The night, early and wintry, put an end to the conflict, the fiercest
and greatest yet seen in the West. Thousands of dead and wounded lay
upon the field and the hearts of the Southern leaders were full of
bitterness. They had seen the victory, won by courage and daring, taken
from them at the very last moment. The farmer lads whom they led had
fought with splendid courage and tenacity. Defeat was no fault of
theirs. It belonged rather to the generals, among whom had been a want
of understanding and concert, fatal on the field of action. They saw,
too, that they had lost more than the battle. The Union army had not
only regained all its lost positions, but on the right it had carried
the Southern intrenchments, and from that point Grant's great guns could
dominate Donelson. They foresaw with dismay the effect of these facts
upon their young troops.
When the night fell, and the battle ceased, save for the fitful boom of
cannon along the lines, Dick sank against an earthwork, exhausted. He
panted for breath and was without the power to move. He regarded vaguely
the moving lights that had begun to show in the darkness, and he heard
without comprehension the voices of men and the fitful fire of the
cannon.
“Steady, Dick! Steady!” said a cheerful voice. “Now is the time to
rejoice! We've won a victory, and nothing can break General Grant's
death grip on Donelson!”
Colonel Winchester was speaking, and he put a firm and friendly hand
on the boy's shoulder. Dick came back to life, and, looking into
his colonel's face, he grinned. Colonel Winchester could have been
recognized only at close range. His face was black with burned
gunpowder. His colonel's hat was gone and his brown hair flew in every
direction. He still clenched in his hand the hilt of his sword, of which
a broken blade not more than a foot long was left. His clothing had been
torn by at least a dozen bullets, and one had made a red streak across
the back of his left hand, from which the blood fell slowly, drop by
drop.
“You don't mind my telling you, colonel, that you're no beauty,” said
Dick, who felt a sort of hysterical wish to laugh. “You look as if the
whole Southern army had tried to shoot you up, but had merely clipped
you all around the borders.”
“Laugh if it does you good,” replied Colonel Winchester, a little
gravely, “but, young sir, you must give me the same privilege. This
battle, while it has not wounded you, has covered you with its grime.
Come, the fighting is over for this day at least, and the regiment is
going to take a rest--what there is left of it.”
He spoke the last words sadly. He knew the terrible cost at which they
had driven the Southern army back into the fort, and he feared that
the full price was yet far from being paid. But he preserved a cheerful
manner before the brave lads of his who had fought so well.
Dick found that Warner and Pennington both had wounds, although they
were too slight to incapacitate them. Sergeant Whitley, grave and
unhurt, rejoined them also.
The winter night and their heavy losses could not discourage the
Northern troops. They shared the courage and tenacity of their
commander. They began to believe now that Donelson, despite its strength
and its formidable garrison, would be taken. They built the fires high,
and ate heartily. They talked in sanguine tones of what they would do in
the morrow. Excited comment ran among them. They had passed from the pit
of despair in the morning to the apex of hope at night. Exhausted, all
save the pickets fell asleep after a while, dreaming of fresh triumphs
on the morrow.
Had Dick's eyes been able to penetrate Donelson he would have beheld a
very different scene. Gloom, even more, despair, reigned there. Their
great effort had failed. Bravery had availed nothing. Their frightful
losses had been suffered in vain. The generals blamed one another. Floyd
favored the surrender of the army, but fancying that the Union troops
hated him with special vindictiveness, and that he would not be safe as
a prisoner, decided to escape.
Pillow declared that Grant could yet be beaten, but after a while
changed to the view of Floyd. They yet had two small steamers in the
Cumberland which could carry them up the river. They left the command
to Buckner, the third in rank, and told him he could make the surrender.
The black-bearded Forrest said grimly: “I ain't goin' to surrender my
cavalry, not to nobody,” and by devious paths he led them away through
the darkness and to liberty. Colonel George Kenton rode with him.
The rumor that a surrender was impending spread to the soldiers. Not yet
firm in the bonds of discipline confusion ensued, and the high officers
were too busy escaping by the river to restore it. All through the night
the two little steamers worked, but a vast majority of the troops were
left behind.
But Dick could know nothing of this at the time. He was sleeping too
heavily. He had merely taken a moment to snatch a bit of food, and then,
at the suggestion of his commanding officer, he had rolled himself in
his blankets. Sleep came instantly, and it was not interrupted until
Warner's hand fell upon his shoulder at dawn, and Warner's voice said in
his ear:
“Wake up, Dick, and look at the white flag fluttering over Donelson.”
Dick sprang to his feet, sleep gone in an instant, and gazed toward
Donelson. Warner had spoken the truth. White flags waved from the walls
and earthworks.
“So they're going to surrender!” said Dick. “What a triumph!”
“They haven't surrendered yet,” said Colonel Winchester, who stood near.
“Those white flags merely indicate a desire to talk it over with us, but
such a desire is nearly always a sure indication of yielding, and our
lads take it so. Hark to their cheering.”
The whole Union army was on its feet now, joyously welcoming the sight
of the white flags. They threw fresh fuel on their fires which blazed
along a circling rim of miles, and ate a breakfast sweetened with the
savor of triumph.
“Take this big tin cup of coffee, Dick,” said Warner. “It'll warm you
through and through, and we're entitled to a long, brown drink for our
victory. I say victory because the chances are ninety-nine per cent out
of a hundred that it is so. Let x equal our army, let y equal victory,
and consequently x plus y equals our position at the present time.”
“And I never thought that we could do it,” said young Pennington, who
sat with them. “I suppose it all comes of having a general who won't
give up. I reckon the old saying is true, an' that Hold Fast is the best
dog of them all.”
Now came a period of waiting. Colonel Winchester disappeared in the
direction of General Grant's headquarters, but returned after a while
and called his favorite aide, young Richard Mason.
“Dick,” he said, “we have summoned the Southerners to surrender, and
I want you to go with me to a conference of their generals. You may be
needed to carry dispatches.”
Dick went gladly with the group of Union officers, who approached
Fort Donelson under the white flag, and who met a group of Confederate
officers under a like white flag. He noticed in the very center of the
Southern group the figure of General Buckner, a tall, well-built man
in his early prime, his face usually ruddy, now pale with fatigue and
anxiety. Dick, with his uncle, Colonel Kenton, and his young cousin,
Harry Kenton, had once dined at his house.
Nearly all the officers, Northern and Southern, knew one another well.
Many of them had been together at West Point. Colonel Winchester and
General Buckner were well acquainted and they saluted, each smiling a
little grimly.
“I bring General Grant's demand for the surrender of Fort Donelson, and
all its garrison, arms, ammunition, and other supplies,” said Colonel
Winchester. “Can I see your chief, General Floyd?”
The lips of Buckner pressed close together in a smile touched with
irony.
“No, you cannot see General Floyd,” he said, “because he is now far up
the Cumberland.”
“Since he has abdicated the command I wish then to communicate with
General Pillow.”
“I regret that you cannot speak to him either. He is as far up the
Cumberland as General Floyd. Both departed in the night, and I am left
in command of the Southern army at Fort Donelson. You can state your
demands to me, Colonel Winchester.”
Dick saw that the brave Kentuckian was struggling to hide his chagrin,
and he had much sympathy for him. It was in truth a hard task that
Floyd and Pillow had left for Buckner. They had allowed themselves to
be trapped and they had thrown upon him the burden of surrendering. But
Buckner proceeded with the negotiations. Presently he noticed Dick.
“Good morning, Richard,” he said. “It seems that in this case, at least,
you have chosen the side of the victors.”
“Fortune has happened to be on our side, general,” said Dick
respectfully. “Could you tell me, sir, if my uncle, Colonel Kenton, is
unhurt?”
“He was, when he was last with us,” replied General Buckner, kindly.
“Colonel Kenton went out last night with Forrest's cavalry. He will not
be a prisoner.”
“I am glad of that,” said the boy.
And he was truly glad. He knew that it would hurt Colonel Kenton's pride
terribly to become a prisoner, and although they were now on opposite
sides, he loved and respected his uncle.
The negotiations were completed and before night the garrison of
Donelson, all except three thousand who had escaped in the night with
Floyd and Pillow and Forrest, laid down their arms. The answer to Bull
Run was complete. Fifteen thousand men, sixty-five cannon, and seventeen
thousand rifles and muskets were surrendered to General Grant. The
bulldog in the silent westerner had triumphed. With only a last chance
left to him he had turned defeat into complete victory, and had dealt a
stunning blow to the Southern Confederacy, which was never able like the
North to fill up its depleted ranks with fresh men.
Time alone could reveal to many the deadly nature of this blow, but
Dick, who had foresight and imagination, understood it now at least in
part. As he saw the hungry Southern boys sharing the food of their late
enemies his mind traveled over the long Southern line. Thomas had beaten
it in Eastern Kentucky, Grant had dealt it a far more crushing blow here
in Western Kentucky, but Albert Sidney Johnston, the most formidable
foe of all, yet remained in the center. He was a veteran general with
a great reputation. Nay, more, it was said by the officers who knew
him that he was a man of genius. Dick surmised that Johnston, after
the stunning blow of Donelson, would be compelled to fall back from
Tennessee, but he did not doubt that he would return again.
Dick soon saw that all his surmises were correct. The news of Donelson
produced for a little while a sort of paralysis at Richmond, and when it
reached Nashville, where the army of Johnston was gathering, it was at
first unbelievable. It produced so much excitement and confusion that
a small brigade sent to the relief of Donelson was not called back, and
marched blindly into the little town of Dover, where it found itself
surrounded by the whole triumphant Union army, and was compelled to
surrender without a fight.
Panic swept through Nashville. Everybody knew that Johnston would be
compelled to fall back from the Cumberland River, upon the banks of
which the capital of Tennessee stood. Foote and his gunboats would come
steaming up the stream into the very heart of the city. Rumor magnified
the number and size of his boats. Again the Southern leaders felt that
the rivers were always a hostile coil girdling them about, and lamented
their own lack of a naval arm.
Floyd had drawn off in the night from Donelson his own special command
of Virginians and when he arrived at Nashville with full news of the
defeat at the fortress, and the agreement to surrender, the panic
increased. Many had striven to believe that the reports were untrue, but
now there could be no doubt.
And the panic gained a second impetus when the generals set fire to
the suspension bridge over the river and the docks along its banks. The
inhabitants saw the signal of doom in the sheets of flame that rolled
up, and all those who had taken a leading part in the Southern cause
prepared in haste to leave with Johnston's army. The roads were choked
with vehicles and fleeing people. The State Legislature, which was then
in session, departed bodily with all the records and archives.
But Dick, after the first hours of triumph, felt relaxed and depressed.
After all, the victory was over their own people, and five thousand of
the farmer lads, North and South, had been killed or wounded. But this
feeling did not last long, as on the very evening of victory he was
summoned to action. Action, with him, always made the blood leap and
hope rise. It was his own regimental chief, Arthur Winchester, who
called him, and who told him to make ready for an instant departure from
Donelson.
“You are to be a cavalryman for a while, Dick,” said Colonel Winchester.
“So much has happened recently that we scarcely know how we stand. Above
all, we do not know how the remaining Southern forces are disposed,
and I have been chosen to lead a troop toward Nashville and see. You,
Warner, Pennington, that very capable sergeant, Whitley, and others whom
you know are to go with me. My force will number about three hundred and
the horses are already waiting on the other side.”
They were carried over the river on one of the boats, and the little
company, mounting, prepared to ride into the dark woods. But before they
disappeared, Dick looked back and saw many lights gleaming in captured
Donelson. Once more the magnitude of Grant's victory impressed him.
Certainly he had struck a paralyzing blow at the Southern army in the
west.
But the ride in the dark over a wild and thinly-settled country
soon occupied Dick's whole attention. He was on one side of Colonel
Winchester and Warner was on the other. Then the others came four
abreast. At first there was some disposition to talk, but it was checked
sharply by the leader, and after a while the disposition itself was
lacking.
Colonel Winchester was a daring horseman, and Dick soon realized that
it would be no light task to follow where he led. Evidently he knew the
country, as he rode with certainty over the worst roads that Dick had
ever seen. They were deep in mud which froze at night, but not solidly
enough to keep the feet of the horses from crushing through, making a
crackle as they went down and a loud, sticky sigh as they came out. All
were spattered with mud, which froze upon them, but they were so much
inured to hardship now that they paid no attention to it.
But this rough riding soon showed so much effect upon the horses that
Colonel Winchester led aside into the woods and fields, keeping parallel
with the road. Now and then they stopped to pull down fences, but they
still made good speed. Twice they saw at some distance cabins with the
smoke yet rising from the chimneys, but the colonel did not stop to ask
any questions. Those he thought could be asked better further on.
Twice they crossed creeks. One the horses could wade, but the other was
so deep that they were compelled to swim. On the further bank of the
second they stopped a while to rest the horses and to count the men to
see that no straggler had dropped away in the darkness. Then they sprang
into the saddle again and rode on as before through a country that
seemed to be abandoned.
There was a certain thrill and exhilaration in their daring ride. The
smoke and odors of the battle about Donelson were blown away. The dead
and the wounded, the grewsome price even of victory, no longer lay
before their eyes, and the cold air rushing past freshened their blood
and gave it a new sparkle. Every one in the little column knew that
danger was plentiful about them, but there was pleasure in action in the
open.
Their general direction was Nashville, and now they came into a country,
richer, better cultivated, and peopled more thickly. Toward night they
saw on a gentle hill in a great lawn and surrounded by fine trees a
large red brick house, with green shutters and portico supported by
white pillars. Smoke rose from two chimneys. Colonel Winchester halted
his troop and examined the house from a distance for a little while.
“This is the home of wealthy people,” he said at last to Dick, “and we
may obtain some information here. At least we should try it.”
Dick had his doubts, but he said nothing.
“You, Mr. Pennington, Mr. Warner and Sergeant Whitley, dismount with
me,” continued the colonel, “and we'll try the house.”
He bade his troop remain in the road under the command of the officer
next in rank, and he, with those whom he had chosen, opened the lawn
gate. A brick walk led to the portico and they strolled along it, their
spurs jingling. Although the smoke still rose from the chimneys no door
opened to them as they stepped into the portico. All the green shutters
were closed tightly.
“I think they saw us in the road,” said Dick, “and this is a house of
staunch Southern sympathizers. That is why they don't open to us.”
“Beat on the door with the hilt of your sword, sergeant,” said the
colonel to Whitley. “They're bound to answer in time.”
The sergeant beat steadily and insistently. Yet he was forced to
continue it five or six minutes before it was thrown open. Then a tall
old woman with a dignified, stern face and white hair, drawn back from
high brows, stood before them. But Dick's quick eyes saw in the dusk of
the room behind her a girl of seventeen or eighteen.
“What do you want?” asked the woman in a tone of ice. “I see that you
are Yankee soldiers, and if you intend to rob the house there is no one
here to oppose you. Its sole occupants are myself, my granddaughter, and
two colored women, our servants. But I tell you, before you begin, that
all our silver has been shipped to Nashville.”
Colonel Winchester flushed a deep crimson, and bit his lips savagely.
“Madame,” he said, “we are not robbers and plunderers. These are regular
soldiers belonging to General Grant's army.”
“Does it make any difference? Your armies come to ravage and destroy the
South.”
Colonel Winchester flushed again but, remembering his self-control, he
said politely:
“Madame, I hope that our actions will prove to you that we have been
maligned. We have not come here to rob you or disturb you in any manner.
We merely wished to inquire of you if you had seen any other Southern
armed forces in this vicinity.”
“And do you think, sir,” she replied in the same uncompromising tones,
“if I had seen them that I would tell you anything about it?”
“No, Madame,” replied the Colonel bowing, “whatever I may have thought
before I entered your portico I do not think so now.”
“Then it gives me pleasure to bid you good evening, sir,” she said, and
shut the door in his face.
Colonel Winchester laughed rather sorely.
“She had rather the better of me,” he said, “but we can't make war on
women. Come on, lads, we'll ride ahead, and camp under the trees. It's
easy to obtain plenty of fuel for fires.”
“The darkness is coming fast,” said Dick, “and it is going to be very
cold, as usual.”
In a half hour the day was fully gone, and, as he had foretold, the
night was sharp with chill, setting every man to shivering. They turned
aside into an oak grove and pitched their camp. It was never hard to
obtain fuel, as the whole area of the great civil war was largely in
forest, and the soldiers dragged up fallen brushwood in abundance. Then
the fires sprang up and created a wide circle of light and cheerfulness.
Dick joined zealously in the task of finding firewood and his search
took him somewhat further than the others. He passed all the way through
the belt of forest, and noticed fields beyond. He was about to turn back
when he heard a faint, but regular sound. Experience told him that it
was the beat of a horse's hoofs and he knew that some distance away a
road must lead between the fields.
He walked a hundred yards further, and climbing upon a fence waited.
From his perch he could see the road about two hundred yards beyond him,
and the hoof beats were rapidly growing louder. Some one was riding hard
and fast.
In a minute the horseman or rather horsewoman, came into view. There was
enough light for Dick to see the slender figure of a young girl mounted
on a great bay horse. She was wrapped in a heavy cloak, but her head was
bare, and her long dark hair streamed almost straight out behind her, so
great was the speed at which she rode.
She struck the horse occasionally with a small riding whip, but he was
already going like a racer. Dick remembered the slim figure of a girl,
and it occurred to him suddenly that this was she whom he had seen in
the dusk of the room behind her grandmother. He wondered why she was
riding so fast, alone and in the winter night, and then he admitted with
a thrill of admiration that he had never seen any one ride better. The
hoof beats rose, died away and then horse and girl were gone in the
darkness. Dick climbed down from the fence and shook himself. Was it
real or merely fancy, the product of a brain excited by so much siege
and battle?
He picked up a big dead bough in the wood, dragged it back to the camp
and threw it on one of the fires.
“What are you looking so grave about, Dick?” asked Warner.
“When I went across that stretch of woods I saw something that I didn't
expect to see.”
“What was it?”
“A girl on a big horse. They came and they went so fast that I just got
a glimpse of them.”
“A girl alone, galloping on a horse on a wintry night like this through
a region infested by hostile armies! Why Dick, you're seeing shadows!
Better sit down and have a cup of this good hot coffee.”
But Dick shook his head. He knew now that he had seen reality, and he
reported it to Colonel Winchester.
“Are you sure it was the girl you saw at the big house?” asked Colonel
Winchester. “It might have been some farmer's wife galloping home from
an errand late in the evening.”
“It was the girl. I am sure of it,” said Dick confidently.
Just at that moment Sergeant Whitley came up and saluted.
“What is it, sergeant?” asked the Colonel.
“I have been up the road some distance, sir, and I came to another road
that crossed it. The second road has been cut by hoofs of eight or nine
hundred horses, and I am sure, sir, that the tracks are not a day old.”
Colonel Winchester looked grave. He knew that he was deep in the country
of the enemy and he began to put together what Dick had seen and what
the sergeant had seen. But the thought of withdrawing did not occur to
his brave soul. He had been sent on an errand by General Grant and he
meant to do it. But he changed his plans for the night. He had intended
to keep only one man in ten on watch. Instead, he kept half, and
Sergeant Whitley, veteran of Indian wars, murmured words of approval
under his breath.
Whitley and Pennington were in the early watch. Dick and Warner were to
come on later. The colonel spoke as if he would keep watch all night.
All the horses were tethered carefully inside the ring of pickets.
“It doesn't need any mathematical calculation,” said Warner, “to tell
that the colonel expects trouble of some kind tonight. What its nature
is, I don't know, but I mean to go to sleep, nevertheless. I have
already seen so much of hardship and war that the mere thought of danger
does not trouble me. I took a fort on the Tennessee, I took a much
larger one on the Cumberland, first defeating the enemy's army in a big
battle, and now I am preparing to march on Nashville. Hence, I will not
have my slumbers disturbed by a mere belief that danger may come.”
“It's a good resolution, George,” said Dick, “but unlike you, I am
subject to impulses, emotions, thrills and anxieties.”
“Better cure yourself,” said the Vermonter, as he rolled himself in the
blankets and put his head on his arm. In two minutes he was asleep, but
Dick, despite his weariness, had disturbed nerves which refused to
let him sleep for a long time. He closed his eyes repeatedly, and then
opened them again, merely to see the tethered horses, and beyond them
the circle of sentinels, a clear moonlight falling on their rifle
barrels. But it was very warm and cosy in the blankets, and he would
soon fall asleep again.
He was awakened about an hour after midnight to take his turn at the
watch, and he noticed that Colonel Winchester was still standing beside
one of the fires, but looking very anxious. Dick felt himself on good
enough terms, despite his youth, to urge him to take rest.
“I should like to do so,” replied Colonel Winchester, “but Dick I tell
you, although you must keep it to yourself, that I think we are in some
danger. Your glimpse of the flying horsewoman, and the undoubted fact
that hundreds of horsemen have crossed the road ahead of us, have made
me put two and two together. Ah, what is it, sergeant?”
“I think I hear noises to the east of us, sir,” replied the veteran.
“What kind of noises, sergeant?”
“I should say, sir, that they're made by the hoofs of horses. There, I
hear them again, sir. I'm quite sure of it, and they're growing louder!”
“And so do I!” exclaimed Colonel Winchester, now all life and activity.
“The sounds are made by a large body of men advancing upon us! Seize
that bugle, Dick, and blow the alarm with all your might!”
Dick snatched up the bugle and blew upon it a long shrill blast that
pierced far into the forest. He blew and blew again, and every man in
the little force sprang to his feet in alarm. Nor were they a moment too
soon. From the woods to the east came the answering notes of a bugle and
then a great voice cried:
“Forward men an' wipe 'em off the face of the earth!”
It seemed to Dick that he had heard that voice before, but he had no
time to think about it, as the next instant came the rush of the wild
horsemen, a thousand strong, leaning low over their saddles, their
faces dark with the passion of anger and revenge, pistols, rifles, and
carbines flashing as they pulled the trigger, giving way when empty to
sabres, which gleamed in the moonlight as they were swung by powerful
hands.
Colonel Winchester's whole force would have been ridden down in the
twinkling of an eye if it had not been for the minute's warning. His
men, leaping to their feet, snatched up their own rifles and fired a
volley at short range. It did more execution among the horses than among
the horsemen, and the Southern rough riders were compelled to waver for
a moment. Many of their horses went down, others uttered the terrible
shrieking neigh of the wounded, and, despite the efforts of those who
rode them, strove to turn and flee from those flaming muzzles. It was
only a moment, but it gave the Union troop, save those who were already
slain, time to spring upon their horses and draw back, at the colonel's
shouted command, to the cover of the wood. But they were driven hard.
The Confederate cavalry came on again, impetuous and fierce as ever, and
urged continually by the great partisan leader, Forrest, now in the very
dawn of his fame.
“It was no phantom you saw, that girl on the horse!” shouted Warner in
Dick's ear, and Dick nodded in return. They had no time for other words,
as Forrest's horsemen, far outnumbering them, now pressed them harder
than ever. A continuous fire came from their ranks and at close range
they rode in with the sabre.
Dick experienced the full terror and surprise of a night battle. The
opposing forces were so close together that it was often difficult
to tell friend from enemy. But Forrest's men had every advantage of
surprise, superior numbers and perfect knowledge of the country. Dick
groaned aloud as he saw that the best they could do was to save as many
as possible. Why had he not taken a shot at the horse of that flying
girl?
“We must keep together, Dick!” shouted Warner. “Here are Pennington and
Sergeant Whitley, and there's Colonel Winchester. I fancy that if we can
get off with a part of our men we'll be doing well.”
Pennington's horse, shot through the head, dropped like a stone to the
ground, but the deft youth, used to riding the wild mustangs of
the prairie, leaped clear, seized another which was galloping about
riderless, and at one bound sprang into the saddle.
“Good boy!” shouted Dick with admiration, but the next moment the
horsemen of Forrest were rushing upon them anew. More men were killed,
many were taken, and Colonel Winchester, seeing the futility of further
resistance, gathered together those who were left and took flight
through the forest.
Tears of mortification came to Dick's eyes, but Sergeant Whitley, who
rode on his right hand, said:
“It's the only thing to do. Remember that however bad your position may
be it can always be worse. It's better for some of us to escape than for
all of us to be down or be taken.”
Dick knew that his logic was good, but the mortification nevertheless
remained a long time. There was some consolation, however, in the fact
that his own particular friends had neither fallen nor been taken.
They still heard the shouts of pursuing horsemen, and shots rattled
about them, but now the covering darkness was their friend. They drew
slowly away from all pursuit. The shouts and the sounds of trampling
hoofs died behind them, and after two hours of hard riding Colonel
Winchester drew rein and ordered a halt.
It was a disordered and downcast company of about fifty who were left. A
few of these were wounded, but not badly enough to be disabled. Colonel
Winchester's own head had been grazed, but he had bound a handkerchief
about it, and sat very quiet in his saddle.
“My lads,” he said, and his tone was sharp with the note of defiance.
“We have been surprised by a force greatly superior to our own, and
scarcely a sixth of us are left. But it was my fault. I take the blame.
For the present, at least, we are safe from the enemy, and I intend to
continue with our errand. We were to scout the country all the way to
Nashville. It is also possible that we will meet the division of General
Buell advancing to that city. Now, lads, I hope that you all will be
willing to go on with me. Are you?”
“We are!” roared fifty together, and a smile passed over the wan face of
the colonel. But he said no more then. Instead he turned his head toward
the capital city of the state, and rode until dawn, his men following
close behind him. The boys were weary. In truth, all of them were, but
no one spoke of halting or complained in any manner.
At sunrise they stopped in dense forest at the banks of a creek, and
watered their horses. They cooked what food they had left, and after
eating rested for several hours on the ground, most of them going to
sleep, while a few men kept a vigilant watch.
When Dick awoke it was nearly noon, and he still felt sore from
his exertions. An hour later they all mounted and rode again toward
Nashville. Near night they boldly entered a small village and bought
food. The inhabitants were all strongly Southern, but villagers love to
talk, and they learned there in a manner admitting of no doubt, that
the Confederate army was retreating southward from the line of the
Cumberland, that the state capital had been abandoned, and that to the
eastward of them the Union army, under Buell, was advancing swiftly on
Nashville.
“At least we accomplished our mission,” said Colonel Winchester with
some return of cheerfulness. “We have discovered the retreat of General
Johnston's whole army, and the abandonment of Nashville, invaluable
information to General Grant. But we'll press on toward Nashville
nevertheless.”
They camped the next night in a forest and kept a most vigilant watch.
If those terrible raiders led by Forrest should strike them again they
could make but little defense.
They came the next morning upon a good road and followed it without
interruption until nearly noon, when they saw the glint of arms across a
wide field. Colonel Winchester drew his little troop back into the edge
of the woods, and put his field glasses to his eyes.
“There are many men, riding along a road parallel to ours,” he said.
“They look like an entire regiment, and by all that's lucky, they're in
the uniforms of our own troops. Yes, they're our own men. There can be
no mistake. It is probably the advance guard of Buell's army.”
They still had a trumpet, and at the colonel's order it was blown long
and loud. An answering call came from the men on the parallel road, and
they halted. Then Colonel Winchester's little troop galloped forward
and they were soon shaking hands with the men of a mounted regiment from
Ohio. They had been sent ahead by Buell to watch Johnston's army, but
hearing of the abandonment of Nashville, they were now riding straight
for the city. Colonel Winchester and his troop joined them gladly and
the colonel rode by the side of the Ohio colonel, Mitchel.
Dick and his young comrades felt great relief. He realized the terrible
activity of Forrest, but that cavalry leader, even if he had not now
gone south, would hesitate about attacking the powerful regiment with
which Dick now rode. Warner and Pennington shared his feelings.
“The chances are ninety per cent in our favor,” said the Vermonter,
“that we'll ride into Nashville without a fight. I've never been in
Tennessee before, and I'm a long way from home, but I'm curious to see
this city. I'd like to sleep in a house once more.”
They rode into Nashville the next morning amid frowning looks, but the
half deserted city offered no resistance.