Chapter VI: The Volunteers at the Capitol

The men who had come so unexpectedly upon Louis and Harry Bingham were noble-looking fellows, all well-built and past middle age. Their trappings were of the finest, and by his shoulder-straps Louis saw that one of the number was a captain.

“Well, young men, where are you bound?” demanded the captain of the trio.

“Bound for Frederick,” answered Harry, having taken his cue from Louis’s former speech.

“Frederick, eh? Do you intend to remain in that city?”

“That depends.”

“Don’t you think you are bound for Washington?” put in a second of the cavalrymen.

“What if we were?” asked Louis, cautiously.

“Well, if I were in your place I wouldn’t be ashamed to own it.”

“Neither we are,” burst out Harry, without stopping to think twice.

“Are you alone?” was the next question put.

“Can’t you see that we are?” was Louis’s counter query.

“But by your caps you belong to some company, I take it,” went on the cavalry captain. “Where is the rest of that company?”

“On the road somewhere.”

“Humph!” There was a moment of silence. “Come, boys, it is useless to waste time here,” and having watered his horse the captain of the strangers rode off, followed by his two companions.

“Now, what does that mean?” demanded Harry Bingham, as soon as they were left alone.

“That is what I would like to know,” said Louis, much disturbed. “I wonder if those fellows belong to a cavalry troop close at hand?”

“More than likely.”

“Then they may hunt up our boys and cause trouble.”

“Shall we go back?”

“I think one of us might. The other can go ahead, as Captain Paulding directed.”

This was agreed to, and by tossing up a cent it was decided that Harry Bingham should return to the Goreville Volunteers, while Louis went on as originally intended, but with increased vigilance.

In five minutes more they had separated, and Louis was stalking sturdily along towards Frederick. The road now led beside a number of plantation fields where numerous colored hands were hard at work getting the ground into shape for the coming summer. Many of the slaves eyed Louis curiously, but none asked him questions. Several, noting his cap, haversack, and gun, grinned broadly, but that was all.

Towards four o’clock the young soldier, remembering his captain’s words, began to cast about for a good spot for the night’s camp. He soon came to a patch of woods, in the midst of which was a clearing backed up by rocks, and this he concluded would be as good a place as any, having both wood and water handy. Marking the spot on the roadway, so it could not be missed, he started back to join his company.

He had proceeded less than a quarter of a mile on the back track when a loud shouting reached his ears and made him quicken his pace. The shouting came from familiar voices, and loudest of all was the voice of Jerry Rowe.

“Help! Help! Save me! Shoot the critter, somebody!” came the cry from Rowe, and then there burst into view half a dozen of the Goreville Volunteers, with Jerry Rowe bringing up the rear. Behind the flying squad, in deadly pursuit, was--a bull.

“Save me! Save me! Shoot him, somebody!” shrieked Jerry Rowe again. “Don’t let the savage critter horn me!”

“Shoot him yourself!” cried several of his companions. “You are the nearest,” added one.

But Jerry Rowe was too scared to fire his weapon, and when, at last, he did manage to pull the trigger, the ball passed about six feet over the beast’s head. Having fired, Jerry threw away his gun and ran harder than ever.

There was no doubt but that the bull was a bad one, for his eyes were bloodshot and the foam was flying from his jaws as he lumbered on with wonderful rapidity. Yet with it all Louis could not help but laugh at the scene. Here were soldiers enlisted to fight the enemy flying from a barnyard beast! What would these volunteers do in the face of an armed battery?

Bang! Coming to a halt by the roadside, he waited until the bull was almost even with him, then aimed at a bloodshot eye and fired. The aim was true, and with a roar of pain the beast staggered, pitched forward upon his knees, and then rolled over in a cloud of dust with a thud that shook the earth.

“Hurrah! Louis Rockford has killed him!” came from one of the young fellows in front. “That was a dandy shot, Louis.”

“I hit him, too,” panted Jerry Rowe. “See, my shot struck him directly in the eye.”

“It was I who hit him in the eye!” answered Louis, indignantly. “You didn’t come within a mile of him.”

“Go on with you; I know I hit him,” blustered Jerry. “Do you think you are the only marksman in the company?”

“Louis hit him in the eye,” put in another of the crowd. “I fired, too, but the bullet passed under him, I think.”

“How on earth did you start him up?” questioned Louis, coolly, as he proceeded to load up again.

“We didn’t start him up. He broke out of a field that we were passing and came for us red hot before we realized what was up.”

By this time the bull had breathed his last, and the little crowd gathered around and waited for the others of the company to come up. When they did, Captain Paulding’s face was as red as a beet.

“To run from a cow!” he burst out. “Boys, I am ashamed of you. What would the rebels say to this if they heard of it?”

“But he came upon us so unexpectedly, captain,” pleaded one.

“Soldiers should never be taken unawares. Didn’t I warn you we might be passing through a hostile country, and all must be on guard?”

“But we weren’t looking for a bull rebel, cap’n,” returned Jack Melburn, the joker of the company.

The captain made no reply to this. Learning that Louis had shot the beast, he praised the youth for his alertness and good aim, and then re-formed his company and marched on.

Nothing more had been seen of the strange cavalrymen, but as soon as the volunteers went into camp a strict guard was set, that there might be no surprise during the night. Several old tents had been brought along, and these and the blankets were all the protection at hand, but even these were better than some of the accommodations experienced by the volunteers later.

Morning was just about to dawn, and Louis was still fast asleep, with his head upon a pine branch pillow, when a sudden shot from the direction of the roadway set the camp in immediate commotion. Two farmers had tried to pass the guard and the soldier had fired as a signal for assistance.

When Captain Paulding went out to meet the intruders, with his company drawn up behind him, the farmers looked rather disconcerted. Yet one of them plucked up courage enough to state that he was the owner of the bull that had been slain, and he wanted to know what the “sodgers was a-gwine ter do about the deestruction o’ his val’able property.”

“The bull attacked my men while they were on the public highway,” returned the captain. “They had to kill him in self-defense. We propose to do nothing.”

“Thet bull was wuth a heap o’ money,” growled the farmer.

“I am sorry for you, but I can do nothing,” went on Captain Paulding.

“I reckon you air some of them cussed Yankees.”

“We are Union men, sir,” and the captain looked so stern that the farmer’s jaw dropped. Seeing he could do nothing by intimidation, he finally offered to sell the meat at a reasonable price. This offer was accepted, and for the remainder of the trip to the Capitol the Goreville Volunteers lived on roast beef and beefsteaks galore.

“It was an easy way out of the trouble,” said the captain when in camp the next noon. “Had we not bought the meat the farmer might have spread the report that we were confiscating his goods and the whole neighborhood would have been aroused.”

Frederick had been passed by a circuitous route, and now the company took the most direct road to Rockville and Washington. Everybody still felt fresh and none complained of the long marches. Once they encountered a slight shower, but otherwise the weather remained perfect.

It was towards the close of the fourth day out that word reached the company, through several Union sympathizers, that trouble had occurred at Baltimore between the citizens and some Massachusetts troops that were passing through the city from one railroad station to another. A mob had collected, sticks and stones had been used, and a sharp skirmish had ensued, ending in the death of a number on both sides. This trouble at Baltimore was kept up until some time later, when General Butler took possession of the city and placed it under military rule. By this it will be seen how near Maryland was at one time to joining her Southern sisters in the great rebellion.

The news from Baltimore made Captain Paulding more vigilant than ever, and four advance guards or skirmishers were sent out whenever the volunteers moved. At a little place called Bowker’s the company was attacked by two men and half a dozen big boys, who threw stones and clods of dirt, but these Southern sympathizers fled at the first order from Captain Paulding to halt and take aim.

When the order came to point his gun, Louis’s heart leaped into his throat. Was he really to fire upon a fellow human being? he asked himself. It is not to be wondered at that his aim was high. Very few men in their first encounter on the battlefield shoot to kill. One must be nerved up by the course of events to do this deliberately.

Bowker’s passed, the little band struck out through a fertile country for Rockville. Up to this time nothing had been heard of the cavalrymen Louis and Harry Bingham had met. But now, about four o’clock in the afternoon, Jerry Rowe, one of the advance guards sent out, came running back, his face as white as a sheet.

“The Southern cavalry!” he gasped. “They are on the road, a hundred or more strong, and are coming this way! Run for your lives!”

“Rowe!” ejaculated Captain Paulding so fiercely that Jerry nearly sank in new terror.

“But, captain, they are a hundred strong, and all armed--and--”

“Enough. They are riding this way?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very well; that is sufficient. Take your place in the ranks. Company, halt!”

“But, captain--”

“Silence, or I’ll place you under arrest. You are positively the worst coward I ever met.”

Without a word more Jerry sneaked to his place, glad that it was in the second and not the first division of the command. He trembled from head to foot.

Another of the guards now came back. It was Moses Blackwell, the blacksmith. He had remained long enough to ascertain that the cavalry numbered less than sixty men, but all well armed and mounted. That they were Confederates he was certain, for, although they wore the United States uniform, every U. S. had been stripped from their clothing, as well as from their horses’ trappings.

“I left Dunham and Wells behind,” said Blackwell. “They are going to watch and see if any more of the enemy are on the way.”

“How far off are the cavalry?”

“No more’n half a mile, sir.”

“Very good. Return to the ranks. Company, attention! Forward march! Left wheel! Forward march! Left wheel! Forward march!” came the various commands, and in half a minute the volunteers were moving in the direction from whence they had come.

Louis wondered if they were really going to retreat, but he did not have to wonder long. In five minutes they reached a spot where the road widened and where at one side was a patch of rocky woodland, fringed by a strip of heavy but low brush. Here Captain Paulding halted his command and drew them up in a single line just in front of the brush.

“Men, we will wait here until the enemy appears,” he said, quietly but firmly. “If they show a disposition to pass us without trouble, well and good. If they want to fight, leap behind the brush and wait for the command to fire. If we can’t hold the brush, we will take to the woods, where, if they want to follow us, they’ll have to do it on foot.”

Having thus shown his military sagacity, Captain Paulding set the command at rest and went among “his boys” to encourage them to keep calm. The drummer boy was sent to the rear and every gun and pistol was examined to see that it was properly loaded.

A cloud of dust soon indicated the approach of the cavalry, and in a minute more they rode into sight. As they came closer Louis noted that the captain he had spoken to at the brook was at their head.

The volunteers were not discovered until the two commands were less than three hundred feet apart, for the cavalry had not expected trouble in that vicinity and had no guard in advance. The instant the volunteers were sighted the captain called a halt. There was a few seconds of consultation, then the cavalry leader rode forward holding up a white handkerchief. With his own handkerchief over his shoulder, Captain Paulding went forward to meet him. The two saluted in true military style.

“What company is that?” demanded the Confederate.

“The Goreville Volunteers, United States Army, from Pennsylvania, unattached. What cavalry is that?”

“Nelson’s Potomac Chargers, unattached, of the South,” the last words with peculiar emphasis. “Where are you going?”

“To Washington. And you?”

“To Frederick.”

Then came a pause. Both leaders looked each other squarely in the eyes.

“Do you anticipate trouble on the road, captain?” asked the Confederate, with a faint smile.

“I’m not looking for trouble, captain; but I am ready to meet it if it comes.”

“Are you holding this road?”

“Oh, no.”

“Then I reckon I’ll bid you good day and go on.”

“Good day, captain.”

Again the two saluted, and each went back to his command. In a minute more the cavalrymen rode by, their sabers clanking loudly. They were certainly a fine body of men. A few scowled at the volunteers, a few smiled, and the majority, including the officers, looked straight ahead, as though the company along the roadside had never existed. Five minutes more, and the dust again swallowed them from view.

Before they had disappeared the volunteers were again in motion, and the wagon came forth from its place of concealment in the woods. Now the danger was past, Jerry Rowe began to murmur and wanted to know “why they hadn’t been permitted to blow the heads off of every pesky rebel.” But Moses, the blacksmith, soon silenced him.

“Jerry, you make me weary,” he said. “If we ever git to shootin’, you’ll be the fust to run. Shut up!” and Jerry did so.

The encounter with the cavalry was the last incident of importance in the march to the Capitol. One Sunday was spent on the road, and the following Tuesday night saw them in Washington. They found some other commands from Pennsylvania, Massachusetts, and New York already there, in camp on the large parade ground near the White House and in the Capitol buildings. Some of the men who had come in were unarmed, but these were speedily furnished weapons by the United States authorities, and the veteran General Scott took command of the troops.

Throughout the South the cry was “On to Washington!” and it was feared that the Capitol might be attacked at any time. But General Scott was alive to the situation, and, as more and more troops came in, the city was well fortified against an attack and that danger was, for the time being, averted.