Garfield's camp was on a little group of hills in a very strong
position, and his men, flushed with victory, were eager for another
encounter with the enemy. They had plenty of good tents to fend them
from the winter weather which had often been bitter. Throughout the camp
burned large fires for which they had an almost unbroken wilderness to
furnish fuel. The whole aspect of the place was pleasing to the men who
had marched far and hard.
Major Hertford and his aides, Richard Mason and George Warner,
were received in Colonel Garfield's tent. A slim young man, writing
dispatches at a rude little pine table, rose to receive them. He did not
seem to Dick to be more than thirty, and he had the thin, scholarly face
of a student. His manner was attractive, he shook hands warmly with all
three of them and said:
“Reinforcements are most welcome indeed. My own work here seems to be
largely done, but you will reach General Thomas in another day, and he
needs you. Take my chair, Major Hertford. To you two lads I can offer
only stumps.”
The tent had been pitched over a spot where three stumps had been
smoothed off carefully until they made acceptable seats. One end of
the tent was entirely open, facing a glowing fire of oak logs. Dick and
Warner sat down on the stumps and spread out their hands to the blaze.
Beyond the flames they saw the wintry forest and mountains, seemingly as
wild as they were when the first white man came.
The usual coffee and food were brought, and while they ate and drank
Major Hertford answered the numerous and pertinent questions of Colonel
Garfield. He listened attentively to the account of the fight in the
mountains, and to all the news that they could tell him of Washington.
“We have been cut off in these mountains,” he said. “I know very little
of what is going on, but what you say only confirms my own opinion. The
war is rapidly spreading over a much greater area, and I believe that
its scope will far exceed any of our earlier calculations.”
A grave and rather sad expression occupied for a moment the mobile face.
He interested Dick greatly. He seemed to him scholar and thinker as well
as soldier. He and Warner long afterward attended the inauguration of
this man as President of the United States.
After a brief rest, and good wishes from Garfield, Major Hertford and
his command soon reached the main camp under Thomas. Here they were
received by a man very different in appearance and manner from Garfield.
General George H. Thomas, who was to receive the famous title, “The Rock
of Chickamauga,” was then in middle years. Heavily built and bearded, he
was chary of words. He merely nodded approval when Major Hertford told
of their march.
“I will assign your troops to a brigade,” he said, “and I don't think
you'll have long to wait. We're expecting a battle in a few days with
Crittenden and Zollicoffer.”
“Not much to say,” remarked Dick to Warner, as they went away.
“That's true,” said Warner, thoughtfully, “but didn't you get an
impression of strength from his very silence? I should say that in his
make-up he is five per cent talk, twenty-five per cent patience and
seventy per cent action; total, one hundred per cent.”
The region in which they lay was west of the higher mountains, which
they had now crossed, but it was very rough and hilly. Not far from them
was a little town called Somerset, which Dick had visited once, and near
by, too, was the deep and swift Cumberland River, with much floating ice
at its edges. When the two lads lay by a campfire that night Sergeant
Whitley came to them with the news of the situation, which he had picked
up in his usual deft and quiet way.
“The Southern army is on the banks of the Cumberland,” he said. “It
has not been able to get its provisions by land through Cumberland Gap.
Instead they have been brought by boats on the river. As I hear it,
Crittenden and Zollicoffer are afraid that our general will advance to
the river an' cut off these supplies. So they mean to attack us as soon
as they can. If I may venture to say so, Mr. Mason, I'd advise that you
and Lieutenant Warner get as good a rest as you can, and as soon as you
can.”
They ate a hearty supper and being told by Major Hertford that they
would not be wanted until the next day, they rolled themselves in heavy
blankets, and, pointing their feet toward a good fire, slept on the
ground. The night was very cold, because it was now the middle of
January, but the blankets and fire kept them warm.
Dick did not fall to sleep for some time, because he knew that he was
going into battle again in a few days. He was on the soil of his native
state now. He had already seen many Kentuckians in the army of Thomas
and he knew that they would be numerous, too, in that of Crittenden
and Zollicoffer. To some extent it would be a battle of brother against
brother. He was glad that Harry Kenton was in the east. He did not wish
in the height of battle to see his own cousin again on the opposite
side.
But when he did fall asleep his slumber was sound and restful, and he
was ready and eager the next morning, when the sergeant, Warner, and he
were detached for duty in a scouting party.
“The general has asked that you be sent owing to your experience in the
mountains,” said Major Hertford, “and I have agreed gladly. I hope that
you're as glad as I am.”
“We are, sir,” said the two boys together. The sergeant stood quietly by
and smiled.
The detachment numbered a hundred men, all young, strong, and well
mounted. They were commanded by a young captain, John Markham, in whom
Dick recognized a distant relative. In those days nearly all Kentuckians
were more or less akin. The kinship was sufficient for Markham to keep
the two boys on either side of him with Sergeant Whitley just behind.
Markham lived in Frankfort and he had marched with Thomas from the
cantonments at Lebanon to their present camp.
“John,” said Dick, addressing him familiarly and in right of kinship,
“you've been for months in our own county. You've surely heard something
from Pendleton?”
He could not disguise the anxiety in his voice, and the young captain
regarded him with sympathy.
“I had news from there about a month ago, Dick,” he replied. “Your
mother was well then, as I have no doubt she is now. The place was not
troubled by guerillas who are hanging on the fringe of the armies here
in Eastern, or in Southern and Western Kentucky. The war for the present
at least has passed around Pendleton. Colonel Kenton was at Bowling
Green with Albert Sidney Johnston, and his son, Harry, your cousin, is
still in the East.”
It was a rapid and condensed statement, but it was very satisfying to
Dick who now rode on for a long time in silence. The road was as bad as
a road could be. Snow and ice were mixed with the deep mud which pulled
hard at the hoofs of their horses. The country was rough, sterile, and
inhabited but thinly. They rode many miles without meeting a single
human being. About the third hour they saw a man and a boy on a hillside
several hundred yards away, but when Captain Markham and a chosen few
galloped towards them they disappeared so deftly among the woods that
not a trace of them could be found.
“People in this region are certainly bashful,” said Captain Markham with
a vexed laugh. “We meant them no harm, but they wouldn't stay to see
us.”
“But they don't know that,” said Dick with the familiarity of kinship,
even though distant. “I fancy that the people hereabouts wish both
Northerners and Southerners would go away.”
Two miles further on they came to a large, double cabin standing back
a little distance from the road. Smoke was rising from the chimney, and
Captain Markham felt sure that they could obtain information from its
inmates. Dick, at his direction, beat on the door with the butt of a
small riding whip. There was no response. He beat again rapidly and
heavily, and no answer coming he pushed in the door.
A fire was burning on the hearth, but the house was abandoned. Nor had
the owners been gone long. Besides the fire to prove it, clothing
was hanging on hooks in the wall, and there was food in the cupboard.
Captain Markham sighed.
“Again they're afraid of us,” he said. “I've no doubt the signal has
been passed ahead of us, and that we'll not get within speaking distance
of a single native. Curious, too, because this region in the main is for
the North.”
“Perhaps somebody has been robbing and plundering in our name,” said
Dick. “Skelly and his raiders have been through these parts.”
“That's so,” said Markham, thoughtfully. “I'm afraid those guerillas who
claim to be our allies are going to do us a great deal of harm. Well,
we'll turn back into the road, if you can call this stream of icy mud a
road, and go on.”
Another mile and they caught the gleam of water among the wintry boughs.
Dick knew that it was the Cumberland which was now a Southern artery,
bringing stores and arms for the army of Crittenden and Zollicoffer.
Even here, hundreds of miles from its mouth, it was a stream of great
depth, easily navigable, and far down its current they saw faintly the
smoke of two steamers.
“They bear supplies for the Southern army,” said Captain Markham. “We
can cut off the passage of boats on this river and for that reason, so
General Thomas concludes, the Southern army is going to attack us. What
do you think of his reasoning, sergeant?”
“Beggin' your pardon, sir, for passin' an opinion upon my general,”
replied Sergeant Whitley, “but I think his reasons are good. Here it is
the dead of winter, with more mud in the roads than I ever saw before
anywhere, but there's bound to be a battle right away. Men will fight,
sir, to keep from losin' their grub.”
A man rode forward from the ranks, saluted and asked leave to speak.
He was a native of the next county and knew that region well. Two miles
east of them and running parallel with the road over which they had come
was another and much wider road, the one that they called the big road.
“Which means, I suppose, that it contains more mud than this one,” said
Captain Markham.
“True, sir,” replied the man, “but if the rebel army is advancing it is
likely to be on that road.”
“That is certainly sound logic. At least we'll go there and see. Can you
lead us through these woods to it?”
“I can take you straight across,” replied the man whose name was
Carpenter. “But on the way we'll have to ford a creek which is likely to
be pretty deep at this time of the year.”
“Show the way,” said Captain Markham briskly.
They plunged into the deep woods, and Carpenter guided them well. The
creek, of which he had told, was running bankful of icy water, but their
horses swam it and they kept straight ahead until Carpenter, who was a
little in advance, held up a warning hand.
Captain Markham ordered his whole troop to stop and keep as quiet as
possible. Then he, Dick, Warner, Sergeant Whitley and Carpenter rode
slowly forward. Before they had gone many yards Dick heard the heavy
clank of metal, the cracking of whips, the swearing of men, and the
sound of horses' feet splashing in the mud. He knew by the amount and
variety of the noises that a great force was passing.
They advanced a little further and reined into a clump of bushes which
despite their lack of leaves were dense enough to shelter them from
observation. As the bushes grew on a hillock they had a downward and
good look into the road, which was fairly packed with men in the gray of
the Confederate army, some on horseback, but mostly afoot, their cannon,
ammunition and supply wagons sinking almost to the hub in the mud. As
far as Dick could see the gray columns extended.
“There must be six or seven thousand men here,” he said to Captain
Markham.
“Undoubtedly,” replied Markham, “this is the main Confederate army
advancing to attack ours, but the badness of the roads operates against
the offense. We shall reach General Thomas with the word that they are
coming long before they are there.”
They watched the marching army for a half hour longer in order to be
sure of everything, and then turning they rode as fast as they could
toward Thomas, elated at their success. They swam the creek again, but
at another point. Carpenter told them that the Southern army would cross
it on a bridge, and Markham lamented that he could not turn and destroy
this bridge, but such an attempt would have been folly.
They finally turned into the main road along which the Southern army was
coming, although they were now miles ahead of it, and, covered from head
to foot with the red mud of the hills, they urged on their worn horses
toward the camp of Thomas.
“I haven't had much experience in fighting, but I should imagine that
complete preparation had a great deal to do with success,” said Captain
Markham.
“I'd put it at sixty per cent,” said Warner.
“I should say,” added Dick, “that the road makes at least eighty per
cent of our difficulty in getting back to Thomas.”
In fact, the road was so bad that they were compelled after a while to
ride into the woods and let their ponies rest. Here they were fired upon
by Confederate skirmishers from a hill two or three hundred yards away.
Their numbers were small, however, and Captain Markham's force charging
them drove them off without loss.
Then they resumed their weary journey, but the rest had not fully
restored the horses and they were compelled at times to walk by the side
of the road, leading their mounts. Sergeant Whitley, with his age and
experience, was most useful now in restraining the impatient young
men. Although of but humble rank he kept them from exhausting either
themselves or their horses.
“It will be long after dark before we can reach camp,” said Captain
Markham, sighing deeply. “Confound such roads. Why not call them
morasses and have done with it!”
“No, we can't make it much before midnight,” said Dick, “but, after all,
that will be early enough. If I judge him right, even midnight won't
catch General Thomas asleep.”
“You've judged him right,” said Markham. “I've been with 'Pap' Thomas
some time--we call him 'Pap' because he takes such good care of us--and
I think he is going to be one of the biggest generals in this war.
Always silent, and sometimes slow about making up his mind he strikes
like a sledge-hammer when he does strike.”
“He'll certainly have the opportunity to give blow for blow,” said Dick,
as he remembered that marching army behind them. “How far do you think
it is yet to the general's camp?”
“Not more than a half dozen miles, but it will be dark in a few minutes,
and at the rate we're going it will take us two full hours more to get
there.”
The wintry days were short and the sun slid down the gray, cold sky,
leaving forest and hills in darkness. But the little band toiled
patiently on, while the night deepened and darkened, and a chill wind
whistled down from the ridges. The officers were silent now, but they
looked eagerly for the first glimpse of the campfires of Thomas. At
last they saw the little pink dots in the darkness, and then they pushed
forward with new zeal, urging their weary horses into a run.
When Captain Markham, Dick and Warner galloped into camp, ahead of
the others, a thickset strong figure walked forward to meet them. They
leaped from their horses and saluted.
“Well?” said General Thomas.
“The enemy is advancing upon us in full force, sir,” replied Captain
Markham.
“You scouted thoroughly?”
“We saw their whole army upon the road.”
“When do you think they could reach us?”
“About dawn, sir.”
“Very good. We shall be ready. You and your men have done well. Now,
find food and rest. You will be awakened in time for the battle.”
Dick walked away with his friends. Troopers took their horses and
cared for them. The boy glanced back at the thickset, powerful figure,
standing by one of the fires and looking gravely into the coals. More
than ever the man with the strong, patient look inspired confidence
in him. He was sure now that they would win on the morrow. Markham and
Warner felt the same confidence.
“There's a lot in having a good general,” said Warner, who had also
glanced back at the strong figure. “Do you remember, Dick, what it was
that Napoleon said about generals?”
“A general is everything, an army nothing or something like that.”
“Yes, that was it. Of course, he didn't mean it just exactly as he said
it. A general can't be one hundred per cent and an army none. It was a
figure of speech so to say, but I imagine that a general is about forty
per cent. If we had had such leadership at Bull Run we'd have won.”
Dick and Warner, worn out by their long ride, soon slept but there was
movement all around them during the late hours of the night. Thomas
with his cautious, measuring mind was rectifying his lines in the wintry
darkness. He occupied a crossing of the roads, and he posted a strong
battery of artillery to cover the Southern approach. Around him were men
from Kentucky, the mountains of Tennessee, Ohio, Indiana, and Minnesota.
The Minnesota troops were sun-tanned men who had come more than a
thousand miles from an Indian-infested border to defend the Union.
All through the night Thomas worked. He directed men with spades to
throw up more intrenchments. He saw that the guns of the battery were
placed exactly right. He ordered that food should be ready for all very
early in the morning, and then, when nothing more remained to be done,
save to wait for the decree of battle, he sat before his tent wrapped
in a heavy military overcoat, silent and watchful. Scouts had brought in
additional news that the Southern army was still marching steadily along
the muddy roads, and that Captain Markham's calculation of its arrival
about dawn would undoubtedly prove correct.
Dick awoke while it was yet dark, and throwing off the heavy blankets
stood up.
Although the dawn had not come, the night was now fairly light and Dick
could see a long distance over the camp which stretched to left and
right along a great front. Near him was the battery with most of the men
sleeping beside their guns, and not far away was the tent. Although he
could not see the general, he knew instinctively that he was not asleep.
It was cold and singularly still, considering the presence of so many
thousands of men. He did not hear the sound of human voices and there
was no stamp of horses' feet. They, too, were weary and resting.
Then Dick was conscious of a tall, thin figure beside him. Warner had
awakened, too.
“Dick,” he said, “it can't be more than an hour till dawn.”
“Just about that I should say.”
“And the scene, that is as far as we can see it, is most peaceful.”
Dick made no answer, but stood a long time listening. Then he said:
“My ears are pretty good, George, and sound will carry very far in this
silence just before the dawn. I thought I heard a faint sound like the
clank of a cannon.”
“I think I hear it, too,” said Warner, “and here is the dawn closer at
hand than we thought. Look at those cold rays over there, behind that
hill in the east. They are the vanguard of the sun.”
“So they are. And this is the vanguard of the Southern army!”
He spoke the last words quickly and with excitement.
In front of them down the road they heard the crackle of a dozen rifle
shots. The Southern advance undoubtedly had come into contact with
the Union sentinels and skirmishers. After the first shots there was a
moment's breathless silence, and then came a scattered and rapid fire,
as if at least a hundred rifles were at work.
Dick's pulse began to beat hard, and he strained his eyes through the
darkness, but he could not yet see the enemy. He saw instead little jets
of fire like red dots appearing on the horizon, and then the sound of
the rifles came again. Warner was with him and both stood by the side of
Major Hertford, ready to receive and deliver his orders. Dick now heard
besides the firing in front the confused murmur and moving of the Union
army.
Few of these troops had been in battle before--the same could be said
of the soldiers on the other side--and this attack in the half-light
troubled them. They wished to see the men who were going to shoot at
them, in order that they might have a fair target in return. Fighting in
the night was scarcely fair. One never knew what to do. But Thomas, the
future “Rock of Chickamauga,” was already showing himself a tower of
strength. He reassured his nervous troops, he borrowed Dick and Warner
and sent them along the line with messages from himself that they had
nothing to do but stand firm and the victory was theirs.
Meanwhile the line of red dots in front was lengthening. It stretched
farther to left and right than Dick could see, and was rapidly coming
nearer. Already the sentinels and skirmishers were waging a sharp
conflict, and the shouts of the combatants increased in volume. Then the
cold sun swung clear of the earth, and its wintry beams lighted up both
forest and open. The whole Southern army appeared, advancing in masses,
and Dick, who was now with Major Hertford again, saw the pale rays
falling on rifles and bayonets, and the faces of his own countrymen as
they marched upon the Union camp.
“There's danger for our army! Lots of it!” said Warner, as he watched
the steady advance of the Southern brigades.
Dick remembered Bull Run, but his thoughts ran back to the iron general
who commanded now.
“Thomas will save us,” he said.
The skirmishers on both sides were driven in. Their scattered fire
ceased, but a moment later the whole front of the Southern army burst
into flame. It seemed to Dick that one vast sheet of light like a sword
blade suddenly shot forward, and then a storm of lead, bearing many
messengers of death, beat upon the Northern army, shattering its front
lines and carrying confusion among its young troops. But the officers
and a few old regulars like Sergeant Whitley steadied them and they
returned the fire.
Major Hertford, Dick and Warner were all on foot, and their own little
band, already tried in battle, yielded not an inch. They formed a core
of resistance around which others rallied and Thomas himself was passing
along the line, giving heart to the lads fresh from the farms.
But the Southern army fired again, and shouting the long fierce rebel
yell, charged with all its strength. Dick saw before him a vast cloud
of smoke, through which fire flashed and bullets whistled. He heard men
around him uttering short cries of pain, and he saw others fall, mostly
sinking forward on their faces. But those who stood, held fast and
loaded and fired until the barrels of their rifles burned to the touch.
Dick felt many tremors at first, but soon the passion of battle seized
him. He carried no rifle, but holding his officer's small sword in his
hand he ran up and down the line crying to the men to stand firm, that
they would surely beat back the enemy. That film of fire and smoke was
yet before his eyes, but he saw through it the faces of his countrymen
still coming on. He heard to his right the thudding of the great guns
that Thomas had planted on a low hill, but the rifle fire was like the
beat of hail, a crackling and hissing that never ceased.
The farm lads, their rifles loaded afresh, fired anew at the enemy,
almost in their faces, and the Southern line here reeled back against so
firm and deadly a front.
But an alarming report ran down the line that their left was driven
back, and it was true. The valiant Zollicoffer leading his brigade in
person, had rushed upon this portion of the Northern army which was
standing upon another low hill and struck it with great violence. It was
wavering and would give way soon. But Thomas, showing the singular calm
that always marked him in battle, noticed the weak spot. The general was
then near Major Hertford. He quickly wrote a dispatch and beckoned to
Dick:
“Here,” he said, “jump on the horse that the sergeant is holding for me,
and bring up our reserve, the brigade under General Carter. They are to
meet the attack there on the hill, where our troops are wavering!”
Dick, aflame with excitement, leaped into the saddle, and while the roar
of battle was still in his ears reached the brigade of Carter, already
marching toward the thick of the conflict. One entire regiment, composed
wholly of Kentuckians, was detached to help the Indiana troops who were
being driven fiercely by Zollicoffer.
Dick rode at the head of the Kentuckians, but a bullet struck his horse
in the chest. The boy felt the animal shiver beneath him, and he leaped
clear just in time, the horse falling heavily and lying quite still. But
Dick alighted on his feet, and still brandishing his sword, and shouting
at the top of his voice, ran on.
In an instant they reached the Indiana troops, who turned with them, and
the combined forces hurled themselves upon the enemy. The Southerners,
refusing to yield the ground they had gained, received them, and there
began a confused and terrible combat, shoulder to shoulder and hand to
hand. Elsewhere the battle continued, but here it raged the fiercest.
Both commanders knew that they were to win or lose upon this hill,
and they poured in fresh troops who swelled the area of conflict and
deepened its intensity.
Dick saw Warner by his side, but he did not know how he had come there,
and just beyond him the thick and powerful figure of Sergeant Whitley
showed through the hot haze of smoke. The back of Warner's hand had been
grazed by a bullet. He had not noticed it himself, but the slow
drip, drip of the blood held Dick for a moment with a sort of hideous
fascination. Then he broke his gaze violently away and turned it upon
the enemy, who were pouring upon them in all their massed strength.
Thomas had sent the Kentuckians to the aid of the Indiana men just in
time. The hill was a vast bank of smoke and fire, filled with whistling
bullets and shouts of men fighting face to face. Some one reeled and
fell against Dick, and for a moment, he was in horror lest it should be
Warner, but a glance showed him that it was a stranger. Then he rushed
on again, filled with a mad excitement, waving his small sword, and
shouting to the men to charge.
From right to left the roar of battle came to his ears, but on the hill
where he stood the struggle was at its height. The lines of Federals and
Confederates, face to face at first, now became mixed, but neither side
gained. In the fiery struggle a Union officer, Fry, saw Zollicoffer
only a few feet away. Snatching out his pistol he shot him dead. The
Southerners seeing the fall of the general who was so popular among them
hesitated and then gave back. Thomas, watching everything with keen
and steady gaze, hurled an Ohio regiment from the right flank upon the
Southern center, causing it to give way yet further under the shock.
“We win! We win!” shouted Dick in his ardor, as he saw the Southern
line yielding. But the victory was not yet achieved. Crittenden, who was
really Zollicoffer's superior in the command, displayed the most heroic
courage throughout the battle. He brought up fresh troops to help his
weakened center. He reformed his lines and was about to restore the
battle, but Thomas, silent and ever watchful, now rushed in a brigade
of Tennessee mountaineers, and as they struck with all their weight, the
new line of the South was compelled to give way. Success seen and felt
filled the veins of the soldiers with fresh fire. Dick and the men about
him saw the whole Southern line crumble up before them. The triumphant
Union army rushed forward shouting, and the Confederates were forced to
give way at all points.
Dick and Warner, with the watchful sergeant near, were in the very front
of the advance. The two young aides carried away by success and the
fire of battle, waved their swords continually and rushed at the enemy's
lines.
Dick's face was covered with smoke, his lips were burnt, and his throat
was raw from so much shouting. But he was conscious only of great
elation. “This is not another Bull Run!” he cried to Warner, and Warner
cried back: “Not by a long shot!”
Thomas, still cool, watchful, and able to judge of results amid all the
thunder and confusion of battle, hurried every man into the attack.
He was showing upon this, his first independent field, all the great
qualities he was destined later to manifest so brilliantly in some of
the greatest battles of modern times.
The Southern lines were smashed completely by those heavy and continuous
blows. Driven hard on every side they now retreated rapidly, and their
triumphant enemies seized prisoners and cannon.
The whole Confederate army continued its swift retreat until it reached
its intrenchments, where the officers rallied the men and turned to face
their enemy. But the cautious Thomas stopped. He had no intention of
losing his victory by an attack upon an intrenched foe, and drew off for
the present. His army encamped out of range and began to attend to the
wounded and bury the dead.
Dick, feeling the reaction after so much exertion and excitement, sat
down on a fallen tree trunk and drew long, panting breaths. He saw
Warner near and remembered the blood that had been dripping from his
hand.
“Do you know that you are wounded, George?” he said. “Look at the back
of your hand.”
Warner glanced at it and noticed the red stripe. It had ceased to bleed.
“Now, that's curious,” he said. “I never felt it. My blood and brain
were both so hot that the flick of a bullet created no sensation. I have
figured it out, Dick, and I have concluded that seventy per cent of our
bravery in battle is excitement, leaving twenty per cent to will and ten
per cent to chance.”
“I suppose your calculation is close enough.”
“It's not close merely. It's exact.”
Both sprang to their feet and saluted as Major Hertford approached. He
had escaped without harm and he saw with pleasure that the lads were
alive and well, except for Warner's slight wound.
“You can rest now, boys,” he said, “I won't need you for some time. But
I can tell you that I don't think General Thomas means to quit. He will
follow up his victory.”
But Dick and Warner had been sure of that already. The army, flushed
with triumph, was eager to be led on, even to make a night attack on the
intrenchments of the enemy, but Thomas held them, knowing that another
brigade of Northern troops was marching to his aid. The brigade came,
but it was now dark and he would not risk a night attack. But some of
the guns were brought up and they sent a dozen heavy cannon shot into
the intrenchments of the enemy. There was no reply and neither of the
boys, although they strained ears, could hear anything in the defeated
camp.
“I shouldn't be surprised if we found them gone in the morning,” said
Major Hertford to Dick. “But I think our general is right in not making
any attack upon their works. What do you say to that, Sergeant Whitley?
You've had a lot of experience.”
Sergeant Whitley was standing beside them, also trying to pierce the
darkness with trained eyes, although he could not see the Confederate
intrenchments.
“If a sergeant may offer an opinion I agree with you fully, sir,” he
said. “A night attack is always risky, an' most of all, sir, when troops
are new like ours, although they're as brave as anybody. More'n likely
if we was to rush on 'em our troops would be shootin' into one another
in the darkness.”
“Good logic,” said Major Hertford, “and as it is quite certain that they
are not in any condition to come out and attack us we'll stand by and
wait till morning. So the general orders.”
They walked back toward the place where the victorious troops were
lighting the fires, out of the range of the cannon in the Confederate
intrenchments. They were exultant, but they were not boasting unduly.
Night, cold and dark, had shut down upon them and was taking the heat
out of their blood. Hundreds of men were at work building fires, and
Dick and Warner, with the permission of Major Hertford, joined them.
Both boys felt that the work would be a relief. Wood was to be had in
abundance. The forest stretched on all sides of them in almost unbroken
miles, and the earth was littered with dead wood fallen a year or years
before. They merely kept away from the side on which the Confederate
intrenchments lay, and brought in the wood in great quantities. A row
of lights a half mile long sprang up, giving forth heat and warmth.
Then arose the cheerful sound of tin and iron dishes and cups rattling
against one another. A quarter of an hour later they were eating a
victorious supper, and a little later most of them slept.
But in the night the Confederate troops abandoned their camp, leaving in
it ten cannon and fifteen hundred wagons and crossed the river in boats,
which they destroyed when they reached the other side. Then, their
defeat being so severe, and they but volunteers, they scattered in the
mountains to seek food and shelter for the remainder of the winter.
This army of the South ceased to exist.