SheDCD MIST
A TALE OF CIVIL STRIFE *.
^RANDALL PAPPISH ft
LU$TPATION$ S-C DPHODE5
COPV/i/GMr
Ac.fi?cu//?G t,ro.
CHAPTER I. {
On 8pecial Service.
It was already growing dusk when
the Staunton Battery of Horae artil
lery returned wearily to camp after
hours of hard field drill, the men ever
conscious that no evolution, however
trivial, was being overlooked by
"Stonewall" Jackson, sitting astride
his sorrel on a little eminence to the
left, his stern face unrelieved by even
the semblance of a smile.
The winter quarters of the Staunton
artillery were slightly off the main
road and I remained for some time
overseeing the care of the horses be
fore approaching the hut where the
noncommissioned officers had mess.
We were all of us still at the table,
discussing the incidents of the drill,
when a lieutenant appeared suddenly
in the doorway.
“Sergeant Wyatt?” he inquired
briefly.
I arose to my feet.
“Here, sir,” I answered In some sur
prise.
“You are requested to report to
General Jackson at once; his head
quarters for tonight are at Coulter's
farm, on the dirt pike. You will ride
your own horse.”
Five minutes later I was guiding
my own horse down the dark road,
bending low in the saddle, obsessed
with a feeling that this mission,
whatever it might turn out to be,
promised a change In my fortunes.
It was an ugly path, rutted deep hy
artillery wheels, and dangerous for
the horse. V was an hour reaching
the Coulter house, a double log cabin,
some fifty feet or more back from the
road. It was with some difficulty that
,1 made my way through the obstruct
ing guard to the steps, where an officer
took my name at the closed door, dis
appeared In a sudden blaze of light
and I stood there silently In the
shadows waiting.
Ten minutes must have elapsed be
fore the door opened again and I
heard my named called. It was a
rough appearing, commonplace in
terior. A sturdy fire burned in the
fireplace, and three lamps illumined
the scene, revealing the presence of
five men, among whom I Instantly
recognized Ewell. Ashby; together
with Jackson, and his chief of staff.
The fifth occupant of the room sat
.alone In one corner, his face partially
concealed, revealing little other than
a fringe of gray whiskers. Jackson,
seated behind a table littered with
papers and maps, glanced up at the
announcement of the orderly, and I
'name instantly to attention, my hand
jllfted In salute. The general's stern
iblue eyes surveyed me Intently.
“Sergeant Wyatt, Staunton artil
lery?”
“How long, may I ask, have you
'been In the service?”
“Since May, '61, sir.”
“Ah! Indeed. And your age?"
“Twenty-four, sir.”
He made some remark aside to the
aide, who nodded back, and pointed to
a map before them.
“You are a younger man In appear
ance than I had expected to see, ser
geant,” Jackson said slowly. “Yet I
have learned within the last year to
have confidence In young men. War
Is a swift developer of manhood. Your
colonel speaks of you In the highest
terms and Informs me that you are
a native of Green Briar county.”
“Our home was at I.ewlsburg, sir.”
“Then you are doubtless Intimately
acquainted with that section?”
“Very well, Indeed, general.”
Jackson s%t motionless and In si
lence for what seemed a long while,
his grave eyes on my face, but his
mind evidently elsewhere, one hand
unconsciously crumpling a folded pa
per. Ashby moved his chair, causing
It to crunch noisily on the floor, and
the commander aroused at the un
usual sound.
I “By any possibility are you related
to Judge Joel Wyatt?” he questioned
slowly.
“He was my father, sir. He has
been dead two years.”
“1 regret to hear It. Your mother,
unless I am mistaken, was a Farqu
har, of North Carolina?”
“Yes, sir—she has returned to her
old home.”
“The best of southern blood, gentle
men.” be said smilingly, glancing to
ward the others, but with watchful
eves Instantly returning to scan me.
“Was she driven out of Green Briar
by the state of unrest in that sec
tion?”
“In a measure—yes,” 1 replied
promptly. “It was hardly safe for her
to remain there alone. The county Is
filled with Union sympathizers, and
roamed over by bands of guerrillas,
claiming allegiance with both sides,
but sparing no one. At present, I
understand. Federal troops have been
sent there from Charleston and are
In control.”
“Your information is partially cor
rect; but In order to perfect plant
now contemplated I require a still
more definite knowledge of existing
conditions. 1 need to know accurate
ly the uumber and distribution of Uts
Vnion forces In Green Briar, and also
more complete Information regarding
I those Irregulars who are In sympathy
with us, as well as the character of
their leaders. Judging from the rec
ommendation given you by Colonel
Maitland I felt that you were peculiar
ly adapted to render this service. How
ever, Sergeant Wyatt, I propose stat
ing plainly that this may prove an
exceedingly dangerous detail, and if
you decide to accept It, It must be
| done as a volunteer."
He paused questlonlngly, and I drew
a quick breath, realizing suddenly the
I seriousness of the situation and the
Importance of my decision.
"I am perfectly ready to go, sir.”
Ewell broke in Impatiently with his
high-pitched voice.
"May I ask if It be generally known
in Green Briar that you are enlisted
in the Confederate service?”
“To but very few’, sir,” I answered,
turning to look across at my unex
pected questioner. “To none I am at
all likely to encounter. My mother and
“You Are Requested to Report to
General Jackson at Once."
I left the county at the firBt outbreak.
My father’s affiliations were with the
Union element."
"Most fortunate. Nothing could be
better, General Jackson. The ser
geant can very safely travel as a Fed
eral officer in search of recruits. The
matter of papers can, of course, be
easily arranged."
Jackson turned toward his aide.
"What Federal troops are now gar
risoning 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.
it was not my original plan to
send you Into the lines of the enemy
In a Federal uniform. However, Gen
eral Ewell's judgment is probably cor
rect. 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 Lieu
tenant 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 II.; appointed from Ver
mont.”
"Colonel Swan will arrange the
necessary papers and equipment. Or
derly, have Major Kline step in here
at once. Ah, Kline, have you among
your trophies of war a Federal lieu
tenant's uniform which will probably
lit this man?”
"I believe so, sir,” and the officer
addressed ran his eye appraisingly
over my figure. "Any particular regi
ment?”
"Third United States cavalry. Have
I It pressed and sent here at once, se
curely wrapped, together with saber
and revolvers. Sergeant, do you de
sire a better mount?”
“No, sir, my horse Is fresh and a
good traveler.”
I "Then that will be all, Kline; ex
cept, of course, complete Federal cav
airy equipment for the horse.”
i The officer saluted and disappeared
1 the door Instantly closing behind
him, cutting off the hum of voices
without There was a moment of si
lence.
i “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
i passing our pickets at Covington. It
1 will be of no service to you beyond
that point. My best wishes for your
success, Sergeant Wyatt.”
I He stood up, and I felt the firm
grasp of his hand. Then Ashby grip
ped my shoulder.
“Wyatt,” ho said kindly, -it you
ever desire to change your arin ot
the service, you are the kind ot man 1
want to ride with me.”
1 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, 1 am sure
performs this important duty without
thought of reward. It is the South
that has need of such men in ever}
branch of her service ” He came foi
ward, and extended his hand cordially
“I am General Lee, and am ver;
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 Jack
son 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, thought
ful 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 sol
dierly 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.
It was In the chill of a cold, gray
morning that 1 rode into Strasburg, j
jogging along at the rear ot a squad- j
ron 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 single-roomed cabin, heavy
wooden shutters barring the windows,
the door closed and securely fastened.
The place to all appearances was de
serted, and had been for a long while.
Although situated scarcely a hundred
feet back from the valley turnpike,
which was never wdthout its travelers,
and along which armies marched and
countermarched, the surroundings
w-ere those of a remote wilderness. I
dismounted, and leading my horse,
pressed a difficult passage through the
bushes. To my surprise the rear door
stood slightly ajar, antf my eyes per- I
cetved the movement of an ill-defined
shadow within.
“Hello there!" I called out, yet in
stinctively drawing a step backward. !
“Is there any room here for a tired
man ?”
The tall, angular figure of a moun
taineer immediately appeared in the
doorway, and a gray, wrinkled face,
Bcraggly bearded, looked forth, the
eyes glinting and filled with sus- j
picion.
"Wal, who be ye, an’ whut do ye !
want yere?"
“I am a soldier," I replied, rather i
shortly, not particularly pleased with
either the man's appearance or man
ner. "Myself and horse are about
worn out. I mistook this for a de
serted cahin.”
“Whar be ye bound? an’ whut may
ye be up to a-travelin’ alone?"
I smiled, endeavoring to retain my
temper.
“See, here, friend,” I returned short
ly. “I have as much reason to ask
you such questions as you have me.
However, I am willing enough to an
swer. I am on furlough, and am go
ing home across the mountains to see
my folks. Do you know Raleigh j
county?"
The man, who was now’ standing up
right in the doorway, one hand grip
ping the barrel ot a musket, the early
morning light on his withered face,
stared unwlnklngiy into my eyes.
"I rather reckon I do, young man,"
he replie*d slowly. “Fur I was raised
up on the Green Briar. What mout
be yer name?”
"Cowan, 1 answered promptly, my
mind instantly alert, and aware J had
made a mistake.'
"Ho! Ye don’t say! One o’ ol' Ned
Cowan's boys?”
“No. 1 am a son of Widow Cowan,
over on Coal creek.”
There was not the faintest glim
mer in the cold, blue eyes, no evidence
of any recollection In the wrinkled
face. His jaws rose and fell on the
tobacco which extended his cheek.
“I don't reckon I’ve been over that
way fer nigh on fifteen year," he said
at last reflectively. "An’ somehow I
don't just recall no Widow Cowan—
but I know ol' Ned mighty well. He's
took to the brush with his whole breed
since this fracas started, an' som’
cusses burned his house, an' sent the
ol' woman after 'em. It's plumb hell
in Green Briar. Maybe yer a Cowan,
but I'm d--d If ye look like eny o'
thet outfit ever I see afore. What
part o’ the army wus ye with?”
"Sixty-fifth Virginia — Covington
company, Captain Daniels.’*
The older man chewed awhile in si
lence, evidently impressed with the
seeming frankness of the reply.
“Wal, ye mout be a Cowan, o’
course,” he admitted reluctantly.
"Enyhow I reckon It don't make no
great difference, fer if ye be goin’ ter
Green Briar we kin ride awhile ter
gether. Two is better than one these
days. Hitch yer hoss out thar in the
scrub alongside o' mine, an' then come
in yere. We'll eat a bite fust, air then
lie down a spell, fer I’ve been a ridin'
most o' ther night myself.”
His voice was hardly as cordial as
tils words sounded, but 1 felt it best
to accept the ratter surly umuUutt.
I led my horse down the dim path In
dicated. until I came to where the
other animal—a rangy, ill-groomed
sorrel—was securely hidden. 1 had
blindly stepped Into a trap, but Just
what kind I could not as yet deter
mine. 1 must win the man's confi
dence, and learn what I could. The
fellow, whoever he might prove to be.
was evidently in concealment.
Whoever he might prove to be—spy,
scout, bushwhacker or deserter—be
yond all question he possessed inti
mate knowledge of the country lying
beyond the Alleghenies. He knew the
xisting conditions there, and was ac
luainted with the people. Once his
•onfidence could be fully secured, pro
iding his sympathies were with the
ause of the South, as was most prol)
ble, his information would be of the
utmost value. Reticent as he was,
suspicious and close-mouthed, a silent,
typical mountaineer, he could surely
be induced to let fall -ome scrap of
information. And somewb re along
the way an opportunity must auiely
arise w hereby I might escape from his
company, if such a move became
really desirable.
Revolving these thoughts rapidly in
my mind I returned to the hut. care
fully bearing the bundle containing
the federal uniform tucked under my
arm. The gaunt mountaineer, busily
engaged in preparing breakfast at the
open fireplace, scarcely favored "me
with a glance of recognition, but be
gan to arrange the scant supply of
food on an overturned box.
“Just pitch in, an’ help yourself,
Cowan," he said, affecting a cordiality
of manner not altogether natural.
"Thar ain’t much of it, but we 11 eat
whut we’ve got, an’ then rest awhile.
If yer a-goin’ ter travel along with me
it will be done mostly at night till we
git down Covington way.”
I seated myself without ceremony.
"You are in hiding, then?" I asked
carelessly, not even glancing up at the
expressionless face opposite.
“War, not exactly. We’ve grown
pretty skeerv back in the hills—no
body thar knows their friends frum
(heir enemies these days. Yer ain’t
been thar lately, 1 reckon?”
“No; not for over a year.”
“Things has changed sum since
then. Nobody lives ter hum eny more.
It’s sure hell in Green Briar these
days—somebody is gettin’ kilt every
day er two. The cusses travel in
gangs murderin’ an’ burnin’ from one
end o’ the county to the other.” He
spoke in an even, drawling voice, with
not the slightest show of emotion, as
though telling an ordinary bit of
news: "D-d if 1 know which outfit
is the wus—the Yanks or the Rebs.”
“Which are you with?”
“Who, me?” He paused in his bolt
ing of food, and gave vent to an un
pleasant laugh. "I rather reckon It
would puzzle the Lord Almighty ter
find that out. 1 don’t give a whoop
fer neither of ’em. I’m fer ol’ Jem
Taylor, an’ it keeps me tolor ble busy
tending ter his affairs, without both
erin’ ’bout no government.”
“Then your name is Taylor?”
“I reckon It has been for ’bout sixty
years. Thar's a slew o' Taylors over
along Ruffaio crick, an’ som’ of ’em
are Yanks, an' a parcel of ’em are
Rebs, but they don’t git ol’ Jem ter
The Figure of a Mountaineer Appeared
In the Doorway.
take nary side. At that. I’m gtttin’ all
the fightin' I hanker arter. Naturally,
I’m a peaceful critter, if th’ cusses let
me alone.”
"Quieted down some over (here late
ly, hasn't it?”
"Huh! Thar's a rigiment o' blue
coats at Lewishurg, an a few cavalry
men ridin ther pikes. Don't amount
ter a hill o' beans as fer as ther boys
are concerned. All they got ter do is
go further back in the hills, an' be a
bit more keerful I reckon, young
man, ye'll find plenty o' deviltry going
on in Green Briar, if ye ever git out
tnat away. Wal, t lief a all thar is fer
us ter eat, an' I'm goin’ ter take a
snooze.”
He closed the door, fastening it se
cureiy with a wooden bar, and
stretch'd himself out on the floor.
The room was dark, as the only win
dow was tightly boarded tip, and using
my bundle for a pillow, I lay down
also. In a short time Ilia heavy
breathing was evidence enough that
Taylor slept. Slowly my heavy eyes
closed, and 1 lost consciousness.
The sun was below the mountain
ridge, when the heavy hand of the otd
mountaineer shook me into sudden
wakefulness. With nothing left to
eat we were not long in prepari-** for
departure, 1 cudeavoriug vainly to
my silent companion to converse, be- |
ing rewarded merely by grumbled and :
evasive answers. Finally I desisted j
In the attempt, content to follow his
lead. Taylor, astride his sorrel, with
gun resting grimly across his knees,
rode straight through the brush, away j
from the pike, down the valley of a
small stream. In crossing, the horses
drank their fill.
“How about the valley road?” I
asked as we climbed the opposite
bank.
The leader glanced back at me.
"This yere way is nigher, an’ a darn
sight mor' quiet,” he answered gruffly.
“Soldiers been marching over the pike
all day. Mout be all right fer yer, if
yer’ve got a pass— but I ain't got none.
We'll hev’ good 'nough ridln’ In 'bout
a mile mor’.”
"You are aiming for the cut-off?”
“I be—yer do kno’ sumthin’ of this
yere klntry, I reckon, but yer've got
more eddication than eny Cowan t
ever hooked up with afore. Yer don't
talk none like mountin’ folks.”
I drew a quick breath, sensing the
return of suspicion.
"That’s true,” I admitted readily.
"You see I wqnt to school at Coving
ton; they were going to make a
preacher out of me.”
Taylor stared into my face, his
vague suspicion Beemingly gone.
"Well, I'll be d——d—a preacher.”
He rode on into the dusk, chuckling
and I followed, smiling to myself, glad
that the man’s good humor had been
so easily restored.
We were fed at a hut back in the
foothills, where an old couple, the man
lame, were glad enough to exchange
their poor food for the late news from
the army, in which they had a son.
Then we rode steadily to the south.
When dawn came we were to the west
of Waynesboro, in broken country, and
all through those long night hours
scarcely a word had been exchanged
between us. We camped finally in the
bend of a small stream, where high
banks concealed us from observation.
There was little to eat In our haver
s'acks, but we munched what we had,
and Taylor, his eyes on the horses
broke the silence.
"I reckon the critters don’t need
more’n a couple hours’ rest,” he said.
"They ain’t been rid noways hard, an’
I’m fer glttln’ through the gap durln’
daylight--the road ain’t overly good
just now.”
Across the mountains? Is there
a gap here?”
“Ther road ter Hot Springs Is 'bout
two miles below yer. I cum over It
ten days ago an’ I reckon I kin find
my way back. It's 'bout forty miles
frum thar ter Lewisburg, mostly hills,
but a good trail. I know' folks et Hot
Springs who will lake good keer o’ us,
onct we git thar."
We rested, dozing, but neither sound
asleep, for nearly three hours. What
ever might be In Taylor's mind, the
lonely night had brought to me a new
thought relative to my companion.
The fellow was evasive, and once he
had frankly lied In seeking to explain
his presence In the valley, and the rea
son for his secrecy of movement. By
now we were decidedly at cross-pur
poses, each vigilantly watching the
other—Taylor in doubt as to what the
bundle contained, which I never per
mitted out of my grasp, and myself as
deeply interested in gaining posses
sion of a packet of papers, a glimpse
of which I had caught in an inside
pocket of the mountaineer's coat. His
mission, whatever it might be, was se
cret and dangerous. Of this his cease
less vigilance was proof.
The light of a dying day still clung
to the western sky when our wearied
horses bore us into the village of Hot
Springs. It was like a deserted ham
let, few houses appearing inhabited,
and the shop windows boarded up.
Taylor, glancing neither to right or
left, rode straight down the mnin
street, and turned onto a pike road,
leading to the left. A mile beyond, a
frame house, painted white, barely vis
ible through the deepening dusk,
stood in a grove of oaks. The moun
taineer turned up the broad driveway,
and dismounted before the closed
door. Almost at the same moment
the portal opened slightly and a black
face peered out.
CHAPTER III.
The Body on the Floor.
Taylor stood at the foot of the steps,
pausing in uncertainty.
“Is that you, Sam? Is Mister Har
wood yere?”
I Insensibly straightened in my sad
dle. Harwood? What Harwood, I
wondered—surely not Major Harwood
of Lewisburg, my father’s old friend!
What was It 1 had heard about him
a few months ago? Wasn’t it a rumor
that he was on General Ramsay's
staff? And the daughter—Noreen—
whatever had become of her? There
was an Instant’s vision before me of
laughing eyes, and wind-blown hair, a
galloping horse, and the wave of a
challenging hand. She had thus swept
by me on the road as l took my moth
er southward
’’I don’t 'p°er fer to recollect no such
name, sah," replied the negro, scratch
tng his wool thoughtfully. "I done
reckon as how you got the wrong
house."
“No. 1 reckon not,” said the other
drtly. "tilt ’long In. an’ tell him •■in
Taylor is yere.”
The door opened wider.
”Suab, I know you now, sah. Jusi
step right 'long in, the both of yer
I’ll lc>ok after them horses. You'll fin
Massa Harwood in the dinin' room
sah.”
I followed ihc mountaineer up the
steps and into the hall, utterly indif
ferent aw to whether my company wai
desired or not it was not yet dark,
but a lamp burned on a “ irby table.
I
and a cheerful Are glowed at the far
ther end. But a brighter glow of light
streamed from a room beyond, and.
determined to miss nothing. 1 was so
close behind Taylor that my quick
eyes caught what I believed to be a
swift signal of warning to the man
within. This, however, was an 1m
pression born from my own suspicion,
rather than any real movement, for
Taylor took but a single step across
the threshold, and stopped, leaning on
his gun. The single occupant sat ur
right, before him the remnants of a
light repast, his hand toying with a
spoon, and his eyes shifting from Tay
lor’s face to my own. He was
heavily built and broad of shoulder.
The face would have heen hard, but
for a gleam of good humor in the
eyes, and the softening effect of gra>
hair, and a gray mustache. The man
had aged greatly, yet 1 recognized him
I Followed the Mountaineer Up the
Step* and Into the Hall.
instantly, my heart throbbing with
the possibility that 1 also might be re
membered. Yet surely there was no
gleam of recollection in tho eyes that
surveyed me and why should there
he? I had been an uninteresting lad
of fifteen when wo last met This
knowledge gave me courage to is“et.
that searching glance, and to lift, my
hand In the salute due to an officer of
rank.
"Ah!” said Harwood in deep voice,
"a soldier from the valley?"
"Yes. sir," respectfully, “the Stxfy
flfth Virginia.”
“How does it happen you wear ar
tillery unHorm?”
Expecting the question 1 answered
unhesitatingly.
“They'd lost so many gunners, some
, of us were detailed to help. Recruit
-are coming In now ”
“What was your battery?”
"Staunton Horse artillery, sir.”
"Stationed ?“
"At F*ront Royal—that was our win
ter camp.”
He nodded, tapping his spoon
against the table, favorably impressed
by m.v prompt replies. His keen eyes
sought the face of the silent moun
taineer.
"You know this man. Taylor?"
"Wal, I can’t exactly say thet T
dew, major,” he said drawlingly, shift
ing his feet uneasily. "He says he's a
Cow'an. frum over on Buffalo crick.”
"A Cowan!—you mean—”
"No. he don’t claim ter be none o’
oI’ Ned’s brood—his mar’s a wldder
woman. They ain’t no kin, I reckon.”,
Whatever thoughts niight'have been
in Major Harwood's mind were con
cealed by an impassive face, as he sat
there for a moment in silence, gazing
at the two of us. I
"No doubt you did what you be
lieved to be best. Taylor," he said at
last quietly. "We will talk It over
later. You are both hungry enough
to eat, 1 suppose? Draw up somo
chairs and Sam will find something.
No objection to remaining here over
night, Cowan?” ^
"I’d be glad to get on, sir, but my
horse is about used up. The roads
have been hard and we have traveled
rapidly.” 4
"Well, there is plenty of room, and
you are welcome. This house,” ho ex
plained. "belongs to a friend of mine,
who had to leave the country—too
Yankee for his neighbors. I find It.
rather convenient at. times. Ah, Sam.
that rashor of bacon looks prime—I'll
try_ some myself.”
CONTINUED IN NEXT ISSUE.
No. Six-Sixty-Six
This is a prescription prepared eapecia',(jt
for MALARIA or CHILLS A FEVSR.
hive or six doiea will break any case, andi
If taken then ai a tonic the Fever will not;
return. It acta on the liver better thur*
Calomel and doea not gripe or jickcn.
Old papers for sale at thisoflico
promptly obtained in all count rit* OR WO FRE.
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