Chapter VII: Andy Off for Manassas

“Hurrah! hurrah, father, the Yankees are whipped! Fort Sumter is taken! Didn’t I tell you they couldn’t stand up against our fellows? My, but don’t I just wish I had been in Charleston to see the bombardment!”

And Andy Arlington rushed into the sitting-room pell-mell, throwing his cap into the air, and giving his sister Grace a hug in his delight.

“Fort Sumter taken!” repeated his father. “Is it really true, my son? Then the war has opened at last.”

The old Mexican veteran took the newspaper his son had brought in from the post-office. Yes, it was true, as the great black scare lines proved; the fort had been taken, Major Anderson had departed for the North on the _Baltic_, and all of Charleston was mad with joy.

“I wonder what Louis will say to that when he reads it,” said Andy, as he turned again to Grace. “I told him right along we’d whip if it came to fighting.”

“Well, one battle doesn’t constitute a whole war, Andy,” replied Grace, instinctively standing up for the enemy who was yet her dearest friend. “And Louis knows that as well as we do.”

“It’s not such a tremendous victory, either,” observed Mrs. Arlington. “The fort was surrounded by the other forts and floating batteries, and the garrison must have been about starved out, being cut off from shore for three months. I wonder what the North will do next?”

“They won’t do much,” said the husband. “I believe the saying is true, they can’t be kicked into a fight. Even at Fort Sumter they stood only on the defensive.”

Grace listened and her face grew red. She could not get Louis out of her mind. “Maybe it will take a long while to arouse the North, but when they are aroused--” She did not finish.

“Oh, pshaw! We’ll lick ’em out of their boots; see if we don’t!” ejaculated Andy. “Why, you ought to hear the talk down at the post-office and over to the tavern. Half the district is fairly wild over the news, and Frederick Mason is going to organize a company of volunteers if they’ll have ’em, and Captain Montgomery is going to try to fit out some cavalry. I’d like to join Captain Montgomery--he’s such a good fellow,” and Andy’s eyes beamed at the prospect. Mrs. Arlington said nothing, but as she thought of her only son riding to battle her eyes filled with tears and she had to turn away.

The proclamation calling for Union troops was speedily followed by a similar call for men in the South. The call was an urgent one, and aroused the warm Southern blood to its highest pitch. Military companies and troops of cavalry were formed everywhere, and young and old went forth to fight against those who threatened their plantations, their industries and their firesides. The enthusiasm of the South was equal to that of the North in every particular.

It was understood that Mr. Arlington could not take part in this conflict. When, even with his cork leg, he might have joined the cavalry, his general condition was such that his wife would not for one moment entertain the idea of his leaving home.

“You have fought enough, father,” she would say. “Let the younger men carry this war through.”

“But I feel as if I ought to go,” he would plead, but she would shake her head, and then he would remain silent.

As the days went by and news came of how the South was gaining a little here and there, attacking this fort and that arsenal and capturing them, Andy grew more and more impatient. Captain Montgomery had begun to form his cavalry troop and the youth watched them wistfully as they went through their drill on Lee Run Square.

“Father, I’m going to join; that’s all there is to it,” he said at last. “If I don’t go they’ll call me a coward, and I want to go awfully bad. I’ve got a horse and money enough to buy trappings and a sword, and there’s no reason why I should stay home.”

At this the eyes of the veteran glistened. “I know the feeling, Andy,” he said. “I’ve been thinking it over a good deal, too. Since I cannot go I don’t know but that you might--if you can get your mother to consent.”

At first Mrs. Arlington could not think of it. But then came a short letter from the Rockfords, telling of the accident which had happened to Mr. Rockford and that Louis had joined a volunteer company. The letter was written by Lucy, who said Louis was too busy to do more than ask to be remembered to Andy and Grace, and Lucy added that she supposed Andy would soon be on his way to fight against her brother. The letter was very friendly and closed by hoping that the present difficulty would soon be settled. This was the last letter which passed between the families for a long while to come.

“You see how it is,” said Andy, as he handed the letter to his mother after perusing it. “Even the Rockfords think I will go. How can you make me stand back in the face of that? Why don’t you let me show that I am at least as brave as Louis?”

This was Andy’s clinching argument. Mrs. Arlington’s Southern pride would not permit her to keep her son at home when the son of her Northern friend was already off to the seat of war. She consented that night, and Andy enrolled under Captain Montgomery the next day.

The cavalry was called Montgomery’s Grays, and each trooper was required to clothe himself in gray suit of a certain design, with a plumed hat to match. At first it was thought to seat every man on a gray horse, but this was found impossible in the short space of time allowed for equipment, and the cavalrymen rode such animals as they possessed.

The seat of government for the States which had seceded was soon to be at Richmond, but the Confederate forces were gathering at Manassas Junction, a place about thirty-five miles west of Washington, and an important point from the fact that two of the principal Southern railroads met there. It was this gathering at Manassas that made Northern people think an attack on Washington was close at hand.

Soon came the day for Andy to leave home. Lee Run was gaily decorated--as much so as Goreville had been when Louis left. There were flags and bunting in abundance, but the glorious stars and stripes were missing. Instead the State flag was unfurled, for the stars and bars and other emblems of the Confederacy had not yet come into use.

The cavalry made an imposing appearance as they moved off four abreast, the horses prancing gaily to the trumpet notes of the bugler. Shout after shout went up, which continued until the Montgomery Grays were lost to sight in a cloud of dust half a mile from the town center.

“I’m glad we’re off,” remarked one of the young men to Andy as they cantered along. “I’ve been itching to get at the Yankees ever since the trouble began.”

The young man’s name was Leroy Wellington. His father’s plantation adjoined that of the Arlingtons, and both youths were on the best of terms. Leroy had traveled much, and a rough, outdoor life just suited him.

“So am I glad we are off,” answered Andy, as he patted Firefly, his horse, affectionately upon the neck. “I wonder how soon we’ll fight our first battle?”

“That will depend altogether upon our leaders. I understand Harper’s Ferry has been taken. That will give us a lot of guns and ammunition from the arsenal.”

“Yes, and a victory at Norfolk Navy Yard will be still more important.”

“By the way, how about that Pennsylvania friend of yours?” went on Leroy Wellington. “What does he think of things now?”

“Oh, he has already joined the volunteers called for by Lincoln.”

“Humph! Then we may meet on the field of battle?”

“I trust I don’t have to fight Louis face to face,” answered Andy, very seriously. “War is one thing, and shooting or cutting down your friend is another.”

“I suppose that is so, Andy; but if my friend chooses to become my enemy that is his lookout, not mine,” concluded Leroy Wellington.

On went the cavalry until about six o’clock in the evening. They had now arrived at a small village called Parker’s Mills, and it was decided to put up there for the night. Accommodations were found for the horses in the various stables in the neighborhood, and as patriots the cavalrymen were entertained at the various homes in the vicinity.

Parker’s Mills was full of slaves, and it had been whispered about that there was fear of an uprising among the colored folks. For this reason every slave was watched closely, and if any were found to be at all rebellious, they were chained up and subjected to severe lashings.

It was about eleven o’clock that Andy was aroused from a light sleep into which he had fallen by the sounds of a violent struggle in the sitting-room below the bed-chamber he was occupying. Slipping into a portion of his clothing, he hurried below, to find the master of the house, a Mr. Rockleigh, struggling valiantly in the grasp of two burly negroes who were his slaves. The negroes had contemplated flight, but before going had sneaked into the house in an attempt to steal some money which had been left in an old-fashioned secretary in the room.

“Let go, Pomp,” gasped Mr. Rockleigh. “Let go, or sure as I live I’ll flay you alive for this.”

“Dun yo’ let go, Pomp,” put in one of the burly negroes. “We is in dis to de end, remember!”

“I ain’t a-lettin’ go, Cuffy,” replied Pomp. “Now, Massa Rockleigh, yo’ quit yo’ noise, or I’ll knock yo’ ober de head wid dis yere club. We knows well enough yo’ wife is away an’ de young ladies, too, an’ we is bound to hab our own way.”

“You--you scoundrels!” cried the master, but even as he spoke the club descended and the man of the house fell back partly unconscious from a blow upon the head.

It was at this moment that Andy leaped into the sitting-room. On coming down he had caught up his sword, and taking in the situation at a glance, he advanced upon the two slaves.

“Stop where you are!” he commanded; “stop, unless you want your heads cut open!”

His words nearly dumbfounded the negroes, who had supposed Mr. Rockleigh in the house alone, save for an old woman who was more than half deaf, and who had not up to this time heard the commotion. Both stared hard and fell back a few steps.

“Who--who is yo’?” finally demanded Pomp, with an ugly scowl.

“Never mind who I am,” replied Andy. “Drop your clubs at once.”

“But see yere, sah--”

“I won’t argue with you. Drop your clubs.”

Instead of doing this, however, both negroes made for the doorway leading into the kitchen. By this time Mr. Rockleigh had partly recovered and was trying to stagger to his feet.

“Don’t let them get away,” he cried. “They are my slaves and have robbed me of several hundred dollars in gold.”

“Stand where you are or I will fire at you!” said Andy. And now he exhibited a pistol he had also brought along.

“Don’t--don’t shoot me!” yelled Cuffy, in abject terror. “Please, massa sodger, don’t shoot!” and he dropped upon his knees. He could stand almost anything but a display of firearms.

“Cuffy, yo’ is a fool!” howled Pomp. “Come on, if yo’ is gwine wid me. Remember, if we is cotched now we’ll be more dan half-killed wid de lash. Take dat.”

As the last words were uttered Pomp launched forth the heavy club he carried. His aim was for Andy’s head and had the young cavalryman not dodged in a hurry, he might have suffered from a cracked skull. As it was, the club grazed his ear and then went crashing through a closed window, carrying away part of the frame and several lights of glass.

“Fire at him!” ordered Mr. Rockleigh, and the words were yet on his lips when Andy pulled the trigger of his pistol. Pomp was hit in the shoulder, but not seriously injured, and the next moment both slaves fled forth from the kitchen of the house into the darkness of the night.