Part 14 (2/2)
”Sonny,” said Robertson, ”you ain't got no call to worry 'bout our troubles. As I said, this is a good, strong hoss of mine, an' it will carry us just as far as we go an' no further.”
It was an enigmatical reply, and d.i.c.k saw that it was useless to ask them questions. Robertson mounted, and d.i.c.k, without another word, sprang up behind him. Two of the privates rode up close, one on either side, and the other kept immediately behind. He happened to glance back and he saw that the man held a drawn pistol on his thigh. He wondered at such extreme precautions, and the ominous feeling increased.
”Now, lads,” said Robertson to his men, ”don't make no more noise than you can help. There ain't much chance that any Yankee scoutin' party will be out, but if there should be one we don't want to run into it. An' as for you, Mr. Mason, you're a nice boy. We all can see that, but just as sh.o.r.e as you let go with a yell or anything like it at any time or under any circ.u.mstances, you'll be dead the next second.”
A sudden fierce note rang in his voice, and d.i.c.k, despite all his courage, shuddered. He felt as if a nameless terror all at once threatened not only him, but others. His lips and mouth were dry.
Robertson spoke softly to his horse, and then rode slowly forward through the deep forest. The others rode with him, never breaking their compact formation, and preserving the utmost silence. d.i.c.k did not ask another question. Talk and fellows.h.i.+p were over. Everything before him now was grim and menacing.
The dense woods and the darkness hid them so securely that they could not have been seen twenty yards away, but the men rode on at a sure pace, as if they knew the ground well. The silence was deep and intense, save for the footsteps of the horses and now and then a night bird in the tall trees calling.
Before they had gone far a man stepped from a thicket and held up a rifle.
”Four men from the Orphan Brigade with a prisoner,” said Robertson.
”Advance with the prisoner,” said the picket, and the four men rode forward. d.i.c.k saw to both left and right other pickets, all in the gray uniform of the South, and his heart grew cold within him. The hair on his head p.r.i.c.kled again at its roots, and it was a dreadful sensation. What did it mean? Why these Southern pickets within cannon shot of the Northern lines?
The men rode slowly on. They were in the deep forest, but the young prisoner began to see many things under the leafy canopy. On his right the dim, shadowy forms of hundreds of men lay sleeping on the gra.s.s. On his left was a ma.s.sed battery of great guns, eight in number.
Further and further they went, and there were soldiers and cannon everywhere, but not a fire. There was no bed of coals, not a single torch gleamed anywhere. Not all the soldiers were sleeping, but those who were awake never spoke. Silence and darkness brooded over a great army in gray. It was as if they marched among forty thousand phantoms, row on row.
The whole appalling truth burst in an instant upon the boy. The Southern army, which they had supposed was at Corinth, lay in the deep woods within cannon shot of its foe, and not a soul in all Grant's thousands knew of its presence there! And Buell was still far away! It seemed to d.i.c.k that for a little s.p.a.ce his heart stopped beating. He foresaw it all, the terrible hammer-stroke at dawn, the rush of the fiery South upon her unsuspecting foe, and the cutting down of brigades, before sleep was gone from their eyes.
Not in vain had the South boasted that Johnston was a great general. He had not been daunted by Donelson. While his foe rested on his victory and took his ease, he was here with a new army, ready to strike the unwary. d.i.c.k s.h.i.+vered suddenly, and, with a violent impulse, clutched the waist of the man in front of him. It may have been some sort of physical telepathy, but Robertson understood. He turned his head and said in a whisper: ”You're right. The whole Southern army is here in the woods, an' we'd rather lose a brigade tonight than let you escape.”
d.i.c.k felt a thrill of the most acute agony. If he could only escape! There must be some way! If he could but find one! His single word would save the lives of thousands and prevent irreparable defeat! Again he clutched the waist of the man in front of him and again the man divined.
”It ain't no use,” he said, although his tone was gentle, and in a way sympathetic. ”After all, it's your own fault. You blundered right in our way, an' we had to take you for fear you'd see us, an' give the alarm. It was your unlucky chance. You'd give a million dollars if you had it to slip out of our hands and tell Ulysses Grant that Albert Sidney Johnston with his whole army is layin' in the woods right alongside of him, ready to jump on his back at dawn, an' he not knowin' it.”
”I would,” said d.i.c.k fervently.
”An' so would I if I was in your place. Just think, Mr. Mason, that of all the hundreds of thousands of men in the Northern armies, of all the twenty or twenty-five million people on the Northern side, there's just one, that one a boy, and that boy you, who knows that Albert Sidney Johnston is here.”
”Held fast as I am, I'm sorry now that I do know it.”
”I can't say that I blame you. I said you'd give a million dollars to be able to tell, but if you're to measure such things with money it would be worth a hundred million an' more, yes, it would be cheap at three or four hundred millions for the North to know it. But, after all, you can't measure such things with money. Maybe you think I talk a heap, but I'm stirred some, too.”
They rode on a little farther over the hilly ground, covered with thick forest or dense, tall scrub. But there were troops, troops, everywhere, and now and then the batteries. They were mostly boys, like their antagonists of the North, and the sleep of most of them was the sleep of exhaustion, after a forced and rapid march over heavy ground from Corinth. But d.i.c.k knew that they would be fresh in the morning when they rose from the forest, and rushed upon their unwarned foe.
CHAPTER XIV. THE DARK EVE OF s.h.i.+LOH
d.i.c.k noticed as they went further into the forest how complete was the concealment of a great army, possible only in a country wooded so heavily, and in the presence of a careless enemy. The center was like the front of the Southern force. Not a fire burned, not a torch gleamed. The horses were withdrawn so far that stamp or neigh could not be heard by the Union pickets.
”We'll stop here,” said Robertson at length. ”As you're a Kentuckian, I thought it would be pleasanter for you to be handed over to Kentuckians. The Orphan Brigade to which I belong is layin' on the ground right in front of us, an' the first regiment is that of Colonel Kenton. I'll hand you over to him, an'-not 'cause I've got anything ag'inst you-I'll be mighty glad to do it, too, 'cause my back is already nigh breakin' with the responsibility.”
d.i.c.k started violently.
”What's. .h.i.t you?” asked Robertson.
”Oh, nothing. You see, I'm nervous.”
”You ain't tellin' the truth. But I don't blame you an' it don't matter anyway. Here we are. Jump down.”
d.i.c.k sprang to the ground, and the others followed. While they held the reins they stood in a close circle about him. He had about as much chance of escape as he had of flying.
Robertson walked forward, saluted some one who stood up in the dark, and said a few words in a low tone.
”Bring him forward,” said a clear voice, which d.i.c.k recognized at once.
The little group of men opened out and d.i.c.k, stepping forth, met his uncle face to face. It was now the time of Colonel George Kenton to start violently.
”My G.o.d! You, d.i.c.k!” he exclaimed. ”How did you come here?”
”I didn't come,” replied the boy, who was now feeling more at ease. ”I was brought here by four scouts of yours, who I must say saw their duty and did it.”
Colonel Kenton grasped his hand and shook it. He was very fond of this young nephew of his. The mere fact that he was on the other side did not alter his affection.
”Tell me about it, d.i.c.k,” he said. ”And you, Sergeant Robertson, you and your men are to be thanked for your vigilance and activity. You can go off duty. You are ent.i.tled to your rest.”
As they withdrew the sergeant, who pa.s.sed by d.i.c.k and who had not missed a word of the conversation between him and his uncle, said to him: ”At least, young sir, I've returned you to your relatives, an' you're a minor, as I can see.”
”It's so,” said d.i.c.k as the sergeant pa.s.sed on.
”They have not ill treated you?” said Colonel Kenton.
”No, they've been as kind as one enemy could be to another.”
”It is strange, most strange, that you and I should meet here at such a time. Nay, d.i.c.k, I see in it the hand of Providence. You're to be saved from what will happen to your army tomorrow.”
”I'd rather not be saved in this manner.”
”I know it, but it is perhaps the only way. As sure as the stars are in Heaven your army will be destroyed in the morning, an' you'd be destroyed with it. I'm fond of you, d.i.c.k, and so I'd rather you'd be in our rear, a prisoner, while this is happening.”
”General Grant is a hard man to crush.”
”d.i.c.k! d.i.c.k, lad, you don't know what you're talking about! Look at the thing as it stands! We know everything that you're doing. Our spies look into the very heart of your camp. You think that we are fifty miles away, but a cannon shot from the center of our camp would reach the center of yours. Why, while we are here, ready to spring, this Grant, of whom you think so much, is on his way tonight to the little village of Savannah to confer with Buell. In the dawn when we strike and roll his brigades back he will not be here. And that's your great general!”
d.i.c.k knew that his uncle was excited. But he had full cause to be. There was everything in the situation to inflame an officer's pride and antic.i.p.ation. It was not too dark for d.i.c.k to see a spark leap from his eyes, and a sudden flush of red appear in either tanned cheek. But for d.i.c.k the chill came again, and once more his hair p.r.i.c.kled at the roots. The ambush was even more complete than he had supposed, and General Grant would not be there when it was sprung.
”d.i.c.k,” said Colonel Kenton, ”I have talked to you as I would not have talked to anyone else, but even so, I would not have talked to you as I have, were not your escape an impossibility. You are unharmed, but to leave this camp you would have to fly.”
”I admit it, sir.”
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