Part 6 (2/2)
But d.i.c.k and Warner had been sure of that already. The army, flushed with triumph, was eager to be led on, even to make a night attack on the intrenchments of the enemy, but Thomas held them, knowing that another brigade of Northern troops was marching to his aid. The brigade came, but it was now dark and he would not risk a night attack. But some of the guns were brought up and they sent a dozen heavy cannon shot into the intrenchments of the enemy. There was no reply and neither of the boys, although they strained ears, could hear anything in the defeated camp.
”I shouldn't be surprised if we found them gone in the morning,” said Major Hertford to d.i.c.k. ”But I think our general is right in not making any attack upon their works. What do you say to that, Sergeant Whitley? You've had a lot of experience.”
Sergeant Whitley was standing beside them, also trying to pierce the darkness with trained eyes, although he could not see the Confederate intrenchments.
”If a sergeant may offer an opinion I agree with you fully, sir,” he said. ”A night attack is always risky, an' most of all, sir, when troops are new like ours, although they're as brave as anybody. More'n likely if we was to rush on 'em our troops would be shootin' into one another in the darkness.”
”Good logic,” said Major Hertford, ”and as it is quite certain that they are not in any condition to come out and attack us we'll stand by and wait till morning. So the general orders.”
They walked back toward the place where the victorious troops were lighting the fires, out of the range of the cannon in the Confederate intrenchments. They were exultant, but they were not boasting unduly. Night, cold and dark, had shut down upon them and was taking the heat out of their blood. Hundreds of men were at work building fires, and d.i.c.k and Warner, with the permission of Major Hertford, joined them.
Both boys felt that the work would be a relief. Wood was to be had in abundance. The forest stretched on all sides of them in almost unbroken miles, and the earth was littered with dead wood fallen a year or years before. They merely kept away from the side on which the Confederate intrenchments lay, and brought in the wood in great quant.i.ties. A row of lights a half mile long sprang up, giving forth heat and warmth. Then arose the cheerful sound of tin and iron dishes and cups rattling against one another. A quarter of an hour later they were eating a victorious supper, and a little later most of them slept.
But in the night the Confederate troops abandoned their camp, leaving in it ten cannon and fifteen hundred wagons and crossed the river in boats, which they destroyed when they reached the other side. Then, their defeat being so severe, and they but volunteers, they scattered in the mountains to seek food and shelter for the remainder of the winter.
This army of the South ceased to exist.
CHAPTER VII. THE MESSENGER
Victory, overwhelming and complete, had been won, but General Thomas could not follow into the deep mountains where his army might be cut off. So he remained where he was for a little while and on the second day he sent for d.i.c.k.
The general was seated alone in a tent, an open end of which faced a fire, as it was now extremely cold. General Thomas had shown no undue elation over his victory. He was as silent as ever, and now, as always, he made upon d.i.c.k the impression of strength and indomitable courage.
”Sit down,” he said, waving his hand toward a camp stool.
d.i.c.k, after saluting, sat down in silence.
”I hear,” said the general, ”that you behaved very well in the battle, and that you are a lad of courage and intelligence. Courage is common, intelligence, real intelligence, is rare. You were at Bull Run also, so I hear.”
”I was, and the army fought well there too, but late in the day it was seized with a sudden panic.”
”Something that may happen at any time to raw troops. But we'll pa.s.s to the question in hand. The campaign here in the mountains is ended for this winter, but great matters are afoot further west. A courier arrived last night stating that General Grant and Commodore Foote were preparing to advance by water from Cairo, Illinois, and attempt the reduction of the Confederate forts on the c.u.mberland and Tennessee. General Buell, one of your own Kentuckians, is advancing southward with a strong Union force, and in a few days his outposts will be on Green River. It will be of great advantage to Buell to know that the Confederate army in the eastern part of the state is destroyed. He can advance with freedom and, on the other hand, the Southern leader, Albert Sidney Johnston, will be compelled to throw a portion of his force to the eastward to protect his flank which has been uncovered by our victory at Mill Spring. Do you understand?”
”I do, sir.”
”Then you are to carry dispatches of the utmost importance from me to General Buell. After you reach his camp-if you reach it-you will, of course, be subject to his orders. I have learned that you know the country well between here and Green River. Because of that, and because of your intelligence, real intelligence, I mean, you are chosen for this task. You are to change to citizen's clothes at once, and a horse of great power and endurance has been selected for you. But you must use all your faculties all the time. I warn you that the journey is full of danger.”
”I can carry it out,” replied d.i.c.k with quiet confidence, ”and I thank you for choosing me.”
”I believe you will succeed,” said the general, who liked his tone. ”Return here in an hour with all your preparations made, and I will give you the dispatches.”
Warner was filled with envy that his comrade was to go on a secret mission of great importance, but he generously wished him a full measure of success.
”Remember,” he said, ”that on an errand like yours, presence of mind counts for at least fifty per cent. Have a quick tongue. Always be ready with a tale that looks true.”
”An' remember, too,” said Sergeant Whitley, ”that however tight a place you get into you can get into one tighter. Think of that and it will encourage you to pull right out of the hole.”
The two wrung his hand and Major Hertford also gave him his warmest wishes. The horse chosen for him was a bay of tremendous power, and d.i.c.k knew that he would serve him well. He carried double blankets strapped to the saddle, pistols in holsters with another in his belt, an abundance of ammunition, and food for several days in his saddle bags. Then he returned to General Thomas, who handed him a thin strip of tissue paper.
”It is written in indelible ink,” he said, ”and it contains a statement of our forces and their positions here in the eastern part of the state. It also tells General Buell what reinforcements he can expect. If you are in imminent danger of capture destroy the paper, but to provide for such a chance, in case you escape afterward, I will read the dispatches to you.”
He read them over several times and then questioned d.i.c.k. But the boy's memory was good. In fact, every word of the dispatches was burnt into his brain, and nothing could make him forget them.
”And now, my lad,” said General Thomas, giving him his hand, ”you may help us greatly. I would not send a boy upon such an errand, but the demands of war are terrible and must be obeyed.”
The strong grasp of the general's hand imparted fresh enthusiasm to d.i.c.k, and for the present he did not have the slightest doubt that he would get safely through. He wore a strong suit of home-made brown jeans, a black felt cap with ear-flaps, and high boots. The dispatch was pinned into a small inside pocket of his vest.
He rode quickly out of camp, giving the sentinels the pa.s.s word, and the head of the horse was pointed west slightly by north. The ground was now frozen and he did not have the mud to hold him back.
The horse evidently had been longing for action. Such thews and sinews as his needed exercise. He stretched out his long neck, neighed joyously, and broke of his own accord into an easy canter. It was a lonely road, and d.i.c.k was glad that it was so. The fewer people he met the better it was in every way for him.
He shared the vigor and spirit of his horse. His breath turned to smoke, but the cold whipped his blood into a quicker torrent. He hummed s.n.a.t.c.hes of the songs that he had heard Samuel Jarvis sing, and went on mile after mile through the high hills toward the low hills of Kentucky.
d.i.c.k did not pa.s.s many people. The ancient name of his state-the Dark and b.l.o.o.d.y Ground-came back to him. He knew that war in one of its worst forms existed in this wild sweep of hills. Here the guerillas rode, choosing their sides as suited them best, and robbing as paid them most. Nor did these rough men hesitate at murder. So he rode most of the time with his hand on the b.u.t.t of the pistol at his belt, and whenever he went through woods, which was most of the time, he kept a wary watch to right and to left.
The first person whom he pa.s.sed was a boy riding on a sack of grain to mill. d.i.c.k greeted him cheerfully and the boy with the fearlessness of youth replied in the same manner.
”Any news your way?” asked d.i.c.k.
”Nothin' at all,” replied the boy, his eyes enlarging with excitement, ”but from the way you are comin' we heard tell there was a great battle, hundreds of thousands of men on each side an' that the Yankees won. Is it so, Mister?”
”It is true,” replied d.i.c.k. ”A dozen people have told me of it, but the armies were not quite so large as you heard. It is true also that the Yankees won.”
”I'll tell that at the mill. It will be big news to them. An' which way be you goin', Mister?” said the boy with all the frankness of the hills.
”I'm on my way to the middle part of the state. I've been looking after some land that my people own in the mountains. Looks like a lonesome road, this. Will I reach any house soon?”
”Thar's Ben Trimble's three miles further on, but take my advice an' don't stop thar. Ben says he ain't goin' to be troubled in these war times by visitors, an' he's likely to meet you at the door with his double-barreled shotgun.”
”I won't knock on Ben's door, so he needn't take down his double-barreled shotgun. What's next beyond Ben's house?”
”A half mile further on you come to Hungry Creek. It ain't much in the middle of summer, but right now it's full of cold water, 'nough of it to come right up to your hoss's body. You go through it keerful.”
”Thank you for your good advice,” said d.i.c.k. ”I'll follow it, too. Good-bye.”
He waved his gauntleted hand and rode on. A hundred yards further and he glanced back. The boy had stopped on the crest of a hill, and was looking at him. But d.i.c.k knew that it was only the natural curiosity of the hills and he renewed his journey without apprehension.
At the appointed time he saw the stout log cabin of Ben Trimble by the roadside with the warm smoke rising from the chimney, but true to his word he gave Ben and his shotgun no trouble, and continued straight ahead over the frozen road until he came to the banks of Hungry Creek. Here, too, the words of the boy came true. The water was both deep and cold, and d.i.c.k looked at it doubtfully.
He urged his great horse into the stream at last, and it appeared that the creek had risen somewhat since the boy had last seen it. In the middle the horse was compelled to swim, but it was no task for such a powerful animal, and d.i.c.k, holding his feet high, came dry to the sh.o.r.e that he sought.
The road led on through high hills, covered with oak and beech and cedar and pine, all the deciduous trees bare of leaves, their boughs rustling dryly whenever the wind blew. He saw the smoke of three cabins nestling in snug coves, but it was a full three hours before he met anybody else in the road. Then he saw two men riding toward him, but he could not tell much about them as they were wrapped in heavy gray shawls, and wore broad brimmed felt hats, pulled well down over their foreheads.
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