THE MARCH.
On Wednesday, the 12th of February, 1862, Paul found himself once more
upon the road leading from Fort Henry to Fort Donelson, not now alone,
but guiding an army of fifteen thousand men, with forty pieces of
artillery. He was on horseback, and sat so well in the saddle that the
cavalry-men said he rode like an old trooper. He was in uniform, and
wore straps on his shoulders, and was armed with a sword and a revolver.
He rode in advance of all, looking sharply into the thickets and down
the ravines, to see if there were any Rebels in ambush.
The sharpshooters followed him. They wore gray jackets and skull-caps,
and were armed with rifles and long hunting-knives. They were famous
hunters, and could shoot a deer upon the run, or bring down a
prairie-chicken upon the wing. They were tough, hearty, jolly,
courageous, daring fellows. They were in good spirits, for the rebels
had fled in dismay from Fort Henry when the gunboats sent their shells
into the fort.
It was a hard march, for the roads were muddy, and they were obliged to
wade through creeks although it was mid-winter. Paul noticed one brave
fellow among them, whose feet were so sore that his steps were marked
with blood, which oozed from a hole in the side of his shoe, and yet the
man kept his place in the ranks.
"Let me carry your gun," said Paul, and so, taking it across his saddle,
helped the soldier. "You ought to be in the hospital," said Paul.
"I can't stay behind if there is to be any fighting," said the soldier,
thanking Paul for his kindness; and then, in a low tone, the soldier
said to his comrade, "There a'n't many officers like him who will help a
fellow."
At sunset the army halted in the woods beside a brook. Tents had been
left behind, and the soldiers had no shelter from the wintry air. They
cut down great trees and kindled huge fires. The farmers in that part of
the country had large herds of pigs, which roamed the woods and lived on
nuts. The soldiers had lived on salt meats for many months, and,
notwithstanding orders had been issued against committing depredations,
they were determined to have a good supper. Crack! crack! crack! went
their rifles. Some, instead of shooting, tried to catch the pigs. There
were exciting chases, and laughable scenes,--a dozen men after one pig,
trying to seize him by the ears, or by the hind legs, or by the tail.
They had a charming time, sitting around the roaring fires, inhaling the
savory odors of the steaks and spareribs broiling and roasting over the
glowing coals on forked sticks, and of the coffee bubbling in their tin
cups. The foot-sore sharpshooter whom Paul had helped on the march
cooked a choice and tender piece, and presented it to Paul on a chip,
for they had no plates. It was cooked so nicely that Paul thought he had
never tasted a more delicious morsel.
In the morning they had an excellent breakfast, and then resumed the
march, moving slowly and cautiously through the woods, but finding no
enemy till they came in sight of Fort Donelson.
Paul had guided the army to the fort, but now he had other duties to
perform. He was required to make a sketch of the ground around the fort,
that General Grant might know where to form his lines,--on what hills
to plant his cannon,--where to throw up breastworks for defence, should
the rebels see fit to come out and attack him. Leaving his horse behind,
Paul began his dangerous but important work on foot, that he might make
an accurate map,--examining through his field-glass the breastworks of
the rebels, counting their cannon, and beholding them hard at work. When
night came he crept almost up to their lines. He was between the two
armies,--a dangerous position, for the pickets on both sides were wide
awake, and his own comrades might fire upon him before he could give the
countersign. Although he stepped lightly, the sticks sometimes crackled
beneath his feet.
"Halt! Who goes there?" shouted a Rebel picket directly in front of him.
It was so sudden, and he was so near, that Paul's hair stood on end. He
darted behind a tree. Click! flash! bang! and a bullet came with a heavy
_thug_ into the tree. Bang! went another gun,--another,--and another;
and the pickets all along the rebel lines, thinking that the Yankees
were coming, blazed away at random. The Yankee pickets, thinking that
the rebels were advancing, became uneasy and fired in return. Paul
could hear the bullets spin through the air and strike into the trees.
His first thought was to get back to his comrades as soon as possible;
then he reflected that it would be dangerous to attempt it just then.
The firing woke up all the sleepers in the two armies. The drums were
beating the long roll, the bugles were sounding, and he could hear the
Rebel officers shouting to the men, "Fall in! fall in!" He laughed to
think that the crackling of a stick had produced all this uproar. He
wanted very much to join in the fun, and give the Rebel picket who had
fired at him a return shot, but his orders were not to fire even if
fired upon, for General Grant was not ready for a battle, and so, while
the Rebels were reloading their guns, he glided noiselessly away. When
he heard the bullets singing he expected to be hit; but as he was less
than six feet high and only eighteen inches across his shoulders, and as
it was dark and the soldiers were firing at random, he calculated that
there was not one chance in a million of his being injured, and so
through the night he went on with his reconnoissance along the lines,
and completed the work assigned him.