ON THE RAIL
At an early hour the next morning, just before daylight, the conspirators
were standing on the platform of the Marietta station, awaiting the
arrival of their train--the train which they hoped soon to call theirs in
reality. They were all in civilian dress; even Walter Jenks had contrived
to discard his uniform of a Confederate officer, regarding it as too
conspicuous, and he was habited in an ill-fitting suit which made him look
like an honest, industrious mechanic.
Andrews was pacing up and down with an anxious, resolute face. He realized
that the success of the manoeuvre which they were about to execute rested
upon his own shoulders, but he had no idea of flinching. "Before night has
come," he was thinking confidently, "we shall be within the lines of
General Mitchell, and soon all America will be ringing with the story of
our dash."
George, no less sanguine, was standing near Watson and Macgreggor, and
occasionally slipping a lump of sugar into the overcoat pocket which
served as a sort of kennel for the tiny Waggie. There was nothing about
the party to attract undue attention. They pretended, for the most part,
to be strangers one to another, and, to aid in the deception, they had
bought railroad tickets for different places--for Kingston, Adairsville,
Calhoun and other stations to the northward, between Marietta and
Chattanooga.
Soon the train was sweeping up to the platform. It was a long one, with
locomotive, tender, three baggage cars and a number of passenger cars. The
adventurers clambered on it through various doors, but at last reached the
passenger car nearest to the engine. Here they seated themselves quite as
if each man had no knowledge of any one else. In another minute the train,
which was well filled, went rolling away from Marietta and along the bend
around the foot of Kenesaw Mountain. "Only eight miles," thought George,
"and then----"
The conductor of the train, a young man with a very intelligent face,
looked searchingly at the boy as he examined his ticket. "Too young,"
George heard him mutter under his breath, as he passed on to the other
passengers.
A thrill of feverish excitement stirred the lad. "What did he mean by too
young?" he asked himself. "Can he possibly have gotten wind of our
expedition?" But the conductor did not return, and it was not until long
afterwards that George was able to understand what was meant by the
expression, "Too young." The man had been warned by the Confederate
authorities that a number of young Southerners who had been conscripted
into the army were trying to escape from service, and might use the cars
for that purpose. He was ordered, therefore, to arrest any such runaways
that he might find. When he looked at George it is probable that he
thought: "This boy is too young to be a conscript," and he evidently gave
unconscious voice to what was passing through his mind. Fortunately
enough, he saw nothing suspicious in any of the Northerners.
The train ran rather slowly, so that it was bright daylight before it
reached Big Shanty. "Big Shanty; twenty minutes for breakfast!" shouted
the conductor and the brakemen. George's heart beat so fast that he almost
feared some one would hear it, and ask him what was the matter. The hoarse
cries of the employees as they announced the name of the station made him
realize that now, after all these hours of preparation and preliminary
danger, the first act of his drama of war had begun. Every one of his
companions experienced the same feeling, but, like him, none had any
desire to draw back.
No sooner had the cars come to a standstill than nearly all the
passengers, excepting the Northerners, quickly left their seats, to repair
to the long, low shanty or eating-room from which the station took its
unpoetic name. Then the train hands, including the engineer and fireman,
followed the example of the hungry passengers, and hurried off to
breakfast. The engine was deserted. This was even better than the
adventurers could have hoped, for they had feared that it might be
necessary to overpower the engineer before they could get away on their
race.
The twenty-one men and the one boy left in the forward passenger car
looked anxiously, guardedly, at one another. More than one felt in his
clothes to make sure that he had his revolver. Andrews left the car for
half a minute, dropped to the ground, and glanced rapidly up and down the
track. There was no obstruction visible. Within a stone's throw of him,
however, sentries were posted on the outskirts of the Confederate camp. He
scanned the station, which was directly across the track from the
encampment, and was glad to see, exactly as he had expected, that it had
no telegraph office from which a dispatch concerning the coming escapade
might be sent. Having thus satisfied himself that the coast was clear, and
the time propitious, he reentered the car.
"All right, boys," he said, very calmly (as calmly, indeed, as if he were
merely inviting the men to breakfast), "let us go now!"
The men arose, quietly, as if nothing startling were about to happen, left
the car, and walked hurriedly to the head of the train. "Each man to his
post," ordered Andrews. "Ready!"
In less time than it takes to write this account the seizure of the train
was accomplished, in plain view of the puzzled sentries. The two men who
were to act as engineer and assistant engineer clambered into the empty
cab of the locomotive, as did also Andrews and Jenks. The latter was to be
the fireman. One of the men uncoupled the passenger cars, so that the
stolen train would consist only of the engine, tender, and the three
baggage cars. Into one of these baggage cars the majority of the party
climbed, shutting the doors at either end after them, while the two men
who were to serve as brakemen stationed themselves upon the roof. Watson
and Macgreggor were in this car, while George, with Waggie in his pocket,
was standing in the tender, his handsome face aglow with excitement, and
his eyes sparkling like stars.
"All ready! Go!" cried Andrews. The engineer opened the valve of the
locomotive; the wheels began to revolve; in another second the train was
moving off towards Chattanooga. The next instant Big Shanty was in an
uproar. As he peered over the ledge of the tender, and looked back, George
saw the sentries running here and there, as the passengers in the
breakfast-room came swarming out on the platform. There were shouts from
many voices; he even heard the report of several rifles.
But shouts or shots from rifles could not avail now. The engine was
dancing along the track on the road to Chattanooga; Big Shanty was soon
many yards behind. George took Waggie out of his pocket, and held him up
in the air by the little fellow's forepaws. "Say good-bye to the Confeds,"
he shouted, "for by to-night, Wag, you'll be in the Union lines!" The dog
barked gleefully; and jumped about on the platform of the tender, glad
enough to have a little freedom again. Then Waggie was replaced in his
master's pocket.
Andrews, who was sitting on the right-hand seat of the cab, looked the
picture of delight.
"How was that for a starter?" he cried. "It's a good joke on Watson: he
was so sure the sentries would stop us, and the soldiers didn't realize
what we were doing until it was too late--for them! Hurrah!"
It was all that the four men in the cab, and that George in the tender,
could possibly do to keep their balance. The road-bed was very rough and
full of curves; the country was mountainous, and the track itself was in
wretched condition. Yet it was a magnificent sight as "The General," which
was the name of the engine, careered along through the picturesque country
like some faithful horse which tries, with all its superb powers of
muscle, to take its master farther and farther away from a dangerous
enemy.
But suddenly the engine began to slacken its speed, and at last came to a
complete standstill. Andrews, who had made his way into the tender, with
considerable difficulty, in order to speak to George, turned a trifle
pale.
"What's the matter, Brown?" he shouted to the engineer.
"The fire's nearly out, and there's no steam," was the rejoinder. At the
same moment the men in the baggage car opened the door nearest the tender,
and demanded to know what had happened.
Andrews called back to them that there would only be a short delay.
"It's only the fire that's out," he added; "and I'm thankful it is nothing
worse. When I saw the train slowing up I was afraid some of the machinery
had broken." No one understood better than he how a broken engine would
have stranded all his men in the enemy's country, only a short distance
away, comparatively, from Big Shanty and the Confederate camp.
George worked with a will in assisting the men in the cab to convey wood
from the tender into the engine furnace. In three minutes "The General"
had resumed its way.
"I wonder," thought George, as the train twisted around a curve and then
sped across a narrow embankment, "if any attempt will be made to follow
us." But the very idea of such pursuit seemed absurd.
Andrews turned to Jenks with a smiling countenance. "The most difficult
part of our journey is already over," he said triumphantly. "There's only
one unscheduled train to meet, in addition to the two regulars. After I
meet it, probably at Kingston, twenty-five miles or more farther on, we
can put the old 'General' to full speed, and begin our work! We have got
the upper hand at last."
"Don't forget your telegraph wire is to be cut," said Jenks, as he jammed
his shabby cap over his head, to prevent it from sailing off into space.
"Wait a couple of minutes," answered the leader. "We'll cut it." He knew
that although there was no telegraph station at Big Shanty, yet the enemy
might tap the wire, if it were not cut, and thus send word along the line
that a train manned by Northern spies was to be watched for and
peremptorily stopped. The simplest obstruction on the track would be
sufficient to bring this journey to an untimely end.
"Brown, we'll stop here," commanded the leader, a minute or two later, as
the engine was running over a comparatively level section. "The General"
was soon motionless, whereupon Watson, peering out from the baggage car,
called out: "Anything wrong?"
"Only a little wire-cutting to be done," shouted Andrews. Then coming to
George, he said: "Look here, my boy, how are you on climbing?"
"Never had a tree beat me yet," said the lad.
"Then try your skill at that pole yonder, and see if you can get to the
top of it."
Without waiting to make answer George handed Waggie to Jenks, jumped from
the tender to the ashy road-bed, and started towards the nearest telegraph
pole, only a few feet away from the engine. It was a far more difficult
task to coax one's way up a smooth pole than up the rough bark of a tree,
as George soon learned. Twice he managed to clamber half way up the pole,
and twice he slid ignominiously to the ground. But he was determined to
succeed, and none the less so because the men in the baggage car were
looking on as intently as if they were at the circus. Upon making the
third attempt he conquered, and reached the top of the pole amid the
cheering of the spectators.
"Now hold on there for a minute, George," called Andrews. He produced from
one of his pockets a ball of very thick twine, or cord, to one end of
which he tied a small stick of kindling-wood, brought from the tender.
Next he leaned out from the cab and threw the stick into the air. It flew
over the telegraph wire, and then to the ground, so that the cord, the
other end of which he held in his left hand, passed up across the wire,
and so down again. To the end which he held Andrews tied a good-sized
axe.
"Do you see what I want?" he asked the boy, who was resting himself on the
cross-bar supporting the wire.
George needed no prompting. The cord was eight or nine feet away from him;
to reach it he must move out on the telegraph wire, hand over hand, with
his feet dangling in the air. Slowly he swung himself from the cross-bar
to the wire, and began to finger his way towards the cord. But this was an
experience new to the expert tree-climber; ere he had proceeded more than
three feet his hands slipped and he fell to the ground. The distance was
thirty-five feet or more, and the lookers-on cried out in alarm. The boy
would surely break his legs--perhaps his neck!
But while Master George might not be an adept in handling a wire he had
learned a few things about falling from trees. As he came tumbling down he
gracefully turned a somersault and landed, quite unhurt, upon his feet.
"I'll do it yet," he maintained pluckily, running back to the telegraph
pole.
"Wait, George," shouted Andrews. He leaped from the cab, and taking a new
piece of the cord, tied it around the lad's waist. "If I had the sense I
was born with I might have done that first," he muttered.
George began his second ascent of the pole, and this time reached the top
without hindrance or mishap. Andrews now fastened the axe to the cord, of
which George had one end; in a few seconds the axe had been drawn up by
the boy. Then, with his left hand holding on to the cross-bar, and his
legs firmly wound around the pole, he took the axe in his right hand and
hit the wire. Three times did he thus strike; at the third blow the wire
snapped asunder, and the longer of the two pieces fell to the ground. He
let the tool fall, and slid down the pole as the men cheered him lustily.
Andrews now took the axe, cut the dangling wire in another place, and
threw the piece thus secured into the tender.
"They can't connect that line in a hurry," he said, as he turned to George
with the remark: "Well, my son, you're earning your salt!" George,
blushing like a peony, felt a thrill of pride.
"And now, fellows," added Andrews, addressing the men in the baggage car,
"it will be best to take up a rail, so that if we are pursued, by any
chance, the enemy will have some trouble in getting on any further."
The occupants of the car, headed by Watson, sprang to the ground. Andrews
handed him a smooth iron bar, about four feet in length. "We have no
track-raising instruments," explained the leader, "but I guess this will
answer." Watson managed to loosen some of the spikes on the track, in the
rear of the train, by means of this bar; later several of his companions
succeeded in placing a log under the rail and prying it up so that at last
the piece of iron had been entirely separated from the track.
The perspiration was dripping from Watson's brow. "Great guns!" he
growled, "we are acting as if we had a whole eternity of time before us."
"Don't worry about that," said Andrews, reassuringly, as he leaped into
the cab; "we have been running ahead of schedule time. But hurry up;
there's lots of work before us!" In the next minute the Northerners were
once more on their way.
After the train had run a distance of five miles, Andrews signaled to the
engineer, and it was brought slowly to a stop. The chief jumped from the
engine, walked along the track to the end car, and gazed intently to the
southward.
"No sign of pursuit thus far," he said to himself. Then, turning back and
speaking to the men in the baggage car who had once more opened the door,
he cried: "There's time, boys, for another wrestle with the
telegraph--only this time we will try a new plan." This time, indeed, a
pole was chopped down, and placed (after the wire had been cut) upon the
track directly behind the last baggage car.
"There," said Andrews, "that will have to be lifted off before our friends
the enemy can steam by--even if they have an engine good for seventy miles
an hour."
Walter Jenks came walking back to the cab. He looked pale and tired.
"What's the matter?" asked Andrews.
"I strained my back a bit in helping the fellows to put that pole on the
track," was the answer.
"Go back into the car and take a rest," urged the leader. "George can take
your place as fireman. Eh, George?"
The boy, coming up at that moment, and hearing the suggestion, smiled
almost as broadly as the famous Cheshire cat. He longed to know that he
was of some real use in the expedition. So Jenks retired to the baggage
car, carrying with him, for a temporary companion, the struggling Waggie,
who might be very much in George's way under the new arrangement of
duties.
Off once more rattled "The General," and George, in his capacity of
fireman, felt about three inches taller than he had five minutes before.
The spirits of Andrews seemed to be rising higher and higher. Thus far
everything had gone so successfully that he began to believe that the
happy ending of this piece of daring was already assured.
"Now, my boys, for a bit of diplomacy," he said, at last, as the occupants
of the cab saw that they were approaching a small station flanked by half
a dozen houses. "Stop 'The General' here, Brown, for I think there's a
tank at the place."
As the train reached the platform and slowly stopped, the station-master,
a rustic-looking individual with a white beard three feet long, shambled
up to the cab.
"Ain't this Fuller's train?" he drawled, gazing curiously at the four
Northerners, as he gave a hitch to his shabby trousers. He could not
understand the presence of the strangers in the engine, nor the
disappearance of the passenger cars.
Andrews leaned out of the cab window. He knew that Fuller was the
conductor of the stolen train, whom they had left behind at Big Shanty.
"No," he said, in a tone of authority, "this is not Fuller's train. He'll
be along later; we have the right of way all along the line. I'm running a
special right through to General Beauregard at Corinth. He is badly in
need of powder."
"Be the powder there?" asked the station-master, pointing to the three
baggage cars.
The men hiding in one of them had received their instructions; they were
as silent as the grave, and their doors were closed. The brakemen sat mute
on top of the cars.
"Yes, there's enough powder in there to blow up the whole State of
Georgia," returned Andrews.
"Wall, I'd give my shirt and my shoes to Beauregard if he wanted 'em,"
said the man of the long beard. "He's the best General we have in the
Confederate service;--yes, better even than Robert Lee."
"Well, then help Beauregard by helping me. I want more water--I see you
have a tank here--and more wood."
"You can have all you can hold," cried the station-master,
enthusiastically. He was only too glad to be of use.
Thus it happened that ten minutes later "The General" was speeding away
from the station with a fresh supply of water and a huge pile of wood in
the tender.
"That yarn worked admirably, didn't it?" asked Andrews. The engineer and
his assistant laughed. George shut the heavy door of the furnace, into
which he had been throwing wood, and stood up, very red in the face,
albeit smiling.
"But even if the story was true," he suggested, "you couldn't get through
to Corinth."
"Exactly," laughed the leader, "but our goat-bearded friend at the station
didn't think of that fact. Corinth is away off in the state of
Mississippi, near its northern border, nearly three hundred miles away
from here; besides, if I were a Southerner, I couldn't possibly reach
there without running afoul of General Mitchell and his forces, either
around Huntsville, or Chattanooga. However, I knew more about Mitchell's
movements than the station man did--and that's where I had the
advantage."
"We may not have such plain sailing at Kingston," said the engineer, as
"The General" just grazed an inquisitive cow which showed signs of
loitering on the track.
"We'll have more people to deal with there," admitted Andrews, "and we
must be all the more on our guard."
Both the men spoke wisely. It was just two hours after leaving Big Shanty,
and about thirty miles had been covered, when the alleged powder-train
rolled into the station at the town of Kingston.
"I hope we meet that irregular freight train here," muttered Andrews.
There were certainly plenty of cars in evidence on the sidings; indeed,
the station, which was the junction for a branch line running to Rome,
Georgia, presented a bustling appearance.
No sooner was "The General" motionless than a train-dispatcher emerged
from a gathering of idlers on the platform and walked up to the
locomotive. He held in his hand a telegraphic blank. As he saw Andrews,
who was leaning out of the cab with an air of impatience that was partly
real and partly assumed, the dispatcher drew back in surprise. He
recognized "The General," but there were strange men in the cab.
"I thought this was Fuller's train," he said. "It's Fuller's engine."
"Yes, it is Fuller's engine, but he's to follow me with his regular train
and another engine. This is a special carrying ammunition for General
Beauregard, and I must have the right of way clear along the line!"
The dispatcher scanned the train. He saw nothing to excite his suspicions.
The baggage cars were closed, and might easily be filled with powder and
shot; the men in the engine, and the two brakemen on the top of one car
had a perfectly natural appearance.
"Well, you can't move on yet," he announced. "Here's a telegram saying a
local freight from the north will soon be here, and you must wait till she
comes up."
Andrews bit his lip in sheer vexation. He had reasoned that this irregular
freight train would already be at Kingston on his arrival, and he hated
the idea of a delay. The loiterers on the platform were listening eagerly
to the conversation; he felt that he was attracting too much attention.
But there was no help for it. He could not go forward on this single-track
railroad until the exasperating freight had reached the station.
"All right," he answered, endeavoring to look unconcerned, "shunt us
off."
Within three minutes the train had been shifted from the main track to a
side track, and a curious crowd had gathered around "The General."
It was a critical situation. The idlers began to ply the occupants of the
cab with a hundred questions which must be answered in some shape unless
suspicion was to be aroused--and suspicion, under such circumstances,
would mean the holding back of the train, and the failure of the
expedition.
"Where did you come from?" "How much powder have you got on board?" "Why
did you take Fuller's engine?" "Why is Beauregard in such a hurry for
ammunition?" were among the queries hurled at the defenceless heads of the
four conspirators.
George, as he gazed out upon the Kingstonians, began to feel rather
nervous. He realized that one contradictory answer, one slip of the
tongue, might spoil everything. And in this case to spoil was a verb
meaning imprisonment and ultimate death.
A dapper young man, with small, piercing eyes and a head that suggested a
large bump of self-conceit, called out: "You chaps can't reach Beauregard.
You'll run right into the Yankee forces."
"I've got my orders and I'm going to try it," doggedly answered Andrews.
"And run your ammunition right into the hands of the Yankees?" sneered the
dapper young man. "I don't see the sense in that."
An angry flush came into Andrews' cheeks. "When you have been in the
Confederate army a little while, young man, as I have," he said, "you'll
learn to obey orders and ask no questions. Why don't you go serve your
country, as other young men are doing, instead of idling around at a safe
distance from the bullets?"
At this sally a shout of laughter went up from the crowd. It was evident
that the dapper young man was not popular. He made no answer, but went
away. "Will that freight never turn up?" thought Andrews.
Suddenly there came a barking from the baggage car nearest the tender,
wherein were confined the majority of the party. George's heart beat the
faster as he listened; he knew that the querulous little cries were
uttered by Waggie.
An old man, with snow-white hair and beard, cried out: "Is that dog in the
car part of your ammunition?" His companions laughed at the witticism. For
once Andrews was nonplused. George came bravely to the rescue.
"It's a dog in a box," he said, "and it's a present to General
Beauregard."
"Well, I hopes the purp won't be blown up," remarked the old man. There
was another titter, but the story was believed.
"Things are getting a little too warm here," Andrews whispered to George.
As the words left his lips he heard the screeching of a locomotive. "It's
the freight!" he cried.
It was, indeed, the longed-for freight train; puffing laboriously, it came
up to the station and was quickly switched off to a siding.
"Now we can get rid of these inquisitive hayseeds," said Andrews.
"Look," cried George; "I see a red flag!" He pointed to the rear platform
of the end freight car, from which was suspended a piece of red bunting.
Andrews stamped his foot and indulged in some forcible language. He knew
that the flag indicated the presence of another train back of the
freight.
Andrews was out of the cab like a flash. "What does this red flag mean?"
he demanded of the conductor of the freight train, who was about to cross
the tracks to enter the station.
"What does _what_ mean?" asked the conductor, in a tone of mild surprise.
"Why is the road blocked up behind you?" asked the leader. Had he been the
President of the Southern Confederacy he could not have spoken more
imperiously. "I have a special train with orders to take a load of powder
to General Beauregard without delay! And here I find my way stopped by
miserable freight trains which are not a quarter as important as my three
cars of ammunition."
"I'm sorry, sir," explained the conductor, "but it ain't my fault. Fact
is, Mitchell, the Yankee General, has captured Huntsville, and we're
moving everything we can out of Chattanooga, because it's said he is
marching for there. We have had to split this freight up into two
sections--and t'other section is a few miles behind. Don't worry. It'll be
here soon. But, look here, sir! You'll never be able to reach Beauregard.
General Mitchell will get you long before you are near Corinth."
"Pooh!" replied Andrews. "Mitchell may have taken Huntsville, but he can't
stay there. Beauregard has, no doubt, sent him flying by this time. And,
anyway, I'm bound to obey orders from Richmond, come what may."
"I wish you luck, sir," said the freight conductor, who was impressed by
the authoritative bearing of Andrews, and believed the spy to be some
Confederate officer of high rank.
The leader returned to the cab. It was still surrounded by the curious
idlers.
"This is what I call pretty bad railroad management," he grumbled, loud
enough to be heard by the Kingstonians. "This line should be kept clear
when it's necessary to get army supplies quickly from place to place. What
are fifty freight trains compared to powder for the troops?"
The minutes passed slowly; it seemed as if that second freight train would
never come. At last a dull, rumbling sound on the track gave warning of
the approach of the second section. In a few moments the heavily-laden
cars, drawn by a large engine, had glided by "The General," down the main
track. The men in the cab gave unconscious sighs of relief. Now they could
move onward. But what was it that the sharp eyes of George detected? Yes,
there could be no mistake. At the end of the second freight train was
another red flag.
"Look!" he whispered. Andrews saw the flag, and turned white.
"How many more trains are we to wait for?" he said.
After regaining his composure he left the engine, to seek the conductor of
the new train. He was back again in five minutes.
"Well?" asked George.
"I find from the conductor that there's still another section behind him,"
explained Andrews. "The Confederate commander at Chattanooga fears the
approach of General Mitchell and has ordered all the rolling stock of the
railroad to be sent south to Atlanta. The new train should be here in ten
minutes."
In the meantime the people around the station had all heard of the danger
which threatened Chattanooga from the Union army. The train-dispatcher
came running over to the engine, and doffed his cap to Andrews.
"It ain't none of my business," he said, with supreme indifference to any
rules of grammar, "but they say Mitchell is almost at Chattanooga--and
you'll never get through to Corinth."
Andrews assumed an air of contemptuous superiority.
"I happen to know more of General Mitchell's movements than you do," he
said, "And, what's more, no Confederate officer takes orders from a
railroad employee."
"I didn't mean any offense," answered the train-dispatcher.
"Then go back and see that the switches are ready for me to move on the
instant the next freight gets here," ordered the leader. The young man
walked away, with a nod of assent.
"He talks proud enough," he thought; "he must be a relation of Jefferson
Davis, from his airs."
After the dispatcher had gone, Andrews whispered to George: "We ought to
let the boys in the car know the cause of our detention--and warn them
that in case of anything going wrong in our plans they must be prepared to
fight for their lives. Could you manage to get word to them without
attracting suspicion?"
The boy made no verbal answer. But as he left the cab and vaulted to the
ground, his looks showed that he understood what was wanted, and proposed
to execute the commission. After sauntering among the men who stood near
the engine, he crossed the track of the siding, directly in front of "The
General's" headlight, and soon leaned, in a careless attitude, against the
car in which so many of his companions were waiting. He was now on the
opposite side of the track from the Kingstonians, but directly alongside
the main track, and in full view from the station.
George began, in a very low tone, to whistle a few bars from "The Blue
Bells of Scotland." It was a tune he had often indulged in during his
travels from the Union camp. As he finished there came a bark of
recognition from Waggie, and a slight stir in the car.
"Are you there, Watson?" asked the boy, under his breath. "Can you hear
me? If you can, scratch on the wall."
There was a moment's pause, and the faint sound of footsteps was heard
within the car. Then came an answering scratch.
George went on, in the same tone, as he leaned against the car, and
apparently gazed into space: "Andrews wants you--to know--that we're
waiting--till some freight trains--get in--from Chattanooga. But if
anything--should happen--before we--can get away--be ready to fight. Keep
Waggie from barking--if you can."
Another scratching showed that Watson had heard and understood. But Waggie
began to bark again. George was filled with vexation. "Why did I let
Waggie go in the car?" he asked himself.
Just then a welcome whistle proclaimed that the third freight train was
approaching. It was time; the delay at Kingston must have occupied nearly
an hour--it seemed like a whole day--and the men about the railroad
station were becoming skeptical. They could not understand why the
mysterious commander of the powder-train should persist in wanting to go
on after hearing that Mitchell was so near.
When George returned to the engine the new freight went by on the main
track directly in the wake of the second freight, which had been sent half
a mile down the line, to the southward. The main track was now clear for
Andrews. But the intrepid leader seemed to be facing fresh trouble. He was
standing on the step of the cab, addressing the old man who had charge of
the switches.
"Switch me off to the main track at once," thundered Andrews. "Don't you
see, fool, that the last local freight is in, and I have a clear road!"
There was a provokingly obstinate twist about the switch-tender's mouth.
"Switch yourself off," he snarled. "I shan't take the responsibility for
doing it. You may be what you say you are, but I haven't anything to prove
it. You're a fool, anyway, to run right into the arms of the Yankee
general."
His fellow-townsmen indulged in a murmur of approval. The men in the cab
saw that another minute would decide their fate, adversely or otherwise.
"I order you to switch me off--in the name of the Confederate Government!"
shouted the leader.
More citizens were running over from the station to find out the cause of
the disturbance.
"I don't know you, and I won't take any orders from you!" said the
switch-tender, more doggedly than ever. He walked over to the station,
where he hung up the keys of the switch in the room of the ticket-seller.
In a twinkling Andrews had followed him, and was already in the ticket
room.
"You'll be sorry for this," he cried; "for I'll report your rascally
conduct to General Beauregard!" He seized the keys as he spoke, and shook
them in the old man's face.
The latter looked puzzled. He had begun to think that this business of
sending powder to Beauregard was a trick of some kind, yet the confident
bearing of the leader impressed him at this crisis. Perhaps he had made a
mistake in refusing to obey the orders; but ere he could decide the knotty
problem Andrews took the keys, hurried from the station, and unlocked the
switch. Then he jumped into the cab, as he shouted to the men near the
engine: "Tell your switch-tender that he will hear from General Beauregard
for this!" He gave a signal, and the engineer grasped the lever and opened
the steam valve.
"The General" slowly left the siding and turned into the main track. As
the train passed the station, heading towards the north, the switch-tender
was standing on the platform, with a dazed expression in his eyes. Andrews
tossed the keys to him, as he cried: "Forgive me for being in such a
hurry, but the Confederacy can't wait for you!" Soon Kingston was left
behind.
"Keep 'The General' going at forty miles an hour," said the leader. "We
have only the two trains to meet now--a passenger and a freight--which
won't give us any trouble. I tell you, we had a narrow escape at Kingston.
More than once I thought we were all done for."
"I was pretty well scared when that rascal of a Waggie barked," observed
George. The train was now gliding swiftly on past hills and woods and
quiet pasture-lands. After the long delay the sensation of rapid motion
was delightful.
"By Jove!" cried Andrews, with a tinge of humor. "You must bring that
rogue back with you into the engine. When he barks in a place where
there's supposed to be nothing but powder the thing doesn't seem quite
logical. It throws discredit on an otherwise plausible story. Let us stop
a couple of miles from here, near Adairsville, do some wire-cutting,
release Waggie, and see how the fellows are getting along in the baggage
car."
When the stop was made the men in the car quickly opened the door and came
tumbling to the ground. They were glad to stretch their legs and get a
breath of fresh air. Waggie bounded and frisked with delight when he
espied George.
"I've had a time with that dog," said Jenks. "I had a flask of water with
me, and he insisted on my pouring every bit of it out on the palm of my
hand, and letting him lap it."
The other occupants of the car were crowding around Andrews, as they
discussed with him the fortunate escape from Kingston. Watson, who seemed
to be fired with a sudden enthusiasm, addressed the party.
"Boys," he said, "when I heard that switch-tender refuse to put us on the
main track I thought our hour had come. But the coolness and the presence
of mind of our friend Andrews have saved the day. Let us give him three
cheers! Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!"
The cheers were given with a will.
"Thank you, comrades," said Andrews, modestly. "But don't waste any time
on me; I only did what any other man would have done in my place. Let's
get to work again--time's precious."
At a hint from him George clambered up a telegraph pole, taking with him a
piece of cord by which he afterwards drew up an axe. Then he cut the wire,
while others in the party were removing three rails from the track in the
rear of the train. The rails were afterwards deposited in the baggage car
occupied by the men, as were also some wooden cross-ties which were found
near the road-bed.
"All this may be a waste of time," said Andrews. "We shall probably be in
Chattanooga before any one has a chance to chase us."
"Yet I have a presentiment that we shall be chased," cried Macgreggor. "I
believe there will be a hot pursuit."
His hearers, including Andrews, laughed, almost scornfully.
"Just wait and see," returned Macgreggor. "A Southerner is as brave, and
has as much brains as a Northerner."
We shall see who was right in the matter.