The Guns of Shiloh: A Story of the Great Western Campaign by Joseph A. Altsheler (white hot kiss TXT) 📕

sprang to the ground, and the others followed. While they held the reins they stood in a close circle about him. He had about as much chance of escape as he had of flying.

Robertson walked forward, saluted some one who stood up in the dark, and said a few words in a low tone.

“Bring him forward,” said a clear voice, which Dick recognized at once.

The little group of men opened out and Dick, stepping forth, met his uncle face to face. It was now the time of Colonel George Kenton to start violently.

“My God! You, Dick!” he exclaimed. “How did you come here?”

“I didn't come,” replied the boy, who was now feeling more at ease. “I was brought here by four scouts of yours, who I must say saw their duty and did it.”

Colonel Kenton grasped his hand and shook it. He was very fond of this young nephew of his. The mere fact that he was on the other side did not alter his affection.

“Tell me about it, Dick,” he said. “And you, Sergeant Robertson, you and your men are to be thanked for your vigilance and activity. You can go off duty. You are entitled to your rest.”

As they withdrew the sergeant, who passed by Dick and who had not missed a word of the conversation between him and his uncle, said to him:

“At least, young sir, I've returned you to your relatives, an' you're a minor, as I can see.”

“It's so,” said Dick as the sergeant passed on.

“They have not ill treated you?” said Colonel Kenton.

“No, they've been as kind as one enemy could be to another.”

“It is strange, most strange, that you and I should meet here at such a time. Nay, Dick, I see in it the hand of Providence. You're to be saved from what will happen to your army tomorrow.”

“I'd rather not be saved in this manner.”

“I know it, but it is perhaps the only way. As sure as the stars are in Heaven your army will be destroyed in the morning, an' you'd be destroyed with it. I'm fond of you, Dick, and so I'd rather you'd be in our rear, a prisoner, while this is happening.”

“General Grant is a hard man to crush.”

“Dick! Dick, lad, you don't know what you're talking about! Look at the thing as it stands! We know everything that you're doing. Our spies look into the very heart of your camp. You think that we are fifty miles away, but a cannon shot from the center of our camp would reach the center of yours. Why, while we are here, ready to spring, this Grant, of whom you think so much, is on his way tonight to the little village of Savannah to confer with Buell. In the dawn when we strike and roll his brigades back he will not be here. And that's your great general!”

Dick knew that his uncle was excited. But he had full cause to be. There was everything in the situation to inflame an officer's pride and anticipation. It was not too dark for Dick to see a spark leap from his eyes, and a sudden flush of red appear in either tanned cheek. But for Dick the chill came again, and once more his hair prickled at the roots. The ambush was even more complete than he had supposed, and General Grant would not be there when it was sprung.

“Dick,” said Colonel Kenton, “I have talked to you as I would not have talked to anyone else, but even so, I would not have talked to you as I have, were not your escape an impossibility. You are unharmed, but to leave this camp you would have to fly.”

“I admit it, sir.”

“Come with me. There are men higher in rank than I who would wish to see a prisoner taken as you were.”

Dick followed him willingly and without a word. Aware that he was not in the slightest physical danger he was full of curiosity concerning what he was about to see. The words, “men higher in rank than I,” whipped his blood.

Colonel Kenton led through the darkness to a deep and broad ravine, into which they descended. The sides and bottom of this ravine were clothed in bushes, and they grew thick on the edges above. It was much darker here, but Dick presently caught ahead of him the flicker of the first light that he had seen in the Southern army.

The boy's heart began to beat fast and hard. All the omens foretold that he was about to witness something that he could never by any possibility forget. They came nearer to the flickering light, and he made out seated figures around it. They were men wrapped in cavalry cloaks, because the night air had now grown somewhat chill, and Dick knew instinctively that these were the Southern generals preparing for the hammer-stroke at dawn.

A sentinel, rifle in hand, met them. Colonel Kenton whispered with him a moment, and he went to the group. He returned in a moment and escorted Dick and his uncle forward. Colonel Kenton saluted and Dick involuntarily did the same.

It was a small fire, casting only a faint and flickering light, but Dick, his eyes now used to the dusk, saw well the faces of the generals. He knew at once which was Johnston, the chief. He seemed older than the rest, sixty at least, but his skin was clear and ruddy, and the firm face and massive jaw showed thought and power. Yet the countenance appeared gloomy, as if overcast with care. Perhaps it was another omen!

By the side of Johnston sat a small but muscular man, swarthy, and in early middle years. His face and gestures when he talked showed clearly that he was of Latin blood. It was Beauregard, the victor of Bull Run, now second in command here, and he made a striking contrast to the stern and motionless Kentuckian who sat beside him and who was his chief. There was no uneasy play of Johnston's hands, no shrugging of the shoulders, no jerking of the head. He sat silent, his features a mask, while he listened to his generals.

On the other side was Braxton Bragg, brother-in-law of Jefferson Davis, who could never forget Bragg's kinship, and the service that he had done fifteen years before at Buena Vista, when he had broken with his guns the last of Santa Anna's squares, deciding the victory. By the side of him was Hardee, the famous tactician, taught in the best schools of both America and Europe. Then there was Polk, who, when a youth, had left the army to enter the church and become a bishop, and who was now a soldier again and a general. Next to the bishop-general sat the man who had been Vice-President of the United States and who, if the Democracy had held together would now have been in the chair of Lincoln, John C. Breckinridge, called by his people the Magnificent, commonly accounted the most splendid looking man in America.

“Bring the prisoner forward, Colonel Kenton,” said General Johnston, a general upon whom the South, with justice, rested great hopes.

Dick stepped forward at