CHAPTER XIII.
THE MARCH.
On Wednesday, the 12th of February, 1862, Paul found himself once moreupon the road leading from Fort Henry to Fort Donelson, not now alone,but guiding an army of fifteen thousand men, with forty pieces ofartillery. He was on horseback, and sat so well in the saddle that thecavalry-men said he rode like an old trooper. He was in uniform, andwore straps on his shoulders, and was armed with a sword and a revolver.He rode in advance of all, looking sharply into the thickets and downthe ravines, to see if there were any Rebels in ambush.
The sharpshooters followed him. They wore gray jackets and skull-caps,and were armed with rifles and long hunting-knives. They were famoushunters, and could shoot a deer upon the run, or bring down aprairie-chicken upon the wing. They were tough, hearty, jolly,courageous, daring fellows. They were in good spirits, for the rebelshad fled in dismay from Fort Henry when the gunboats sent their shellsinto the fort.
It was a hard march, for the roads were muddy, and they were obliged towade through creeks although it was mid-winter. Paul noticed one bravefellow among them, whose feet were so sore that his steps were markedwith blood, which oozed from a hole in the side of his shoe, and yet theman kept his place in the ranks.
"Let me carry your gun," said Paul, and so, taking it across his saddle,helped the soldier. "You ought to be in the hospital," said Paul.
"I can't stay behind if there is to be any fighting," said the soldier,thanking Paul for his kindness; and then, in a low tone, the soldiersaid to his comrade, "There a'n't many officers like him who will help afellow."
At sunset the army halted in the woods beside a brook. Tents had beenleft behind, and the soldiers had no shelter from the wintry air. Theycut down great trees and kindled huge fires. The farmers in that part ofthe country had large herds of pigs, which roamed the woods and lived onnuts. The soldiers had lived on salt meats for many months, and,notwithstanding orders had been issued against committing depredations,they were determined to have a good supper. Crack! crack! crack! wenttheir rifles. Some, instead of shooting, tried to catch the pigs. Therewere exciting chases, and laughable scenes,--a dozen men after one pig,trying to seize him by the ears, or by the hind legs, or by the tail.
They had a charming time, sitting around the roaring fires, inhaling thesavory odors of the steaks and spareribs broiling and roasting over theglowing coals on forked sticks, and of the coffee bubbling in their tincups. The foot-sore sharpshooter whom Paul had helped on the marchcooked a choice and tender piece, and presented it to Paul on a chip,for they had no plates. It was cooked so nicely that Paul thought he hadnever tasted a more delicious morsel.
In the morning they had an excellent breakfast, and then resumed themarch, moving slowly and cautiously through the woods, but finding noenemy till they came in sight of Fort Donelson.
Paul had guided the army to the fort, but now he had other duties toperform. He was required to make a sketch of the ground around the fort,that General Grant might know where to form his lines,--on what hillsto plant his cannon,--where to throw up breastworks for defence, shouldthe rebels see fit to come out and attack him. Leaving his horse behind,Paul began his dangerous but important work on foot, that he might makean accurate map,--examining through his field-glass the breastworks ofthe rebels, counting their cannon, and beholding them hard at work. Whennight came he crept almost up to their lines. He was between the twoarmies,--a dangerous position, for the pickets on both sides were wideawake, and his own comrades might fire upon him before he could give thecountersign. Although he stepped lightly, the sticks sometimes crackledbeneath his feet.
"Halt! Who goes there?" shouted a Rebel picket directly in front of him.It was so sudden, and he was so near, that Paul's hair stood on end. Hedarted behind a tree. Click! flash! bang! and a bullet came with a heavy_thug_ into the tree. Bang! went another gun,--another,--and another;and the pickets all along the rebel lines, thinking that the Yankeeswere coming, blazed away at random. The Yankee pickets, thinking thatthe rebels were advancing, became uneasy and fired in return. Paulcould hear the bullets spin through the air and strike into the trees.His first thought was to get back to his comrades as soon as possible;then he reflected that it would be dangerous to attempt it just then.The firing woke up all the sleepers in the two armies. The drums werebeating the long roll, the bugles were sounding, and he could hear theRebel officers shouting to the men, "Fall in! fall in!" He laughed tothink that the crackling of a stick had produced all this uproar. Hewanted very much to join in the fun, and give the Rebel picket who hadfired at him a return shot, but his orders were not to fire even iffired upon, for General Grant was not ready for a battle, and so, whilethe Rebels were reloading their guns, he glided noiselessly away. Whenhe heard the bullets singing he expected to be hit; but as he was lessthan six feet high and only eighteen inches across his shoulders, and asit was dark and the soldiers were firing at random, he calculated thatthere was not one chance in a million of his being injured, and sothrough the night he went on with his reconnoissance along the lines,and completed the work assigned him.
Winning His Way Page 13