AFTER THE DESPATCH-BEARER
I was cool-headed, and accustomed to this species of adventure, or I
should never have been there. Yet, I confess my nerves tingled as I
crept cautiously forward through the fringe of bushes, seeking the exact
spot where the major had disappeared down what must have been some
species of road. There were sentinels posted about the tent; I saw the
silhouette of one, and heard several voices conversing gruffly as I
slunk past, yet could not definitely locate these last in the gloom.
There was a little row of tents--three or four--back of the larger one
occupied by the general; but these were unlighted and silent. I crept
past them unobserved, emerging into a more open space, where my groping
hands encountered wheel-tracks, and the beaten earth of a road.
This apparently ran nearly east and west, as I recalled direction, and I
turned to the right, bending low in the shadows, and advancing at a
crouching run. Seemingly there was nothing to obstruct progress. The
noise of stomping and restless horses reached me from the left,
evidence of a nearby cavalry or artillery camp; yet I saw no one,
perceived no light even, until after advancing at least a quarter of a
mile. Then a sudden slight turn in the road brought me upon a rude
shack, showing a blacksmith's fire glowing within, and the smith himself
pounding busily away at an anvil. The gleam of the forge shot out redly
across the road. As I crept closer I could perceive the figures of
others lounging about inside--soldiers, no doubt, although I could not
be certain. There was a ragged Confederate cavalry jacket hanging over a
rain-barrel just outside the window, and, getting hold of it, I slipped
it on over my woollen shirt. The night air was chill, my clothes still
damp from the river, and besides it might help later on. As I did this a
rider came flying up the road, bending low over his pommel. He went past
at a slashing gallop, his face showing an instant in the red glare of
the flame. That, no doubt, would be the aide with the despatches, yet,
in spite of his haste, he would have to wait to the end of the hour for
Billie. One or two of the men came lazily to the front of the shop to
watch him go by, and I crouched down behind the rain-barrel until they
went back again. Then I skirted the bar of flame, and ran on down the
road, a bit recklessly, fearing the horseman might get too far ahead.
It was intensely dark, one of those dense nights when the blackness
appears to press down upon one, and there were noises on either side to
make me aware that I was in the midst of a great encampment. Fires shone
dimly through the trees, and I could hear voices and hammering. I
supposed the road I was travelling ran directly through the main camp,
with troops on either side, and, for that reason, was not patrolled by
pickets. Anyhow I passed without challenge, although I met a few fellows
slinking along about as I was--soldiers out of bounds most likely, as
afraid of me as I was of them. At least whenever I bumped into one, he
got out of the way fast enough. And I never paused to explain--all I
wanted to do was to arrive at those cross-roads in advance of Billie.
However I failed in this ambition, but merely because the road I was
following did not keep on directly west, but drifted off toward the
river. I only became aware of this change in direction when we
intersected a cross-road, and then I ran squarely up against a
picket-post, the men having a fire burning to keep them warm. The light
of the flames revealed everything within a radius of a hundred feet, and
I could distinguish a dozen infantrymen sitting and lying about, while a
couple of others marched back and forth across the road. I wanted to get
farther south, but had only wriggled through the bushes a few yards in
that direction before sinking to my knees in mud and water, and being
compelled to crawl back. There was nothing left except to circle the
fire in the opposite direction, and come out on the road below. I must
have used up a good quarter of an hour getting through. Twice I made
missteps, and some racket, but there was no challenge. I emerged at the
opening of a small ravine, where I could lie down flat behind a low
rock, and look back up the road, which ran down hill. I felt reasonably
certain Billie would have to come this way if he intended to cross the
river at Carter's Ford, and I knew of no other place he could cross this
side the big bridge. The aide would be riding with him, of course, and
that would make me certain of my man when he came, although how I was
ever going to manage was more than I had as yet figured out.
I must have been there some twenty minutes, maybe more, burrowing down
into the mud under the lee of the stone, staring straight up the hill at
the fire. The post was relieved while I lay there, the fellows going off
duty tramping past so close I could have touched them. I could still
hear the tread of their feet when one of the new guard yelled out
"Halt!" and I saw two or three men spring up from around the fire,
while the corporal in command ran out into the middle of the road. Some
sort of a rig was coming down the hill, with a cavalry officer--judging
from his cape--riding along close beside it. I was not able to see very
plainly the way the light fell, but the contrivance looked to me like
one of those old-fashioned, two-wheeled carryalls, with a low top over
it, and drawn by a horse not much bigger than a pony. The officer dug in
his spurs and got ahead, leaning over to whisper to the corporal, who
stepped back saluting. The carryall never stopped at all, the pony
trotting along unconcernedly, and it was so dark beneath the top I could
not see sign of anybody. It was a queer-looking outfit, but I had no
doubt this would be Billie, and the despatches.
The officer was still riding ahead when they passed me, his cape blown
up over his hat, and his head bent forward to make out the road, as
though his eyes still remained blinded by the firelight. Without
definite plan, yet firmly determined not to be left behind, I squirmed
across the road, ran up close to the carryall, and caught hold at the
rear. The soldiers back in the glare saw nothing, while the mingled
noise of hoofs and wheels left me unheard. I discovered my fingers
grasping some narrow wooden slats, held up firmly against the back of
the vehicle by a chain at each end. For a moment, running and hanging
on as I was in total darkness, I was unable to figure out what sort of
an arrangement this could possibly be. Then I managed to feel it out
with one hand--it was simply a shelf, capable of being lowered the
length of the supporting chains, on which packages, or baggage, might be
carried, while above was a roll of canvas, to be used as protection from
rain. Here was opportunity, and I went at it with eagerness. It proved a
hard job, running over that rough road in the dark, while the pony
trotted tirelessly, but I got those chains unfastened, one at a time,
and then the shelf settled naturally down into position. It was narrow,
and I felt some question as to the strength of the supports, but risking
all this, managed to work my way up until I half lay, half crouched,
along the slats, holding on grimly as the two wheels bounced briskly
from side to side, threatening to send me sprawling out into the road.
By this time the officer had reined back his horse, but was still out of
sight, and I succeeded in unbuckling the straps, and lowering the strip
of canvas over me, stuffing the edges beneath my body so as to keep them
from flapping. I was tired and sore, but now reasonably safe, with my
eyes at an opening through which I could gaze out. I began to feel
happy, too, thinking of the surprise which was about to come to Billie.
We clattered on down a long slope, apparently making no effort to avoid
noise. It seemed we must be drawing near the river, yet the night was so
dark, and our passage so rapid, I could make out no familiar landmarks
through my peep-hole. Indeed I had about all I could do to hold on. We
were halted twice, but a word from the officer passed us along safely.
One picket-post had a fire glowing in close against the rocks, and the
sergeant stood within a foot of me. I caught the word "Cumberland," but
whatever else of explanation may have been uttered failed to reach my
ears, muffled as they were beneath the canvas. A few hundred yards
beyond this point, at the end of a deep cut, the officer drew up his
horse sharply, leaned over the wheel, and shook hands with the
person inside.
"I have attained my limit," he said. "That was our last picket-post back
yonder, and my orders were strict. You know the road, of course."
"Perfectly, Lieutenant," responded a low voice, muffled under the hood.
"I have travelled it often before. I thank you so much, and think it
will all come out right this time."
"I have no doubt of that," he replied, with a little laugh. "Hope I may
renew the acquaintance under more pleasant circumstances. Meanwhile,
good luck and good-bye."
He sat erect upon his horse, watching as we clattered past, appearing
scarcely more than a dim shadow, yet I thought he held his hat in his
hand. Billie laid on the gad, however, as if to make up for lost time,
and the pony trotted off at such a burst of speed as to keep me busy
clinging to my perch. It was an exceedingly rough road, rutty and stony,
up hill and down, while the pony condescended to walk on the steepest
grades only, and occasionally took the declines at a gallop, the
carryall bounding from side to side as though mad. Apparently no fear of
possible disaster disturbed Billie, however, for I could hear every few
moments the slash of a whip on the animal's flank. I knew that, by this
time, we must certainly be well between the lines, but, for the life of
me, could not determine where. I thought I knew the surrounding country
as I had scouted over it for months, tracing roads and bridle-paths, yet
I was puzzled now. If this road continued to run north and south, as it
had back yonder, then we should have forded the river long before this,
yet we had splashed through no water, nor did I recall our making
any turn.
One fact alone seemed certain: as I knew neither where we were, nor
whither bound, and as we were already assuredly beyond the last
Confederate outpost, it behooved me to act as quickly as possible.
Billie was headed somewhere, and the sooner I stopped him the
better--besides, my position was neither comfortable nor safe. I rolled
off from the edge of the canvas, and, gripping the chains tightly,
managed to sit up, in spite of the vicious pitching of the vehicle.
Billie's evident eagerness to arrive at his unknown destination only
added to my own recklessness, and I hung on desperately, swearing a
little, I fear, under my breath.