The Guns of Shiloh: A Story of the Great Western Campaign, Joseph A. Altsheler [classic literature books .TXT] 📗

Then they resumed their weary journey, but the rest had not fully restored the horses and they were compelled at times to walk by the side of the road, leading their mounts. Sergeant Whitley, with his age and experience, was most useful now in restraining the impatient young men. Although of but humble rank he kept them from exhausting either themselves or their horses.

“It will be long after dark before we can reach camp,” said Captain Markham, sighing deeply. “Confound such roads. Why not call them morasses and have done with it!”

“No, we can't make it much before midnight,” said Dick, “but, after all, that will be early enough. If I judge him right, even midnight won't catch General Thomas asleep.”

“You've judged him right,” said Markham. “I've been with 'Pap' Thomas some time—we call him 'Pap' because he takes such good care of us—and I think he is going to be one of the biggest generals in this war. Always silent, and sometimes slow about making up his mind he strikes like a sledge-hammer when he does strike.”

“He'll certainly have the opportunity to give blow for blow,” said Dick, as he remembered that marching army behind them. “How far do you think it is yet to the general's camp?”

“Not more than a half dozen miles, but it will be dark in a few minutes, and at the rate we're going it will take us two full hours more to get there.”

The wintry days were short and the sun slid down the gray, cold sky, leaving forest and hills in darkness. But the little band toiled patiently on, while the night deepened and darkened, and a chill wind whistled down from the ridges. The officers were silent now, but they looked eagerly for the first glimpse of the campfires of Thomas. At last they saw the little pink dots in the darkness, and then they pushed forward with new zeal, urging their weary horses into a run.

When Captain Markham, Dick and Warner galloped into camp, ahead of the others, a thickset strong figure walked forward to meet them. They leaped from their horses and saluted.

“Well?” said General Thomas.

“The enemy is advancing upon us in full force, sir,” replied Captain Markham.

“You scouted thoroughly?”

“We saw their whole army upon the road.”

“When do you think they could reach us?”

“About dawn, sir.”

“Very good. We shall be ready. You and your men have done well. Now, find food and rest. You will be awakened in time for the battle.”

Dick walked away with his friends. Troopers took their horses and cared for them. The boy glanced back at the thickset, powerful figure, standing by one of the fires and looking gravely into the coals. More than ever the man with the strong, patient look inspired confidence in him. He was sure now that they would win on the morrow. Markham and Warner felt the same confidence.

“There's a lot in having a good general,” said Warner, who had also glanced back at the strong figure. “Do you remember, Dick, what it was that Napoleon said about generals?”

“A general is everything, an army nothing or something like that.”

“Yes, that was it. Of course, he didn't mean it just exactly as he said it. A general can't be one hundred per cent and an army none. It was a figure of speech so to say, but I imagine that a general is about forty per cent. If we had had such leadership at Bull Run we'd have won.”

Dick and Warner, worn out by their long ride, soon slept but there was movement all around them during the late hours of the night. Thomas with his cautious, measuring mind was rectifying his lines in the wintry darkness. He occupied a crossing of the roads, and he posted a strong battery of artillery to cover the Southern approach. Around him were men from Kentucky, the mountains of Tennessee, Ohio, Indiana, and Minnesota. The Minnesota troops were sun-tanned men who had come more than a thousand miles from an Indian-infested border to defend the Union.

All through the night Thomas worked. He directed men with spades to throw up more intrenchments. He saw that the guns of the battery were placed exactly right. He ordered that food should be ready for all very early in the morning, and then, when nothing more remained to be done, save to wait for the decree of battle, he sat before his tent wrapped in a heavy military overcoat, silent and watchful. Scouts had brought in additional news that the Southern army was still marching steadily along the muddy roads, and that Captain Markham's calculation of its arrival about dawn would undoubtedly prove correct.

Dick awoke while it was yet dark, and throwing off the heavy blankets stood up.

Although the dawn had not come, the night was now fairly light and Dick could see a long distance over the camp which stretched to left and right along a great front. Near him was the battery with most of the men sleeping beside their guns, and not far away was the tent. Although he could not see the general, he knew instinctively that he was not asleep.

It was cold and singularly still, considering the presence of so many thousands of men. He did not hear the sound of human voices and there was no stamp of horses' feet. They, too, were weary and resting. Then Dick was conscious of a tall, thin figure beside him. Warner had awakened, too.

“Dick,” he said, “it can't be more than an hour till dawn.”

“Just about that I should say.”

“And the scene, that is as far as we can see it, is most peaceful.”

Dick made no answer, but stood a long time listening. Then he said:

“My ears are pretty good, George, and sound will carry very far in this silence just before the dawn. I thought I heard a faint sound like the clank of a cannon.”

“I think I hear it, too,” said Warner, “and here is the dawn closer at hand than we thought. Look at those cold rays over there, behind that hill in the east. They are the vanguard of the sun.”

“So they are. And this is the vanguard of the Southern army!”

He spoke the last words quickly and with excitement.

In front of them down the road they heard the crackle of a dozen rifle shots. The Southern advance undoubtedly had come into contact with the Union sentinels and skirmishers. After the first shots there was a moment's breathless silence, and then came a scattered and rapid fire, as if at least a hundred rifles were at work.

Dick's pulse began to beat hard, and he strained his eyes through the darkness, but he could not yet see the enemy. He saw instead little jets of fire like red dots appearing on the horizon, and then the sound of the