Brave Deeds of Union Soldiers Part 8

The corporal sat down over the nest and gulped down, one after the other, those eggs, warm from the breast of the brooding bird. As he said afterward, never had he tasted anything half so good. This was a step in the right direction, but even fifteen partridge eggs are not enough for a man who hadn't eaten for nearly thirty hours. Once again he began to prowl restlessly through the woods and this time his attention was attracted by something growing on the side of a dead maple stub. It was dark red and looked like a great tongue sticking out from the bark. To his great joy, Pike recognized it at once as the beefsteak mushroom. It was a magnificent specimen which must have weighed nearly two pounds and as he pulled it off from the tree, red drops oozed out and it looked and smelled like a big, fresh beefsteak.

The corporal went down the hollow into the thickest part of the swamp and there picked an armful of perfectly dry cedar and scrub-oak twigs which burn with a clear, smokeless flame. Out of these he built a little Indian cooking fire by arranging the twigs into the form of a little tepee so that a jet of clear flame came up with hardly a sign of any smoke. It was the work of only a moment to whittle and set up a forked stick and to fasten a slab of that meaty-looking fungus on a spit fixed in the fork. Fortunately he had left in his haversack a little salt and pepper with which he seasoned the broiling, hissing steak. In about ten minutes it was done to a turn. Cutting a long strip of bark from off one of the red river-birches which grew near, Pike squatted down on the ground and in fifteen minutes more there was nothing left of that savory, two-pound, broiled vegetable steak. With fifteen eggs and two pounds of beefsteak mushroom under his belt, the corporal felt like another man. He coiled himself up on the dry pine-needles in a little hollow which he found under the low-hanging boughs of a long-leaf pine and resolved to take a sleep to make up for what he had lost during the last two nights. It was early afternoon and everything was still and hot and the drowsy scent of the pine mingled with puffs of spicy fragrance from the great white blossoms of the magnolia with which the woods were starred. As he fell asleep the last thing the corporal heard was the drowsy call of flocks of golden-winged warblers on their way north. How long he slept he could not tell. He only knew that he awoke with a sudden consciousness of danger, that strange sixth sense which most Indians and a few white hunters sometimes develop. Perhaps he inherited it from old Zebulon Pike who, like Daniel Boone and Kit Carson, had the power of hearing and sensing the approach of an enemy even in their soundest sleep. The corporal was alert the second he opened his eyes, but made not a movement or a rustle. The sun was well down in the sky and there was nothing in sight, but the birds had stopped singing. Finally way down through the little tunnel which a near-by flowing stream had made through the hillocks came a sound which brought him to his feet in an instant. It was a ringing note that chimed like a distant bell. Three times it sounded and there was silence, then again three times, but a little nearer and louder, then again silence. A third time it came and this time it seemed around the bend of the bayou not half a mile away. Pike knew in a minute what it was. It was the bay of the dreaded bloodhounds, those man-hunters who had learned to trail their prey through forest and fen, no matter how much he doubled nor how fast he ran. There was but one thing to do if there was time. Springing up, the corporal ran down to the little stream and leaped in. It was hardly up to his knees, but he splashed along for a hundred yards, now and then plunging in up to his waist. It ran a hundred yards or so through the swamp and then emptied into a larger bayou. Along this Pike swam for his life as silently as a muskrat, for now he could hear the baying of the dogs close at hand and suddenly there was a chorus of deep raging barks followed by shouts and he knew that his pursuers had found his lair under the pine trees. Soon the stream ran into another one and then another until Pike had swam and waded and plunged through half a score of brooks which made a regular network through the middle of the swamp. By this time the sound of the dogs had died far away in the distance and he had every reason to believe that he had thrown them off the track. Down the last stream there was a deep, sluggish creek nearly fifty feet wide. He swam until he could go no farther. It opened out into a series of swampy meadows and to his joy he saw in the very midst of the swamp through which it ran a pile of newly-split rails. Swimming over to this he found that they had been piled on a little island about five feet above the level of the swamp and surrounded on all sides by ma.s.ses of underbrush and deep sluggish water. By this time it was nearly sunset and he resolved to crawl up here and find a dry place and spend the night on this island, which could not be approached except by boat. As he climbed up to the top of the ma.s.s of rails, he heard a low, thick hiss close to his face and outstretched hand. He had never heard the sound before, but no man born needs to be taught the voice of the serpent. He started back just in time. Coiled on one of the rails was a great cotton-mouth moccasin whose bloated swollen body must have been nearly five feet in length and as big around as his arm. The great creature slowly opened its mouth, showing the pure white lining which has given it the name and hissed again menacingly. The corporal was in a predicament. Behind him was the cold, dark river in which he no longer had the strength to swim. In the approaching darkness, he might not be able to find any other island of refuge on which to pa.s.s the night. There was nothing for him but to fight the grim snake for the possession of the rails. He dropped back and twisted off the thick branch of a near-by willow-tree and began again to climb up toward the snake cautiously, but as rapidly as possible, for the light was beginning to die out in the sky and Pike preferred not to do his fighting in the dark in this case if possible. As he reached the top of the pile, the king of the island was ready for him and struck viciously at him as he approached. The movable poison fangs protruded like poisoned spear-heads from the wide-open mouth and from them could be seen oozing the yellow drops of the fatal venom which makes the cotton-mouth more dreaded even than the rattler or the copperhead. The fatal head flashed out not six inches from Corporal Pike's face, but it had miscalculated the distance and before it could again coil, he had struck with all his might at the monstrous body just where it joined the heart-shaped head. Fortunately for him, his aim was good and the crippled snake writhed and hissed and struck in vain in a horrible ma.s.s at Pike's feet. Two more blows made it harmless and inserting the stick under the heavy body, the corporal heaved it far over into the water and it floated away. Pike then made a careful examination of the rails and the island on which he stood so as to make sure that the moccasin had not left any of his family behind. He found no others, however, and before it was dark the corporal moved the rails and piled them around him in a kind of barricade which shut him off from view from the water and sh.o.r.e and which he sincerely hoped would discourage the visits of any more moccasins. Inside of this he laid three rails lengthwise and wrung out his sodden coat and coiled up for the night on his hard bed.

He woke up surrounded by the gleaming mist of the early morning and shaking with the cold after sleeping all night in his soaked clothing.

As he was too cold to sleep and it was light enough now to see, he decided to start off for dry land again. For over two hours he swam and waded along big and little bayous until, just as the sun was getting up, he came out through the mora.s.s and found himself at the rear of a lonely plantation. Just in front of him an old negro was at work hoeing in a field. The corporal crept up near him through the bushes and looked all around cautiously to see whether there were any white men in sight. Seeing none, he decided to take a chance on the negro being friendly.

"Hi, there, uncle!" he called cautiously from behind a little bush.

The old man jumped a foot in the air.

"That settles it," he observed emphatically to himself, "I'se gwine home. This old n.i.g.g.e.r ain't gwine to work in any swamp whar he hears hants callin' him 'uncle.'"

At this point the corporal came out of his hiding place and finally managed to convince the old man that he was nothing worse than very hungry flesh and blood. The old darkey turned out to be a friend indeed and going to his cabin in less than fifteen minutes he was back with a big pan full of bacon and corn bread which the corporal emptied in record-breaking time. Moreover, he brought his son with him who promised to guide Pike by safe paths to the road which led to Huntsville where General Mitchel had located his headquarters. Hour after hour the two wound in and out of swamps which would have been impa.s.sable to any one who did not know the hidden trails which crossed them. Twice they heard Confederate soldiers, evidently still hunting for the Union soldier who had been making them so much trouble. Toward noon they came to a broad bayou which went in and out through the swamp. At one point where it approached the bend it became very narrow and Pike's guide showed him a fallen tree half hidden in the brush.

"Cross that, boss," he said, "and at the other end you'll find a little hard path. Follow that and you'll come out clear down on the Huntsville road, only a few miles from the Union soldiers."

Pike said good-bye to his faithful guide and gave him one of the numerous Confederate revolvers which he had captured on his trip as the only payment he could make for his kindness.

The corporal found the path all right and was soon wearily trudging along the Huntsville road. He had not gone far before he was overtaken by another negro dressed in a style which would have made the lilies of the field take to the woods. With his panama hat, red tie and checked suit, he made a brave show. What impressed the corporal, however, more than his clothes was the fact that he was driving a magnificent horse attached to a brand-new buggy.

"Stop a minute," said Pike, stepping out into the road.

"No," said the negro, pompously, "I'se in a great hurry."

The corporal whipped out a revolver and c.o.c.ked it.

"Come to think of it, Ma.s.sa," said the darkey in quite a different tone, "I'se got plenty of time after all."

"Whose horse is this?" said the corporal, climbing into the buggy.

"This is Mistah Pomeroy's property," said the negro with much dignity.

"Well," said the corporal, "you turn right around and drive me to General Mitchel's camp just as fast as the law will let you."

"But, boss," objected the other, "Ma.s.sa will whip me if I do."

"And I'll shoot you if you don't," returned the corporal.

This last argument was a convincing one and half an hour later General Mitchel and his forces were enormously impressed by seeing Corporal Pike, who had been reported shot, drive up back of a magnificent horse in a new buggy and beside a wonderfully-dressed coachman. The general was even more impressed when the corporal reported that the bridge was gone and gave him an accurate statement as to the Confederate forces.

Corporal Pike found Mr. Pomeroy's horse a very good subst.i.tute for his faithful Bill and, to his surprise, the coachman went with the horse, since he was afraid to go back, and became a cook in General Mitchel's mess.

CHAPTER XI

RUNNING THE GAUNTLET

In the old days of the Indian wars a favorite amus.e.m.e.nt of a raiding party was to make their captives run the gauntlet. On their return home two long lines of not only the warriors, but even of the women and children would be formed armed with clubs, arrows, tomahawks and whips.

The unfortunate captive was stationed at one end of this aisle of enemies and given the choice of being burned at the stake or of running for his life between the lines from one end to the other. Sometimes a swift runner and dodger escaped enough of the blows to stagger blinded with blood from a score of wounds, but still alive, across the line which marked the end of this grim race against death. It was always a desperate chance. Only the certainty of death if it were not taken ever caused any man to enter such a terrible compet.i.tion. There is no record of even the most hardened Indian fighter ever running the gauntlet for any life save his own.

In the summer of 1863, three men ran the gauntlet of shot and sh.e.l.l and rifle-fire for forty miles to save an army, with death d.o.g.g.i.ng them all the way. Brigadier-General Thomas, who afterward earned the t.i.tle of the Rock of Chickamauga by his brave stand in that disastrous battle, was entrenched on one of the spurs of the hills around Chattanooga.

General Bragg with a much superior army of Confederates had hunted the Union soldiers mile after mile. At times they had stopped and fought, at times they had escaped by desperate marches. Now exhausted and ringed about by the whole Confederate Army, they must soon have help or be starved into surrender. Yet only forty miles to the eastward was a body of thirty thousand men commanded by General Stockton. This general was one of those valuable men who obey orders without any reasoning about the why and the wherefore of the same. He had been commanded to hold a certain pa.s.s in the mountains until further orders and that pa.s.s he would hold, as General Thomas well knew, until relieved or directed to do otherwise. If only the duty had been a.s.signed to some other officer, it might be that not hearing anything from the main body, he would send out a reconnoitering party. Not so with General Stockton.

That general would stay put and only a direct order or an overpowering force of the enemy would move him.

It was in vain that General Thomas tried to get a messenger through with secret despatches in cipher. General Bragg knew that he had the Union Army cornered and he had stationed a triple row of pickets who caught or shot every man that General Thomas sent.

Supplies and ammunition were both running low and General Thomas was considering ma.s.sing a force of men on some point in the line in an attempt to break through far enough for a messenger to escape. This meant a great loss of life and probably would not be successful as the messenger would almost certainly be captured by an outer ring of scouts which Bragg would throw out as soon as he realized what was going on.

There was only one other chance. The Confederates were so sure of their own strength, and that they would eventually capture the whole army, that they had not destroyed the railroad line which ran between the two Federal camps, hoping to use the same for shipping soldiers, prisoners and captured supplies later on. Both sides of the track, however, were lined with guards and covered by a number of Confederate batteries.

General Thomas decided to make the attempt and called for volunteers who were willing to run this forty-mile gauntlet between the Confederate lines and batteries. Two old railroad men offered their services as engineer and fireman and they were accompanied by an adjutant who was to be the bearer of the despatches. There seemed to be only one chance in a thousand for this engine to get safely through and the men themselves, if they were not shot in their flight or wrecked with the engine, stood a good chance of being captured and hung as spies. In fact it seemed such a hopeless chance that at the last moment General Thomas was on the point of countermanding the order when one of the men themselves gave the best argument in favor of the plan.

"It's worth trying, General," said he, "for even if we fail, you only lose three men. The other way you would have to throw away at least a thousand before you could find out whether it was possible to cut through the lines or not."

It was decided to make the trial and a dark, moonless night when the sky was covered with heavy clouds was selected as the best time for starting. The men shook hands with their comrades and each left with his best friend a letter to be sent to his family if he were not heard from within a given time. There were but few engines in the Union ranks and none of them were very good as the Confederates had captured the most powerful. However, the ex-engineer and fireman picked out the one which seemed to be in best repair, put in an extra supply of oil to allow for the racking strain on the machinery and filled up the tender with all the fuel that it could carry. At half-past ten they started after firing up with the utmost care and in half a mile they were running at full speed when suddenly there was the sharp crack of a rifle and a minie bullet whined past the panting, jumping, rushing engine. Another one crashed through the window of the caboose, but fortunately struck no one. By this time the little engine was going at her utmost speed. At times all four of the wheels seemed to leave the track at once, she jumped so under the tremendous head of steam which the fireman, working as he had never done before, had raised. The engine swayed so from side to side as it ran that it was all that the adjutant could do to keep his feet. Finally they reached the first battery. Fortunately it had miscalculated the tremendous speed of the engine. A series of guns stationed close to the track hurled a shower of grape and solid shot at the escaping engine. It cut the framework of the caboose almost to pieces, but fortunately not a shot struck any vital part of the machinery or injured any of the three men. As they whirled on, the last gun of all sent a solid shot after them which struck the bell full and fair and with a last tremendous clang it was dashed into the bushes by the side of the road. All along the track there was a fusillade of musket-fire and bullets whizzed around them constantly, but none struck any of the crew. The next danger-point was at a junction with this road and another which ran off at right angles.

This junction was protected by no less than two batteries and furthermore on the junction-track was an engine standing with smoke coming out of her smoke-stack showing that she was fired up ready for pursuit. It seemed absolutely impossible to escape these two batteries.

Already they could see lanterns hurrying to and fro on both sides of the track where the guns were trained so close that they simply could not fail to dash the engine into a hissing, b.l.o.o.d.y, glowing sc.r.a.p-heap of crumpled steel and iron. The men set their teeth and prepared for the crash which every one of them felt meant death. It never came. By some oversight, no alarm had been given and before the guns could be manned and sighted, the engine was whirling along right between both batteries, a cloud of sparks and a column of fire rushing two feet above her smokestack. The Confederates succeeded in only turning one gun and training it on the little engine fast disappearing in the darkness. The gunner, however, who fired that gun came nearer putting an end to the expedition than all the others. He dropped a sh.e.l.l in the air directly over them. It shattered the roof of the caboose, wounded the fireman and blew out both windows, but almost by a miracle left the machinery still uninjured. The adjutant laid the fireman on the jumping, bounding floor of the cab and under his faint instructions fired the engine in his place. As he was heaping coal into the open fire-box with all his might, there came a deep groan from the wounded fireman.

"Try and bear the pain, old man," shouted the engineer over the roar of the engine. "We'll be safe in a few minutes if nothing happens."

"Something's goin' to happen," gasped the fireman. "Listen!"

Far back over the track came a pounding and a pushing. The engineer shook his head.

"They're after us," he said to the adjutant, "and what's more they're bound to get us unless we can throw them off the track."

"Can't we win through with this start?" said the captain.

"No, sir," said the engineer, "they've got an engine that can do ten miles an hour better than this one and beside that, they've got a car to steady her. I don't dare give this old girl one ounce more of steam or she'd jump the tracks."

Before long far back around the curve came the head-light of the pursuing engine like the fierce eye of some insatiable monster on the track of its prey. Steadily she gained. Once when they approached the long trestlework which ran for nearly a mile, the sound of the pursuit slackened off as the lighter engine took the trestle at a speed which the heavier one did not dare to use. Bullet after bullet whizzed past the escaping engine as the soldiers in the cab of her pursuer fired again and again. Both engines, however, were swaying too much to allow for any certain aim. Finally one lucky shot smashed the clock in the front engine close by the engineer's head, spraying gla.s.s and splinters all over him. Now the front engine had only ten miles to go before she would be near enough to General Stockton's lines to be in safety. The rear engine, however, was less than a quarter of a mile away and gaining at every yard.

"How about dropping some of the fire-bars on the tracks?" suggested the captain. "We've got enough coal on to carry her the next ten miles. We shan't need the fire-bars after we get through and we certainly won't need them if they capture us."

It seemed a good idea and the wounded fireman dragged himself to the throttle and took the engineer's place for a moment while he and the captain climbed out upon the truck and carefully dropped one after the other of the long, heavy steel rods across the track. Then they listened, hoping to hear the crash of a derailed engine. It never came.

Instead there was a loud clanging noise followed by a crackling of the underbrush and repeated again as the pursuing engine struck each bar with its cow-catcher and dashed it off the rails. The captain suddenly commenced to unb.u.t.ton and tear off his long, heavy army overcoat.

"How about putting this in the middle of the track on the chance that it may entangle the wheels?" he suggested.

In a minute the engineer clambered out on the truck.

"If only it gets wedged in the piston-bar, it may take half an hour to get it out," he panted as he climbed back into the cab.

Suddenly from behind they heard a heavy jolting noise and then the sound of escaping steam.

"We got her," shouted the engineer and the captain to the wounded fireman whose face looked ghastly white against the red light of the open fire-box. The engineer and the captain shook hands and decided to do a little war-dance without much success on the swaying floor of the cab, but they were suddenly stopped by a whisper from the fireman.

"They've got it out," he said. Sure enough once more there came the thunder of approaching wheels and the start which they had gained was soon cut down again. The heavy engine came more and more rapidly on them as the fire died down, although the captain tried to stir up the flagging flames with his sword in place of the lost fire-iron. Only a mile ahead they could see the lights which showed where the Union lines lay. Before them was a heavy up-grade and it was certain that the Confederate engine would catch them there just on the edge of safety.

In a minute or so the men crowded into the cab of the engine behind to be close enough to pick off the fugitives at their leisure. The three men stared blankly ahead. Suddenly the dull, despairing look on the engineer's face was replaced by a broad grin. Entirely forgetting military etiquette, he slapped his superior officer on the back and said: