The Guns of Shiloh Part 14

War plays singular chances. Halleck in St. Louis, secure in his plan of campaign, had sent an order after d.i.c.k left Shiloh, for Buell to turn to the north, leaving Grant to himself, and occupy a town that he named. Through some chance the order never reached Buell. Had it done so the whole course of American history might have been changed. Grant himself, after the departure of the earlier messengers, changed his mind and sent messengers to Nelson, who led Buell's vanguard, telling him not to hurry. This army was to come to Pittsburg Landing or Shiloh partly by the Tennessee, and Grant stated that the vessels for him would not be ready until some days later. It was the early stage of the war when generals behaved with great independence, and Nelson, a rough, stubborn man, after reading the order marched on faster than ever. It seemed afterward that the very stars were for Grant, when one order was lost, and another disobeyed.

But d.i.c.k was not to know of these things until later. He delivered in person his dispatch to General Buell, who remembered him and gave him a friendly nod, but who was as chary of speech as ever. He wrote a brief reply to the dispatch and gave it sealed to d.i.c.k.

"The letter I hand you," he said, "merely notifies General Grant that I have received his orders and will hurry forward as much as possible. If on your return journey you should deem yourself in danger of falling into the hands of the enemy destroy it at once."

d.i.c.k promised to do so, saluted, and retired. He spent only two hours in General Buell's camp, securing some fresh provisions to carry in his saddle bags and allowing his horse a little rest. Then he mounted and took as straight a course as he could for General Grant's camp at Pittsburg Landing.

The boy felt satisfied with himself. He had done his mission quickly and exactly, and he would have a pleasant ride back. On his strong, swift horse, and with a good knowledge of the road, he could go several times faster than Buell's army. He antic.i.p.ated a pleasant ride. The forest seemed to him to be fairly drenched in spring. Little birds flaming in color darted among the boughs and others more modest in garb poured forth a full volume of song. d.i.c.k, sensitive to sights and sounds, hummed a tune himself. It was the thundering song of the sea that he had heard Samuel Jarvis sing in the Kentucky Mountains: They bore him away when the day had fled, And the storm was rolling high, And they laid him down in his lonely bed By the light of an angry sky.

The lightning flashed and the wild sea lashed The sh.o.r.e with its foaming wave, And the thunder pa.s.sed on the rushing blast, As it howled o'er the rover's grave.

He pressed on, hour after hour, through the deep woods, meeting no one, but content. At noon his horse suddenly showed signs of great weariness, and d.i.c.k, remembering how much he had ridden him over muddy roads, gave him a long rest. Besides, there was no need to hurry. The Southern army was at Corinth, in Mississippi, three or four days' journey away, and there had been no scouts or skirmishers in the woods between.

After a stop of an hour he remounted and rode on again, but the horse was still feeling his great strain, and he did not push him beyond a walk. He calculated that nevertheless he would reach headquarters not long after nightfall, and he went along gaily, still singing to himself. He crossed the river at a point above the army, where the Union troops had made a ferry, and then turned toward the camp.

About sunset he reached a hill from which he could look over the forest and see under the horizon faint lights that were made by Grant's campfires at Pittsburg Landing. It was a welcome sight. He would soon be with his friends again, and he urged his horse forward a little faster.

"Halt!" cried a sharp voice from the thicket.

d.i.c.k faced about in amazement, and saw four hors.e.m.e.n in gray riding from the bushes. The shock was as great as if he had been struck by a bullet, but he leaned forward on his horse's neck, kicked him violently with his heels and shouted to him. The horse plunged forward at a gallop. The boy, remembering General Buell's instructions, slipped the letter from his pocket, and in the shelter of the horse's body dropped it to the ground, where he knew it would be lost among the bushes and in the twilight.

"Halt!" was repeated more loudly and sharply than ever. Then a bullet whizzed by d.i.c.k's ear, and a second pierced the heart of his good horse. He tried to leap clear of the falling animal, and succeeded, but he fell so hard among the bushes that he was stunned for a few moments. When he revived and stood up he saw the four hors.e.m.e.n in gray looking curiously at him.

"'Twould have been cheaper for you to have stopped when we told you to do it," said one in a whimsical tone.

d.i.c.k noticed that the tone was not unkind-it was not the custom to treat prisoners ill in this great war. He rubbed his left shoulder on which he had fallen and which still pained him a little.

"I didn't stop," he said, "because I didn't know that you would be able to hit either me or my horse in the dusk."

"I s'pose from your way of lookin' at it you was right to take the chance, but you've learned now that we Southern men are tol'able good sharpshooters."

"I knew it long ago, but what are you doing here, right in the jaws of our army? They might close on you any minute with a snap. You ought to be with your own army at Corinth."

d.i.c.k noticed that the men looked at one another, and there was silence for a moment or two.

"Young fellow," resumed the spokesman, "you was comin' from the direction of Columbia, an' your hoss, which I am sorry we had to kill, looked as if he was cleaned tuckered out. I judge that you was bearin' a message from Buell's army to Grant's."

"You mustn't hold me responsible for your judgment, good or bad."

"No, I reckon not, but say, young fellow, do you happen to have a chaw of terbacker in your clothes?"

"If I had any I'd offer it to you, but I never chew."

The man sighed.

"Well, mebbe it's a bad habit," he said, "but it's powerful grippin'. I'd give a heap for a good twist of old Kentucky. Now we're goin' to search you an' it ain't wuth while to resist, 'cause we've got you where we want you, as the dog said to the 'c.o.o.n when he took him by the throat. We're lookin' for letters an' dispatches, 'cause we're sh.o.r.e you come from Buell, but if we should run across any terbacker we'll have to he'p ourselves to it. We ain't no robbers, 'cause in times like these it ain't no robbery to take terbacker."

d.i.c.k noticed that while they talked one of the men never ceased to cover him with a rifle. They were good-humored and kindly, but he knew they would not relax an inch from their duty.

"All right," he said, "go ahead. I'll give you a good legal t.i.tle to everything you may find."

He knew that the letter was lying in the bushes within ten feet of them and he had a strong temptation to look in that direction and see if it were as securely hidden as he had thought, but he resisted the impulse.

Two of the men searched him rapidly and dexterously, and much to their disappointment found no dispatch.

"You ain't got any writin' on you, that's sh.o.r.e," said the spokesman. "I'd expected to find a paper, an' I had a lingerin' hope, too, that we might find a little terbacker on you 'spite of what you said."

"You don't think I'd lie about the tobacco, would you?"

"Sonny, it ain't no lyin' in a big war to say you ain't got no terbacker, when them that's achin' for it are standin' by, ready to grab it. If you had a big diamond hid about you, an' a robber was to ask you if you had it, you'd tell him no, of course."

"I think," said d.i.c.k, "that you must be from Kentucky. You've got our accent."

"I sh.o.r.ely am, an' I'm a longer way from it than I like. I noticed from the first that you talked like me, which is powerful flatterin' to you. Ain't you one of my brethren that the evil witches have made take up with the Yankees?"

"I'm from the same state," replied d.i.c.k, who saw no reason to conceal his ident.i.ty. "My name is Richard Mason, and I'm an aide on the staff of Colonel Arthur Winchester, who commands a Kentucky regiment in General Grant's army."

"I've heard of Colonel Winchester. The same that got a part of his regiment cut up so bad by Forrest."

"Yes, we did get cut up. I was there," confessed d.i.c.k a little reluctantly.

"Don't feel bad about it. It's likely to happen to any of you when Forrest is around. Now, since you've introduced yourself so nice I'll introduce myself. I'm Sergeant Robertson, in the Orphan Brigade. It's a Kentucky brigade, an' it gets its nickname 'cause it's made up of boys so young that they call me gran'pa, though I'm only forty-four. These other three are Bridge, Perkins, and Connor, just plain privates."

The three "just plain privates" grinned.

"What are you going to do with me?" asked d.i.c.k.

"We're goin' to give you a pleasant little ride. We killed your hoss, for which I 'pologize again, but I've got a good one of my own, and you'll jump up behind me."

A sudden spatter of rifle fire came from the direction of the Northern pickets.

"Them sentinels of yours have funny habits," said Robertson grinning. "Just bound to hear their guns go off. They're changin' the guard now."

"How do you know that?" asked d.i.c.k.

"Oh, I know a heap. I'm a terrible wise man, but bein' so wise I don't tell all I know or how I happen to know it. Hop up, sonny."

"Don't you think I'll be a lot of trouble to you," said d.i.c.k, "riding behind you thirty or forty miles to your camp?"

The four men exchanged glances, and no one answered. The boy felt a sudden chill, and his hair p.r.i.c.kled at the roots. He did not know what had caused it, but surely it was a sign of some danger.

The night deepened steadily as they were talking. The twilight had gone long since. The last afterglow had faded. The darkness was heavy with warmth. The thick foliage of spring rustled gently. d.i.c.k's sensation that something unusual was happening did not depart.

The four men, after looking at one another, looked fixedly at d.i.c.k.

"Sonny," said Robertson, "you ain't got no call to worry 'bout our troubles. As I said, this is a good, strong hoss of mine, an' it will carry us just as far as we go an' no further."

It was an enigmatical reply, and d.i.c.k saw that it was useless to ask them questions. Robertson mounted, and d.i.c.k, without another word, sprang up behind him. Two of the privates rode up close, one on either side, and the other kept immediately behind. He happened to glance back and he saw that the man held a drawn pistol on his thigh. He wondered at such extreme precautions, and the ominous feeling increased.

"Now, lads," said Robertson to his men, "don't make no more noise than you can help. There ain't much chance that any Yankee scoutin' party will be out, but if there should be one we don't want to run into it. An' as for you, Mr. Mason, you're a nice boy. We all can see that, but just as sh.o.r.e as you let go with a yell or anything like it at any time or under any circ.u.mstances, you'll be dead the next second."

A sudden fierce note rang in his voice, and d.i.c.k, despite all his courage, shuddered. He felt as if a nameless terror all at once threatened not only him, but others. His lips and mouth were dry.

Robertson spoke softly to his horse, and then rode slowly forward through the deep forest. The others rode with him, never breaking their compact formation, and preserving the utmost silence. d.i.c.k did not ask another question. Talk and fellowship were over. Everything before him now was grim and menacing.

The dense woods and the darkness hid them so securely that they could not have been seen twenty yards away, but the men rode on at a sure pace, as if they knew the ground well. The silence was deep and intense, save for the footsteps of the horses and now and then a night bird in the tall trees calling.

Before they had gone far a man stepped from a thicket and held up a rifle.

"Four men from the Orphan Brigade with a prisoner," said Robertson.

"Advance with the prisoner," said the picket, and the four men rode forward. d.i.c.k saw to both left and right other pickets, all in the gray uniform of the South, and his heart grew cold within him. The hair on his head p.r.i.c.kled again at its roots, and it was a dreadful sensation. What did it mean? Why these Southern pickets within cannon shot of the Northern lines?

The men rode slowly on. They were in the deep forest, but the young prisoner began to see many things under the leafy canopy. On his right the dim, shadowy forms of hundreds of men lay sleeping on the gra.s.s. On his left was a ma.s.sed battery of great guns, eight in number.

Further and further they went, and there were soldiers and cannon everywhere, but not a fire. There was no bed of coals, not a single torch gleamed anywhere. Not all the soldiers were sleeping, but those who were awake never spoke. Silence and darkness brooded over a great army in gray. It was as if they marched among forty thousand phantoms, row on row.

The whole appalling truth burst in an instant upon the boy. The Southern army, which they had supposed was at Corinth, lay in the deep woods within cannon shot of its foe, and not a soul in all Grant's thousands knew of its presence there! And Buell was still far away! It seemed to d.i.c.k that for a little s.p.a.ce his heart stopped beating. He foresaw it all, the terrible hammer-stroke at dawn, the rush of the fiery South upon her unsuspecting foe, and the cutting down of brigades, before sleep was gone from their eyes.

Not in vain had the South boasted that Johnston was a great general. He had not been daunted by Donelson. While his foe rested on his victory and took his ease, he was here with a new army, ready to strike the unwary. d.i.c.k shivered suddenly, and, with a violent impulse, clutched the waist of the man in front of him. It may have been some sort of physical telepathy, but Robertson understood. He turned his head and said in a whisper: "You're right. The whole Southern army is here in the woods, an' we'd rather lose a brigade tonight than let you escape."

d.i.c.k felt a thrill of the most acute agony. If he could only escape! There must be some way! If he could but find one! His single word would save the lives of thousands and prevent irreparable defeat! Again he clutched the waist of the man in front of him and again the man divined.

"It ain't no use," he said, although his tone was gentle, and in a way sympathetic. "After all, it's your own fault. You blundered right in our way, an' we had to take you for fear you'd see us, an' give the alarm. It was your unlucky chance. You'd give a million dollars if you had it to slip out of our hands and tell Ulysses Grant that Albert Sidney Johnston with his whole army is layin' in the woods right alongside of him, ready to jump on his back at dawn, an' he not knowin' it."

"I would," said d.i.c.k fervently.

"An' so would I if I was in your place. Just think, Mr. Mason, that of all the hundreds of thousands of men in the Northern armies, of all the twenty or twenty-five million people on the Northern side, there's just one, that one a boy, and that boy you, who knows that Albert Sidney Johnston is here."

"Held fast as I am, I'm sorry now that I do know it."

"I can't say that I blame you. I said you'd give a million dollars to be able to tell, but if you're to measure such things with money it would be worth a hundred million an' more, yes, it would be cheap at three or four hundred millions for the North to know it. But, after all, you can't measure such things with money. Maybe you think I talk a heap, but I'm stirred some, too."

They rode on a little farther over the hilly ground, covered with thick forest or dense, tall scrub. But there were troops, troops, everywhere, and now and then the batteries. They were mostly boys, like their antagonists of the North, and the sleep of most of them was the sleep of exhaustion, after a forced and rapid march over heavy ground from Corinth. But d.i.c.k knew that they would be fresh in the morning when they rose from the forest, and rushed upon their unwarned foe.

CHAPTER XIV. THE DARK EVE OF SHILOH

d.i.c.k noticed as they went further into the forest how complete was the concealment of a great army, possible only in a country wooded so heavily, and in the presence of a careless enemy. The center was like the front of the Southern force. Not a fire burned, not a torch gleamed. The horses were withdrawn so far that stamp or neigh could not be heard by the Union pickets.

"We'll stop here," said Robertson at length. "As you're a Kentuckian, I thought it would be pleasanter for you to be handed over to Kentuckians. The Orphan Brigade to which I belong is layin' on the ground right in front of us, an' the first regiment is that of Colonel Kenton. I'll hand you over to him, an'-not 'cause I've got anything ag'inst you-I'll be mighty glad to do it, too, 'cause my back is already nigh breakin' with the responsibility."

d.i.c.k started violently.

"What's. .h.i.t you?" asked Robertson.

"Oh, nothing. You see, I'm nervous."

"You ain't tellin' the truth. But I don't blame you an' it don't matter anyway. Here we are. Jump down."

d.i.c.k sprang to the ground, and the others followed. While they held the reins they stood in a close circle about him. He had about as much chance of escape as he had of flying.

Robertson walked forward, saluted some one who stood up in the dark, and said a few words in a low tone.

"Bring him forward," said a clear voice, which d.i.c.k recognized at once.

The little group of men opened out and d.i.c.k, stepping forth, met his uncle face to face. It was now the time of Colonel George Kenton to start violently.

"My G.o.d! You, d.i.c.k!" he exclaimed. "How did you come here?"

"I didn't come," replied the boy, who was now feeling more at ease. "I was brought here by four scouts of yours, who I must say saw their duty and did it."

Colonel Kenton grasped his hand and shook it. He was very fond of this young nephew of his. The mere fact that he was on the other side did not alter his affection.

"Tell me about it, d.i.c.k," he said. "And you, Sergeant Robertson, you and your men are to be thanked for your vigilance and activity. You can go off duty. You are ent.i.tled to your rest."

As they withdrew the sergeant, who pa.s.sed by d.i.c.k and who had not missed a word of the conversation between him and his uncle, said to him: "At least, young sir, I've returned you to your relatives, an' you're a minor, as I can see."

"It's so," said d.i.c.k as the sergeant pa.s.sed on.

"They have not ill treated you?" said Colonel Kenton.

"No, they've been as kind as one enemy could be to another."

"It is strange, most strange, that you and I should meet here at such a time. Nay, d.i.c.k, I see in it the hand of Providence. You're to be saved from what will happen to your army tomorrow."

"I'd rather not be saved in this manner."

"I know it, but it is perhaps the only way. As sure as the stars are in Heaven your army will be destroyed in the morning, an' you'd be destroyed with it. I'm fond of you, d.i.c.k, and so I'd rather you'd be in our rear, a prisoner, while this is happening."

"General Grant is a hard man to crush."

"d.i.c.k! d.i.c.k, lad, you don't know what you're talking about! Look at the thing as it stands! We know everything that you're doing. Our spies look into the very heart of your camp. You think that we are fifty miles away, but a cannon shot from the center of our camp would reach the center of yours. Why, while we are here, ready to spring, this Grant, of whom you think so much, is on his way tonight to the little village of Savannah to confer with Buell. In the dawn when we strike and roll his brigades back he will not be here. And that's your great general!"

d.i.c.k knew that his uncle was excited. But he had full cause to be. There was everything in the situation to inflame an officer's pride and antic.i.p.ation. It was not too dark for d.i.c.k to see a spark leap from his eyes, and a sudden flush of red appear in either tanned cheek. But for d.i.c.k the chill came again, and once more his hair p.r.i.c.kled at the roots. The ambush was even more complete than he had supposed, and General Grant would not be there when it was sprung.

"d.i.c.k," said Colonel Kenton, "I have talked to you as I would not have talked to anyone else, but even so, I would not have talked to you as I have, were not your escape an impossibility. You are unharmed, but to leave this camp you would have to fly."

"I admit it, sir."