The Guns of Shiloh: A Story of the Great Western Campaign

“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.”