Part 13 (1/2)
Two nights later, Paul stood alone on the bank of the Tennessee. The gunboat which had brought him was going back. He could hear the plas.h.i.+ng of her wheels growing fainter each moment. He was in the enemy's country, on an undertaking which might cost him his life. If discovered, he would be hung. For an instant his heart failed him, and he felt that he must turn back; then he remembered that he had enlisted in the service of his country, to do his duty, whatever it might be. His duty was before him. He was upon the ground. Would not G.o.d take care of him?
Was not the path of duty, although it might lead to death, the only path of safety? There are times when duty is worth more than life. ”Whatever is right before the Eternal G.o.d, that I will do,” said Paul to himself.
His fear was gone. He resolved to be bold, yet cautious, and to keep his thoughts perfectly collected under all circ.u.mstances. He had succeeded in one reconnoissance, which made him hopeful; but he reflected that success often makes men careless, so he resolved to be always on his guard. He had changed his uniform for a pair of old b.u.t.ternut-colored pantaloons, a ragged coat, and a slouched hat which had a hole in the crown. He hardly recognized himself he was so altered in appearance. He wondered if Azalia or Daphne would know him. He had no weapon or equipments. There was nothing about him which indicated that he was a soldier of the Union army ready to lay down his life for the old flag.
He walked cautiously along the winding path, noticing all the objects; looking up to the north star at every turn of the road, keeping tally of his steps that he might know the distance travelled. He walked stealthily, expecting every moment to hear the challenge of the Rebel pickets. He was startled by the cry, ”Who! Who! Who!” He came to a sudden halt, and then laughed to think that he had been challenged by an owl.
In the morning he came upon a party of men cutting wood, and found that they were Rebel soldiers outside of the picket line. Paul took an axe and went to work, and so became one of them. When they went into camp he accompanied them, carrying the axe on his shoulder, thus pa.s.sing the picket as a wood-chopper. He found three or four thousand soldiers at Fort Henry, hard at work, throwing up breastworks, digging ditches, hewing timber, mounting guns. He worked with them, but kept his eyes and ears open, noticing the position of the fort on the bank of the river, and how many guns there were. He found out what troops were there, where they came from, and who commanded them. He learned that a wagon-train was going to Fort Donelson after ammunition. He joined it and pa.s.sed the picket as one of the train guards. As the wagons were empty, he had a chance to ride, and thus saved a weary walk of twelve miles.
The little town of Dover, which is near Fort Donelson, he found alive with troops; regiments were arriving from Arkansas, Mississippi, Texas, and Tennessee. General Pillow was there in command. He was once an officer in the army of the United States and fought in Mexico. General Floyd was there with a brigade of Virginians. He was Secretary of War when Buchanan was President, and did what he could to destroy the Union.
He was a thief as well as a Rebel. He was a large, coa.r.s.e man. Paul despised him, and could hardly restrain himself from knocking the villain from his horse when he saw him ride by wearing the uniform of a traitor. There was not much discipline in the Rebel army, and Paul found little difficulty in going through all the camps, ascertaining what regiments were there. It nettled him to hear the boasts of the soldiers that one Southerner could whip five Yankees, but he said nothing for fear of betraying himself. He obtained food at a sutler's tent. He was very tired and sleepy when the second night came, but he found a place to sleep at a house in the village.
”What regiment do you belong to?” asked a girl with a sallow countenance and grimy hands.
”I am a scout,” said Paul.
”Be you a scout? Wal, I hope you will run across Old Abe Link.u.m. If you do, jest take his _skelp_ for me.” (She meant his scalp.)
”Wal, if I _cotch_ him, I reckon I'll _skelp_ him,” said Paul, flouris.h.i.+ng his knife, as if he was ready for such b.l.o.o.d.y work.
”The Yanks are a set of vagabonds; they are the meanest critters on airth,” said the woman. ”They'll hang you if they cotch you.”
”I reckon I won't let 'em cotch me,” said Paul.
”Where be you gwine next?”
”Down to Cairo, I reckon; though I go wherever the General sends me.”
”May be you would do a little ch.o.r.e for me,--get me some pins, needles, and thread?”
”It is mighty skittish business, but I'll see what I can do,” said Paul.
Having obtained his information, his next business was to get away. He waited till the lights were put out in the camps at night, then, walking down to the river he found a small boat, jumped in and pushed out into the stream. He could see the sentinels on the parapet of the fort as he floated past, but they did not discover him. Paul congratulated himself that he was beyond the picket line when he heard a hail from both sh.o.r.es at the same time. ”Boat ahoy!” He made no reply. ”Boat ahoy! come ash.o.r.e or I'll fire,” said both sentinels. He saw that he could not escape by rowing. They would fire if he attempted to go ahead or turn back. If he went ash.o.r.e, he would be taken to the guard-house, questioned, probably put into prison, perhaps tried as a spy. He resolved that he wouldn't go ash.o.r.e. There was no time for deliberation. It was mid-winter; the air was keen, and there was floating ice in the river. If he remained in the boat he might be shot, so he lowered himself noiselessly into the water. How cold it was! He felt the chill strike through him, setting his teeth to chattering, and his limbs quivering. There was another hail, and then a flash on both sh.o.r.es. The b.a.l.l.s went through the boat.
He heard the stroke of oars, and saw a boat pus.h.i.+ng out from the sh.o.r.e.
He darted ahead, swimming noiselessly down stream, gradually nearing the sh.o.r.e, for his strength was failing. He heard the men in the boat say, ”We are fooled, it is only an empty dug-out.”
How hard it was to climb the bank! He could not stand, he was so chilled. Once he rose to his feet, but tumbled like a log to the ground.
He wanted to go to sleep, but he knew it would be his last sleep if he yielded. He drained the water from his boots, rubbed his legs, thrashed his hands, and then went reeling and blundering in the darkness over fallen trees. What a wearisome, cheerless night it was! How he longed for a fire,--a cup of warm coffee,--a comfortable bed! He thought of his own bed in the little old house at New Hope, and wished that he might lie there once more, and snuggle down beneath the warm comforters. His clothes were frozen, and notwithstanding he beat his hands till the blood dripped from his fingers, he could get up no warmth. ”Halt! Who comes there?” was the sharp challenge which startled him from his dreaming. He was close upon a picket. He turned in an instant, and began to run. He heard footsteps following. The thought that he was pursued roused all his energies. The footsteps came nearer. Putting forth all his strength, holding his breath, Paul went on, stumbling, rising again, leaping, hearing the footsteps of his pursuer coming nearer; suddenly he came to a deep, narrow creek. He did not hesitate an instant, but plunged in, swam to the other bank, gained the solid ground, and dropped behind a tree just as his pursuer reached the creek. The Rebel stopped and listened, but Paul remained perfectly still, hardly daring to breathe, till he heard the fellow go back muttering to himself and cursing the creek. The running had warmed Paul, but he was exhausted and drenched once more. Daybreak came, and he did not dare to travel; so, finding some stacks of corn in a field, he tore one of them open, made a bed inside, drew the bundles over him, s.h.i.+vered awhile, and then dropped asleep.
He awoke suddenly to find his house tumbling to pieces,--torn down by Rebel soldiers.
”h.e.l.lo! What's here? Who be ye? What are ye up to?” said a sergeant, startled to find a man under the bundles. ”Deserter, eh? or a spy, I reckon,” said the fellow, holding a pistol to Paul's head.
”Better put up your shooting-irons,” said Paul coolly.
”Give an account of yourself, how ye came here, _whar_ ye have been, and _whar_ ye gwine.”
Paul noticed that he said _whar_ for where, and replied, ”I am a scout, and have been down by the river _whar_ the Yankee gunboats is.”
”I don't believe it; you look like a scarecrow, but I reckon you are a Yankee spy,” said the Sergeant. He searched Paul, but found nothing. He was commanding a cavalry foraging-party, and was a brutal, ignorant fellow, and had been drinking whiskey, and wanted to show that he had power. ”Boys, bring a halter; I reckon I'll make this fellow confess that he is a Yankee.”