After breakfast I accompanied him to the hut to visit the other men. Although he summoned them by name—shouting out “Karl Klitz,” “Barney Gillooly,” “Pat Sperry,”—no one answered; so, shoving open the door, we entered. At first the hut appeared to be empty, but as we looked into one of the bunks we beheld the last-named individual, so sound asleep that, though his officer shouted to him to know what had become of his comrades, he only replied by grunts.
“The fellow must be drunk,” exclaimed the lieutenant, shaking the man.
This was very evident; and as the lieutenant intended not to set off immediately, he resolved to leave him in bed to sleep off his debauch.
But what had become of the German and the fat Irishman? was the question. The men belonging to the hut were all away, so we had to go in search of one of them, to learn if he could give any account of the truants. The negro, who went by no other name than Sam or Black Sam, was the first we met. Sam averred, on his honour as a gentleman, that when he left the hut in the morning they were all sleeping as quietly as lambs; and he concluded that they had gone out to take a bath in the stream, or a draught of cool water at the spring. The latter the lieutenant thought most probable, if they had been indulging in potations of whisky on the previous evening; as to bathing, none of them were likely to go and indulge in such a luxury.
To Cold-Water Spring we went; but they were not to be seen, nor could the other men give any account of them.
The lieutenant burst into a fit of laughter, not unmixed with vexation.
“A pretty set of troops I have to command—my sergeant sick, one drunk, and two missing.”
“Probably Klitz and Gillooly have only taken a ramble, and will soon be back,” I observed; “and by that time the other fellow will have recovered from his tipsy fit; so it is of no use to be vexed. You should be more anxious about Sergeant Custis, for I fear he will not be able to accompany you for several days to come.”
On going back to the house, we found the sergeant no better. Rachel, indeed, said that he was in a raging fever, and that he must have suffered from a sunstroke, or something of that sort.
The lieutenant was now almost in despair; and though the dispatches he carried were not of vital importance, yet they ought, he said, to be delivered as soon as possible, and he had already delayed two days. As there was no help for it, however, and he could not at all events set out until his men came back, I invited him to take a fishing-rod and accompany me to a part of the stream where, although he might not catch many fish, he would at all events enjoy the scenery.
It was a wild place; the rocks rose to a sheer height of two or three hundred feet above our heads, broken into a variety of fantastic forms. In one place there was a cleft in the rock, out of which the water flowed into the main stream. The lieutenant, who was fond of fishing, was soon absorbed in the sport, and, as I expected, forgot his troubles about his men.
He had caught several trout and a couple of catfish, when I saw Rachel hurrying towards us.
“Massa Sergeant much worse,” she exclaimed; “him fear him die; want bery much to see him officer, so I come away while Missie Clarice watch ober him. Him bery quiet now—no fear ob him crying out for present.”
On hearing this, we gathered up our fishing-rods and hastened back to the house, considerably outwalking Rachel, who came puffing after us.
We found Clarice standing by the bedside of the sick man, moistening his parched lips, and driving away the flies from his face.
“I am afraid I am going, sir,” he said as the lieutenant bent over him. “Before I die, I wish to tell you that I do not trust those two men of ours, Karl Klitz and Gillooly. I learned from Pat Sperry that they have been constantly putting their heads together of late, and he suspects that they intend either to desert, or to do some mischief or other.”
“Thank you,” said the lieutenant; “but do not trouble yourself about such matters now. I will look after the men. You must try to keep your mind quiet. I hope that you are not going to die, as you suppose. I have seen many men look much worse than you do, and yet recover.”
The sergeant, after he had relieved his mind, appeared to be more quiet. Rachel insisted on his taking some of her remedies; and as evening drew on he was apparently better—at all events, no worse. Clarice and the negress were unremitting in their attentions, utterly regardless of the fever being infectious; I do not think, indeed, that the idea that it was so ever entered their heads.
The lieutenant had been so occupied with his poor sergeant, that he seemed to have forgotten all about his missing men. At last, however, he recollected them, and I went back with him to the hut.
On the way we looked into the stables, where we found the five horses and baggage-mules all right; so that the men, if they had deserted, must have done so on foot.
We opened the door of the hut, hoping that possibly by this time the missing men might have returned; but neither of them was there. The drunken fellow was, however, still sleeping on, and probably would have slept on until his hut companions came back, had we not roused him up.
“You must take care that your people do not give him any more liquor, or he will be in the same state to-morrow morning,” observed the lieutenant.
We had some difficulty in bringing the man to his senses; but the lieutenant finding a pitcher of water, poured the contents over him, which effectually roused him up.
“Hullo! murther! are we all going to be drowned entirely at the bottom? Sure the river’s burst over us!” he exclaimed, springing out of his bunk. He looked very much astonished at seeing the lieutenant and me; but quickly bringing himself into position, and giving a military salute, “All right, your honour,” said he.
“Yes, I see that you are so now,” said the lieutenant; “but little help you could have afforded us, had we been attacked by the enemy. I must call you to account by-and-by. What has become of your comrades?”
“Sure, your honour, are they not all sleeping sweetly as infants in their bunks?” He peered as he spoke into the bunks which had been occupied by the other men. “The drunken bastes, it was there I left them barely two hours ago, while I jist turned in to get a quiet snooze. They are not there now, your honour,” he observed, with a twinkle in his eye; “they must have gone out unbeknown to me. It is mighty surprising!”
“Why, you impudent rascal, you have been asleep for the last twelve hours,” said the lieutenant, scarcely able to restrain his gravity. “Take care that this does not happen again; keep sober while you remain here.”
“Sure, your honour, I would not touch a dhrop of the cratur, even if they were to try and pour it down me throat,” he answered. “But I found a countryman of mine living here. It is a hard matter, when one meets a boy from Old Ireland, to refuse jist a sip of the potheen for the sake of gintility!”
“Follow me to the house as soon as you have put yourself into decent order,” said the lieutenant, not wishing to exchange further words with the trooper.
Pat touched his hat, to signify that he would obey the order, and the lieutenant and I walked on.
“I cannot put that fellow under arrest, seeing that I have no one to whom I can give him in charge,” said the lieutenant, laughing. “But what can have become of the others? I do not think, notwithstanding what Sergeant Custis said, that they can have deserted. They would scarcely make an attempt to get over this wild country alone, and on foot.”
As soon as Pat made his appearance, the lieutenant ordered him to stand on guard at the door, where he kept him until nightfall.
When our men came in, I inquired whether they knew anything of the troopers. They one and all averred that they had left them sleeping in the hut, and that they had no notion where they could have gone.
“Could the fellows, when probably as drunk as Pat, have fallen into the torrent and been drowned!” exclaimed the