Part 21 (2/2)
For a moment the scout thought he had not heard that right. But Kirby's crow of delight a.s.sured him that he had been answered in the affirmative.
”What about it?” Boyd echoed indignantly. ”We've been huntin' you for hours. General Buford wants....”
The man who had answered Drew was vague in the dusk, to be seen only in the limited light of the lantern on the driver's seat. But they did not miss the pugnacious set of knuckles on hips, nor the truculence which overrode the weariness in his voice.
”Th' General can want him a lotta things in this heah world, sonny. What the Good Lord an' this heah mud lets him have is somethin' else again.
We've been pus.h.i.+n' these heah dang-blasted-to-Richmond wagons along, mostly with our bare hands. Does he want 'em any faster, he can jus'
send us back thirty or forty fresh teams, along with good weather--an'
we'll be right up wheah he wants us in no time--”
”The boys are out of ammunition,” Drew said quietly. ”And they are tryin' to dig out the Yankees.”
”You ain't tellin' me nothin', soldier, that I don't know or ain't already heard.” The momentary flash of anger had drained out of the other's voice; there was just pure fatigue weighting the tongue now.
”We're comin', jus' as fast as we can--”
”You pull on about a quarter mile and there's a turnout; that way you'll make better time,” Drew suggested. ”We'll show you where.”
”All right. We're comin'.”
In the end they all pitched to, lending the pulling strength of their mounts, and the power of their own shoulders when the occasion demanded.
Somehow they got on through the dark and the cold and the mud. And close to dawn they reached their goal.
But that same dark night had lost the Confederate Army their chance of victory. The Union command had not been safely bottled up at Spring Hill. Through the night hours Schofield's army had marched along the turnpike, within gunshot of the gray troops, close enough for Hood's pickets to hear the talk of the retreating men. Now they must be pursued toward Franklin. The Army of the Tennessee was herding the Yankees right enough, but with a kind of desperation which men in the ranks could sense.
Buford's division held the Confederate right wing. Drew, acting as courier for the Kentucky general, saw Forrest--with his tough, undefeated, and undefeatable escort--riding ahead.
They had Wilson's Cavalry drawn up to meet them. But they had handled Wilson before, briskly and brutally. This was the old game they knew well. Drew saw the glitter of sabers along the Union ranks and smiled grimly. When were the Yankees going to learn that a saber was good for the toasting of bacon and such but not much use in the fight? Give him two Colts and a carbine every time! There was a fancy dodge he had seen some of the Texans use; they strung extra revolver cylinders to the saddle horn and snapped them in for reloading. It was risky but sure was fast.
”They've got Springfields.” He heard Kirby's satisfied comment.
”I'm goin' to get me one of those,” Boyd began, but Drew rounded on him swiftly.
”No, you ain't! They may look good, but they ain't much. You can't reload 'em in the saddle with your horse movin', and all they're good for in a mixup is a fancy sort of club.”
The Confederate infantry were moving up toward the Union breastworks, part of which was a formidable stone wall. And now came the orders for their own section to press in. They pushed, hard and heavy, while swirls of blue cavalry fought, broke, re-formed to meet their advance, and broke again. They routed out pockets of blue infantry, sending some pelting back toward the Harpeth.
A wave of retreating Yankees crossed the shallow river. Forrest's men dismounted to fight and took the stream on foot, the icy water splas.h.i.+ng high. It was wild and tough, the slam of man meeting man. Drew wrested a guidon from the hold of a blue-coated trooper as Hannibal smashed into the other's mount with bared teeth and pawing hoofs. Waving the trophy over his head and yelling, he pounded on at a knot of determined infantry, aware that he was leading others from Buford's still-mounted headquarter's company, and that they were going to ride right over the Yankee soldiers. Men threw away muskets and rifles, raised empty hands, scattered in frantic leaps from that charge.
Then they were rounding up their blue-coated prisoners and Drew, the pole of the captured guidon braced in the crook of his elbow as he reloaded his revolver, realized that the shadows were thickening, that the day was almost gone.
”Rennie!” Still holding the guidon, Drew obeyed the beckoning hand of one of the General's aides. He put Hannibal to a rocking gallop to come up with the officer.
”Withdrawin'--behind the river. Pa.s.s the word to gather in!”
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