he saw the gleam of a pistol in the right hand of the fellow as he turned from the rock.

Stepping behind the tree for an instant, Louis examined his gun, to see that all was in perfect order for firing. He shuddered as he tried the trigger. In a moment more he might be taking a human life.

Again he stepped forth, but partly behind a bush in front of the oak. He opened his lips to shout out the word halt when he made a most startling discovery.

The man had disappeared.

In vain he strained his eyes, in this direction, that direction, and beyond. It was useless. The fellow was not at the rock, nor on the ground near the pool, nor was he at the fringe of brush to which he had turned. He was as completely gone as though the earth had opened and swallowed him up.

Louis was dumbstruck. What in the world had become of the man? He clutched his gun in nervous perplexity. Had the man made a silent but rapid rush and passed the line? No, such a thing was impossible. He must still be in front.

The young soldier heard Harry returning now and resolved on a new course of action. Waiting for his friend to reach the oak, he caught him by the arm and clapped his hand over his mouth.

“Harry, listen, but don’t make any noise,” he whispered into the other’s ear. “There is a man out there, near the pool. I saw him crawling along a moment ago, but he has now disappeared. Tell the guard next to you, and I’ll tell Callings, and we’ll round him up.”

Harry understood and nodded. Then struck by a sudden idea, he exclaimed aloud: “I ain’t got any tobacco. Ask Callings for his plug.”

“And you ask Risby,” answered Louis, catching the cue, and speaking just as loudly, and then they separated, but each kept an eye on the vicinity of the oak, that the man who had disappeared might not try to break through the picket guard at that point.

“A reb, eh?” whispered Callings, when Louis had called him up. “All right, I’ll help you. Wait till I’ve called the next man to overlook the road. Send the word back, too, Louis; it’s ag’in orders to try to do too much without letting the officer of the guard know.”

In a moment Louis had glided back and given the necessary order. Then he, Harry, Callings, and Risby moved forward in a semi-circle. They had scarcely advanced five yards, when Callings found himself sinking into a half choked-up rifle-pit.

“Hi! hi! here’s the rascal!” he yelled. “Down with that pistol, you rebel, or I’ll finish you in short order.”

“Hang the luck!” came in a growl from the bottom of the hole. “Git off of my back, you confounded Yank!”

“I will, when you surrender, Grayback! Throw up that pistol.”

By this time not only Louis and Harry, but also some others were at the edge of the hole, which was several feet in diameter and over-grown with grass and weeds. Down at the bottom the water was over a foot deep, and in this a man was crouching, wet to the skin and covered with mud. Callings had landed directly upon the fellow’s back with his heavy boots, and it was small wonder that the victim yelled with pain.

“This yere is the wust luck I ever struck,” muttered the captured one, as with very bad grace he surrendered his pistol, of the old-fashion “hoss” variety and nearly two feet long. “Let me git outer the hole before I sink clear outer sight.”

Callings sprang up and a few feet back. Then he and Louis covered the man with their guns, but this was not necessary, for the chap was thoroughly cowed. It was soon found that the clay at the bottom of the hole held him fast, and Harry and Risby had to haul him forth by main strength.

By this time the cry, “Corporal of the guard! Number seven! A prisoner!” had gone down the line, and the corporal was hurrying forward to picket number seven, which was Louis. He was followed by a detachment of others, who marched the prisoner to the guard tent, Louis, relieved from duty by another soldier, following on behind.

When surveyed by the lantern hanging to the rear post of the guard tent, the captured one presented anything but a prepossessing appearance. He was a tall, lank individual, with sallow complexion, high cheek bones, and tangled beard and hair. His tattered clothing hung upon him as garments hang upon a scarecrow. In his left cheek was a large quid of tobacco, which he chewed upon with great vigor, as if to thereby keep up his fading courage. Long and earnestly Louis gazed at the face, wondering if he had not seen the man before.

“Your name?” was the first question put to the stranger.

“My name?” answered the prisoner, slowly. “Er--Tom Johnson.”

“Brother to General Johnson, I suppose?” sneered the corporal, satisfied the man was not telling the truth.

“No, sir; I ain’t no relation to that measly rebel.”

“Well, Johnson, where do you belong?”

“Belong to the Second Maryland Volunteers, Company B.”

“Captain’s name, please?”

“Captain--er Thompson.”

“First cousin to Johnson, I suppose?”

“No, sir; no relation.”

“That’s too bad. When did you leave your regiment?”

“Right after leaving Fortress Monroe. I wanted to call on an uncle of mine living up around yere, an’ the cap’n let me go.”

“Why did you try to crawl through the lines?”

“Didn’t have no countersign.”

“What was the countersign the day you left?”

“It was--” the prisoner pretended to think. “Hang the luck! I’ve forgot wot it wuz, corporal, upon my honah.”

“When you were off did you see anything of the rebels?”

“Not much, I didn’t. I give ’em the biggest go-by I could.”

“Supposing we search you? Have you any objections?”

“’Tain’t gentlemanly, corporal.”

“Oh, yes, it is; under certain circumstances.”

“But I’ve gin yer my name an’ regiment,” pleaded the prisoner, who seemed to be alarmed over the possibility of a search. “Yer might ez well let me find my quarters.”

“You’ve put your foot into it, my man. The regiment you mentioned is not with us, but is stationed somewhere up in Maryland, in the vicinity of Baltimore.”

At this announcement the lower jaw of the prisoner dropped visibly, and he forgot to go on with the chewing process.

“Well--er--we cum down--our company, I mean,” he stammered. “It was a mistake, but our company is yere--I’ll take my oath to that.”

“I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt--after I’ve searched you. Stivers, take off his coat and vest and make him remove his boots. Number Seven, what is it?”

“Can I speak to the prisoner, sir?” asked Louis, who felt he was on the verge of a discovery. “I think I know him and can make him reveal himself,” he added, in a whisper.

“Go ahead,” answered the corporal, briefly. The other officers had been called away to general headquarters and he was, consequently, in sole charge.

“I want to ask you how you left Sam Jacks, and Hogwell, and the rest,” said Louis, aloud, and as he spoke he eyed the prisoner narrowly.

“By thunder!” was the ejaculation, and the man fell back a step. Then, by the light of the smoking lantern he surveyed Louis closer. “Ef it hain’t the chap we wuz arfter at Lee Run!” he continued, before considering his words.

“Exactly!” burst from the young soldier’s lips. “I thought I knew you. Corporal, he is a rebel, and worse.”

“What do you mean by worse?”

“He is a thief. He and a gang of others once robbed me of my watch and money. It was up near Deems, and I was trying to get through Maryland to my home in Pennsylvania. Before that I met some of the same crowd at Lee Run, and they tried to injure me there.”

“It ain’t so!” roared the prisoner. “I don’t know Sam Jacks, nor Hogwell, nor Ross, nor none of ’em.”

“You remember the names right enough,” returned Louis, coldly. “And you will note that you add Ross’s name, which I didn’t mention.” He turned to the corporal. “Ross was another of the crowd.”

“We’ll search him,” was the short answer. The work commenced at once. Slipped into one of the man’s boots was a slip of paper, which, on being unfolded, was found to be a Confederate pass, signed by General Longstreet. There was also another paper, which the corporal perused with even deeper interest.

“A spy!” he murmured. He turned to Louis. “Your name?”

“Louis Rockford, sir.”

The corporal made a note of it. Then Louis was sent back to his regiment, and the spy was taken to general headquarters. Here it was at last ascertained that his name was Caleb Fox. It was surmised that he had been sent over to learn whether the Unionists contemplated an attack, or if they thought of settling down to a siege. He would speak but little, and was placed under heavy guard until some of the higher officers could question him further.

“That’s a feather in your cap, Louis!” cried Harry, as they were eating breakfast the next morning. “You’ll hear from headquarters about it sooner or later, see if you don’t.”

“It’s odd that we should capture one of Sam Jacks’s crowd,” mused Louis. “Doesn’t it seem to prove that a good part of the rebels who were up around Manassas have moved down here?”

“If they ain’t down here now they will be pretty soon,” put in Moses Blackwell. “You can bet they won’t give up their main stronghold without the toughest kind of a struggle.”

“One thing is certain,” continued Harry. “This man won’t bother you any more.”

“Do you think they’ll shoot him?” said Louis, with a shudder.

“Of course they’ll shoot him. It’s the fate of any spy that is captured.”

“I shouldn’t like to have his blood on my head, Harry.”

“He brought his fate on himself, Louis--you had nothing to do with that. He knew just what to expect when he left the rebel breastworks in the rain and darkness and tried to worm his way over here. And more than that, the fact that he had his big pistol ready for use, shows he was prepared to sell his liberty dearly, if given half a chance. If you had advanced upon him openly and alone he would have shot you down and run for it, as sure as fate.”

That afternoon Louis was called up before the general of the corps, who questioned him closely. Then the prisoner was brought in, and Louis for the first time learned his name. As Louis went out, he passed close to Caleb Fox, who scowled at him viciously and whispered into his ear:

“You skunk! I’ll git squar--ef I live.”

To this Louis made no answer. But the words haunted his mind for a long time. The day was destined to come when he would remember them even more vividly.