The Courier of the Ozarks

After the volley killing her father had been fired, the girl uttered one more shriek, and then stood with dry eyes, gazing as if in a trance; then with a low moan she threw herself on the still body, enfolding it with her arms as if she would shield it from the profane gaze of those around it. She lay as if dead; and so they left her.

Hours afterward, Red Jerry came creeping up from his hiding place, and found her. At first he thought her dead, but at his touch and the sound of his voice she aroused and stood up – but a changed being – changed from a woman into a demon.

She spoke a few words to Jerry, but in so low a tone his few followers who had gathered round could not hear. Jerry gently led her away from the rest; but the men noticed she walked as one seeing not.

They stopped under a tree not far away.

"Jerry," she said, in a tone devoid of the least sign of feeling, "you have often told me you loved me, and wanted me to become your wife. I have as often refused. I am now ready to marry you, if you make me one promise."

Red Jerry's heart gave a great bound. He had won. The peerless Agnes Templeton was to become his wife – he, a guerrilla chieftain.

"Anything you ask," he cried, rapturously, and attempted to take her in his arms.

"Do not touch me," she said, in the same passionless tones. "You must not touch me until you have promised, and not then until the words are spoken which give you a right."

"What is it you want me to promise, Agnes? You know anything in my power will be granted," Jerry replied, his voice showing the depth of his passion.

"That you will let me dress as a man and ride by your side; that you will never order me away, however great the danger; that where you are, I may always be."

"For you to ride at my side would be bliss," said Jerry; "but, oh! Agnes, to lead you into danger – how can I do it?"

"It must be as I say, or I can never be your wife," was her answer.

Jerry promised, and side by side they rode away to the home of a minister. It was near midnight when they reached it, and there, amid the clashing of the elements – for a fearful storm had arisen – the words were spoken that made Agnes Templeton the bride of Jerry Alcorn, the guerrilla.

Sacrificing everything feminine, except her luxuriant hair, which she coiled tightly on top of her head and concealed under a wide sombrero, she rode by the side of her husband throughout his career. No Federal thought the smooth-faced, handsome young man who was always with Jerry was a woman.

The band became known as one of the most cruel and merciless in the State. It revelled in deeds of bloodshed, and of all the band, the young man with the angel face and the heart of a demon, who rode by Red Jerry, was known as the most merciless.

CHAPTER XI

THE STORY OF CARL MEYER

"Of all outrages!" exclaimed Dan.

"That girl! Wasn't she splendid?" answered Lawrence. "She made me think of some great tragic queen. What a scene for the stage! – and we saw it in reality."

"Wasn't thinking of the girl," sputtered Dan. "I was thinking of the outrage of sending us back under arrest."

"He had a right to, Dan. We could be court-martialed and shot."

"What! For interfering with the hellish work of that murderer? He is as bad as a guerrilla," angrily responded Dan.

"For drawing a weapon and interfering with his orders," replied Lawrence. "Good God! I could almost afford to be shot for the pleasure of putting a bullet through the black heart of Jennison. That girl – I wonder what will become of her!"

"Girl again!" growled Dan. "And don't blame Jennison too much. He had great provocation. No doubt that old scoundrel had been shielding Jerry."

But Lawrence did not answer. He knew Dan's aversion to girls, and little was said as they rode on, mile after mile. Both Lawrence and Dan bitterly felt the disgrace of reporting back to Lexington under arrest.

Lawrence knew that the case would have to go to Schofield. If there was any court-martial, Schofield would have to order it, and Lawrence felt that the General would deal leniently with him.

But the case never went to Schofield. On his return from his raid, Colonel Jennison released Lawrence from arrest, saying he did so on account of his youth, and that no doubt he acted as he did from sudden impulse, owing to the distress and beauty of the girl. Neither did he think Lawrence understood the situation. Harsh means had to be used to prevent the guerrillas from murdering Union men.

The fact was, Colonel Jennison did not wish the case to be investigated. He, Lane, and others had been reprimanded so often by the Federal authorities that more than once they had threatened to turn guerrillas and wage warfare on their own account.

Soon after this affair, Lawrence was ordered to report at St. Louis.

"Now I suppose I can leave and join General Blair," said Lawrence, after he had given General Schofield a full report of what had happened.

"I trust you will stay with me a while yet," answered the General. "As I wrote you, I am about to take the field in person. We will have but little rest until Hindman, who is gathering a large force in northern Arkansas, is thoroughly whipped. There will be stirring times for the next two months. Blair is not needing you yet. Grant's army is very quiet – hasn't done much since Corinth fell and Memphis was taken. They are making slow progress along the Mississippi now."

Lawrence agreed to stay in Missouri a while longer. He was granted a two weeks' furlough, and then he was to report at Springfield.

The first use Lawrence made of his furlough was to visit his uncle, and he found that personage greatly elated over the prospects of the South. "I tell you, Lawrence," he exclaimed, "the independence of the South is already as good as secured. Why, just consider: McClellan whipped on the Peninsula, his army barely escaping; Pope completely crushed, his army almost annihilated, the remnant seeking refuge in the fortifications around Washington. Lee's army is sweeping victoriously through Maryland; Harper's Ferry taken with ten thousand prisoners. It will only be a matter of a few days until Washington is taken.

"Bragg is thundering at the very gates of Louisville. The whole of Tennessee and Kentucky will soon be redeemed. Buell's army will be driven across the Ohio. Grant has not gained a foot since the capture of Corinth. He has not, and never will, get past Vicksburg, I tell you, Lawrence, it's all over. The South has won."

"I admit, uncle," replied Lawrence, "that this has been a bad year for us. But the war isn't over. The worst is yet to come. In the end the South will be crushed."

"It cannot be! It cannot be!" cried his uncle, excitedly.

"Uncle, don't let us discuss the war," said Lawrence. "How long since you heard from Edward? I am anxious to hear all the news."

"He was well the last time I heard from him," said Mr. Middleton, "but I do not hear very often. It is harder to get letters through than it was; but, thank God! those we do get don't come through the hands of that traitor, Guilford Craig. You have heard no news of him, have you?"

"No; but it is curious his body was never found. There is little doubt but that he fell at Pea Ridge, and that at the hands of his step-brother."

"Served him right," growled Mr. Middleton.

"And Randolph Hamilton – what of him?" asked Lawrence.

"Randolph is also well, Edward writes."

"I am glad to hear that," answered Lawrence. "Randolph is a noble fellow. Lola Laselle did a fine thing when she saved him. How is Mrs. Hamilton now?"

"Mrs. Hamilton and Dorothy have gone to Europe," answered Mr. Middleton. "Mr. Hamilton thought it best to take her away from the excitement of the war."

"So Dorothy is gone," said Lawrence, "Well, she won't have to hold aside her skirts for fear of contamination, if I happen to pass her on the sidewalk."

"I thought you and Dorothy were great friends – kind of childish sweethearts," replied his uncle.

"That was before I turned Yankee," laughed Lawrence.

"Ah, my boy, Dorothy is not the only one who has been disappointed in you," sighed his uncle.

While Lawrence and Mr. Middleton were talking, a newsboy came running down the street, yelling: "Extra! Extra! Terrible battle in Maryland. McClellan whips Lee. Fifty thousand men killed."

Mr. Middleton rushed out and purchased a paper. It told of the great battle at Antietam. He turned pale as he read, and his hands trembled so he could scarcely hold the paper. Lawrence heard him murmur, "Thank God! Edward was not in it."

Lawrence had no thought of exulting over the news in his uncle's presence; instead, he told him that the first reports of a battle were always exaggerated; but at the same time his heart was singing for joy. Afterward, when the news came that Lee had succeeded in getting his army safely across the Potomac, Mr. Middleton's hopes revived. It was a drawn battle, after all.

There was one in St. Louis that Lawrence could not fail to visit, and that was Lola Laselle, the girl who had taken his part on the steamboat, when a forlorn, dirty, homeless boy, and who had chosen him for her knight-errant when he went into the army.

Of all the young people Lawrence had associated with before the war, Lola was one of the few who had remained faithful to the old flag, and by so doing had been mercilessly cut by her young companions. But one day Lola hid Randolph Hamilton to keep him from being arrested as a spy, and this somewhat restored her to favor, especially with the Randolph family.

No sooner did Lola see Lawrence than she ran toward him with outstretched hands, crying, "Lawrence, Lawrence, is this indeed you? How glad I am to see you! And how you have grown! Why, you are a man!"

"And I am afraid I have lost my little girl," said Lawrence, as he took her hand, and gallantly raised it to his lips. "You have grown to almost a young lady."

"I don't know whether I like it or not," said Lola. "I sometimes think I had rather remain a little girl."

"I believe I am of your opinion," replied Lawrence, looking at her admiringly.

"Why, am I growing homely?" pouted Lola.

"That's not it. If you were still a little girl, I – I might have been permitted to kiss your cheek, instead of just your hand. Remember – "

"Stop! You mean thing!" commanded Lola, blushing furiously.

Lawrence gazed on her with admiration. She was certainly budding into a most beautiful girl.

"Lola, you are splendid!" he cried, "I wouldn't have you a little girl again. You are far ahead of any girl I know."

"How about Dorothy Hamilton?" she asked, mockingly.

"Dorothy Hamilton be hanged! How did you and she part?"

"Good friends. She and I correspond. After I saved Randolph, she could not do enough for me."

"Then she has some heart. I am glad to hear it," answered Lawrence, bitterly. "When I saved her from being crushed beneath the horse's feet, she rewarded me by calling me a miserable Yankee."

"Maybe she will be good to you some time," said Lola. "Remember how she used to cut me."

"I reckon I do," said Lawrence, "and it used to make me tearing mad. Lola, of all the girls I used to associate with, you are the only one who does not pass me with looks of contempt; but your friendship and sympathy are worth all I have lost – yes, a thousand times more."

"Don't magnify my importance; but I shall always be your friend, Lawrence," she said, simply.

They then fell to talking of other things, and Lawrence had to tell her of all his experiences. When he told her of his capture by the guerrillas, and how he had been ordered to be put to death, she shuddered and turned so pale he thought she was going to faint.

"Stop! Stop!" she gasped. "It was awful – awful! I cannot bear it."

"Wait and let me tell you how I escaped death," said Lawrence.

When he had finished, her eyes, though bedewed with tears, were shining with joy and pride.

"Lawrence," she cried, "I am prouder of you than ever. You were shown mercy, because you were merciful; and I would have my knight-errant as merciful as he is brave."

"How can he be otherwise, when she whose colors he wears is so kind and merciful?" gallantly replied Lawrence, and, taking her little hand in his, he raised it and pressed his lips against her trembling fingers.

"A true knight can always kiss the hand of the lady he serves," said Lawrence. He then bade her good-bye, with the promise of coming again before he went to the front.

Is it strange that, as he went on his way, his thoughts were all of the beautiful girl he had just left? But, all unbidden, there arose before him a mental vision of the face of another girl – a girl whose queenly head was crowned with a wealth of golden hair, but whose eyes flashed with scorn at the sight of him – whose very soul loathed the uniform he wore; and he sighed, he hardly knew why.

Suddenly the thoughts of all girls were driven from his mind, for in the crowd before him he saw a well-known face – the face of Carl Meyer. Carl was a German boy, about a year older than Lawrence. It was he who had induced Lawrence to join the Home Guards, and thus paved the way to his acquaintance with Frank Blair. They had not met since the battle of Wilson Creek, when Carl went back with a broken arm.

In a moment the two clasped hands, their eyes telling what their lips refused to utter. At length Lawrence found voice. "My! how you have grown!" he exclaimed; "and this," – he touched the strap of a second lieutenant on his shoulder – "Oh, Carl, I am so glad."

"And you," replied Carl, the joy gleaming in his honest eyes; "I see it's Captain now."

"Come with me, Carl. I must hear all that has happened to you since the last time we met."

In the privacy of Lawrence's room, Carl told his story – a story that Lawrence listened to breathless attention.

"The wound which I received at Wilson Creek was a bad one," said Carl, "and at first it was thought I would have to lose my arm; but I have it yet, and a pretty good arm it is. After I had recovered, which was early in January of this year, I was with the army which operated against New Madrid and Island Number 10. Lawrence, you should have been with me. It was glorious. The river fight – the mighty siege-guns – the great mortars which hurled shells weighing hundreds of pounds. It was as if all the thunders of heaven had gathered in one place to smite the earth.

"Then think of digging a canal twelve miles long, six miles of it through heavy timber. Great trees were sawed off beneath the water, to make a road for the transports."

"How could you do it? How could you do it?" broke in Lawrence.

"By standing on rafts or in boats and using saws with very long handles. It was a giant's task, but at last it was completed. Not only this, but, amid snow and chilling rains, bayous were waded, swamps considered impassable struggled through; and at last New Madrid and Island Number 10 fell.

"The fruits of these victories were glorious: nearly two hundred cannon, great and small; seven thousand prisoners, as many small arms, great stores of the munitions of war, and several transports sunk. All of this with a loss of only fifty."

"It was glorious, Carl," cried Lawrence. "No wonder you feel proud of being one of an army that dared so much, and accomplished so much."

"Wait until you hear the rest," replied Carl. "After Island Number 10 fell, most of the army was sent to reinforce Halleck before Corinth; but my command was left. We soon had possession of the Mississippi nearly to Memphis; but rumors came of the Confederates building an immense fleet of gunboats and ironclad rams.

"Our gunboats moved down and attacked, but were repulsed and driven back. Colonel Charles Ellet had been given authority to build some rams. He hastily constructed some out of old river steamboats, converting them into engines of destruction. With these wooden rams, without cannon, and without an armed crew, Colonel Ellet proposed to attack and destroy the whole fleet.

"Eleven sharpshooters had been chosen and placed on the Monarch. I was fortunate enough to be one of the eleven. We were the only armed men aboard the ram. The Monarch was commanded by Colonel Alfred Ellet, a brother of Charles. Charles was aboard the ram, Queen of the West.

"It was dusk when we came to our fleet of gunboats anchored across the Mississippi. Below them, a little above Memphis, lay the Rebel fleet, anchored in a line across the river. There the two fleets lay like two great beasts ready to spring on each other.

"Colonel Ellet anchored and waited for the morning. Hardly was it light when there came the boom of a great gun. It was a beautiful morning, and as the thunder of the gun reverberated over the water, thousands of the people of Memphis rushed to the bluffs to witness the battle and, with waving flags and shouts of encouragement, cheer their men on to victory.

"On, in imposing line, comes the Rebel fleet, the smokestacks of their vessels belching forth great clouds of smoke, and their guns thundering as they come. Now the guns of our fleet answer their thunder, and the bluffs on which the people are gathered shake and tremble with the concussion. A black wall of smoke settles down and hides our fleet from view; only through the blackness can be seen the flashes of the great guns.

"Hardly had the battle opened when Colonel Ellet signalled for his fleet of rams to get under way. The Queen of the West and the Monarch got off first, and straight for the wall of blackness, lit by the fitful flashes, we steered. We entered that wall, and everything was blotted from view – only around and about us was the roar of the great guns, the bursting of shells.

"Suddenly, as if emerging from the mouth of a tunnel, we burst from the cloud of smoke, and before us at full speed was coming the Rebel fleet, nearly a dozen gunboats and ironclads, against two wooden, unarmed rams.

"Colonel Ellet never swerved; ahead at full speed he drove the Queen of the West for the General Lovell. We could see the tall figure of Colonel Ellet standing on the hurricane-deck of the Queen. With his hat he signalled his brother to steer for the General Price, and on the two rams rushed, the Queen slightly ahead.

"The General Lovell drew out from their line and steered straight for the Queen. Like two great monsters, the boats rushed at each other. We forgot to cheer; we heeded not the thunder of battle; we could only look at these two vessels rushing to what seemed certain destruction.

"Even the excited cheering of the crowd on the bluffs grew silent. With tense nerves and white faces, they watched the two vessels. Coming as they were, it meant the destruction of both. Would not one swerve to avoid the coming blow? Still standing on the deck of his vessel, his eye fixed on his prey, Ellet drove the Queen forward – not a hair's breadth would he swerve.

"Just before the shock came, the General Lovell swerved to try to avoid the coming blow – but too late. Full amidships the Queen struck her, cutting her through like a great knife, and the vessel sank beneath the turbid waters of the river, all the crew not killed struggling in the water.

"From the thousands on shore there came a mighty groan – a wail of agony which seemed to throb and quiver through the air, making itself felt even above the roar of the battle.

"Now was our turn. The Monarch struck the General Price a glancing blow, not sinking her, but shaving off her starboard wheel; and she was out of the fight.

"Before the Queen could be disentangled from the wreck of the General Lovell, the Beauregard and Van Dorn both attacked her. Colonel Ellet fell with a ball through the knee; but as he lay on the deck, he continued to direct the fight.9

"The Monarch saw the danger which threatened the Queen of the West, and straight for the Beauregard she went, crashing into that vessel's side, and putting her out of the conflict.

"The Confederate fleet thought only of escape now. The battle drifted down the river, past the city. The gunboats joined in the chase, and but one Confederate vessel escaped. Those that had not been sunk or disabled were run on the shore on the Arkansas side and set on fire by their crews, before escaping into the swamp."

"Carl," cried Lawrence, "I would have given ten years of my life to have seen that battle, and, like you, to have been a part of it."

"Very little part I had," replied Carl, modestly, "except to fire a few shots when we were at close quarters. But after the fight – ach! Lawrence, that is something worth telling."

"What was it, Carl?"

"Toward the close of the fight, a white flag was run up in the city of Memphis. Colonel Ellet sent his son, a medical cadet, no older than yourself, Lawrence, to demand the surrender of the city. He chose three men, of whom I was one, to accompany him.

"We rowed ashore in a small boat, and landed in the midst of a howling, excited mob of thousands.

"Young Ellet handed the message which his father had written to the Mayor, and then we started for the postoffice. The mob closed in around us – four men in the midst of thousands. They cursed, they howled; they heaped upon us the most violent names; they threatened to tear us to pieces.

"We reached the postoffice, ascended to the top of the building, and began to lower the Confederate flag. A frenzy seized the crowd. They surged to and fro; they howled and gnashed their teeth like beasts of prey. Some drew revolvers and began shooting at us.

"'Don't fire back,' said young Ellet, coolly. 'They can not hit us this high.'

"The Stars and Bars came down, and the glorious Stars and Stripes arose, and as its folds unfurled to the breeze we swung our hats and gave a rousing cheer; but I do not think we were heard above the roar of the mob.

"Leaving the flag waving, we descended, and once more the mob surrounded us, snarling, cursing and howling; but a great fear kept them from tearing us to pieces.

"We walked through their midst as coolly as if we were being showered with bouquets instead of curses, and reached our boat in safety."

"It was a brave thing to do, Carl. I wouldn't have missed hearing your story for anything," said Lawrence, as he warmly shook his hand at parting.

The next day Lawrence went to bid his uncle and aunt good-bye, before starting for the front. As they talked, they were again interrupted by a newsboy crying, "Extra! Extra! All about the great battle at Corinth! Generals Price and Van Dorn whipped! The Missouri brigade annihilated!"

"What's that?" exclaimed Mr. Middleton, turning pale.

Lawrence secured a paper and gave it to him. He glanced at it and groaned. It told how Van Dorn and Price had been disastrously defeated before Corinth; how the Confederate Missouri brigade had charged up to the very mouth of the cannon of Fort Robinette, and that but few of them were left alive.

"We must hope for the best," said Lawrence, as he looked at the stricken faces of his uncle and aunt; but he could say no more.

Mr. Middleton, with shaking limbs and halting footsteps, assisted his wife to her room.

In St. Louis that night many sat weeping, yet hoping that their loved ones were safe; for St. Louis had many a son in that battle, both on the Federal side and the Confederate.

CHAPTER XII

THE NEWS FROM CORINTH

All the Missourians who had enlisted in the Confederate service had been transferred to the east of the Mississippi River, and with them their beloved General, Sterling Price.

It was a bitter blow to them, for they had to leave their State overrun with Federals, and at the mercy of what they considered an inhuman foe.

The first months of their service in Mississippi had been tame. The great Federal army which had laid siege to Corinth had been divided, the Army of the Cumberland going east under Buell, and the Army of the Tennessee, under General Grant, remaining in northern Mississippi and western Tennessee. For three months there had been only desultory fighting, no great battles.

At the Confederate camp at Baldyn, Mississippi, a group of officers of the Missouri regiments were gathered in a tent, discussing the situation. In the group was Edward Middleton, the son of Alfred Middleton; Randolph Hamilton, brother of Dorothy; and last, but not least, Benton Shelley, a step-brother of Guilford Craig.