Burial of the Guns — Little Darby, Pt 4

It must have been a little before midnight when she emerged from the pines in front of the Stanley cabin.

The latch-string was out, and she knocked and pushed open the door almost simultaneously.

All she could make out to say was, “Darby.

” The old woman was on her feet, and the young man was sitting up in the bed, by the time she entered.

Darby was the first to speak.

“What do you want here?

” he asked, sternly.

“Darby--the Yankees--all around,” she gasped--“out on the road yonder.

” “What!

” A minute later the young man, white as a ghost, was getting on his jacket while she told her story, beginning with what the woman she had met had told her of the two men she had seen.

The presence of a soldier had given her confidence, and having delivered her message both women left everything else to him.

His experience or his soldier’s instinct told him what they were doing and also how to act.

They were a raid which had gotten around the body of the army and were striking for the capital; and from their position, unless they could be delayed they might surprise it.

In the face of the emergency a sudden genius seemed to illuminate the young man’s mind.

By the time he was dressed he was ready with his plan--Did Vashti know where any of the conscript guard stayed?

Yes, down the road at a certain place.

Good; it was on the way.

Then he gave her his orders.

She was to go to this place and rouse any one she might find there and tell them to send a messenger to the city with all speed to warn them, and were to be themselves if possible at a certain point on the road by which the raiders were travelling, where a little stream crossed it in a low place in a heavy piece of swampy woods.

They would find a barricade there and a small force might possibly keep them back.

Then she was to go on down and have the bridge, ten or twelve miles below on the road between the forks burned, and if necessary was to burn it herself; and it must be done by sunrise.

But they were on the other road, outside of the forks, the girl explained, to which Darby only said, he knew that, but they would come back and try the bridge road.

“And you burn the bridge if you have to do it with your own hand, you hear--and now go,” he said.

“Yes--I’ll do it,” said the girl obediently and turned to the door.

The next instant she turned back to him: he had his gun and was getting his axe.

“And, Darby----?

” she began falteringly, her heart in her eyes.

“Go,” said the young soldier, pointing to the door, and she went just as he took up his old rifle and stepped over to where his mother sat white and dumb.

As she turned at the edge of the clearing and looked back up the path over the pine-bushes she saw him step out of the door with his gun in one hand and his axe in the other.

An hour later Darby, with the fever still hot on him, was cutting down trees in the darkness on the bank of a marshy little stream, and throwing them into the water on top of one another across the road, in a way to block it beyond a dozen axemen’s work for several hours, and Vashti was trudging through the darkness miles away to give the warning.

Every now and then the axeman stopped cutting and listened, and then went on again.

He had cut down a half-dozen trees and formed a barricade which it would take hours to clear away before cavalry could pass, when, stopping to listen, he heard a sound that caused him to put down his axe: the sound of horses splashing along through the mud.

His practised ear told him that there were only three or four of them, and he took up his gun and climbed up on the barricade and waited.

Presently the little squad of horsemen came in sight, a mere black group in the road.

They saw the dark mass lying across the road and reined in; then after a colloquy came on down slowly.

Darby waited until they were within fifty yards of his barricade, and then fired at the nearest one.

A horse wheeled, plunged, and then galloped away in the darkness, and several rounds from pistols were fired toward him, whilst something went on on the ground.

Before he could finish reloading, however, the men had turned around and were out of sight.

In a minute Darby climbed over the barricade and strode up the road after them.

He paused where the man he had shot had fallen.

The place in the mud was plain; but his comrades had taken him up and carried him off.

Darby hurried along after them.

Day was just breaking, and the body of cavalry were preparing to leave their bivouac when a man emerged from the darkness on the opposite side of the camp from that where Little Darby had been felling trees, and walked up to the picket.

He was halted and brought up where the fire-light could shine on him, and was roughly questioned--a tall young countryman, very pale and thin, with an old ragged slouched hat pulled over his eyes, and an old patched uniform on his gaunt frame.

He did not seem at all disturbed by the pistols displayed around him, but seated himself at the fire and looked about in a dull kind of way.

“What do you want?

” they asked him, seeing how cool he was.

“Don’t you want a guide?

” he asked, drawlingly.

“Who are you?

” inquired the corporal in charge.

He paused.

“Some calls me a d’serter,” he said, slowly.

The men all looked at him curiously.

“Well, what do you want?

” “I thought maybe as you wanted a guide,” he said, quietly.

“We don’t want you.

We’ve got all the guide we want,” answered the corporal, roughly, “and we don’t want any spies around here either, you understand?

” “Does he know the way?

All the creeks is up now, an’ it’s sort o’ hard to git erlong through down yonder way if you don’t know the way toller’ble well?

” “Yes, he knows the way too--every foot of it--and a good deal more than you’ll see of it if you don’t look out.

” “Oh!

That road down that way is sort o’ stopped up,” said the man, as if he were carrying on a connected narrative and had not heard him.

“They’s soldiers on it too a little fur’er down, and they’s done got word you’re a-comin’ that a-way.

” “What’s that?

” they asked, sharply.

“Leastways it’s stopped up, and I knows a way down this a-way in and about as nigh as that,” went on the speaker, in the same level voice.

“Where do you live?

” they asked him.

“I lives back in the pines here a piece.

” “How long have you lived here?

” “About twenty-three years, I b’leeves; ‘ats what my mother says.

” “You know all the country about here?

” “Ought to.

” “Been in the army?

” “Ahn--hahn.

” “What did you desert for?

” Darby looked at him leisurely.

“‘D you ever know a man as ‘lowed he’d deserted?

I never did.

” A faint smile flickered on his pale face.

He was taken to the camp before the commander, a dark, self-contained looking man with a piercing eye and a close mouth, and there closely questioned as to the roads, and he gave the same account he had already given.

The negro guide was brought up and his information tallied with the new comer’s as far as he knew it, though he knew well only the road which they were on and which Darby said was stopped up.

He knew, too, that a road such as Darby offered to take them by ran somewhere down that way and joined the road they were on a good distance below; but he thought it was a good deal longer way and they had to cross a fork of the river.

There was a short consultation between the commander and one or two other officers, and then the commander turned to Darby, and said: “What you say about the road’s being obstructed this way is partly true;

do you guarantee that the other road is clear?

” Darby paused and reflected.

“I’ll guide you,” he said, slowly.

“Do you guarantee that the bridge on the river is standing and that we can get across?

” “Hit’s standing now, fur as I know.

” “Do you understand that you are taking your life in your hand?

” Darby looked at him coolly.

“And that if you take us that way and for any cause--for any cause whatsoever we fail to get through safe, we will hang you to the nearest tree?

” Darby waited as if in deep reflection.

“I understand,” he said.

“I’ll guide you.

” The silence that followed seemed to extend all over the camp.

The commander was reflecting and the others had their eyes fastened on Darby.

As for him, he sat as unmoved as if he had been alone in the woods.

“All right,” said the leader, suddenly, “it’s a bargain: we’ll take your road.

What do you want?

” “Could you gi’me a cup o’ coffee?

It’s been some little time since I had anything to eat, an’ I been sort o’ sick.

” “You shall have ‘em,” said the officer, “and good pay besides, if you lead us straight; if not, a limb and a halter rein; you understand?

” A quarter of an hour later they were on the march, Darby trudging in front down the middle of the muddy road between two of the advance guard, whose carbines were conveniently carried to insure his fidelity.

What he thought of, who might know?

--plain; poor; ignorant; unknown;

marching every step voluntarily nearer to certain and ignominious death for the sake of his cause.

As day broke they saw a few people who lived near the road, and some of them recognized Darby and looked their astonishment to see him guiding them.

One or two of the women broke out at him for a traitor and a dog, to which he said nothing; but only looked a little defiant with two red spots burning in his thin cheeks, and trudged on as before; now and then answering a question; but for the most part silent.

He must have thought of his mother, old and by herself in her cabin;

but she would not live long; and of Vashti some.

She had called him a deserter, as the other women had done.

A verse from the Testament she gave him may have come into his mind; he had never quite understood it: “Blessed are ye when men shall revile ye.

” Was this what it meant?

This and another one seemed to come together.

It was something about “enduring hardship like a good soldier”, he could not remember it exactly.

Yes, he could do that.

But Vashti had called him a deserter.

Maybe now though she would not; and the words in the letter she had written him came to him, and the little package in his old jacket pocket made a warm place there; and he felt a little fresher than before.

The sun came up and warmed him as he trudged along, and the country grew flatter and flatter, and the road deeper and deeper.

They were passing down into the bottom.

On either side of them were white-oak swamps, so that they could not see a hundred yards ahead; but for several miles Darby had been watching for the smoke of the burning bridge, and as they neared the river his heart began to sink.

There was one point on the brow of a hill before descending to the bottom, where a sudden bend of the road and curve of the river two or three miles below gave a sight of the bridge.

Darby waited for this, and when he reached it and saw the bridge still standing his heart sank like lead.

Other eyes saw it too, and a score of glasses were levelled at it, and a cheer went up.

“Why don’t you cheer too?

” asked an officer.

“You have more to make or lose than anyone else.

” “We ain’t there yit,” said Darby.

Once he thought he had seen a little smoke, but it had passed away, and now they were within three miles of the bridge and there was nothing.

What if, after all, Vashti had failed and the bridge was still standing!

He would really have brought the raiders by the best way and have helped them.

His heart at the thought came up into his throat.

He stopped and began to look about as if he doubted the road.

When the main body came up, however, the commander was in no doubt, and a pistol stuck against his head gave him to understand that no fooling would be stood.

So he had to go on.

As to Vashti, she had covered the fifteen miles which lay between the district and the fork-road; and had found and sent a messenger to give warning in the city; but not finding any of the homeguard where she thought they were, she had borrowed some matches and had trudged on herself to execute the rest of Darby’s commands.

The branches were high from the backwater of the fork, and she often had to wade up to her waist, but she kept on, and a little after daylight she came to the river.

Ordinarily, it was not a large stream; a boy could chuck a stone across it, and there was a ford above the bridge not very deep in dry weather, which people sometimes took to water their horses, or because they preferred to ride through the water to crossing the steep and somewhat rickety old bridge.

Now, however, the water was far out in the woods, and long before the girl got in sight of the bridge she was wading up to her knees.

When she reached the point where she could see it, her heart for a moment failed her; the whole flat was under water.

She remembered Darby’s command, however, and her courage came back to her.

She knew that it could not be as deep as it looked between her and the bridge, for the messenger had gone before her that way, and a moment later she had gone back and collected a bundle of “dry-wood”, and with a long pole to feel her way she waded carefully in.

As it grew deeper and deeper until it reached her breast, she took the matches out and held them in her teeth, holding her bundle above her head.

It was hard work to keep her footing this way, however, and once she stepped into a hole and went under to her chin, having a narrow escape from falling into a place which her pole could not fathom; but she recovered herself and at last was on the bridge.

When she tried to light a fire, however, her matches would not strike.

They as well as the wood had gotten wet when she slipped, and not one would light.

She might as well have been at her home in the district.

When every match had been tried and tried again on a dry stone, only to leave a white streak of smoking sulphur on it, she sat down and cried.

For the first time she felt cold and weary.

The rays of the sun fell on her and warmed her a little, and she wiped her eyes on her sleeve and looked up.

The sun had just come up over the hill.

It gave her courage.

She turned and looked the other way from which she had come--nothing but a waste of water and woods.

Suddenly, from a point up over the nearer woods a little sparkle caught her eye; there must be a house there, she thought; they might have matches, and she would go back and get some.

But there it was again--it moved.

There was another--another--and something black moving.

She sprang to her feet and strained her eyes.

Good God!

they were coming!

In a second she had turned the other way, rushed across the bridge, and was dashing through the water to her waist.

The water was not wide that way.

The hill rose almost abruptly on that side, and up it she dashed, and along the road.

A faint curl of smoke caught her eye and she made for it through the field.

It was a small cabin, and the woman in it had just gotten her fire well started for the morning, when a girl bare-headed and bare-footed, dripping wet to the skin, her damp hair hanging down her back, her face white and her eyes like coals, rushed in almost without knocking and asked for a chunk of fire.

The woman had no time to refuse (she told of it afterward when she described the burning of the bridge); for without waiting for answer and before she really took in that it was not a ghost, the girl had seized the biggest chunk on the hearth and was running with it across the field.

In fact, the woman rather thought she was an evil spirit; for she saw her seize a whole panel of fence--more rails than she could have carried to save her life, she said, and dashed with them over the hill.

In Vashti’s mind, indeed, it was no time to waste words, she was back on the bridge with the chunk of fire and an armful of rails before the woman recovered from her astonishment, and was down on her knees blowing her chunk to rekindle it.

The rails, however, like everything else, were wet and would not light, and she was in despair.

At last she got a little blaze started, but it would not burn fast; it simply smoked.

She expected the soldiers to come out of the woods every minute, and every second she was looking up to see if they were in sight.

What would Darby think?

What would happen if she failed?

She sprang up to look around: the old rail of the bridge caught her eye; it was rotted, but what remained was heart and would burn like light-wood.

She tore a piece of it down and stuck one end in the fire: it caught and sputtered and suddenly flamed up; the next second she was tearing the rail down all along and piling it on the blaze, and as it caught she dashed back through the water and up the hill, and brought another armful of rails.

Back and forth she waded several times and piled on rails until she got a stack of them--two stacks, and the bridge floor dried and caught and began to blaze; and when she brought her last armful it was burning all across.

She had been so busy bringing wood that she had forgotten to look across to the other side for some time, and was only reminded of it as she was wading back with her last armful of rails by something buzzing by her ear, and the second after the crack of a half-dozen guns followed from the edge of the wood the other side.

She could not see them well for the burden in her arms, but she made out a number of horses dashing into the water on the little flat, and saw some puffs of smoke about their heads.

She was bound to put her wood on, however, so she pushed ahead, went up on the bridge through the smoke as far as she could go, and flung her rails on the now devouring fire.

A sudden veer of the wind blew the smoke behind her and bent the flames aside, and she could see clear across the fire to the other bank.

She saw a great number of men on horses at the edge of the woods, in a sort of mass;

and a half-dozen or so in the water riding up to their saddle-skirts half-way to the bridge, and between the first two, wading in water to his waist, Darby.

He was bare-headed and he waved his hat to her, and she heard a single cheer.

She waved her hand to him, and there was a little puff of smoke and something occurred in the water among the horses.

The smoke from the fire suddenly closed around her and shut out everything from her eyes, and when it blew away again one of the horses had thrown his rider in the water.

There was a lot of firing both from the edge of the wood and from the horsemen in the water, and Darby had disappeared.

She made her way back to the bank and plunged into a clump of bushes, where she was hidden and watched the raiders.

She saw several of them try to ford the river, one got across but swam back, the others were swept down by the current, and the horse of one got out below without his rider.

The other she did not see again.

Soon after their comrade had rejoined them, the men on the edge of the wood turned around and disappeared, and a half-hour later she saw the glint of the sun on their arms and accoutrements as they crossed over the top of the hill returning two miles above.

***** This is the story of the frustration of the raid upon which so much hope was built by some in high position at Washington.

A day was lost, and warning was given to the Confederate Government, and the bold plan of the commander of the raiding party was defeated.

As to Little Darby, the furlough he had applied for came, but came too late and was returned.

For a time some said he was a deserter; but two women knew differently.

A Federal soldier who was taken prisoner gave an account of the raid.

He said that a contraband had come from Washington and undertaken to lead them across the country, and that he had brought them around the head of the streams, when one night a rebel deserter came into camp and undertook to show them a better way by a road which ran between the rivers, but crossed lower down by a bridge; that they had told him that, if for any reason they failed to get through by his road they would hang him, a bargain which he had accepted.

That he had led them straight, but when they had got to the bridge it had been set on fire and was burning at that moment; that a half-dozen men, of whom he, the narrator, was one, rode in, taking the guide along with them, to see if they could not put the fire out, or, failing that, find the ford; and when they were about half-way across the little flat they saw the person on the bridge in the very act of burning it, and waving his hand in triumph; and the man who was riding abreast of him in front fired his carbine at him.

As he did so the deserter wheeled on him, and said, “God d--n you--don’t you know that’s a woman,” and springing on him like a tiger tore him from his horse; and, before they took in what he was doing, had, before their very eyes, flung both of them into a place where the current was running, and they had disappeared.

They had seen the deserter’s head once in the stream lower down, and had fired at him, and he thought had hit him, as he went down immediately and they did not see him again.

This is all that was known of Little Darby, except that a year or more afterward, and nearly a year after Mrs. Stanley’s death, a package with an old needle-case in it and a stained little Testament with a bullet hole through it, was left at the Cross-roads, with a message that a man who had died at the house of the person who left it as he was trying to make his way back to his command, asked to have that sent to Vashti Mills.

The End.

NOTES:

Thomas Nelson Page is known primarily for his short stories.

1853. Born at Oakland Plantation, in Hanover County, Virginia.

1872. Graduated from Washington and Lee University.

1874. Received his degree in law from the University of Virginia.

1922. Died.

Some books by Thomas Nelson Page: In Ole Virginia.

Meh Lady.

A Story of the War.

Marse Chan.

A Tale of Old Virginia.

The Burial of the Guns.

Elsket and Other Stories.

Newfound River.

The Old South.

Polly.

A Christmas Recollection.

Among the Camps.

Young People’s Stories of the War.

Two Little Confederates.

“Befo’ de War.

” Echoes of Negro Dialect.

(with A. C.

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