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

GRANT’S GREAT VICTORY

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.