Chapter XII. Grant's Great Victory

The Guns of Shiloh

by Joseph A. Altsheler

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.