The Rock of Chickamauga: A Story of the Western Crisis

“No, they’ve passed to the slope on the right, and I think they’ll go over the hill. We’re safe here so long as we remain quiet; that is, safe for the time. Slade will hang on as long as there’s a possible chance to find us.”

“Sergeant, if they do happen to stumble upon us in the dark I hope you’ll promise to do one thing for me.”

“I’ll do anything I can, Mr. Mason.”

“Kill Slade first. That little villain gives me the horrors. I believe the soul of the last bloodhound I shot has been reincarnated in him.”

“All right, Mr. Mason,” returned the sergeant, placidly, “if we have to fight I’ll make sure of Slade at once. Is there anybody else you’d like specially to have killed?”

“No thank you, Sergeant. I don’t hate any of the others, and I suppose they’d have dropped the chase long ago if it hadn’t been for this fellow whom you call Slade. Now, I think I’ll lie quiet, while you watch.”

“Very good, sir. I’ll tell you everything I can see. They’re passing over the hill out of sight, and if they return I won’t fail to let you know.”

Sergeant Whitley, a man of vast physical powers, hardened by the long service of forest and plain, was not weary at all, and, in the dusk, he looked down with sympathy and pity at the lad who had closed his eyes. He divined the nature of the ordeal through which he had gone. Dick’s face, still badly swollen from the bites of the mosquitoes, showed all the signs of utter exhaustion. The sergeant could see, despite the darkness, that it was almost the face of the dead, and he knew that happy chance had brought him in the moment of Dick’s greatest need.

He ceased to whisper, because Dick, without intending it, had gone to sleep again. Then the wary veteran scouted in a circle about their refuge, but did not discover the presence of an enemy.

He sat down near the sleeping lad, with his rifle between his knees, and watched the moon come out. Owing to his wilderness experience he had been chosen also to go on a scout toward Jackson, though he preferred to make his on foot, and the sound of Dick’s shots at the hounds had drawn him to an observation which finally turned into a rescue.

After midnight the sergeant slept a little while, but he never awakened Dick until it was almost morning. Then he told him that he would go with him on the mission to Hertford, and Dick was very glad.

“What’s become of Slade and his men?” asked Dick.

“I don’t know,” replied the sergeant, “but as they lost the trail in the night, it’s pretty likely they’re far from here. At any rate they’re not bothering us just now. How’re you feeling, Mr. Mason?”

“Fine, except that my face still burns.”

“We’ll have to hold up a Confederate house somewhere and get oil of pennyroyal. That’ll cure you, but I guess you’ve learned now, Mr. Mason, that mosquitoes in a southern swamp are just about as deadly as bullets.”

“So they are, Sergeant, and this is not my first experience. Luck has been terribly against me this trip, but it turned when I met you last night.”

“Yes, Mr. Mason. In this case two rifles are better than one. We’re prowling right through the heart of the Confederacy, but I’m thinking we’ll make it. We’ve got a great general now, and we mustn’t fail to bring up Colonel Hertford and his cavalry. I’ve an idea in my head that General Grant is going to carry through big plans.”

“Then I think it’s time we were starting.”

“So do I, Mr. Mason, and now will you take these crackers and smoked ham? I’ve plenty in my knapsack. I learned on the plains never to travel without a food supply. If a soldier starves to death what use is he to his army? And I reckon you need something to eat. You were about tired out when I met you last night.”

“I surely was, Sergeant, but I’m a new man this morning. You and I together can’t fail.”

Dick, in truth, felt an enormous relief. He and his young comrades had learned to trust Sergeant Whitley implicitly, with his experience of forest and plain and his infinite resource.

“Where do you figure we are, Sergeant?” he asked.

“In the deep woods, Mr. Mason, but we haven’t turned much from the line leading you to the place where you were to meet Colonel Hertford. You haven’t really lost time, and we’ll start again straight ahead, but we’ve got to look out for this fellow Slade, who’s as tricky and merciless as they ever make ‘em.”

“Tell me more about Slade, Sergeant.”

“I don’t know a lot, but I heard of him from some of our scouts. He was an overseer of a big plantation before the war. From somewhere up North, I think, but now he’s more of a rebel than the rebels themselves. Often happens that way. But you’ve got to reckon with him.”

“Glad I know that much. He reminds me of a man I’ve seen, though I can’t recall where or when. It’s enough, though, to watch out for Slade. Come on, Sergeant, I’m feeling so fine now that with your help I’m able to fight a whole army.”

The two striding through the forest, started toward the meeting place with Hertford. Now that he had the powerful comradeship of Sergeant Whitley, the wilderness became beautiful instead of gloomy for Dick. The live oaks and magnolias were magnificent, and there was a wild luxuriance of vegetation. Birds of brilliant plumage darted among the foliage, and squirrels chattered on the boughs. He saw bear tracks again, and called the sergeant’s attention to them.

“It would be nice to be hunting them, instead of men,” said Whitley. “You can find nice, black fellows down here, good to eat, and it’s a deal safer to hunt them than it is the grizzlies and silver-tips of the Rockies.”

They saw now much cleared land, mostly cotton fields, and now and then a white man or a negro working, but there was always enough forest for cover. They waded the numerous brooks and creeks, allowing their clothing to dry in the warm sun, as they marched, and about two hours before sunrise the sergeant, wary and always suspicious, suggested that they stop a while.

“I’ve an idea,” he said, “that Slade and his men are still following us. Oh, he’s an ugly fellow, full of sin, and if they’re not far behind us we ought to know it.”

“Just as you say,” said Dick, glad enough to shift the responsibility upon such capable shoulders. “How would this clump of bushes serve for a hiding place while we wait?”

“Good enough. Indians pursued, often ambush the pursuer, and as we’ve two good men with two good rifles, Mr. Mason, we’ll just see what this Slade is about.”

“When I last saw him,” said Dick, “he had the two canoemen with him, and perhaps they’ve picked up the owner of the hounds.”

“That’s sure, and they’re likely to be four. We’re only two, but we’ve got the advantage of the ambush, and that’s a big one. If you agree with me, Mr. Mason, we’ll wait here for ‘em. We were sent out to take messages, not to fight, but since these fellows hang on our trail we may get to Colonel Hertford all the quicker because we do fight.”

“Your opinion’s mine too, Sergeant. I’m not in love with battle, but I wouldn’t mind taking a shot or two at these men. They’ve given me a lot of trouble.”

The sergeant smiled.

“That’s the way it goes,” he said. “You don’t get mad at anybody in particular in a big battle, but if two or three fellows lay around in the woods popping away at you you soon get so you lose any objections to killing, and you draw a bead on ‘em as soon as a chance comes.”

“That’s the way I feel, Sergeant. It isn’t Christian, but I suppose it has some sort of excuse.”

“Of course it has. Drop a little lower, Mr. Mason. I see the bushes out there shaking.”

“And that’s the sign that Slade and his men have come. Well, I’m not sorry.”

Both Dick and the sergeant lay almost flat with their heads raised a little, and their rifles pushed forward. The bushes ceased to shake, but Dick had no doubt their pursuers were before them. They had probably divined, too, that the quarry was at bay and was dangerous. Evidently the sergeant had been correct when he said Slade was full of craft and cunning.

While they waited the spirit of Dick’s famous ancestor descended upon him in a yet greater measure. Their pursuers were not Indians, but this was the deep wilderness and they were merely on a skirt of the great war. Many of the border conditions were reproduced, and they were to fight as borderers fought.

“What do you think they’re doing?” Dick whispered.

“Feeling around for us. Slade won’t take any more risk than he has to. Did you see those two birds fly away from that bough, sudden-like? I think one of the men has just crept under it. But the fellow who exposes himself first won’t be Slade.”

Dick’s inherited instinct was strong, and he watched not only in front, but to right and left also. He knew that cunning men would seek to flank and surprise them, and he noticed that the sergeant also watched in a wide circle. He still drew tremendous comfort from the presence of the skillful veteran, feeling that his aid would make the repulse of Slade a certainty.

A rifle cracked suddenly in the bushes to their right, and then another by his side cracked so suddenly that only a second came between. Dick heard a bullet whistle over their heads, but he believed that the one from his comrade’s rifle had struck true.

“I’ve no way of telling just now,” said the sergeant, calmly, “but I don’t believe that fellow will bother any more. If we can wing another they’re likely to let us alone and we can go on. They must know by the trail that we’re now two instead of one, and that their danger has doubled.”

Dick had felt that the danger to their pursuers had more than doubled. He had an immense admiration for the sergeant, who was surely showing himself a host. The man, trained so long in border war, was thoroughly in his element. His thick, powerful figure was drawn up in the fashion of a panther about to spring. Bulky as he was he showed ease and grace, and wary eyes, capable of reading every sign, continually scanned the thickets.

“They know just where we are, of course,” whispered the sergeant, “but if we stay close they’ll never get a good shot at us.”

Dick caught sight of a head among some bushes and fired. The head dropped back so quickly that he could not tell whether or not his bullet sped true. After a long wait the sergeant suggested that they creep away.

“I think they’ve had enough,” he said. “They’ve certainly lost one man, and maybe two. Slade won’t care to risk much more.”

Dick was glad to go and, following the sergeant’s lead, he crawled four or five hundred yards, a most painful but necessary operation. Then they stood up, and made good time through the forest. Both would have been willing to stay and fight it out with Slade and what force he had left, but their mission was calling them, and forward they went.

“Do you think they’ll follow us?” asked Dick.

“I reckon they’ve had enough. They may try to curve ahead of us and give warning, but the salute from the muzzles of our rifles has been too warm for any more direct pursuit. Besides, we’re going to have a summer storm soon, and like as not they’ll be hunting shelter.”

Dick, in the excitement of battle and flight, had not noticed the darkening skies and the rising wind. Clouds, heavy and menacing, already shrouded the whole west. Low thunder was heard far in the distance.

“It’s going to be a whopper,” said the sergeant, “something like those big storms they have out on the plains. We must find shelter somewhere, Mr. Mason, or it will leave us so bedraggled and worn out that for a long time we won’t be able to move on.”

Dick agreed with him entirely, but neither yet knew where the shelter was to be found. They hurried on, looking hopefully for a place. Meanwhile the storm, its van a continual blaze of lightning and roar of thunder, rolled up fast from the southwest. Then the lightning ceased for a while and the skies were almost dark. Dick knew that the rain would come soon, and, as he looked eagerly for shelter, he saw a clearing in which stood a small building of logs.

“A cornfield, Sergeant,” he exclaimed, “and that I take it is a crib.”

“A crib that will soon house more than corn,” said the sergeant. “Two good Union soldiers are about to stop there. It’s likely the farmer’s house itself is just beyond that line of trees, but he won’t be coming out to this crib to-night.”

“Not likely. Too much darkness and rain. Hurry, Sergeant, I can hear already the rush of the rain in the forest.”

They ran across the field, burst open the door of the crib, leaped in and banged the door shut again, just as the van of the rain beat upon it with an angry rush.

Save for a crack or two they had no light, but they stood upon a dry floor covered deep with corn shucks, and heard the rain sweep and roar upon the roof. On one side was a heap of husked corn which they quickly piled against the door in order to hold it before the assaults of the wind, and then they sought warm places among the shucks.

It was a small crib, and the rain drove in at the cracks, but it furnished abundant shelter for its two new guests. Dick had never been in a finer hotel. He lay warm and dry in a great heap of shucks, and heard the wind and rain beat vainly upon walls and roof and the thunder rumble as it moved off toward the east. He felt to the full the power of contrast.

“Fine in here, isn’t it, Sergeant?” he said.

“Fine as silk,” replied the sergeant from his own heap of shucks. “We played in big luck to find this place, ‘cause I think it’s going to rain hard all night.”

“Let it. It can’t get me. Sergeant, I’ve always known that corn is our chief staple, but I never knew before that the shucks, which so neatly enclose the grains and cob, were such articles of luxury. I’m lying upon the most magnificent bed in the United States, and it’s composed wholly of shucks.”

“It’s no finer than mine, Mr. Mason.”

“That’s so. Yours is just like mine, and, of course, it’s an exception. Now, I wish to say, Sergeant, the rain upon the roof is so soothing that I’m likely to go to sleep before I know it.”

“Go ahead, Mr. Mason, and it’s more’n likely I’ll follow. All trails will be destroyed by the storm and nobody will think of looking here for us to-night.”

Both soon slept soundly, and all through the night the rain beat upon the roof.

CHAPTER VI. A BOLD ATTACK

Dick was the first to awake. The sergeant had not slept the night before at all, and, despite his enormous endurance, he was overpowered. Having fallen once into slumber he remained there long.

It was not yet morning and the rain was yet falling steadily. Its sweep upon the roof was still so pleasant and soothing that Dick resolved to go to sleep again, after he had looked about a little. He had grown used to dusk and he could see just a little. The sergeant, buried all but his head among the corn shucks, was breathing deeply and peacefully.

He looked out at one of the cracks, but he saw only rain sweeping by in misty sheets. The road that ran by the field was invisible. He gave devout thanks that this tight little corn crib had put itself in their way. Then he returned to his slumbers, and when he awoke again the sergeant was sitting by one of the cracks smoothing his thick hair with a small comb.

“I always try to keep as neat as I can, Mr. Mason,” he said, apologizing for such weakness. “It gives you more courage, and if I get killed I want to make a decent body. Here’s your breakfast, sir. There’s enough left for the two of us, and I’ve divided it equally.”

Cold ham, bacon and crackers were laid out on clean shucks, and they ate until nothing was left. It was now full daylight, and the rain was dying away to a sprinkle. The farmer might come out at any time to his crib, and they felt that they must be up and away.

They bade farewell to their pleasant shelter of a night, and, after pulling through the deep mud of the field, entered again the forest, which was now soaking wet.

“If Colonel Hertford is near where we reckon he is we ought to meet him by nightfall,” said Sergeant Whitley.

“We’re sure to reach him before then,” said Dick joyously.

“Colonel Hertford is a mighty good man, and if he says he’s going to be at a certain place at a certain time I reckon he’ll be there, Mr. Mason.”

“And then we’ll bring him back and join General Grant. What do you think of our General, Sergeant?”

Dick spoke with all the freedom then so prevalent in the American armies, where officer and man were often on nearly a common footing, and the sergeant replied with equal freedom.

“General Grant hits and hammers, and I guess that’s what war is,” he said. “On the plains we had a colonel who didn’t know much about tactics. He said the only way to put down hostile Indians was to find ‘em, and beat ‘em, and I guess that plan will work in any war, big or little.”

“I heard before I left the army that Washington was getting scared, afraid that he was taking too big a risk here in the heart of the Confederacy, and that his operations might be checked by orders from the capital.”

Sergeant Whitley smiled a wise smile.

“We sergeants learn to know the officers,” he said, “and I’ve had the chance to look at General Grant a lot. He doesn’t say much, but I guess he’s doing a powerful lot of thinking, while he’s chawing on the end of his cigar. You notice, Mr. Mason, that he takes risks.”

“He took a big one at Shiloh, and came mighty near being nipped.”

“But he wasn’t nipped after all, and now, if I can judge by the signs, he’s going to take another chance here. I wouldn’t be surprised if he turned and marched away from the Mississippi, say toward Jackson.”

“But that wouldn’t be taking Vicksburg.”

“No, but he might whip an army of the Johnnies coming to relieve Vicksburg, and I’ve a sneaking idea that the General has another daring thought in mind.”

“What is it, Sergeant?”

“When he turns eastward he’ll be away from the telegraph. Maybe he doesn’t want to receive any orders from the capital just now.”

“I believe you’ve hit it, Sergeant. At least I hope so, and anyway we want to reach Colonel Hertford right away.”

Still following the map and also consulting their own judgment, they advanced now at a good rate. But as they came into a more thickly populated country they were compelled to be exceedingly wary. Once a farmer insisted on questioning them, but they threatened him with their rifles and then plunged into a wood, lest he bring a force in pursuit.

In the afternoon, lying among some bushes, they saw a large Confederate force, with four cannon, pass on the road toward Jackson.

“Colonel Hertford might do them a lot of damage if he could fall on them with his cavalry,” said the sergeant thoughtfully.

“So he could,” said Dick, “but I imagine that General Grant wants the colonel to come at once.”

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 passed 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 passed 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 horsemen riding slowly ahead. Only the brilliant sunlight made their uniforms distinguishable, but they were, beyond a doubt, the troops of the Union. Dick uttered a little cry of joy and the sergeant’s face glowed.

“We’ve found ‘em,” said the sergeant.

“And soon we ride,” said Dick.

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 Dick 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 Dick.

“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, Dick?”

Dick 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, Dick?”

“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 Dick. 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 Dick 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 Dick, 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 Dick, 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 horsemen 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 Dick, 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 horsemen, 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.