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

MILL SPRING

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.