The Rock of Chickamauga, Joseph A. Altsheler [best book club books txt] 📗

and

heard the wind and rain beat vainly upon walls and roof and the thunder

rumble as it moved off toward the east. He felt to the full the power of

contrast.

 

"Fine in here, isn't it, Sergeant?" he said.

 

"Fine as silk," replied the sergeant from his own heap of shucks. "We

played in big luck to find this place, 'cause I think it's going to rain

hard all night."

 

"Let it. It can't get me. Sergeant, I've always known that corn is our

chief staple, but I never knew before that the shucks, which so neatly

enclose the grains and cob, were such articles of luxury. I'm lying upon

the most magnificent bed in the United States, and it's composed wholly

of shucks."

 

"It's no finer than mine, Mr. Mason."

 

"That's so. Yours is just like mine, and, of course, it's an exception.

Now, I wish to say, Sergeant, the rain upon the roof is so soothing that

I'm likely to go to sleep before I know it."

 

"Go ahead, Mr. Mason, and it's more'n likely I'll follow. All trails

will be destroyed by the storm and nobody will think of looking here for

us to-night."

 

Both soon slept soundly, and all through the night the rain beat upon

the roof.

 

CHAPTER VI. A BOLD ATTACK

 

Dick was the first to awake. The sergeant had not slept the night before

at all, and, despite his enormous endurance, he was overpowered. Having

fallen once into slumber he remained there long.

 

It was not yet morning and the rain was yet falling steadily. Its sweep

upon the roof was still so pleasant and soothing that Dick resolved to

go to sleep again, after he had looked about a little. He had grown used

to dusk and he could see just a little. The sergeant, buried all but his

head among the corn shucks, was breathing deeply and peacefully.

 

He looked out at one of the cracks, but he saw only rain sweeping by

in misty sheets. The road that ran by the field was invisible. He gave

devout thanks that this tight little corn crib had put itself in their

way. Then he returned to his slumbers, and when he awoke again the

sergeant was sitting by one of the cracks smoothing his thick hair with

a small comb.

 

"I always try to keep as neat as I can, Mr. Mason," he said, apologizing

for such weakness. "It gives you more courage, and if I get killed I

want to make a decent body. Here's your breakfast, sir. There's enough

left for the two of us, and I've divided it equally."

 

Cold ham, bacon and crackers were laid out on clean shucks, and they ate

until nothing was left. It was now full daylight, and the rain was dying

away to a sprinkle. The farmer might come out at any time to his crib,

and they felt that they must be up and away.

 

They bade farewell to their pleasant shelter of a night, and, after

pulling through the deep mud of the field, entered again the forest,

which was now soaking wet.

 

"If Colonel Hertford is near where we reckon he is we ought to meet him

by nightfall," said Sergeant Whitley.

 

"We're sure to reach him before then," said Dick joyously.

 

"Colonel Hertford is a mighty good man, and if he says he's going to

be at a certain place at a certain time I reckon he'll be there, Mr.

Mason."

 

"And then we'll bring him back and join General Grant. What do you think

of our General, Sergeant?"

 

Dick spoke with all the freedom then so prevalent in the American

armies, where officer and man were often on nearly a common footing, and

the sergeant replied with equal freedom.

 

"General Grant hits and hammers, and I guess that's what war is,"

he said. "On the plains we had a colonel who didn't know much about

tactics. He said the only way to put down hostile Indians was to find

'em, and beat 'em, and I guess that plan will work in any war, big or

little."

 

"I heard before I left the army that Washington was getting scared,

afraid that he was taking too big a risk here in the heart of the

Confederacy, and that his operations might be checked by orders from the

capital."

 

Sergeant Whitley smiled a wise smile.

 

"We sergeants learn to know the officers," he said, "and I've had the

chance to look at General Grant a lot. He doesn't say much, but I guess

he's doing a powerful lot of thinking, while he's chawing on the end of

his cigar. You notice, Mr. Mason, that he takes risks."

 

"He took a big one at Shiloh, and came mighty near being nipped."

 

"But he wasn't nipped after all, and now, if I can judge by the signs,

he's going to take another chance here. I wouldn't be surprised if he

turned and marched away from the Mississippi, say toward Jackson."

 

"But that wouldn't be taking Vicksburg."

 

"No, but he might whip an army of the Johnnies coming to relieve

Vicksburg, and I've a sneaking idea that the General has another daring

thought in mind."

 

"What is it, Sergeant?"

 

"When he turns eastward he'll be away from the telegraph. Maybe he

doesn't want to receive any orders from the capital just now."

 

"I believe you've hit it, Sergeant. At least I hope so, and anyway we

want to reach Colonel Hertford right away."

 

Still following the map and also consulting their own judgment, they

advanced now at a good rate. But as they came into a more thickly

populated country they were compelled to be exceedingly wary. Once a

farmer insisted on questioning them, but they threatened him with their

rifles and then plunged into a wood, lest he bring a force in pursuit.

 

In the afternoon, lying among some bushes, they saw a large Confederate

force, with four cannon, pass on the road toward Jackson.

 

"Colonel Hertford might do them a lot of damage if he could fall on them

with his cavalry," said the sergeant thoughtfully.

 

"So he could," said Dick, "but I imagine that General Grant wants the

colonel to come at once."

 

They turned northward now and an hour later found numerous hoofprints in

a narrow road.

 

"All these were made by well-shod horses," said the sergeant, after

examining the tracks critically. "Now, we've plenty of horseshoes and

the Johnnies haven't. That's one sign."

 

"What's the other?"

 

"I calculate that about six hundred men have passed here, and that's

pretty close to the number Colonel Hertford has, unless he's been in a

hot fight."

 

"Good reasoning, Sergeant, and I'll add a third. Those men are riding

directly toward the place where, according to our maps and information,

we ought to meet Colonel Hertford."

 

"All these things make me sure our men have passed here, Mr. Mason.

Suppose we follow on as hard as we can?"

 

Cheered by the belief that they were approaching the end of their quest

they advanced at such a rate that the great trail rapidly grew fresher.

 

"Their horses are tired now," said the sergeant, "and likely we're going

as fast as they are. They're our men sure. Look at this old canteen that

one of 'em has thrown away. It's the kind they make in the North. He

ought to have been punished for leaving such a sign."

 

"I judge, Sergeant, from the looks of this road, that they can't now be

more than a mile away."

 

"Less than that, Mr. Mason. When we reach the top of the hill yonder I

think we'll see 'em."

 

The sergeant's judgment was vindicated again. From the crest they saw a

numerous body of muddy horsemen riding slowly ahead. Only the brilliant

sunlight made their uniforms distinguishable, but they were, beyond a

doubt, the troops of the Union. Dick uttered a little cry of joy and the

sergeant's face glowed.

 

"We've found 'em," said the sergeant.

 

"And soon we ride," said Dick.

 

They hurried forward, shouted and waved their rifles.

 

The column stopped, and two men, one of whom was Colonel Hertford

himself, rode back, looking curiously at the haggard and stained faces

of the two who walked forward, still swinging their rifles.

 

"Colonel Hertford," said Dick joyfully, "we've come with a message for

you from General Grant."

 

"And who may you be?" asked Hertford in surprise.

 

"Why, Colonel, don't you know me? I'm Lieutenant Richard Mason of

Colonel Winchester's regiment, and this is Sergeant Daniel Whitley of

the same regiment."

 

The colonel broke into a hearty laugh, and then extended his hand to

Dick.

 

"I should have known your voice, my boy," he said, "but it's certainly

impossible to recognize any one who is as thickly covered with dry

Mississippi mud as you are. What's your news, Dick?"

 

Dick told him and the sergeant repeated the same tale. He knew them both

to be absolutely trustworthy, and their coming on such an errand through

so many dangers carried its own proof.

 

"We've several spare horses, bearing provisions and arms," said Colonel

Hertford. "Two can be unloaded and be made ready for you and the

sergeant. I fancy that you don't care to keep on walking, Dick?"

 

"I've had enough to last me for years, Colonel."

 

They were mounted in a few minutes, and rode with the colonel. The world

had now changed for Dick. Astride a good horse and in a column of six

hundred men he was no longer the hunted. These troopers and he were

hunters now.

 

The column turned presently into another road and advanced with speed in

the direction of Grant. Colonel Hertford asked Dick many questions about

Slade.

 

"I've been hearing of him since we were on this raid," he said. "He's

more of a guerilla than a regular soldier, but he may be able to gather

a considerable force. I wish we could cut him off."

 

"So do I," said Dick, but his feeling was prompted chiefly by Slade's

determined attempts upon his life.

 

Colonel Hertford now pushed forward his men. He, too, was filled with

ambitions. He began to have an idea of Grant's great plans, in which

all the Union leaders must cooperate, and he meant that his own little

command should be there, whenever the great deed, whatever it might be,

was done. He talked about it with Dick, who he knew was a trusted

young staff officer, and the two, the lad and the older man, fed the

enthusiasm of each other.

 

This attack deep into the flank of the Confederacy appealed to them with

its boldness, and created a certain romantic glow that seemed to clothe

the efforts of a general so far from the great line of battle in the

East. They talked, too, of the navy which had run past forts on the

Mississippi, and which had shown anew all its ancient skill and courage.

 

As they talked, twilight came, and the road led once more through the

deep woods, where the shade turned the twilight into the darkness of

night. Then rifles flashed suddenly in the thickets, and a half-dozen

horsemen fell. The whole column was thrown for an instant or two into

disorder, frightened horses rearing and stamping, and, before their

riders could regain control, another volley came, emptying a half-dozen

saddles.

 

Colonel Hertford gave rapid commands. Then, shouting and waving his

saber he galloped boldly into the forest, reckless of trees and bushes,

and Dick, the sergeant, and the whole troop followed. The lad was nearly

swept from his horse by a bough, but he recovered himself in time to see

the figures of men on foot fleeing rapidly through the dusk.

 

Bullets pattered on bark and leaves, and the angry horsemen, after

discharging their carbines, swept forward with circling sabers. But the

irregulars who had ambushed them, save a few fallen before the bullets,

escaped easily in the dense woods, and under cover of the darkness which

was now coming down, thick and fast.

 

A trumpet sounded the recall and the cavalrymen, sore and angry, drew

back into the road. They had lost a dozen good men, but Colonel Hertford

felt that they could not delay for vengeance. Grant's orders were to

come at once; and he intended to obey them.

 

"I'd wager a year's pay against a Confederate