Part 14 (1/2)
War plays singular chances. Halleck in St. Louis, secure in his plan of campaign, had sent an order after d.i.c.k left s.h.i.+loh, for Buell to turn to the north, leaving Grant to himself, and occupy a town that he named. Through some chance the order never reached Buell. Had it done so the whole course of American history might have been changed. Grant himself, after the departure of the earlier messengers, changed his mind and sent messengers to Nelson, who led Buell's vanguard, telling him not to hurry. This army was to come to Pittsburg Landing or s.h.i.+loh partly by the Tennessee, and Grant stated that the vessels for him would not be ready until some days later. It was the early stage of the war when generals behaved with great independence, and Nelson, a rough, stubborn man, after reading the order marched on faster than ever. It seemed afterward that the very stars were for Grant, when one order was lost, and another disobeyed.
But d.i.c.k was not to know of these things until later. He delivered in person his dispatch to General Buell, who remembered him and gave him a friendly nod, but who was as chary of speech as ever. He wrote a brief reply to the dispatch and gave it sealed to d.i.c.k.
”The letter I hand you,” he said, ”merely notifies General Grant that I have received his orders and will hurry forward as much as possible. If on your return journey you should deem yourself in danger of falling into the hands of the enemy destroy it at once.”
d.i.c.k promised to do so, saluted, and retired. He spent only two hours in General Buell's camp, securing some fresh provisions to carry in his saddle bags and allowing his horse a little rest. Then he mounted and took as straight a course as he could for General Grant's camp at Pittsburg Landing.
The boy felt satisfied with himself. He had done his mission quickly and exactly, and he would have a pleasant ride back. On his strong, swift horse, and with a good knowledge of the road, he could go several times faster than Buell's army. He antic.i.p.ated a pleasant ride. The forest seemed to him to be fairly drenched in spring. Little birds flaming in color darted among the boughs and others more modest in garb poured forth a full volume of song. d.i.c.k, sensitive to sights and sounds, hummed a tune himself. It was the thundering song of the sea that he had heard Samuel Jarvis sing in the Kentucky Mountains: They bore him away when the day had fled, And the storm was rolling high, And they laid him down in his lonely bed By the light of an angry sky.
The lightning flashed and the wild sea lashed The sh.o.r.e with its foaming wave, And the thunder pa.s.sed on the rus.h.i.+ng blast, As it howled o'er the rover's grave.
He pressed on, hour after hour, through the deep woods, meeting no one, but content. At noon his horse suddenly showed signs of great weariness, and d.i.c.k, remembering how much he had ridden him over muddy roads, gave him a long rest. Besides, there was no need to hurry. The Southern army was at Corinth, in Mississippi, three or four days' journey away, and there had been no scouts or skirmishers in the woods between.
After a stop of an hour he remounted and rode on again, but the horse was still feeling his great strain, and he did not push him beyond a walk. He calculated that nevertheless he would reach headquarters not long after nightfall, and he went along gaily, still singing to himself. He crossed the river at a point above the army, where the Union troops had made a ferry, and then turned toward the camp.
About sunset he reached a hill from which he could look over the forest and see under the horizon faint lights that were made by Grant's campfires at Pittsburg Landing. It was a welcome sight. He would soon be with his friends again, and he urged his horse forward a little faster.
”Halt!” cried a sharp voice from the thicket.
d.i.c.k faced about in amazement, and saw four hors.e.m.e.n in gray riding from the bushes. The shock was as great as if he had been struck by a bullet, but he leaned forward on his horse's neck, kicked him violently with his heels and shouted to him. The horse plunged forward at a gallop. The boy, remembering General Buell's instructions, slipped the letter from his pocket, and in the shelter of the horse's body dropped it to the ground, where he knew it would be lost among the bushes and in the twilight.
”Halt!” was repeated more loudly and sharply than ever. Then a bullet whizzed by d.i.c.k's ear, and a second pierced the heart of his good horse. He tried to leap clear of the falling animal, and succeeded, but he fell so hard among the bushes that he was stunned for a few moments. When he revived and stood up he saw the four hors.e.m.e.n in gray looking curiously at him.
”'Twould have been cheaper for you to have stopped when we told you to do it,” said one in a whimsical tone.
d.i.c.k noticed that the tone was not unkind-it was not the custom to treat prisoners ill in this great war. He rubbed his left shoulder on which he had fallen and which still pained him a little.
”I didn't stop,” he said, ”because I didn't know that you would be able to hit either me or my horse in the dusk.”
”I s'pose from your way of lookin' at it you was right to take the chance, but you've learned now that we Southern men are tol'able good sharpshooters.”
”I knew it long ago, but what are you doing here, right in the jaws of our army? They might close on you any minute with a snap. You ought to be with your own army at Corinth.”
d.i.c.k noticed that the men looked at one another, and there was silence for a moment or two.
”Young fellow,” resumed the spokesman, ”you was comin' from the direction of Columbia, an' your hoss, which I am sorry we had to kill, looked as if he was cleaned tuckered out. I judge that you was bearin' a message from Buell's army to Grant's.”
”You mustn't hold me responsible for your judgment, good or bad.”
”No, I reckon not, but say, young fellow, do you happen to have a chaw of terbacker in your clothes?”
”If I had any I'd offer it to you, but I never chew.”
The man sighed.
”Well, mebbe it's a bad habit,” he said, ”but it's powerful grippin'. I'd give a heap for a good twist of old Kentucky. Now we're goin' to search you an' it ain't wuth while to resist, 'cause we've got you where we want you, as the dog said to the 'c.o.o.n when he took him by the throat. We're lookin' for letters an' dispatches, 'cause we're sh.o.r.e you come from Buell, but if we should run across any terbacker we'll have to he'p ourselves to it. We ain't no robbers, 'cause in times like these it ain't no robbery to take terbacker.”
d.i.c.k noticed that while they talked one of the men never ceased to cover him with a rifle. They were good-humored and kindly, but he knew they would not relax an inch from their duty.
”All right,” he said, ”go ahead. I'll give you a good legal t.i.tle to everything you may find.”
He knew that the letter was lying in the bushes within ten feet of them and he had a strong temptation to look in that direction and see if it were as securely hidden as he had thought, but he resisted the impulse.
Two of the men searched him rapidly and dexterously, and much to their disappointment found no dispatch.
”You ain't got any writin' on you, that's sh.o.r.e,” said the spokesman. ”I'd expected to find a paper, an' I had a lingerin' hope, too, that we might find a little terbacker on you 'spite of what you said.”
”You don't think I'd lie about the tobacco, would you?”
”Sonny, it ain't no lyin' in a big war to say you ain't got no terbacker, when them that's achin' for it are standin' by, ready to grab it. If you had a big diamond hid about you, an' a robber was to ask you if you had it, you'd tell him no, of course.”
”I think,” said d.i.c.k, ”that you must be from Kentucky. You've got our accent.”
”I sh.o.r.ely am, an' I'm a longer way from it than I like. I noticed from the first that you talked like me, which is powerful flatterin' to you. Ain't you one of my brethren that the evil witches have made take up with the Yankees?”
”I'm from the same state,” replied d.i.c.k, who saw no reason to conceal his ident.i.ty. ”My name is Richard Mason, and I'm an aide on the staff of Colonel Arthur Winchester, who commands a Kentucky regiment in General Grant's army.”
”I've heard of Colonel Winchester. The same that got a part of his regiment cut up so bad by Forrest.”
”Yes, we did get cut up. I was there,” confessed d.i.c.k a little reluctantly.
”Don't feel bad about it. It's likely to happen to any of you when Forrest is around. Now, since you've introduced yourself so nice I'll introduce myself. I'm Sergeant Robertson, in the Orphan Brigade. It's a Kentucky brigade, an' it gets its nickname 'cause it's made up of boys so young that they call me gran'pa, though I'm only forty-four. These other three are Bridge, Perkins, and Connor, just plain privates.”
The three ”just plain privates” grinned.
”What are you going to do with me?” asked d.i.c.k.
”We're goin' to give you a pleasant little ride. We killed your hoss, for which I 'pologize again, but I've got a good one of my own, and you'll jump up behind me.”
A sudden spatter of rifle fire came from the direction of the Northern pickets.
”Them sentinels of yours have funny habits,” said Robertson grinning. ”Just bound to hear their guns go off. They're changin' the guard now.”
”How do you know that?” asked d.i.c.k.
”Oh, I know a heap. I'm a terrible wise man, but bein' so wise I don't tell all I know or how I happen to know it. Hop up, sonny.”
”Don't you think I'll be a lot of trouble to you,” said d.i.c.k, ”riding behind you thirty or forty miles to your camp?”
The four men exchanged glances, and no one answered. The boy felt a sudden chill, and his hair p.r.i.c.kled at the roots. He did not know what had caused it, but surely it was a sign of some danger.
The night deepened steadily as they were talking. The twilight had gone long since. The last afterglow had faded. The darkness was heavy with warmth. The thick foliage of spring rustled gently. d.i.c.k's sensation that something unusual was happening did not depart.
The four men, after looking at one another, looked fixedly at d.i.c.k.