The Sword of Antietam: A Story of the Nation's Crisis Part 3

"There's enough time in the day for fighting," said Pennington, "without borrowing of the night. Hear that big gun over there on our right! Why do they want to be firing cannon b.a.l.l.s at such a time?"

They trudged gloomily on, following other regiments ghostly in the moonlight, and followed by others as ghostly. But the sinister omens, the flash of rifle firing and the far boom of a cannon, were always on their flanks. The impression of Jackson's skill and power which d.i.c.k had gained so quickly was deepening already. He did not have the slightest doubt now that the Southern leader was pressing forward through the woods to cut them off. As the sergeant had said truly, he came up to his advertis.e.m.e.nts and more. d.i.c.k shivered and it was a shiver of apprehension for the army, and not for himself.

In accordance with human nature he and the boy officers who were his good comrades talked together, but their sentences were short and broken.

"Marching toward a court house," said Pennington. "What'll we do when we get there? Lawyers won't help us."

"Not so much marching toward a court house as marching away from Jackson," said the Vermonter.

"We'll march back again," said d.i.c.k hopefully.

"But when?" said Pennington. "Look through the trees there on our right.

Aren't those rebel troops?"

d.i.c.k's startled gaze beheld a long line of hors.e.m.e.n in gray on their flank and only a few hundred yards away.

CHAPTER II. AT THE CAPITAL

The Southern cavalry was seen almost at the same time by many men in the regiments, and nervous and hasty, as was natural at such a time, they opened a scattering fire. The hors.e.m.e.n did not return the fire, but seemed to melt away in the darkness.

But the shrewdest of the officers, among whom was Colonel Winchester, took alarm at this sudden appearance and disappearance. d.i.c.k would have divined from their manner, even without their talk, that they believed Jackson was at hand. Action followed quickly. The army stopped and began to seek a strong position in the wood. Cannon were drawn up, their mouths turned to the side on which the hors.e.m.e.n had appeared, and the worn regiments a.s.sumed the att.i.tude of defense. d.i.c.k's heart throbbed with pride when he saw that they were as ready as ever to fight, although they had suffered great losses and the bitterest of disappointments.

"What I said I've got to say over again," said Pennington ruefully: "the night's no time for fighting. It's heathenish in Stonewall Jackson to follow us, and annoy us in such a way."

"Such a way! Such a way!" said d.i.c.k impatiently. "We've got to learn to fight as he does. Good G.o.d, Frank, think of all the sacrifices we are making to save our Union, the great republic! Think how the hateful old monarchies will sneer and rejoice if we fall, and here in the East our generals just throw our men away! They divide and scatter our armies in such a manner that we simply ask to be beaten."

"Sh! sh!" said Warner, as he listened to the violent outbreak, so unusual on the part of the reserved and self-contained lad. "Here come two generals."

"Two too many," muttered d.i.c.k. A moment or two later he was ashamed of himself, not because of what he had said, but because he had said it.

Then Warner seized him by the arm and pointed.

"A new general, bigger than all the rest, has come," he said, "and although I've never seen him before I know with mathematical certainty that it's General John Pope, commander-in-chief of the Army of Virginia."

Both d.i.c.k and Pennington knew instinctively that Warner was right.

General Pope, a strongly built man in early middle years, surrounded by a brilliant staff, rode into a little glade in the midst of the troops, and summoned to him the leading officers who had taken part in the battle.

d.i.c.k and his two comrades stood on one side, but they could not keep from hearing what was said and done. In truth they did not seek to avoid hearing, nor did many of the young privates who stood near and who considered themselves quite as good as their officers.

Pope, florid and full-faced, was in a fine humor. He complimented the officers on their valor, spoke as if they had won a victory--which would have been a fact had others done their duty--and talked slightingly of Jackson. The men of the west would show this man his match in the art of war.

d.i.c.k listened to it all with bitterness in his heart. He had no doubt that Pope was brave, and he could see that he was confident. Yet it took something more than confidence to defeat an able enemy. What had become of those gray hors.e.m.e.n in the bush? They had appeared once and they could appear again. He had believed that Jackson himself was at hand, and he still believed it. His eyes shifted from Pope to the dark woods, which, with their thick foliage, turned back the moonlight.

"George," he whispered to Warner, "do you think you can see anything among those trees?"

"I can make out dimly one or two figures, which no doubt are our scouts.

Ah-h!"

The long "Ah-h!" was drawn by a flash and the report of a rifle. A second and a third report came, and then the crash of a heavy fire. The scouts and sentinels came running in, reporting that a great force with batteries, presumably the whole army of Jackson, was at hand.

A deep murmur ran through the Union army, but there was no confusion.

The long hours of fighting had habituated them to danger. They were also too tired to become excited, and in addition, they were of as stern stuff at night as they had been in the morning. They were ready to fight again.

Formidable columns of troops appeared through the woods, their bayonets glistening in the moonlight. The heavy rifle fire began once more, although it was nearly midnight, and then came the deep thunder of cannon, sending round shot and sh.e.l.ls among the Union troops. But the men in blue, harried beyond endurance, fought back fiercely. They shared the feelings of Pennington. They felt that they had been persecuted, that this thing had grown inhuman, and they used rifles and cannon with astonishing vigor and energy.

Two heavy Union batteries replied to the Southern cannon, raking the woods with sh.e.l.l, round shot and grape, and d.i.c.k concluded that in the face of so much resolution Jackson would not press an attack at night, when every kind of disaster might happen in the darkness. His own regiment had lain down among the leaves, and the men were firing at the flashes on their right. d.i.c.k looked for General Pope and his brilliant staff, but he did not see them.

"Gone to bring up the reserves," whispered Warner, who saw d.i.c.k's inquiring look.

But the Vermonter's slur was not wholly true. Pope was on his way to his main force, doubtless not really believing that Jackson himself was at hand. But the little army that he left behind fighting with renewed energy and valor broke away from the Southern grasp and continued its march toward that court house, in which the boys could see no merit.

Jackson himself, knowing what great numbers were ahead, was content to swing away and seek for prey elsewhere.

They emerged from the wood toward morning and saw ahead of them great ma.s.ses of troops in blue. They would have shouted with joy, but they were too tired. Besides, nearly two thousand of their men were killed or wounded, and they had no victory to celebrate.

d.i.c.k ate breakfast with his comrades. The Northern armies nearly always had an abundance of provisions, and now they were served in plenty. For the moment, the physical overcame the mental in d.i.c.k. It was enough to eat and to rest and to feel secure. Thousands of friendly faces were around them, and they would not have to fight in either day or dark for their lives. Their bones ceased to ache, and the good food and the good coffee began to rebuild the worn tissues. What did the rest matter?

After breakfast these men who had marched and fought for nearly twenty hours were told to sleep. Only one command was needed. It was August, and the dry gra.s.s and the soft earth were good enough for anybody. The three lads, each with an arm under his head, slept side by side. At noon they were still sleeping, and Colonel Winchester, as he was pa.s.sing, looked at the three, but longest at d.i.c.k. His gaze was half affection, half protection, but it was not the boy alone whom he saw. He saw also his fair-haired young mother in that little town on the other side of the mountains.

While d.i.c.k still slept, the minds of men were at work. Pope's army, hitherto separated, was now called together by a battle. Troops from every direction were pouring upon the common center. The little army which had fought so gallantly the day before now amounted to only one-fourth of the whole. McDowell, Sigel and many other generals joined Pope, who, with the strange faculty of always seeing his enemy too small, while McClellan always saw him too large, began to feed upon his own sanguine antic.i.p.ations, and to regard as won the great victory that he intended to win. He sent telegrams to Washington announcing that his triumph at Cedar Run was only the first of a series that his army would soon achieve.

It was late in the afternoon when d.i.c.k awoke, and he was amazed to see that the sun was far down the western sky. But he rubbed his eyes and, remembering, knew that he had slept at least ten hours. He looked down at the relaxed figures of Warner and Pennington on either side of him.

They still slumbered soundly, but he decided that they had slept long enough.

"Here, you," he exclaimed, seizing Warner by the collar and dragging him to a sitting position, "look at the sun! Do you realize that you've lost a day out of your bright young life?"

Then he seized Pennington by the collar also and dragged him up. Both Warner and Pennington yawned prodigiously.

"If I've lost a day, and it would seem that I have, then I'm glad of it," replied Warner. "I could afford to lose several in such a pleasant manner. I suppose a lot of Stonewall Jackson's men were shooting at me while I slept, but I was lucky and didn't know about it."

"You talk too long," said Pennington. "That comes of your having taught school. You could talk all day to boys younger than yourself, and they were afraid to answer back."

"Shut up, both of you," said d.i.c.k. "Here comes the sergeant, and I think from his look he has something to say worth hearing."

Sergeant Whitley had cleansed the blood and dust from his face, and a handkerchief tied neatly around his head covered up the small wound there. He looked trim and entirely restored, both mentally and physically.

"Well, sergeant," said d.i.c.k ingratiatingly, "if any thing has happened in this army you're sure to know of it. We'd have known it ourselves, but we had an important engagement with Morpheus, a world away, and we had to keep it. Now what is the news?"

"I don't know who Morpheus is," replied the sergeant, laughing, "but I'd guess from your looks that he is another name for sleep. There is no news of anything big happenin'. We've got a great army here, and Jackson remains near our battlefield of yesterday. I should say that we number at least fifty thousand men, or about twice the rebels."

"Then why don't we march against 'em at once?"

The sergeant shrugged his shoulders. It was not for him to tell why generals did not do things.

"I think," he said, "that we're likely to stay here a day or two."