A Lieutenant at Eighteen Part 1

A Lieutenant at Eighteen.

by Oliver Optic.

PREFACE

"A LIEUTENANT AT EIGHTEEN" is the third of the series of "The Blue and the Gray--on Land." The stirring events of thirty-four years ago, when the first gun of the Great Rebellion awoke the nation from its slumber of thirteen years of peace, transformed the older boys of the day into men. Thousands of them who lacked three or four years of their majority, and some of them even six or seven years of it, flocked to the standard of the imperilled Union. While the volunteers were in considerable numbers over the military age, those who were not yet out of their teens were earnest in their desire to be enrolled in the ranks of the loyal army, and in one way or another surmounted the obstacle of their tender age.

The youth of the hero of this volume is not contrary to the facts set forth in the official records of the States; neither does his appearance in a squadron of cavalry const.i.tute an improbability, nor his promotion from the rank of second lieutenant to that of first lieutenant, nor even his appointment on the staff of a brigadier-general.

In the rosters of three regiments of cavalry, preserved in the archives of a certain State, the name of a young man of seventeen is given as a first lieutenant; two of eighteen as captains; one of the same age as first lieutenant; and three more of that age as second lieutenants.

Deck Lyon's rank, therefore, is not exceptional.

Since the close of the war many high schools in the larger cities, and many other educational inst.i.tutions, have taught military drill and evolutions in their regular courses; and the students have been organized as companies, battalions, and regiments, and are thus trained in actual practice as officers, from a corporal to a colonel, and as privates, for service in the field if we should again unfortunately be involved in a war with a foreign or domestic enemy.

The important battle of Mill Springs, or Logan's Cross Roads as it is indifferently called in the official reports of the government, is introduced in the story, though not in its minute details. The Riverlawn Cavalry are present, and take part in the action, and the command of the princ.i.p.al character renders important service on the outskirts of the battle-field; and the squadron, either as a whole or in detachments, was busily employed. The State was overrun by lawless hordes of ruffians, of which Shaler, the latest historian of the State, writes as follows:--

"Deserters from both armies formed bands of outlaws called guerillas. These wretches, without commanders from either army, sheltered in the great forests that abound in nearly all parts of the State, were often strong enough to overcome the domestic forces, and were guilty of many outrages. They brought back to Kentucky the evils of its struggle with the Indians. Men again tilled their fields with their muskets by their sides, and slept in expectation of combat. During this and the following year these parties were hunted down, and, when captured, hanged without mercy.

Still their numbers, their daring, and their swift movements, made the struggle as difficult and as b.l.o.o.d.y as in any year during the last century."

The Riverlawn Cavalry was largely employed in operations against these irregular bodies of marauders; and there were so many of them that the force was kept constantly occupied. The cavalry had plenty of exciting experience; and the hero, in command of his platoon on detached service, proved himself to be not only a brave officer, but a skilful strategist.

Compared with the States farther north, Kentucky had a terrible experience in the earlier years of the war, in her desperate struggle with Confederate and domestic enemies; and she is certainly ent.i.tled as a Union State to greater honor and respect for her loyalty and fidelity to the Union, and for sending so large a number of troops as she did "to the front," than any other loyal State.

WILLIAM T. ADAMS.

A LIEUTENANT AT EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER I

GRACE MORGAN AND HER TREASURE-CHEST

"Are you an honest man, sir?" asked a very pretty young woman, not more than twenty years old, as she stopped in the open field in front of Sergeant Life Knox of the Riverlawn Cavalry, as it was generally called, though the squadron belonged to a numbered regiment in Kentucky.

The non-commissioned officer was a tall Kentuckian, over six feet high, lank and raw-boned. He looked at the young woman, and a smile lighted up his thin face.

"I reckon I am, Miss; I never robbed a bank, or stole a poor woman's last dollar," he replied, thinking it was a queer question if the lady proposed to trust him on his own recommendation.

"Are you a Confederate soldier, for I see that you wear a uniform?"

continued the young woman, looking behind her with a timid glance.

"I am not!" protested Life with earnestness enough to prove that he meant all that he said. "Don't you see that I wear the uniform of the United States army? and, Hail Columby! if I ain't a Union man from the smallest nail in the heel of my boot to the top hair on my Kentucky skull!"

"You won't rob me if I tell you the truth, will you?" asked she very simply, and evidently agitated by painful doubts.

"No, indeed, Missy! I wouldn't do that even if you didn't tell me the truth; not if you lied to me till you was black in the face," replied the sergeant warmly. "But what difference does it make to you whether I am honest or not? I am forty-two, and I reckon you don't think of marrying me without my mother's consent."

"I am very serious, sir, and I hope you will not make fun of me,"

pleaded the young woman with a deep blush on her face, as she looked behind her and listened.

"I wouldn't say a sa.s.sy thing to you for half a Kentucky county; but you asked me a queer question. I'll do anything I kin for you. I reckon I'm an honest man; and I don't reckon you kin find anybody in my county that would say I'm not honest."

"That's enough; you look like an honest man, and I believe you," added the fair woman, as she took from under her clothing a hard-wood box about eight inches long by four in width and depth.

From the effort it required for her to handle it, Life judged that it was quite heavy. It was bound with straps of bra.s.s, screwed to the wood; and the sight of it was enough to convince the sergeant that it contained something valuable. Her strange question seemed to be explained by this supposition.

"What is your name, Missy?" asked Life, becoming very sedate all at once; for, rough as his manners were, he had a kind heart, and would not trifle with the feelings of any one.

"My name is Grace Morgan," replied the lady, looking behind her once more, as though she dreaded some peril in that direction.

"Be you afeerd of sunthin', that you keep lookin' over yender?"

inquired the cavalryman in kindly tones. "What is it? Tell me all about it."

"You say you are a Union man?" she inquired doubtfully.

"Bet your life on't! I'm orderly sergeant of the fust company of the Riverlawn Cavalry. What's it all about?" asked Life, very tenderly for him.

"Stephen Halliburn, who lives about half a mile over there, is my guardian. About twenty Confederate soldiers, or guerillas, I don't know which, are plundering his house and stable, and they say they will have his money if they have to pull his house down to find it," answered Grace, trembling, and glancing frequently behind her, as though she were in mortal terror of the approach of the enemy.

"Oh, ho, Grace! That's what's the matter, ain't it? We'll soon fix the gorrillas, or the soldiers, whatever they may be," replied Life, as he looked earnestly in the direction of the road, a few rods distant from the spot.

"But I can't carry this chest any farther. I am worn out bringing it so far; for I have been so frightened that all the strength has gone out of me," said Grace, as she placed the box on a rock near her. "I am terribly afraid that Mr. Halliburn will be killed or badly hurt; for he is a Union man, and speaks out just what he thinks."

"We will do what we can for him," added Life, still looking in the direction of the road, and listening for sounds from the north.

"But you are only a single man; and what can you do against twenty ruffians?" asked the Kentucky girl, who still trembled, and did not seem to believe that the stalwart cavalryman could do anything to aid Mr. Halliburn.

"About fifty on us," added Life quietly, still looking and listening.

"I'm a scout sent out ahead of half the fust company marchin' this way.

I left my horse in the road, to come over this way and take a look, for I had an idee I heerd sunthin' on the left."

"Perhaps you heard the ruffians who are plundering my guardian,"

replied Grace, brightening up when she learned that fifty Union soldiers were in the neighborhood. "He is a dear good man, and I love him as though he were my father. I would not have left him if he had not insisted that I should do something with the chest, which contains all his money and papers. I can't carry it any farther, for it is very heavy."

"And what were you gwine to do with it?" inquired Life, looking into her pretty face.

"I was going to carry it over to the house of Colonel Ben Halliburn, my guardian's brother, as he told me to do."

"All right, Missy; I'll tote it over to the road, and report to the leftenant as soon as he comes up with the men," added Life as he picked up the treasure-chest.

It was heavy, as the young woman had said, though it was a light load for the powerful Kentuckian; and he concluded at once that it must contain a considerable amount of gold. In the distracted condition of the State very few had any confidence in the banks, and some had turned their bills into coin for any emergency that might arise. Before he reached the road he saw another scout getting over the fence.

"Get on your hoss agin, Fronklyn!" shouted Life, who walked with long and hurried strides, so that Grace had to run in order to keep near him.

The story of the bearer of the chest had fully aroused him by this time; and he was ready for action, whether it was in a fight, or in the service of the fair maiden, though there was hardly a fibre of sentimentalism in his composition. When he reached the road, Sergeant Fronklyn had mounted his horse, and was waiting for orders from the chief scout.