Part 8 (1/2)
They turned northward now and an hour later found numerous hoofprints in a narrow road.
”All these were made by well-shod horses,” said the sergeant, after examining the tracks critically. ”Now, we've plenty of horseshoes and the Johnnies haven't. That's one sign.”
”What's the other?”
”I calculate that about six hundred men have pa.s.sed here, and that's pretty close to the number Colonel Hertford has, unless he's been in a hot fight.”
”Good reasoning, Sergeant, and I'll add a third. Those men are riding directly toward the place where, according to our maps and information, we ought to meet Colonel Hertford.”
”All these things make me sure our men have pa.s.sed here, Mr. Mason. Suppose we follow on as hard as we can?”
Cheered by the belief that they were approaching the end of their quest they advanced at such a rate that the great trail rapidly grew fresher.
”Their horses are tired now,” said the sergeant, ”and likely we're going as fast as they are. They're our men sure. Look at this old canteen that one of 'em has thrown away. It's the kind they make in the North. He ought to have been punished for leaving such a sign.”
”I judge, Sergeant, from the looks of this road, that they can't now be more than a mile away.”
”Less than that, Mr. Mason. When we reach the top of the hill yonder I think we'll see 'em.”
The sergeant's judgment was vindicated again. From the crest they saw a numerous body of muddy hors.e.m.e.n riding slowly ahead. Only the brilliant sunlight made their uniforms distinguishable, but they were, beyond a doubt, the troops of the Union. d.i.c.k uttered a little cry of joy and the sergeant's face glowed.
”We've found 'em,” said the sergeant.
”And soon we ride,” said d.i.c.k.
They hurried forward, shouted and waved their rifles.
The column stopped, and two men, one of whom was Colonel Hertford himself, rode back, looking curiously at the haggard and stained faces of the two who walked forward, still swinging their rifles.
”Colonel Hertford,” said d.i.c.k joyfully, ”we've come with a message for you from General Grant.”
”And who may you be?” asked Hertford in surprise.
”Why, Colonel, don't you know me? I'm Lieutenant Richard Mason of Colonel Winchester's regiment, and this is Sergeant Daniel Whitley of the same regiment.”
The colonel broke into a hearty laugh, and then extended his hand to d.i.c.k.
”I should have known your voice, my boy,” he said, ”but it's certainly impossible to recognize any one who is as thickly covered with dry Mississippi mud as you are. What's your news, d.i.c.k?”
d.i.c.k told him and the sergeant repeated the same tale. He knew them both to be absolutely trustworthy, and their coming on such an errand through so many dangers carried its own proof.
”We've several spare horses, bearing provisions and arms,” said Colonel Hertford. ”Two can be unloaded and be made ready for you and the sergeant. I fancy that you don't care to keep on walking, d.i.c.k?”
”I've had enough to last me for years, Colonel.”
They were mounted in a few minutes, and rode with the colonel. The world had now changed for d.i.c.k. Astride a good horse and in a column of six hundred men he was no longer the hunted. These troopers and he were hunters now.
The column turned presently into another road and advanced with speed in the direction of Grant. Colonel Hertford asked d.i.c.k many questions about Slade.
”I've been hearing of him since we were on this raid,” he said. ”He's more of a guerilla than a regular soldier, but he may be able to gather a considerable force. I wish we could cut him off.”
”So do I,” said d.i.c.k, but his feeling was prompted chiefly by Slade's determined attempts upon his life.
Colonel Hertford now pushed forward his men. He, too, was filled with ambitions. He began to have an idea of Grant's great plans, in which all the Union leaders must cooperate, and he meant that his own little command should be there, whenever the great deed, whatever it might be, was done. He talked about it with d.i.c.k, who he knew was a trusted young staff officer, and the two, the lad and the older man, fed the enthusiasm of each other.
This attack deep into the flank of the Confederacy appealed to them with its boldness, and created a certain romantic glow that seemed to clothe the efforts of a general so far from the great line of battle in the East. They talked, too, of the navy which had run past forts on the Mississippi, and which had shown anew all its ancient skill and courage.
As they talked, twilight came, and the road led once more through the deep woods, where the shade turned the twilight into the darkness of night. Then rifles flashed suddenly in the thickets, and a half-dozen hors.e.m.e.n fell. The whole column was thrown for an instant or two into disorder, frightened horses rearing and stamping, and, before their riders could regain control, another volley came, emptying a half-dozen saddles.
Colonel Hertford gave rapid commands. Then, shouting and waving his saber he galloped boldly into the forest, reckless of trees and bushes, and d.i.c.k, the sergeant, and the whole troop followed. The lad was nearly swept from his horse by a bough, but he recovered himself in time to see the figures of men on foot fleeing rapidly through the dusk.
Bullets pattered on bark and leaves, and the angry hors.e.m.e.n, after discharging their carbines, swept forward with circling sabers. But the irregulars who had ambushed them, save a few fallen before the bullets, escaped easily in the dense woods, and under cover of the darkness which was now coming down, thick and fast.
A trumpet sounded the recall and the cavalrymen, sore and angry, drew back into the road. They had lost a dozen good men, but Colonel Hertford felt that they could not delay for vengeance. Grant's orders were to come at once; and he intended to obey them.
”I'd wager a year's pay against a Confederate five-dollar note,” said Sergeant Whitley to d.i.c.k, ”that the man who laid that ambush was Slade. He'll keep watch on us all the way to Grant, and he'll tell the Southern leaders everything the general is doing. Oh, he's a good scout and spy.”
”He's proved it,” said d.i.c.k, ”and I'd like to get a fair shot at him.”
They rode nearly all night and most of the next day, and, in the afternoon, they met other men in blue who told them that a heavy Union force was advancing. They had no doubt now that Grant's great plan was already working and in a short time they reached McPherson, advancing with Logan's division. Hertford reported at once to McPherson, who was glad enough to have his cavalry, and who warmly praised d.i.c.k and the sergeant for the dangerous service they had done so well. As it would have been unwise for them to attempt to reach Grant then he kept them with him in the march on Jackson.
d.i.c.k slept that night under the stars, but thousands of Union men were around him and he felt neither the weight of responsibility, nor the presence of danger. He missed Warner and Pennington, but he and the sergeant were happy. Beyond a doubt now Grant was going to strike hard, and all the men were full of antic.i.p.ation and hope. His force in different divisions was advancing on Jackson, leaving Vicksburg behind him and the Southern army under Pemberton on one side.
d.i.c.k heard, too, that the redoubtable Joe Johnston was coming to take command of the Southern garrison in Jackson, and a leader less bold than Grant might have shrunk from such a circle of enemies, but Grant's own courage increased the spirit of his men, and they were full of faith.
”I expect they're alarmed in Was.h.i.+ngton,” said the sergeant, as they sat on their blankets. ”There ain't any telegraph station nearer than Memphis. They've heard in the capital that the general has begun to move toward Jackson, but they won't know for days what will happen.”
”I don't blame the President for being disturbed,” said d.i.c.k. ”After all the army is to serve the nation and fights under the supreme civilian authority. The armies don't govern.”
”That's so, but there come times when the general who has to do the fighting can judge best how it ought to be done.”
d.i.c.k lay down on one blanket and put another over him. It was well into May, which meant hot weather in Mississippi, but, if he could, he always protected himself at night. He was not a vain lad, but he felt proud over his success. Hertford's six hundred horse were a welcome addition to any army.
He lay back soon with a knapsack as a pillow under his head and listened to the noises of the camp, blended now into a rather musical note. Several cooking fires still burned here and there and figures pa.s.sed before them. d.i.c.k observed them sleepily, taking no particular note, until one, small and weazened, came. The figure was about fifty yards away, and there was a Union cap instead of a great flap-brimmed hat on the head, but d.i.c.k sprang to his feet at once, s.n.a.t.c.hed a pistol from his belt and rushed toward it.
The evil figure melted away like a shadow, and two astonished soldiers seized the youth, who seemed to be running amuck in the camp, pistol in hand.
”Let go!” exclaimed d.i.c.k. ”I've seen a man whom I know to be a spy, and a most dangerous one, too.”
They could find no trace of Slade. d.i.c.k returned crestfallen to his blanket, but he recalled something now definitely and clearly. Slade was the little man whom he had seen carrying the log the morning he left General Grant's camp, on his mission.
The sergeant, who had never stirred from his own blanket, sat up when d.i.c.k returned.
”Who was he, Mr. Mason?” he asked.
”Slade himself. He must have seen me jump up, because he vanished like a ghost. But I gained something. I know now that I saw him here in our uniform just before I started to find Colonel Hertford. That was why I was followed.”
”The cunning of an Indian. Well, we'll be on the watch for him now, but I imagine he's already on the way to Jackson with the news of our advance and an estimate of our numbers. We can't do anything to head him off.”
On the second day after joining the column d.i.c.k was ahead with the cavalry, riding beside Colonel Hertford, and listening to occasional shots in their front on the Jackson road. Both believed they would soon be in touch with the enemy. Sergeant Whitley, acting now as a scout, had gone forward through a field and in a few minutes galloped back.