A Race.
"Some have greatness thrust upon them." -- Twelfth Night.
The unexpected volley probably disturbed private Jacob Alspaugh's mind more than that of any other man in the regiment.It produced there an effect akin to the sensation of nauseous emetic in his stomach.
He had long enjoyed the enviable distinction of being the "best man" among combative youths of Sardis, and his zeal and invariable success in the fistic tournaments which form so large a part of the interest in life of a certain class of young men in villages, had led his townsmen to entertain extravagant hopes as to his achievements in the field.
But, like most of his class, his courage was purely physical, and a low order of that type.He was bold in those encounters where he knew that his superior strength and agility rendered small the chances of his receiving any serious bodily harm, but of that high pride and mounting spirit which lead to soldierly deeds he had none.
The sight of the dying men on each side shriveled his heart with a deadly panic.
"O, Kent," he groaned, "Lemme go, and let's git out o' here.This's just awful, and it'll be ten times wuss in another minnit.Let's git behind that big rock there, as quick as the Lord'll let us."He turned to pull away from Kent's detaining hand, when he heard Captain Bennett's order to the regiment to charge, and the hand relaxed its hold.Jake faced to the front again and saw Kent and Abe Bolton, and the rest of the boys rush forward, leaving him and a score of other weak-kneed irresolutes standing alone behind.
Again he thought he would seek the refuge of the rock, but at that moment the Union line swept up to the Rebels, scattering them as a wave does dry sand.
Jake's mental motions were reasonably rapid.Now he was not long in realizing that all the danger was past, and that he had an opportunity of gaining credit cheaply.He acted promptly.Fixing his bayonet, he gave a fearful yell and started forward on a run for the position which the regiment had gained.
He was soon in the lead of the pursuers, and appeared, by his later zeal, to be making amends for his earlier tardiness.As he ran ahead he shouted savagely:
"Run down the hellions! Shoot 'em! Stab 'em! Bay'net 'em! Don't let one of 'em git away."There is an excitement in a man-chase that is not even approached by any other kind of hunting, and Jake soon became fairly intoxicated with it.
He quickly overtook one or two of the slower-paced Rebels, who surrendered quietly, and were handed by him over to the other boys as they came up, and conducted by them to the rear.
Becoming more excited he sped on, entirely unmindful of how far he was outstripping his comrades.
A hundred yards ahead of him was a tall, gaunt Virginian, clad in butternut-colored jeans of queer cut and pattern, and a great bell-crowned hat of rough, gray beaver.Though his gait was shambling and his huge splay feet rose and fell in the most awkward way, he went over the ground with a swiftness that made it rather doubtful whether Jake was gaining on him at all.But the latter was encouraged by the sings of his chase's distress.First the bell-crowned hat flew off and rolled behind, and Jake could not resist the temptation to give it a kick which sent it spinning into a clump of honeysuckles.
Then the Rebel flung off a haversack, whose flapping interfered with his speed, and this was followed by a clumsily-constructed cedar canteen.The thought flashed into Jake's mind that this was probably filled with the much-vaunted peach-brandy of that section;and as ardent sprits were one of his weaknesses, the temptation to stop and pick up the canteen was very strong, but he conquered it and hurried on after his prey.Next followed the fugitive's belt, loaded down with an antique cartridge-box, a savage knife made from a rasp and handled with buckhorn, and a fierce-looking horse-pistol with a flint-lock.
"I seemed to be bustin' up a moosyum o' revolutionary relics," said Jake afterward, in describing the incident."The feller dropped keepsakes from his forefathers like a bird moltin' its feathers on a windy day.I begun to think that if I kep up the chase purty soon he'd begin to shed Continental money and knee-britches."The fugitive turned off to the right into a narrow path that wound through the laurel thickets.Jake followed with all the energy that remained in him, confident that a short distance more would bring him so close to his game that he could force his surrender by a threat of bayoneting.He caught up to within a rod of the Rebel, and was already foreshortening his gun for a lunge in case of refusal to surrender on demand, when he was amazed to see the Rebel whirl around, level his gun at him, and order HIS surrender.
Jake was so astonished that he stumbled, fell forward and dropped his gun.As he raised his eyes he saw three or four other Rebels step out from behind a rock, and level their guns upon him with an expression of bloodthirstiness that seemed simply fiendish.
Then it flashed upon him how far away he was from all his comrades, and that the labyrinth of laurel made them even more remote.With this realization came the involuntary groan:
"O, Lordy! it's all up with me.I'm a goner, sure!"His courage did not ooze out of his fingers, like the historic Bob Acres's; it vanished like gas from a rent balloon.He clasped his hands and tried to think of some prayer.
"Now I lay me," he murmured.
"Shan't we shoot the varmint?" said one of the Rebels, with a motion of his gun in harmony with that idea.
"O, mister--mister--GOOD mister, DON'T! PLEASE don't! I swear Ididn't mean to do no harm to you."
"Wall, ye acted monty quare fur a man that didn't mean no harm,"said the pursued man, regaining his breath with some difficulty.
"A-chasin' me down with thet ar prod on yer gun, an' a-threatenin'
