Chapter I: On the Union Side

Private O'Halloran, detailed for special duty in advance of the picket line, sat reclining against a huge red oak. Within reach lay a rifle of beautiful workmanship. In one hand he held a blackened brier-root pipe, gazing on it with an air of mock regret. It had been his companion on many a weary march and on many a lonely day, when, as now, he was doing duty as a sharp-shooter. But it was not much of a companion now. It held the flavor, but not the fragrance, of other days. It was empty, and so was O'Halloran's tobacco-pouch. It was nothing to grumble about, but the big, laughing Irishman liked his pipe, especially when it was full of tobacco. The words of an old song came to him, and he hummed them to himself:

"There was an ould man, an' he had a wooden leg,
An' he had no terbacky, nor terbacky could he beg;
There was another ould man, as keen as a fox,
An' he always had terbacky in his ould terbacky box.

"Sez one ould man, 'Will yez give me a chew?'
Sez the other ould man, 'I'll be dommed ef I do.
Kape away from them gin-mills, an' save up yure rocks,
An' ye'll always have terbacky in yer ould terbacky box.'"

What with the singing and the far-away thoughts that accompanied the song, Private O'Halloran failed to hear footsteps approaching until they sounded quite near.

"Halt!" he cried, seizing his rifle and springing to his feet. The newcomer wore the insignia of a Federal captain, seeing which, O'Halloran lowered his weapon and saluted. "Sure, sor, you're not to mind me capers. I thought the inimy had me complately surrounded--I did, upon me sowl."

"And I," said the captain, laughing, "thought the Johnnies had caught me. It is a pleasant surprise. You are O'Halloran of the Sharp-shooters, I have heard of you--a gay singer and a great fighter."

"Sure it's not for me to say that same. I sings a little bechwane times for to kape up me sperits, and takes me chances, right and lift. You're takin' a good many yourself, sor, so far away from the picket line. If I make no mistake, sor, it is Captain Somerville I'm talkin' to."

"That is my name," the captain said.

"I was touchin' elbows wit' you at Gettysburg, sor."

The captain looked at O'Halloran again. "Why, certainly!" he exclaimed. "You are the big fellow that lifted one of the Johnnies over the stone wall."

"By the slack of the trousers. I am that same, sor. He was nothin' but a bit of a lad, sor, but he fought right up to the end of me nose. The men was jabbin' at 'im wit' their bay'nets, so I sez to him, says I, 'Come in out of the inclemency of the weather,' says I, and thin I lifted him over. He made at me, sor, when I put 'im down, an' it took two men for to lead 'im kindly to the rear. It was a warm hour, sor."

As O'Halloran talked, he kept his eyes far afield.

"Sure, sor," he went on, "you stand too much in the open. They had one muddlehead on that post yesterday; they'll not put another there to-day, sor." As he said this, the big Irishman seized the captain by the arm and gave him a sudden jerk. It was an unceremonious proceeding, but a very timely one, for the next moment the sapling against which the captain had been lightly leaning was shattered by a ball from the Confederate side.

"Tis an old friend of mine, sor," said O'Halloran; "I know 'im by his handwritin'. They had a muddlehead there yesterday, sor. I set in full sight of 'im, an' he blazed at me twice; the last time I had me fist above me head, an' he grazed me knuckles. 'Be-dad,' says I, 'you're no good in your place;' an' when he showed his mug, I plugged 'im where the nose says howdy to the eyebrows. 'Twas no hurt to 'im, sor; if he seen the flash, 'twas as much."

To the left, in a little clearing, was a comfortable farm-house. Stacks of fodder and straw and pens of corn in the shuck were ranged around. There was every appearance of prosperity, but no sign of life, save two bluebirds, the pioneers of spring, that were fighting around the martin gourds, preparing to take possession.

"There's where I was born." The captain pointed to the farm-house. "It is five years since I have seen the place."

"You don't tell me, sor! I see in the Hur'ld that they call it the Civil War, but it's nothin' but oncivil, sor, for to fight agin' your ould home."

"You are right," assented the captain. "There's nothing civil about war. I suppose the old house has long been deserted."

"Sure, look at the forage, thin. 'Tis piled up as nately as you please. Wait till the b'ys git at it! Look at the smoke of the chimbly. Barrin' the jay-birds, 'tis the peacefulest sight I've seen."

"My people are gone," said the captain. "My father was a Union man. I wouldn't be surprised to hear of him somewhere at the North. The day that I was eighteen he gave me a larrupping for disobedience, and I ran away."

"Don't spake of it, sor." O'Halloran held up his hands. "Many's the time I've had me feelin's hurted wit' a bar'l stave."

"That was in 1860," said the captain. "I was too proud to go back home, but when the war began I remembered what a strong Union man my father was, and I joined the Union army."

"'Tis a great scheme for a play," said the big Irishman solemnly.

"My mother was dead," the captain went on, "my oldest sister was married, and my youngest sister was at school in Philadelphia, and my brother, two years older than myself, made life miserable for me in trying to boss me."

"Oh!" exclaimed O'Halloran, "don't I know that same? 'Tis meself that's been along there."

Captain Somerville looked at the old place, carefully noting the outward changes, which were comparatively few. He noted, too, with the eye of a soldier, that when the impending conflict took place between the forces then facing each other, there would be a sharp struggle for the knoll on which the house stood; and he thought it was a curious feat for his mind to perform, to regard the old home where he had been both happy and miserable as a strategic point of battle. Private O'Halloran had no such memories to please or to vex him. To the extent of his opportunities he was a man of business. He took a piece of white cloth from his pocket and hung it on the broken sapling.

"I'll see, sor, if yon chap is in the grocery business."

As he turned away, there was a puff of smoke on the farther hill, a crackling report, and the hanging cloth jumped as though it were alive.

"Faith, it's him, sor!" exclaimed O'Halloran, "an' he's in a mighty hurry." Whereupon the big Irishman brushed a pile of leaves from an oil-cloth strapped together in the semblance of a knapsack.

"What have you there?" asked Captain Somerville.

"Sure, 'tis me grocery store, sor. Coffee, tay, an' sugar. Faith, I'll make the devil's mouth water like a baby cuttin' his stomach tathe. Would ye mind comin' along, sor, for to kape me from swindlin' the Johnny out of all his belongin's?"