Dick dashed after the fugitive, but he had disappeared utterly, and the
dense bushes impeded the pursuer. He was hot and angry that he had been
deluded so cleverly, but then came the consolation that, after all, he
had won in the fistic encounter with an antagonist worthy of anybody.
And after this came a second thought that caused him to halt abruptly.
He and Woodville had fought it out fairly. Their fists had printed upon
the faces of each other the stamp of a mutual liking. Why should he
strive to take young Woodville before Colonel Winchester? Nothing was
to be gained by it, and, as the Mississippian was in civilian's garb, he
might incur the punishment of a spy. He realized in a flash that, since
he had vindicated his own prowess, he was glad of Woodville's escape.
He turned and walked thoughtfully back up the ravine. Very little noise
came from the house and the thin spires of smoke had disappeared. He
knew now that the fires had been put out with ease, thanks to his
quick warning. Before starting he had recovered both his own pistol and
Woodville's, and he was particularly glad to find the latter because
it would be proof of his story, if proof were needed. The rain had not
ceased nor had the heavy darkness lifted, but the looming shadow of the
big house was sufficient guide. He found the place where he had slipped
down the bank and the torn bushes and grass showed that he had made a
fine trail. He pulled himself back up by the bushes and reentered the
garden, where he was halted at once by two watchful sentries.
“Lieutenant Richard Mason of Colonel Winchester's staff,” he said,
“returning from the pursuit of a fugitive.”
The men knew him and they said promptly:
“Pass Lieutenant Mason.”
But despite the dark they stared at him very curiously, and when he
walked on toward the piazza one of them muttered to the other:
“I guess he must have overtook that fugitive he was chasin'.”
Dick walked up the steps upon the piazza, where some one had lighted a
small lamp, near which stood Colonel Winchester and his staff.
“Here's Dick!” exclaimed Warner in a tone of great relief.
“And we thought we had lost him,” said Colonel Winchester, gladness
showing in his voice. Then he added: “My God, Dick, what have you been
doing to yourself?”
“Yes, what kind of a transformation is this?” added a major. “You've
certainly come back with a face very different from the one with which
you left us!”
Dick turned fiery red. He suddenly became conscious that he had a left
ear of enormous size, purple and swollen, that his left eye was closing
fast, that the blood was dripping from cuts on either cheek, that the
blood had flowed down the middle of his forehead and had formed a little
stalactite on the end of his nose, that his chin had been gashed in five
places by a strong fist, and that he had contributed his share to the
bloodshed of the war.
“If I didn't know these were modern times,” said Warner, “I'd say that
he had just emerged from a sanguinary encounter bare-handed in the Roman
arena with a leopard.”
Dick glared at him.
“It was you who gave the alarm of fire, was it not?” asked Colonel
Winchester.
“Yes, sir. I saw the man who set the fires and I pursued him through the
garden and into the ravine that runs behind it.”
“Your appearance indicates that you overtook him.”
Dick flushed again.
“I did, sir,” he replied. “I know I'm no beauty at present, but neither
is he.”
“It looks as if it had been a matter of fists?”
“It was, sir. Both of us fired our pistols, but missed. Then we threw
our weapons to one side and clashed. It was a hard and long fight, sir.
He hit like a pile driver, and he was as active as a deer. But I was
lucky enough to knock him out at last.”
“Then why does your face look like a huge piece of pickled beef?” asked
the incorrigible Warner mischievously.
“You wait and I'll make yours look the same!” retorted Dick.
“Shut up,” said Colonel Winchester. “If I catch you two fighting I may
have you both shot as an example.”
Dick and Warner grinned good-naturedly at each other. They knew that
Colonel Winchester did not dream of carrying out such a threat, and they
knew also that they had no intention of fighting.
“And after you knocked him out what happened?” asked the colonel.
Dick looked sheepish.
“He lay so still I was afraid he was dead,” he replied. “I ran down to
a brook, filled my cap with water, and returned with it in the hope
of reviving him. I got there just in time to see him vanishing in the
bushes. Pursuit was hopeless.”
“He was clever,” said the Colonel. “Have you any idea who he was?”
“He told me. He was Victor Woodville, the son of Colonel John Woodville,
C.S.A., the owner of this house.”
“Ah!” said Colonel Winchester, and then after a moment's thought he
added: “It's just as well he escaped. I should not have known what to do
with him. But we have you, Dick, to thank for giving the alarm. Now, go
inside and change to some dry clothes, if you have any in your baggage,
and if not dry yourself before a fire they're going to build in the
kitchen.”
“Will you pardon me for speaking of something, sir?”
“Certainly. Go ahead.”
“I think the appearance of young Woodville here indicates the nearness
of Forrest or some other strong cavalry force.”
“You're right, Dick, my officers and I are agreed upon it. I have
doubled the watch, but now get yourself to that fire and then to sleep.”
Dick obeyed gladly enough. The night had turned raw and chill, and the
cold water dripped from his clothes as he walked. But first he produced
Woodville's pistol and handed it to Colonel Winchester.
“There's my antagonist's pistol, sir,” he said. “You'll see his initials
on it.”
“Yes, here they are,” said Colonel Winchester: “'V.W., C.S.A.' It's a
fine weapon, but it's yours, Dick, as you captured it.”
Dick took it and went to the kitchen, where the big fire had just begun
to blaze. He was lucky enough to be the possessor of an extra uniform,
and before he changed into it--they slept with their clothes on--he
roasted himself before those glorious coals. Then, as he was putting on
the fresh uniform, Warner and Pennington appeared.
“What would you recommend as best for the patient, Doctor,” said Warner
gravely to Pennington.
“I think such a distinguished surgeon as you will agree with me that his
wounds should first be washed and bathed thoroughly in cold water.”
“And after that a plentiful application of soothing liniment.”
“Yes, Doctor. That is the best we can do with the simple medicines we
have, but it especially behooves us to reduce the size of that left ear,
or some of the boys will say that we have a case of elephantiasis on our
hands.”
“While you're reducing the size of it you might also reduce the pain in
it,” said Dick.
“We will,” said Pennington; “we've got some fine horse liniment here.
I brought it all the way from Nebraska with me, and if it's good for
horses it ought to be good for prize fighters, too. That was surely a
hefty chap who fought you. If you didn't have his pistol as proof I'd
say that he gave you a durned good licking. Isn't this a pretty cut down
the right cheek bone, George?”
“Undoubtedly, but nothing can take away the glory of that left ear.
Why, if Dick could only work his ears he could fan himself with it
beautifully. When I meet that Woodville boy I'm going to congratulate
him. He was certainly handy with his fists.”
“Go on, fellows,” said Dick, good-naturedly. “In a week I won't have a
wound or a sign of a scar. Then I'll remember what you've said to me and
I'll lick you both, one after the other.”
“Patient is growing delirious, don't you think so, Doctor?” said Warner
to Pennington.
“Beyond a doubt. Violent talk is always proof of it. Better put him to
bed. Spread his two blankets before the fire, and he can sleep there,
while every particle of cold and stiffness is being roasted out of him.”
“You boys are very good to me,” said Dick gratefully.
“It's done merely in the hope that your gratitude will keep you from
giving us the licking you promised,” said Pennington.
Then they left him and Dick slept soundly until he was awakened the next
day by Warner. The fire was out, the rain had ceased long since and the
sun was shining brilliantly.
“Hop up, Dick,” said Warner briskly. “Breakfast's ready. Owing to your
wound we let you sleep until the last moment. Come now, take the foaming
coffee and the luscious bacon, and we'll be off, leaving Bellevue again
to its masters, if they will come and claim it.”
“Has anything happened in the night?”
“Nothing since you ran your face against a pile driver, but Sergeant
Daniel Whitley, who reads the signs of earth and air and wood and water,
thinks that something is going to happen.”
“Is it Forrest?”
“Don't know, but it's somebody or something. As soon as we can eat our
luxurious breakfasts we mean to mount and ride hard toward Grant. We're
scouts, but according to Whitley the scouts are scouted, and this is a
bad country to be trapped in.”
Dick was so strong and his blood was so pure that he felt his wounds
but little now. The cuts and bruises were healing fast and he ate with a
keen appetite. He heard then of the signs that Whitley had seen. He had
found two broad trails, one three miles from the house, and the other
about four miles. Each indicated the passage of several hundred men, but
he had no way of knowing whether they belonged to the same force. They
were bound to be Confederate cavalry as Colonel Winchester's regiment
was known to be the only Union force in that section.
Dick knew their position to be dangerous. Colonel Winchester had done
his duty in discovering that Forrest and Wheeler were raiding through
Mississippi, and that a heavy force was gathering in the rear of Grant,
who intended the siege of Vicksburg. It behooved him now to reach Grant
as soon as he could with his news.
Refreshed and watchful, the regiment rode away from Bellevue. Dick
looked back at the broad roof and the great piazzas, and then he thought
of young Woodville with a certain sympathy. They had fought a good fight
against each other, and he hoped they would meet after the war and be
friends.
It was about an hour after sunrise, and the day was bright and warm. The
beads of water that stood on every leaf and blade of grass were drying
fast, and the air, despite its warmth, was pure and bracing. Dick, as
he looked at the eight hundred men, tanned, experienced and thoroughly
armed, under capable leaders, felt that they were a match for any roving
Southern force.
“Just let Forrest come on,” he said. “I know that the Colonel is aching
to get back at him for that surprise in Tennessee, and I believe we
could whip him.”
“You're showing great spirit for a man who was beaten up in the prize
ring as you were last night. I thought you'd want to rest for a few
days.”
“Drop it, George. I did get some pretty severe cuts and bruises, but I
was lucky enough to have the services of two very skillful and devoted
young physicians. Their treatment was so fine that I'm all right
to-day.”
“Unless I miss my guess, we'll need the services of doctors again before
night comes. No mountains are here, but this is a great country for
ambush. It's mostly in forest, and even in the open the grass is already
very tall. Besides, there are so many streams, bayous, and ponds. Notice
how far out on the flanks the skirmishers and scouts are riding, and
others ride just as far ahead.”
Two miles from Bellevue and they came to a small hill, covered with
forest, from the protection of which the officers examined the country
long and minutely, while their men remained hidden among the deep
foliaged trees. Dick had glasses of his own which he put to his eyes,
bringing nearer the wilderness, broken here and there by open spaces
that indicated cotton fields. Yet the forest was so dense and there
was so much of it that a great force might easily be hidden within its
depths only a mile away.
“Have we any information at all about Forrest's strength?” whispered
Pennington to Dick.
“His full force isn't down here. It is believed he has not more than a
thousand or twelve hundred men. But he and his officers know the country
thoroughly, and of course the inhabitants, being in full sympathy with
them, will give them all the information they need. The news of every
movement of ours has been carried straight to the rebel general.”
“And yet the country seems to have no people at all. We come to but few
houses, and those few are deserted.”
“So they are. What was that? Did you see it, Frank?”
“What was what?”
“I forgot that you are not using glasses. I caught a momentary glitter
in the woods. I think it was a sunbeam passing through the leaves and
striking upon the polished barrel of a rifle. Ah! there it is again! And
Colonel Winchester has seen it too.”
The colonel and his senior officers were now gazing intently at the
point in the wood where Dick had twice seen the gleam, and, keener-eyed
than they, he continued to search the leafy screen through his own
glasses. Soon he saw bayonets, rifles, horses and men advancing swiftly,
and then came two of their own scouts galloping.
“The enemy is advancing!” they cried. “It's Forrest!”
A thrill shot through Dick. The name of Forrest was redoubtable, but
he knew that every man in the regiment was glad to meet him again. He
glanced at Colonel Winchester and saw that his face had flushed. He knew
that the colonel was more than gratified at this chance.
“We'll make our stand here,” said Colonel Winchester. “The hill runs to
the right, and, as you see over there, it is covered with forest without
undergrowth. Thus we can secure protection, and at the same time be able
to maneuver, mounted.”
The regiment was posted rapidly in two long lines, the second to fire
between the intervals of the first. They carried carbines and heavy
cavalry sabers, and they were the best mounted regiment in the Northern
service.
Yet these men, brave and skillful as they were, were bound to feel
trepidation, although they did not show it. They were far in the
Southern forest, cut off from their army, and Forrest, in addition
to his own cavalry, might have brought with him fresh reserves of the
enemy.
Dick, Warner, and Pennington, as usual, remained close to their colonel,
and Sergeant Daniel Whitley was not far away. But Colonel Winchester
presently rode along the double line of his veterans, and he spoke to
them quietly but with emphasis and conviction:
“My lads,” he said, “you see Forrest's men coming through the woods to
attack us. Forrest is the greatest cavalry leader the South has, west of
the Alleghanies. Some of you were with me when we were surprised and cut
up by him in Tennessee. But you will not be surprised by him now, nor
will you be cut up by him. All of you have become great riders, a match
for Forrest's own, and as I look upon your faces here I know that there
is no fear in a single heart. You have served under Grant, and you have
served under Thomas. They are two generals who always set their faces
toward the front and never turn them toward the rear. You will this day
prove yourselves worthy of Grant and Thomas.”
They were about to cheer, but he checked it with the simple gesture of
a raised hand. Then they did a thing that only a beloved leader could
inspire. Every man in the regiment, resting his carbine across the
pommel of his saddle, drew his heavy cavalry saber and made it whirl in
coils of glittering light about his head.
The great pulse in Dick's throat leaped as he saw. The long double line
seemed to give back a double flash of flame. Not a word was said, and
then eight hundred sabers rattled together as they were dropped back
into their scabbards. Colonel Winchester's face flushed deeply at the
splendid salute, but he did not speak either. He took off his cap and
swept it in a wide curve to all his men. Then he turned his face toward
the enemy.
The Southern trumpet was singing in the forest, and the force of
Forrest, about twelve hundred strong, was emerging into view. Dick,
through his glasses, saw and recognized the famous leader, a powerful,
bearded man, riding a great bay horse. He had heard many descriptions of
him and he knew him instinctively. He also recognized the fact that the
Winchester regiment had before it the most desperate work any men could
do, if it beat off Forrest when he came in his own country with superior
numbers.
Neither side had artillery, not even the light guns that could be
carried horse- or muleback. It must be left to carbine and saber.
Colonel Winchester carefully watched his formidable foe, trying to
divine every trick and expedient that he might use. He had a memory to
avenge. He had news to carry to Grant, and Forrest must not keep
him from carrying it. Moreover, his regiment and he would gain great
prestige if they could beat off Forrest. There would be glory for the
whole Union cavalry if they drove back the Southern attack. Dick saw the
glitter of his colonel's eye and the sharp compression of his lips.
But the men of Forrest, although nearly within rifle shot, did not
charge. Their bugle sang again, but Dick did not know what the tune
meant. Then they melted away into the deep forest on their flank, and
some of the troop thought they had gone, daunted by the firm front of
their foe.
But Dick knew better. Forrest would never retreat before an inferior
force, and he was full of wiles and stratagems. Dick felt like a
primitive man who knew that he was being stalked by a saber-toothed
tiger through the dense forest.
Colonel Winchester beckoned to Sergeant Whitley. “Pick a half-dozen
sharp-eyed men,” he said, “and ride into those woods. You're experienced
in this kind of war, Whitley, and before you go tell me what you think.”
“General Forrest, sir, besides fighting as a white man fights, fights
like an Indian, too; that is, he uses an Indian's cunning, which is
always meant for ambush and surprise. He isn't dreaming of going away.
They're coming back through the thick woods.”
“So I think. But let me know as soon as you can.”
Ten minutes after the sergeant had ridden forward with his comrades they
heard the sound of rapid rifle shots, and then they saw the little band
galloping back.
“They're coming, sir,” reported the sergeant. “Forrest has dismounted
several hundred of his men, and they are creeping forward from tree to
tree with their rifles, while the others hold their horses in the rear.”
“Then it's an Indian fight for the present,” said Colonel Winchester.
“We'll do the same.”
He rapidly changed his lines of battle. The entire front rank was
dismounted, while those behind held their horses. The four hundred in
front, spreading out in as long a line as possible in order to protect
their flanks, took shelter behind the trees and awaited the onset.
The attack was not long in coming. The Southern sharpshooters, creeping
from tree to tree, began to fire. Scores of rifles cracked and Dick,
from a convenient place behind a tree, saw the spouts of flame appearing
along a line of four or five hundred yards. Bullets whizzed about him,
and, knowing that he would not be needed at present for any message, he
hugged the friendly bark more tightly.
“It's lucky we have plenty of trees,” said a voice from the shelter of
the tree next to him. “We have at least one for every officer and man.”
It was Warner who spoke and he was quite cheerful. Like Colonel
Winchester, he seemed to look forward to the combat with a certain joy,
and he added:
“You'll take notice, Dick, old man, that we've not been surprised.
Forrest hasn't galloped over us as he did before. He's taking the
trouble to make the approach with protected riflemen. Now what is the
sergeant up to?”
Sergeant Whitley, after whispering a little with Colonel Winchester,
had stolen off toward the right with fifty picked riflemen. When they
reached the verge of the open space that lay between the two sides they
threw themselves down in the thick, tall grass. Neither Dick nor Warner
could see them now. They beheld only the stems of the grass waving as if
under a gentle wind. But Dick knew that the rippling movement marked the
passage of the riflemen.
Meanwhile the attack in their front was growing hotter. At least six
or seven hundred sharpshooters were sending a fire which would have
annihilated them if it had not been for the trees. As it was, fragments
of bark, twigs, and leaves showered about them. The whistling of the
bullets and their chugging as they struck the trees made a continuous
sinister note.
The Union men were not silent under this fire. Their own rifles were
replying fast, but Colonel Winchester continually urged them to take
aim, and, while death and wounds were inflicted on the Union ranks, the
Southern were suffering in the same manner.
Dick turned his eyes toward the right flank, where the fifty picked
riflemen, Sergeant Whitley at their head, were crawling through the
tall grass. He knew that they were making toward a little corner of the
forest, thrust farther forward than the rest, and presently when the
rippling in the grass ceased he was sure that they had reached it. Then
the fifty rifles cracked together and the Southern flank was swept by
fifty well-aimed bullets. Lying in their covert, Whitley's men reloaded
their breech-loading rifles and again sent in a deadly fire.
The main Northern force redoubled its efforts at the same time. The men
in blue sent in swarms of whistling bullets and Dick saw the front line
of the South retreating.
“We're rousing the wolves from their lairs,” explained Pennington
exultantly as he sprang from his tree, just in time for a bullet to send
his hat flying from his head. Fortunately, it clipped only a lock of
hair, but he received in a good spirit Warner's admonishing words:
“Don't go wild, Frank. We've merely repelled the present attack. You
don't think that Forrest with superior forces is going to let us alone,
do you?”
“No, I don't,” replied Pennington, “and don't you get behind that tree.
It's mine, and I'm coming back to it. I've earned it. I held it against
all kinds of bullets. Look at the scars made on each side of it by rebel
lead.”
The firing now died. Whitley's flank movement had proved wholly
successful, and Colonel Winchester reinforced him in the little forest
peninsula with fifty more picked men, where they lay well hidden, a
formidable force for any assailant.
The silence now became complete, save for the stamping of the impatient
horses and the drone of insects in the woods and grass. Dick, lying
on his stomach and using his glasses, could see nothing in the forest
before them. It was to him in all its aspects an Indian battle, and he
believed in spite of what Warner had said that the enemy had retired
permanently.
Colonel Winchester and all the officers rose to their feet presently and
walked among the trees. No bullets came to tell them that they were
rash and then the senior officers held a conference, while all the men
remounted, save a dozen or so who would ride no more. But the colonel
did not abate one whit of his craft or caution.
They resumed the march toward Grant, but they avoided every field or
open space. They would make curves and lose time in order to keep in the
dense wood, but, as Dick knew, Colonel Winchester still suspected that
Forrest was hovering somewhere on his flank, covered by the great forest
and awaiting a favorable opportunity to attack.
They approached one of the deep and narrow streams that ultimately
find their way to the Mississippi. It had only one ford, and the scouts
galloping back informed them that the farther shore was held by a
powerful force of cavalry.
“It's Forrest,” said Colonel Winchester with quiet conviction. “Knowing
every path of the woods, they've gone ahead of us, and they mean to cut
us off from Grant. Nevertheless we'll make a way.”
He spoke firmly, but the junior officers of the staff did not exactly
see how they were going to force a ford defended by a larger number of
cavalry under the redoubtable Forrest.
“I didn't think Forrest would let us alone, and he hasn't,” said
Pennington.
“No, he hasn't,” said Warner, “and it seems that he's checkmated us,
too. Why, that river is swollen by the rains so much that it's a hard
job to cross it if no enemy were on the other side. But you'll note,
also, that the enemy, having got to the other side, can't come back
again in our face to attack us.”
“But we want to go on and they don't,” said Dick. “They're satisfied
with the enforced status quo, and we're not. Am I right, Professor?”
“You certainly are,” replied Warner. “Now, our colonel is puzzled, as
you can tell by his looks, and so would I be, despite my great natural
military talents.”
The Winchester regiment fell back into the woods, leaving the two
forces out of rifle shot of each other. Sentinels were posted by both
commanders not far from the river and the rest, dismounting, took their
ease, save the officers, who again went into close conference.
Afterward they sat among the trees and waited. It was low ground, with
the earth yet soaked from the heavy rain of the night before, and the
heat grew heavy and intense. The insects began to drone again, and once
more mosquitoes made life miserable. But the soldiers did not complain.
It was noon now, and they ate food from their knapsacks. Two springs of
clear water were found a little distance from the river and all drank
there. Then they went back to their weary waiting.
On the other side of the river they could see the dismounted troopers,
playing cards, sleeping or currying their horses. They seemed to be in
no hurry at all. Colonel Winchester sent divisions of scouts up and down
the stream, and, both returning after a while, reported that the river
was not fordable anywhere.
Colonel Winchester sat down under a tree and smoked his pipe. The longer
he smoked the more corrugated his brow became. He looked angrily at the
ford, but it would be folly to attempt a passage there, and, containing
himself as best he could, he waited while the long afternoon waned. His
men at least would get a good rest.
Dick and his comrades, selecting the dryest place they could find,
spread their blankets and lay down. Protecting their faces from the
mosquitoes with green leaves, they sank into a deep quiet. Dick even
drowsed for a while. He could not think of a way out of the trap, and
he was glad it was the duty of older men like Colonel Winchester and the
majors and captains to save them.
The heat of the day increased with the coming of afternoon, and Dick's
eyelids grew heavier. He had become so thoroughly hardened to march and
battle that the presence of the enemy on the other side of a river did
not disturb him. What was the use of bothering about the rebels as long
as they did not wish to fire upon one?
His eyes closed for a few minutes, and then his dreaming mind traversed
space with incredible rapidity. He was back in Pendleton, sitting on
the portico with his mother, watching the flowers on the lawn nod in the
gentle wind. His cousin Harry Kenton saluted him with a halloo and came
bounding toward the porch, and the halloo caused Dick to awake and sit
up. He rubbed his eyes violently and looked around a little bit ashamed.
But two captains older than himself were sound asleep with their backs
against trees.
Dick stood up and shook himself violently. Whatever others might do he
must not allow himself to relax so much. He saw that the sun was slowly
descending and that the full heat of the afternoon was passing. Colonel
Winchester had withdrawn somewhat among the trees and he beckoned to
him. Sergeant Whitley was standing beside the colonel.
“Dick,” said Colonel Winchester, “colored men have brought us news that
Colonel Grierson of our army, with a strong raiding force of nearly two
thousand cavalry is less than a day's march away and on the same side
of this river that we are. We have received the news from three separate
sources and it must be true. Probably Forrest's men know it, too, but
expect Grierson to pass on, wholly ignorant that we're here. I have
chosen you and Sergeant Whitley to bring Grierson to our relief. The
horses are ready. Now go, and God speed you. The sergeant will tell you
what we know as you ride.”
Dick sprang at once into the saddle, and with a brief good-bye he and
the sergeant were soon in the forest riding toward the southeast. Dick
was alive and energetic again. All that laziness of mind and body was
gone. He rode on a great ride and every sense was alert.
“Tell me,” he said, “just about what the news is.”
“Three men,” replied the sergeant, “came in at different times with
tales, but the three tales agree. Grierson has made a great raid, even
further down than we have gone. He has more than double our numbers, and
if we can unite with him it's likely that we can turn Forrest into the
pursued instead of the pursuer. They say we can hit his trail about
twenty-five miles from here, and if that's so we'll bring him up to the
ford by noon to-morrow. Doesn't it look promising to you, Lieutenant
Mason?”
“It does look promising, Sergeant Whitley, if we don't happen to be
taken by the Johnnies who infest this region. Besides, you'll have to
guide through the dark to-night. You're trained to that sort of thing.”
“You can see pretty well in the dark yourself, sir; and since our way
lies almost wholly through forest I see no reason why we should be
captured.”
“That's so, sergeant. I'm just as much of an optimist as you are. You
keep the course, and I'm with you to the finish.”
They rode rather fast at first as the sun had not yet set, picking their
way through the woods, and soon left their comrades out of sight. The
twilight now came fast, adding a mournful and somber red to the vast
expanse of wilderness. The simile of an Indian fight returned to Dick
with increased force. This was not like any battle with white men in
the open fields. It was a combat of raiders who advanced secretly under
cover of the vast wilderness.
The twilight died with the rapidity of the South, and the darkness,
thick at the early hours, passed over the curve of the earth. For a time
Dick and the sergeant could not see many yards in front and they rode
very slowly. After a while, as the sky lightened somewhat and their eyes
also grew keen, they made better speed. Then they struck a path through
the woods leading in the right direction, and they broke into a trot.
The earth was so soft that their horses' feet gave back but little
sound, and both were confident they would not meet any enemy in the
night at least.
“Straight southeast,” said the sergeant, “and we're bound to strike
Grierson's tracks. After that we'd be blind if we couldn't follow the
trail made by nearly two thousand horsemen.”
The path still led in the direction they wished and they rode on
silently for hours. Once they saw a farmhouse set back in the woods, and
they were in fear lest dogs come out and bark alarm, but there was no
sound and they soon left it far behind.
They passed many streams, some of which were up to their saddle girths,
and then they entered a road which was often so deep in mud that they
were compelled to turn into the woods on the side. But no human being
had interfered with their journey, and their hopes rose to the zenith.
They came, finally, into an open region of cotton fields, and the
sergeant now began to watch closely for the great trail they hoped to
find. A force as large as Grierson's would not attempt a passage through
the woods, but would seek some broad road and Sergeant Whitley expected
to find it long before morning.
It was now an hour after midnight and they reckoned that they had come
about the right distance. There was a good moon and plenty of stars and
the sergeant gave himself only a half-hour to find the trail.
“There's bound to be a wide road somewhere among these fields, the kind
we call a county road.”
“It's over there beyond that rail fence,” said Dick. They urged their
horses into a trot, and soon found that Dick was right. A road of red
clay soft from the rains stretched before them.
“A man doesn't have to look twice here for a trail. See,” said the
sergeant.
The road from side to side was plowed deep with the hoofs of horses,
every footprint pointing northward.
“Grierson's cavalry,” said Dick.
“I take it that it can't be anything else. There is certainly in these
parts no rebel force of cavalry large enough to make this trail.”
“How old would you say these tracks are?”
“Hard to tell, but they can't have been made many hours ago. We'll press
forward, lieutenant, and we can save time going through the fields on
the edge of the road.”
Although they had to take down fences they made good speed and just
as the sun was rising they saw the light of a low campfire among some
trees, lining either bank of a small creek. They approached warily,
until they saw the faded blue uniforms. Then they galloped forward,
shouting that they were friends, and in a few minutes were in the
presence of Grierson himself.
He had been making a great raid, but he was eager now for the
opportunity to strike at Forrest. He must give his horses a short rest,
and then Dick and the sergeant should guide him at speed to the ford
where the opposing forces stood.
“It's twenty-five miles, you tell me?” said Grierson to Dick.
“As nearly as I can calculate, sir. It's through swampy country, but I
think we ought to be there in three or four hours.”
“Then lead the way,” said Grierson. “Like your colonel, I'll be glad to
have a try at Forrest.”
Sergeant Whitley rode in advance. A lumberman first and then a soldier
of the plains, he had noted even in the darkness every landmark and he
could lead the way back infallibly. But he warned Grierson that such a
man as Forrest would be likely to have out scouts, even if they had to
swim the river. It was likely that they could not get nearer by three or
four miles to Colonel Winchester without being seen.
“Then,” said Grierson, who had the spirit of a Stuart or a Forrest,
“we'll ride straight on, brushing these watchers out of our way, and if
by any chance their whole force should cross, we'll just meet and fight
it.”
“The little river is falling fast,” said the sergeant. “It's likely that
it'll be fordable almost anywhere by noon.”
“Then,” said Grierson, “it'll be all the easier for us to get at the
enemy.”
Dick, just behind Grierson, heard these words and he liked them. Here
was a spirit like Colonel Winchester's own, or like that of the great
Southern cavalry leaders. The Southerners were born on horseback, but
the Northern men were acquiring the same trick of hard riding. Dick
glanced back at the long column. Armed with carbine and saber the men
were riding their trained horses like Comanches. Eager and resolute
it was a formidable force, and his heart swelled with pride and
anticipation. He believed that they were going to give Forrest all he
wanted and maybe a little more.
Up rose the sun. Hot beams poured over forest and field, but the
cavalrymen still rode fast, the scent of battle in their nostrils. Dick
knew that these Southern streams, flooded by torrents of rain, rose fast
and also fell fast.
“How much further now, sergeant?” asked Grierson, as they turned from a
path into the deep woods.
“Not more than three miles, sir.”
“And they know we're coming. Listen to that!”
Several rifles cracked among the trees and bullets whizzed by them.
Forrest's skirmishers and scouts were on the south side of the stream.
As they had foreseen, the river had sunk so much that it was fordable
now at many points. Dick was devoutly grateful that they had found
Grierson. Otherwise the Winchester regiment would have been flanked, and
its destruction would have followed.
Skirmishers were detached from Grierson's command and drove off the
Southern riflemen. Dick heard the rattling fire of their rifles in the
deep wood, but he seldom saw a figure. Then he heard another fire, heavy
and continuous, in their front, coming quite clearly on a breeze that
blew toward them.
“Your whole regiment is engaged,” exclaimed Grierson. “Forrest must have
forded the river elsewhere!”
He turned and shook aloft his saber.
“Forward, lads!” he shouted. “Gallant men of our own army will be
overwhelmed unless we get up in time!”
The whole force broke into a gallop through the woods, the fire in their
front rapidly growing heavier. In ten minutes they would be there, but
rifles suddenly blazed from the forest on their flank and many saddles
were emptied. Nothing upsets like surprise, and for a few moments the
whole command was in disorder. It was evident that Forrest was attacking
Winchester with only a part of his force, while he formed an ambush for
Grierson.
But the Northern cavalrymen had not learned in vain through disaster and
experience. Grierson quickly restored order and drew his men back into
the forest. As the enemy followed the Northern carbines began to flash
fast. The troopers in gray were unable to flank them or drive them back.
Grierson, sure of his superior numbers, pushed on toward Winchester,
while fighting off the foe at the same time.
Dick and the sergeant kept in the van, and presently they came within
sight of Colonel Winchester's men, who, dismounted, were holding off as
best they could the overwhelming attack of Forrest. The Southern leader,
after sending the majority of his men to a new crossing lower down had
forced the ford before the Winchester regiment, and would have crushed
it if it had not been for the opportune arrival of Grierson.
But a tremendous cheer arose as the Northern cavalry leader, who was
already proving his greatness, charged into the battle with his grim
troopers. The men in blue were now more numerous, and, fighting with the
resolve to win or die, they gradually forced back Forrest. Dick began to
foresee a victory won over the great Southern cavalryman.
But the astute Forrest, seeing that the odds were now heavily against
him, ordered a retreat. The trumpets sang the recall and suddenly
the Southern horsemen, carrying their dead with them, vanished in the
forest, where the Northern cavalry, fearful of ambushes and new forces,
did not dare to pursue.
But Winchester and Grierson were shaking hands, and Winchester thanked
the other in brief but emphatic words.
“Say no more, colonel,” exclaimed Grierson. “We're all trying to serve
our common country. You'd help me just the same if we had the chance,
and I think you'll find the road clear to Grant. While the siege of
Vicksburg was determined on long ago, as you know, I believe that he is
now moving toward Grand Gulf. You know he has to deal with the armies of
Johnston and Pemberton.”
“We'll find him,” said Winchester.
A quarter of an hour later his regiment was galloping toward Grant,
while Grierson's command rode eastward to deal with other forces of the
Confederacy.