10
_"Dismount! Prepare To Fight Gunboats!"_
"Drew!"
He turned his head on the saddle which served him as a temporary pillowand was aware of the smell of mule, strong, and the smell of a woodfire, less strong, and last of all, of corn bread baked in the husk,and, not so familiar, bacon frying--all the aromas of camp--with theaddition of food which could be, and had been on occasion, verytemporary. Squinting his smarting eyes against the sun's glare, Drew satup. With four days of hard riding by night and scouting by day only afew hours behind him, he was still extremely weary.
Boyd squatted by his side, a folded sheet of paper in his hand.
"... letter ..."
Drew must have missed part during his awakening. Now he turned away fromthe sun and tried to pay better attention.
"From who?" he asked rustily.
"Mother. She got the one you sent from Meridian, Drew! And when Croselywent home for a horse she gave him these to bring back through thelines. Drew, your grandfather's dead...."
Odd, he did not feel anything at all at that news. When he was little hehad been afraid of Alexander Mattock. Then he had faced out his fear andall the other emotions bred in him during those years of being HuntRennie's son in a house where Hunt Rennie was a symbol of black hatred;he had faced up to his grandfather on the night he left Red Springs tojoin the army in '62. And then Drew had discovered that he was free. Hehad seen his grandfather as he would always remember him now, an old maneaten up by his hatred, soured by acts Drew knew would never beexplained. And from that moment, grandfather and grandson werestrangers. Now, well, now he wished--for just a fleeting second ortwo--that he did know what lay behind all that rage and waste andblackness in the past. Alexander Mattock had been a respected man. Ashardly more than a boy he had followed Andy Jackson down to New Orleansand helped break the last vestige of British power in the Gulf. He hadbred fine horses, loved the land, and his word was better than mostmen's sworn oaths. He had had a liking for books, and had served hiscountry in Congress, and could even have been governor had he notdeclined the nomination. He was a big man, in many ways a great andhonorable man. Drew could admit that, now that he had made a life forhimself beyond Alexander Mattock's shadow. A great man ... who had hatedhis own grandson.
"This is yours...." Boyd pulled a second sheet from the folds of thefirst. Drew smoothed it out to read:
My dear boy:
Your letter from Meridian reached me just two days ago, having been many weeks on the way, and I am taking advantage of Henry Crosely's presence home on leave to reply. I want you to know that I do not, in any way, consider you to blame for Boyd's joining General organ's command. He had long been restless here, and it was only a matter of time and chance before he followed his brother.
I know that you must have done all that you could to dissuade him after your aunt's appeal to you, but I had already accepted failure on this point. Just as I know that it was your efforts which established him under good care in Meridian. Do not, Drew, reproach yourself for my son's headstrong conduct. I know Boyd's stubbornness. There is this strain in all the Barretts.
You may not have heard the news from Red Springs, though I know your aunt has endeavored to find a means of communicating it to you. Your grandfather suffered another and fatal seizure on the third of August and passed away in a matter of hours.
I do not believe that it will come as any surprise to you, my dear boy, that he continued in his attitude toward you to the last, making no provision for you in his will. However, both Major Forbes and Marianna believe this to be unfair, and they intend to see that matters are not left so.
If and when this cruel war is over--and the news we receive each day can not help but make us believe that the end is not far off--do, I beg of you, Drew, come home to us. Sheldon spoke once of some plan of yours to go west, to start a new life in new surroundings. But, Drew, do not let any bitterness born out of the past continue to poison the future for you.
Perhaps what I say may be of value since I have always held your welfare dear to me, and you have a place in my heart. Melanie Mattock Rennie was my dearest friend for all of her life, your father, my cousin. And you were Sheldon's playmate and comrade for his short time on this earth.
Come home to us, I ask you to do this, my dear boy. We shall welcome you.
I pray for you and for Boyd, that you may both be brought safely through all the dangers which surround a soldier, that you may come home to us on a happier day. Your concern for and care of Boyd is something which makes me most grateful and happy. He had lost a brother, one of his own blood, but I content myself with the belief that he has with him now another who will provide him with what guidance and protection he can give.
Remember--we want you both here with us once more, and let it be soon.
With affection and love,
Drew could not have told whether her "Meredith Barrett" at the bottom ofthe page was as firmly penned as ever. To him it was now wavering fromone misty letter to the next. Slowly he made a business of folding thesheet into a neat square of paper which he could fit into the safepocket under his belt. A crack was forming in the shell he had startedto grow on the night he first rode out of Red Springs, and he now fearedlosing its protection. He wanted to be the Drew Rennie who had no tiesanywhere, least of all in Kentucky. Yet not for the world would he havelost that letter, though he did not want to read it again.
"Rennie! Double-quick it; the General's askin' for you!"
Boyd started up eagerly from his perch on another saddle. He was, Drewdecided, like a hound puppy, so determined to be taken hunting that hewatched each and every one of them all the time. He had been allowed toride on this return visit to West Tennessee with the condition that hewould act as one of Drew's scout couriers, a position which kept himunder his elder's control and attached to General Buford's HeadquartersCompany.
Kirby reached out a brown hand to catch Boyd by the sleeve and anchorhim.
"Now, kid, jus' because the big chief sends for him, it ain't no signhe's goin' to take the warpath immediately, if not sooner. Ease off, an'keep your moccasins greased!"
Drew laughed. Nobody who rode with Forrest could complain of a lack ofaction. He had heard that some general in the East had said he wouldgive a dollar or some such to see a dead cavalryman. Well, there hadbeen sight of those at Harrisburg and some at the blockhouses. Forreststated that Morgan's men could fight; he did not have to say that of hisown.
Now they were heading into another sort of war altogether. Drew hadn'tfigured out just how Bedford Forrest intended to fight river gunboatswith horse soldiers, but the scout didn't doubt that his general had aplan, one which would work, barring any extra bad luck.
They were setting a trap along the Tennessee right now, lying in theenemies' own back pasture to do it. South, downriver, was Johnsonville,where Sherman had his largest cache of supplies, from which he wasfeeding, clothing, equipping the army now slashing through the center ofthe South. They had been able to cripple his rail system partially onthat raid two weeks earlier; now they were aiming to cut the riverribbon of the Yankee network.
Buford's division occupied Fort Heiman, well above the crucial section.The Confederates also held Paris Landing. Now they were set to put thesqueeze on any river traffic. Guns were brought into station--Buford'stwo Parrots, one section of Morton's incomparable battery with Bell'sTennesseeans down at the Landing. They had moved fast, covered theirtraces, and Drew himself could testify that the Yankees were as yetunsuspecting of their presence in the neighborhood.
He found General Buford now and reported.
"Rennie, see this bend...." The General's finger stabbed down on thesketch map the scouts had prepared days earlier. "I've been thinkin'that a vedette posted right here could give us perhaps a few minutes ofwarning a
head when anything started to swim into this fishnet of ours.General Forrest wants some transports, maybe even a gunboat or two.We're in a good position to deliver them to him, but before we begin thegame, I want most of the aces right here--" He smacked the map againstthe flat of his other palm.
"A signal system, suh. Say one of those--" Drew pointed to the verylarge and very red handkerchief trailing from Buford's coat pocket."Wave one of those out of the bushes: one wave for a transport, two fora gunboat."
The General jerked the big square from his pocket, inspected itcritically, and then called over his shoulder.
"Jasper, you get me another one of these--out of the saddlebags!"
When the Negro boy came running with the piece of brilliant cloth,Buford motioned for him to give it to Drew.
"Mind you, boy," he added with some seriousness, "I want that back ingood condition when you report in. Those don't grow handily on trees. Ihave only three left."
"Yes, suh," Drew accepted it with respect. "I'm to stay put untilrelieved, suh?"
"Yes. Better take someone to spell you. I don't want any misses."
Back at the scout fire Drew collected Boyd. This was an assignment theboy could share. And shortly they had hollowed out for themselves asmall circular space in the thicket, with two carefully preparedwindows, one on the river, the other for their signal flag.
It was almost evening, and Drew did not expect any night travel. Morningwould be the best time. He divided the night into watches, however, andinsisted they keep watch faithfully.
"Kinda cold," Boyd said, pulling his blanket about his shoulders.
"No fire here." Drew handed over his companion's share of rations, somecold corn bread and bacon carefully portioned out of their middaycooking.
"'Member how Mam Gusta used to make us those dough geese? Coffee-berryeyes.... I could do with some coffee berries now, but not to make eyesfor geese!"
Dough geese with coffee-berry eyes! The big summer kitchen at Oak Hilland the small, energetic, and very dark skinned woman who ruled it witha cooking spoon of wood for her scepter and abject obedience from allwho came into her sphere of influence and control. Dough geese withcoffee-berry eyes; Drew hadn't thought of those for years and years.
"I could do with some of Mam Gusta's peach pie." He was betrayed bymemory into that wistfulness.
"Peach pie all hot in a bowl with cream to top it," Boyd addedreverently. "And turkey with the fixin's--or maybe young pork! Seems tome you think an awful lot about eatin' when you're in the army. I canremember the kitchen at home almost better than I can my own room...."
"Anse, he was talkin' last night about some Mexican eatin' he did down'long the border. Made it sound mighty interestin'. Drew, after this waris over and we've licked the Yankees good and proper, why don't we godown that way and see Texas? I'd like to get me one of those wild horseslike those Anse's father was catchin'."
"We still have a war on our hands here," Drew reminded him. But thethought of Texas could not easily be dug out of mind, not when a man hadcarried it with him for most of his life. Texas, where he had almostbeen born, Hunt Rennie's Texas. What was it like? A big wild land, anoutlaws' land. Didn't they say a man had "gone to Texas" when thesheriff closed books on a fugitive? Yes, Drew had to admit he wanted tosee Texas.
"Drew, you have any kinfolk in Texas?"
"Not that I know about." Not for the first time he wondered about that.There had been no use asking any questions of his grandfather or ofUncle Murray. And Aunt Marianna had always dismissed his inquiries withthe plea that she herself had only been a child at the time Hunt Renniecame to Red Springs and knew very little about him. Odd that CousinMerry had been so reticent, too. But Drew had pieced out that somethingbig and ugly must have happened to begin all the painful tangle whichhad led from his grandfather's cold hatred for Hunt Rennie, that hatredwhich had been transferred to Hunt Rennie's son when the original targetwas gone.
When Drew first joined the army and met Texans he had hoped that one ofthem might recognize his name and say:
"Rennie? You any kin to the Rennies of-" Of where? The Brazos, the Riocountry, West Texas? He had no idea in which part of that sprawlingrepublic-become-a-state the Rennies might have been born and bred. Buthow he had longed in those first lonely weeks of learning to be asoldier to find one of his own--not of the Mattock clan!
"Yes, I would like to see Texas!" Boyd pulled the blanket closer abouthis shoulders, curling up on his side of their bush-walled hole. "Wishthese fool Yankees would know when they're licked and get back home sowe could do somethin' like that." He closed his eyes with a child'sdetermination to sleep, and by now a soldier's ability to do so when theopportunity offered.
Drew watched the river. The dusk was night now with the speed of theseason. And the crisp of autumn hung over the water. This was thetwenty-ninth of October; he counted out the dates. How long they couldhold their trap they didn't know, but at least long enough to wrest fromthe enemy some of the supplies they needed far worse than Sherman's mendid.
General Buford had let four transports past their masked batteries todaybecause they had carried only soldiers. But sooner or later a loadedship was going to come up. And when that did--Drew's hand assured himthat the General's red handkerchief was still inside against his ribswhere he had put it for safekeeping.
In the early morning Drew slipped down to the river's edge behind ascreen of willow to dip the cold water over his head and shoulders--aneffective way to clear the head and banish the last trace of sleep.
The sun was up and it must have been shortly before eight when theysighted her, a Union transport riding low in the water, towing twobarges. A quick inspection through the binoculars he had borrowed fromWilkins told Drew that this was what the General wanted. He passed thesignal to Boyd.
"_Mazeppa_," he read the name aloud as the ship wallowed by their post.She was passing the lower battery now, and there was no sign of anygunboat escort. But when their quarry was well in the stretch betweenthe two lower batteries, they opened fire on her, accurately enough tosend every shell through the ship. The pilot headed her for the oppositeshore, slammed the prow into the bank, and a stream of crew and menleaped over at a dead run to hunt shelter in the woods beyond.
Men were already down on the Confederate-held side of the river, tryingto knock together a raft on which to reach their prize. When that brokeapart Drew and Boyd saw one man seize upon a piece of the wreckage andkick his way vigorously into the current heading for the stern of thegrounded steamer. He came back in the _Mazeppa's_ yawl with a line, andshe was warped back into the hands of the waiting raiders.
There was a wave of gray pouring into the ship, returning with bales,boxes, bundles. Then Drew, who had snatched peeps at the activitybetween searching the upper waters for trouble, saw the gunboatscoming--three of them. Again Boyd signaled, but the naval craft madebetter speed than the laden transport and they were already in positionto lob shells among the men unloading the supply ships, though thebatteries on the shore finally drove them off.
In the end they fired the prize, but she was emptied of her rich cargo.Shoes, blankets, clothing--you didn't care whether breeches and coatswere gray or blue when they replaced rags--food.
Kirby came to their sentry post, his arms full, a beatific smile on hisface.
"What'll you have, amigos--pickles, pears, Yankee crackers, longsweetenin'--" He spread out a variety of such stores as they had almostforgotten existed. "You know, seein' some of the prices on this heahsutlers' stuff, I'm thinkin' somebody's sure gittin' rich on this war.It ain't nobody I know, though."
They kept their trap as it was through the rest of the day and thefollowing night without any more luck. When the next fish swam into thenet it approached from the other side and not past the scout post. Thesteamer _Anna_ progressed from Johnsonville, ran the gantlet of thebatteries, and in spite of hard shelling, was not hit in any vital spot,escaping beyond. But when the transport _Venus_, towing two barges andconvoyed by the gunb
oat _Undine_, tried to duplicate that feat they werecaught by the accurate fire of the masked guns. Trying to turn and steamback the way they had come, they were pinned down. And while they wereheld there, another steamer entered the upper end of the trap and wasdisabled. Guns moved by sweat, force, will and hand-power, were wrestledaround the banks to attend to the _Undine_. And after a brisk duel herofficers and crew abandoned her.
"We got us a navy," Kirby announced when he brought their order toleave the picket post. "The Yankees sure are kind, presentin' us with acouple of ships jus' outta the goodness of their hearts."
The _Undine_ and the _Venus_, manned by volunteers, did steam with thecaution of novice sailors upriver when on the first of November troopsand artillery started to Johnsonville.
"Hi!" One of the new Horse Marines waved to the small party of scouts,weaving in and out to gain their position at the head of the column."Want to leave them feed sacks for us to carry?"
Kirby put a protecting hand over his saddle burden of extra and choicerations.
"This heah grub ain't gonna be risked out on no water," he called back."Nor blown up by no gunboat neither."
Those fears were realized, if not until two days later, when the scoutswere too far ahead to witness the defeat of Forrest's river flotilla.The _Undine_, outfought by two Yankee gunboats, was beached and setafire. The same fate struck the _Venus_ a day afterward. But by thattime the raiders had reached the bank of the river opposite Johnsonvilleand were making ready to destroy the supply depot there.
Drew, Kirby, and Wilkins, with Boyd to ride courier, had alreadyexplored the bank and tried to estimate the extent of the wealth lyingin the open, across the river.
"Too bad we jus' can't sorta cut a few head outta that theah herd,"Kirby said wistfully. "Heah we are so poor our shadows got holes in 'em,an' lookit all that jus' lyin' theah waitin' for somebody to lay a hotiron on its hide--"
"More likely to lay a hot iron on your hide!" countered Drew. But hecould not deny that the river landing with its thickly clusteredtransports, gunboats and barges, the acres of shoreline covered withevery kind of army store, was a big temptation to try somethingreckless.
They had illustrious company during their prowling that afternoon.Forrest himself and Captain Morton, that very young and very talentedartillery commander, were making a reconnaissance before placing thebatteries in readiness. And during the night those guns were moved intoposition. At midafternoon the next day the reduction of Johnsonvillebegan.
Smoke, then flame, tore holes in those piles of goods. Warehousesblazed. By nightfall for a mile upriver and down they faced a solidsheet of fire, and they smelled the tantalizing odor of burning bacon,coffee, sugar, and saw blue rivers of blazing liquid running free.
"I still say it's a mighty shame, all that goin' to waste," commentedKirby sadly.
"Well, anyway it ain't goin' into the bellies of Sherman's men," Drewreplied.
The Confederate force was already starting withdrawal, battery bybattery, as the wasteland of the fire lighted them on their way. And nowthe Yankee gunboats were burning with explosions of shells, fired bytheir own crews lest they fall into Rebel hands. It was a wild scene,giving the command plenty of light by which to fall back into thecountry they still dominated. The reduction of the depot was a completesuccess.
Scouts stayed with the rear guard this time, so it was that Drew sawagain those two who had so carefully picked the gun stands onlytwenty-four hours before. General Forrest and his battery commander camedown once more to survey the desolation those guns had left as asmoking, stinking scar.
Drew heard the slow, reflective words the General spoke:
"John, if you were given enough guns, and I had me enough men, we couldwhip old Sherm clean off the face of the earth!"
And then the scout caught Kirby's whisper of assent to that. "The oldman ain't foolin'; he could jus' do it!"
"Maybe he could," Drew agreed. He wished fiercely that Morton did havehis guns and Forrest all the men who had been wasted, who had meltedaway from his ranks--or were buried. A man had to have tools before hecould build, but their tools were getting mighty few, mighty old,and.... He tried to close his mind to that line of thought. They were onthe move again, and Forrest had certainly proven here that thoughAtlanta might be gone, there was still an effective Confederate Army inthe field, ready and able to twist the tail of any Yankee!