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

knowing him so well, had, in effect, turned the

regiment over to him.

 

Dick and other young officers were sent back through the column to see

that they marched without noise. It was not difficult to enforce the

orders, as the men were filled with the ardor of the hunt, and would do

everything to insure its success. When Dick came back to the head of the

column he merely heard the tread of feet and the rustling of uniforms

against the bushes behind them.

 

The sergeant led on with unerring skill and instinct. They were rising

fast on the slope, and the great forest received and hid them as if they

were its wild children returned to their home. The foliage was so dense

that Dick caught only flitting glimpses of the camp below, although many

fires were yet burning there.

 

The wisdom of putting the regiment into the hands of the sergeant

was now shown. Rising to the trust, he called up all his reserves of

wilderness lore. He listened attentively to the voice of every night

bird, because it might not be real, but instead the imitation call of

man to man. He searched in every opening under the moonlight for traces

of footsteps, which he alone could have seen, and, when at last he found

them, Dick, despite the dusk, saw his figure expand and his eyes flash.

He had been kneeling down examining the imprints and when he arose the

colonel asked:

 

"What is it, Whitley?"

 

"Men have passed here, sir, and, as they couldn't have been ours, they

were the enemy. The tracks lead south on the slope, and they must have

been going that way to join Slade's command."

 

"Then you think, Sergeant, we should follow this trail?"

 

"Undoubtedly, sir, but we must look out for an ambush. These men know

the mountains thoroughly, and if we were to walk into their trap they

might cut us to pieces."

 

"Then we won't walk into it. Lead on, Sergeant. If the enemy is near, I

know that you will find him in time."

 

The sergeant's brown face flushed with pride, but he followed on the

trail without a word and behind him came the whole regiment, implicit

in its trust, and winding without noise like a great coiling serpent

through the forest.

 

Dick was a woodsman himself, and he kept close to the sergeant, watching

his methods, and seeking also what he could find. While they lost the

trail now and then, he saw the sergeant recover it in the openings. He

noted, too, that it was increasing in size. Little trails were flowing

into the big one like brooks into a river, and the main course was

uniformly south, but bearing slightly upward on the slope.

 

The sergeant stopped at the melancholy cry of an owl, apparently three

or four hundred yards ahead. Both he and Dick raised their heads and

listened for the answer, which they felt sure was ready. The long,

sinister hoot in reply came from a point considerably farther away, but

at about the same height on the slope.

 

"They have two forces, sir," said the sergeant to Colonel Winchester,

"and I think they're about to unite."

 

"As a wilderness fighter, what would you suggest, Sergeant?"

 

"To wait here a little and lie hidden in the brush. We're rightly afraid

of an ambush if we go on, then why not make the same danger theirs? I

think it likely that the other force is coming this way. Anyway, we can

tell in a minute or two, 'cause them owls are sure to hoot again. If I'm

right, we can catch 'em napping."

 

"An excellent idea, Sergeant. Ah! there are the signals you predicted!"

 

The owl hooted again from the same point directly in front, and then

came the reply of the other, now nearer. The sergeant drew a deep breath

of satisfaction.

 

"Yes, sir, I was right," he said. "Their meeting place is straight in

front. Will you let me slip forward a little through the brush and see?"

 

"Go ahead, Sergeant. We need all the information we can get, but don't

walk into any trap yourself, leaving us here without eyes or ears."

 

"Never fear, sir. I won't be caught."

 

Then he disappeared with a suddenness that made the colonel and Dick

gasp. He was with them, and then he was not. But he returned in ten

minutes, and, although Dick could not see it in his face, he was

triumphant.

 

"There's a glade not more'n four hundred yards ahead," he whispered to

the colonel, "and about a hundred and fifty men, armed with long rifles,

are lying down in it waiting for a second force, which I judge from the

cry of the owl will be there inside of five minutes."

 

"Then," said Colonel Winchester, breathing fast, "we'll wait ten minutes

and attack. It would be a great stroke to wipe out Slade's band. I'm

sorry for those Ohio fellows, but the luck's ours to-night, or I should

say that the sergeant's skill as a trailer has given us the chance."

 

It was soon known along the black, winding line that the enemy was at

hand, and the men were eager to attack, but they were ordered to have

patience for a little while. Their leader wished to destroy Slade's

whole force at one stroke.

 

Colonel Winchester took out his watch and held it before him in the

faint moonlight. He would not move until the ten minutes exactly had

passed. Then he closed the watch and gave the signal, but stationed

officers along the line to see that the men made as little noise as

possible. The long black column moved again through the forest and Dick,

full of excitement was at its head with the colonel and the sergeant.

 

They reached a slope, crept up it, and then spread out, as they knew

that the valley and the enemy were within rifle shot. Dick, glancing

through the bushes, saw the glitter of steel and caught the murmur of

voices. He knew that their presence was not yet suspected, and he did

not like the idea of firing from ambush upon anybody, but there was no

occasion for testing his scruples, as the advance of so many men created

noise sufficient to reach the alert ears in the glade.

 

"Up, men! The enemy!" he heard a voice shout. Colonel Winchester at the

same moment ordered his men to fire and charge with the bayonet.

 

A terrible volley was poured into the valley, and it seemed to Dick that

half of Slade's force went down, but as they rushed forward to finish

the task they met a fire that caused many of the Union soldiers to drop.

Slade was evidently a man of ability. Dick saw him springing about and

blowing a little silver whistle, which he knew was a call to rally.

 

But the surprise was too sudden and great. The irregulars, fighting

hard, were driven out of the valley and into the woods on the upper side

of the glade. Sheltered in the underbrush, they might have made a

good defense there, but a sudden tremendous cheer arose, and they were

charged in the flank by the Ohio regiment, coming up on the run.

 

Spurred by emulation the Winchester men also rushed into the underbrush,

and those of Slade's men who had not fallen quickly threw down their

arms. But they did not catch the leader, nor did they know what had

become of him, until Dick caught sight of a little, weazened figure

under an enormous wide-brimmed hat running with three or four others

along the mountain-side.

 

"Slade! Slade!" he cried, pointing, and instantly a score, Dick and the

sergeant among them, were hotfoot after the fugitives. Several shots

were fired, but none hit, and the chase lengthened out.

 

Sergeant Whitley exclaimed to Dick:

 

"We catch the pack, but if we don't catch the leader there'll be another

pack soon."

 

"Right you are! We must have that little man under the big hat!"

 

Dick heard panting breaths, and Warner and Pennington drew up by his

side.

 

"Slade's about to escape!" exclaimed Dick. "We must get him!"

 

"I'm running my best," said Warner. "Look out!" Slade suddenly faced

about and fired a heavy pistol. Dick had dropped down at Warner's

warning cry and the bullet sang over his head. The sergeant fired in

return, but the light was too faint, and Slade and the three who were

with him ran on unharmed.

 

The pursuit, conducted with such vigor, soon led to the top of the

mountain, and they began the descent of the far side. Several more shots

were fired, but they did no damage, and neither side was able to gain.

Two of the fugitives turned aside into the woods, but the pursuit kept

straight after Slade, and his remaining companion, a slender, youthful

figure.

 

"I think we'll get 'em," panted the sergeant. As he spoke one of the

little mountain rivers so numerous in that region came into view. It was

narrow, but deep, and without hesitating an instant the fugitives sprang

into it and shot down the stream, swimming with all their strength, and

helped by the powerful current.

 

Slade was in advance, and he was already disappearing in the shadows on

the far bank, but his comrade, he of the slender figure, was still in

the moonlight, which fell across his face for a moment. A soldier raised

his rifle to fire, but Dick stumbled and fell against him and the bullet

went high in the air.

 

The moment had been long enough for Dick to recognize Victor Woodville.

He did not know how he happened to be with Slade, but he did not intend

that he should be shot there in the water, and his impulse was quick

enough to save Victor's life. In another moment the young Mississippian

was gone also in the shadows, and although several of the Union men swam

the river they could discover no trace of either.

 

"I'm sorry," said the sergeant as they walked back to the other side of

the mountain, "that they got away."

 

"Yes," said Dick, "it was too bad that Slade escaped."

CHAPTER XIII. THE RIVER OF DEATH

 

Dick knew that he had saved young Woodville's life, but his conscience

was quite dear. If he had the same chance he would do it over again, but

he was sorry they had not caught Slade. He felt no hostility toward the

regular soldiers of the Confederacy, but he knew there were guerillas on

their side, as well as his own, who would stop at nothing. He remembered

Skelly, who, claiming to be a Union partisan, nevertheless robbed and

even killed those of either party whenever he felt it safe to do so.

Slade was his Southern complement, and he would surely get together a

new force as venomous as the old.

 

But Colonel Winchester and the commander of the Ohio regiment were full

of pride in their exploit, as they had a right to be. They had destroyed

a swarm of wasps which had been buzzing and stinging almost beyond

endurance, and they were still prouder when they received the thanks of

General Thomas.

 

The corps moved forward the next day, and soon the whole army was united

under Rosecrans. It was a powerful force, about ninety thousand men, the

staunch fighters of the West, veterans of great battles and victories,

and to the young officers it appeared invincible. Their feeling that it

was marching to another triumph was confirmed by the news that Bragg was

retreating.

 

Yet the two armies were so close to each other that the Northern

vanguard skirmished with the Southern rearguard as they passed through

the mountains. At one point in a gap of the Cumberland Mountains the

Southerners made a sharp resistance, but they were quickly driven from

their position and the Union mass rolled slowly on. Exultation among the

troops increased.

 

"We'll drive Bragg away down into the South against Grant," said Ohio to

Dick, "and we'll crush him between the two arms of the vise. That will

finish everything in the West."

 

While Dick was exultant, too, he had certain reservations. He had seen

a like confidence carried to disaster