‘And I preferred you when you were sick. Least back then you showed a lick of gratitude.’
‘Gratitude!’ Jack scoffed. ‘Seems that commodity is in short supply around here.’
‘Like common sense.’ Martha’s tongue had sharpened in the months Jack had known her. ‘You fought that man and you lost.’
‘I didn’t lose.’ Jack snapped the reply but still did not turn to face her. The argument was a repeat of one they had had half a dozen times since they had quit Fort Donelson.
‘Well, he’s still alive, so you didn’t exactly win.’ Martha’s exasperation was obvious. ‘It ain’t worth it.’
‘What isn’t?’
‘Devoting your life to this. To fighting and killing. Don’t you want to be more than that?’
‘No.’
‘Of course you don’t,’ Martha’s reply was instant, ‘because then you’d have to face up to the fact that you haven’t got anything else. If you’re not fighting, then what you going to do?’
Jack whirled on the spot, his anger rising fast. ‘Don’t lecture me.’
‘If I don’t say it, I don’t see anyone else round here that’s going to.’ Martha took a step closer, even in the face of his fury. ‘You’ve got to stop this, Jack. You’re not fighting this man. You’re fighting yourself.’
‘You can keep your homespun bloody advice to yourself. I don’t need you to tell me what’s what.’
‘You sure do.’ Martha did not retreat. ‘You’re going to get yourself killed.’
‘You’re not the first to say that. And look at me. See, here I am.’
‘Oh, I can see you all right. How could I miss this great big fool who’s going to kill himself just so he can avoid taking a good hard look at what he’s about?’
‘Perhaps I’m not the only one who should be doing that. Why are you still here, Martha? Why are you hanging onto my damn coat-tails?’ He closed on her and gripped her by the arms. ‘Isn’t it the truth that you don’t have anywhere else to go? Your bloody husband didn’t want you, so you hooked yourself onto me. Well, you listen to me. I don’t need you, you hear me? I’m taking care of you out of bloody pity.’ He shook her then. ‘You don’t like what I’m doing, then why don’t you walk your bloody chalk and leave me to it.’
Martha did not flinch as the words flowed out of him. ‘I’m here because I care, Jack. I know that’s not what you want to hear. You don’t like people getting close to you because that forces you to think. And you don’t like that, you don’t like that at all, because then you have to face up to what you are. I reckon you don’t like what you see.’
‘I know what I am.’ Jack pushed her away from him, making her stagger backwards. ‘I don’t need some bloody harpy like you to tell me.’
‘Oh, but you do.’ Martha came forward without fear. ‘You whine on about your precious Rose, about avenging her and killing the man who murdered her. Truth is, you don’t care all that much about her because you don’t really care about anyone save yourself. You ain’t fighting that man for her; you’re fighting him for what he did to you, you just ain’t got the guts to admit it.’
‘Shut your damn mouth.’ Jack spat the words out, refusing to acknowledge any truth in her damning verdict. ‘You didn’t know Rose. You don’t know what I felt for her.’
‘I know she ain’t precious enough to you to stop you taking me to your bed.’
‘I haven’t heard you complaining,’ Jack’s fury was instant, ‘and you a good God-fearing married woman and all.’
Martha’s hand moved fast, cracking against Jack’s cheek with a sound like a rifle shot. ‘You son of a bitch.’
The slap did nothing to lessen his anger. ‘You like telling truths? Well, now you listen to one. I don’t want you here. Is that clear enough for you?’
Martha’s eyes searched his face, flickering back and forth as she read his expression. Then she nodded.
‘You remember the day my pa found you in the woods? You were as helpless as a newborn piglet, yet I told him it was our Christian duty to take you in. We cared for you, and fed you. Without us, you’d be dead.’
‘I’ve paid my debt,’ Jack hissed. ‘I fought for you and your father.’
‘And look what it got him.’
‘And that’s my fault?’ Jack reached out once again, taking one of her arms and dragging her closer, not caring that his fingers dug deep into the sparse flesh. ‘You ever think on what would’ve happened if I hadn’t been there? Those men would still have come along. Your damned father would still be dead, and so would you. Except they wouldn’t just have killed you, would they, Martha? I reckon you know what they would have done to you first. And that ain’t a pretty picture to think about.’ He pulled her forward so that her face was just an inch from his own. ‘Go home.’
Martha stared back at him. There was no fear in her expression.
Jack met her gaze. He hated her in that moment; hatred so pure and simple that it made him feel sick. He pushed her from him with enough force to nearly send her crashing to the floor.
‘Go home,’ he repeated, then he turned on his heel and strode out into the rain.
Jack rode in the midst of an army, yet he was totally alone.
The Confederate force in Nashville had been ordered to withdraw, and he had gone with them. Those physically able to do so were told to march south-east towards a place call Murfreesboro. Those too sick to march – and there were many – were either crammed onto overcrowded trains headed for Chattanooga, or else left in Nashville to face an uncertain fate under the Union army that was approaching the city from the north.
The soldiers were not the only ones quitting the city. Refugees streamed out of Nashville, choking the roads and filling any spare space on the trains heading south and east. For those leaving on foot, it was a miserable journey. The rain gave them little respite, and the cold was an enemy every bit as deadly as the men in blue uniforms. The disheartened, bedraggled columns snaked south, the men, women and children united in their misery.
The soldiers around him might have been struggling to stay on their feet, but Jack had never felt stronger. He travelled light, his knapsack and saddlebags containing no more than the minimum he would need to survive. And he travelled alone.
He had not spoken to a soul for days. Martha had left by the time he came back to the farmhouse on the day of their fight. He did not know where she had gone. Now he rode without another person to fend for and he revelled in the freedom. There was no one to tell him what to do. No one to feed and care for except for himself. His life had been pared down to its essentials. He had his weapons. He had what he needed to survive. And he had purpose.
There was little chance of finding Lyle in the midst of the retreating army. The cavalry would be kept busy, the Confederate generals sure to order the mounted units to probe deep into the countryside around the army to gather intelligence and watch the Union forces as they headed south. But eventually the army would have to stop retreating. The Confederates could not allow the Union invasion to go unchecked. At some point they would gather their strength and they would fight.
When that happened, Jack would get his chance. Somewhere in the confusion of battle, he would find Lyle for a second time. This time he would make sure that he did not fail.
Corinth, Mississippi, 2 April 1862
Jack brought his horse to a stand on the crest of a ridge of high ground, then dropped the reins as he fished his field glasses from their leather case. The metal was cold against the skin around his eyes as he brought the glasses up, and he caught the whiff of the protective oil he had applied the previous evening to keep the metal from rusting.
He saw the column of infantry immediately. The men did not look like much. There was little sense of a uniform, and as far as he could tell, the troops carried smoothbore muskets not vastly dissimilar from the weapons they would have used when fighting the British fifty years before, in the war of 1812.
They were not the first infa
ntry column he had seen that day. The army’s retreat had stopped, and now it was consolidating around the town of Corinth, just over the border from Tennessee in northern Mississippi. The choice of Corinth made sense. It was a strategic rail hub that straddled the vitally important Memphis and Charleston Railroad, the only east–west line in Confederate territory, which had been completed a few years before and now connected the great Mississippi river to a harbour on the Atlantic Ocean. Corinth was also situated on the north–south Mobile and Ohio line, which linked it to the harbour at Mobile, Alabama, and to Columbus, Kentucky.
With the Union army using the rivers, the Confederate generals were relying on the railroads to bring in vital supplies and every last man it could find. Troops were coming from all over, as the officer commanding the Confederate army, General Johnston, scoured the entire theatre of war for any man who could hold a musket. Jack had heard that as many as forty thousand men were now in place in and around Corinth. He had not heard what Johnston planned to do, but he could not see how the Confederates could let the Union army proceed much further without making a stand.
Jack felt ready for whatever happened next, the rest he had had since leaving Fort Donelson allowing him to build up his strength. Even the horse he had stolen from outside the hotel in Dover was in fine fettle. He had spent the last of his money on the animal’s care, and now he could sense that its vitality matched his own. His weapons were in perfect condition, and he had plenty of cartridges for his revolver courtesy of the Confederate army. He had not found any more of the special rounds he needed for the Henry repeater, but he still had enough left to fill the weapon at least twice. That would have to be enough. The lack of ammunition did not concern him. It would take just one bullet to kill Lyle. If he ran out, he had his new sabre. If all else failed, he had his bare hands. He had killed men with them before. Doing so again would give him nothing but pleasure.
He had begun his search for Lyle the previous week. He had not entertained much chance of success, and thus far he had failed to find him. Johnston’s cavalry units were either on outpost duty, or scouting far into the countryside around Corinth to keep a check on the Union advance. There had been no chance for Jack to locate his adversary, and he had ended up riding around aimlessly. But the long treks had helped build the strength of both horse and rider, and for his part, Jack felt nothing but calm. There would be another time, another fight. Then he could commit murder and find the salvation he needed.
‘You there! Say, are you with General Withers?’
Jack lowered his field glasses. A Confederate officer dressed in a light grey uniform with elaborate gold braid Austrian knots on the sleeves was riding towards him. The officer’s collar bore a single gold star, and the facings of his jacket were light blue. The contrast between his fine appearance and the attire of the men in the column behind him that Jack had been watching was stark.
‘No.’ Jack gave the short answer in the hope that the man would simply ride on. He was to be disappointed.
‘Hellfire and damnation.’ The officer rode closer. ‘How the hell am I supposed to find the general and his headquarters when he keeps moving, yet tells no one where he is going?’ He reined in close to Jack’s mare. ‘Major Andrew Denton.’
Jack could only suppose the name was given by way of an introduction. ‘Captain Pinter,’ he replied in a similarly curt fashion.
Denton rode easily and fitted his uniform well. He was not a big man, with sloping shoulders and a small pot belly that rested neatly on his saddle. His thin face was decorated with a neatly trimmed goatee and moustache.
‘Well met, Captain Pinter.’ He walked his horse around so that he faced the same direction as Jack. ‘Hell, they don’t look like much, do they now?’ He smiled to take the sting out of the remark. ‘I could see you were running your eye over my boys. They’re good lads. Keen to fight, too. Those Yankees won’t know what’s hit them.’
Jack grunted by way of reply. He had not sought company since leaving Nashville, and felt no need to change that self-enforced policy. Denton was looking at him in expectation of a remark. Jack decided to disappoint.
‘Is your outfit ready to fight?’ The major pressed on regardless.
‘Yes.’
Denton turned in the saddle, his hand resting easily on the pommel. ‘Are you English?’
‘Yes.’ Jack did his best not to sigh.
‘I thought so. Why, I have a fellow from your country in my own regiment. Now let me think, I’m sure I can remember where he’s from if I just put my mind to it.’ Denton paused, his free hand coming up to touch his mouth. ‘Edin-borough! Yes, I’m sure that’s the place. Is that close to where you’re from, Captain Pinter?’
Jack tried to restrain a grimace. ‘No, that’s in Scotland.’
‘But it must be nearby. It’s all the same country, after all.’
‘I’m sure the Scots would disagree.’
‘I could introduce you to him if you like,’ the major continued with enthusiasm.
‘No. Thank you.’
Denton smiled. ‘Well, anyway, I am right pleased to meet you, Captain Pinter, even if you don’t know where that old hooplehead Withers is hiding.’ He paused for a moment, then shook his head as if in disbelief. ‘An Englishman, right here in Mississippi. Who would’ve thought it?’
‘Well, if you’ll excuse me.’ Jack carefully returned his field glasses to their case, then gathered up his reins.
‘Of course, Captain Pinter.’ Denton’s smile faded as he realised Jack was about to leave. ‘I mustn’t hold you from your duties. What regiment are you with?’
‘Forrest’s Cavalry.’ He gave the lie easily.
‘You’re one of Bedford’s men!’ Denton exclaimed. ‘Why, we came across some of your fellows just the other day.’
‘Where was that?’ Jack was suddenly more interested in the conversation.
‘About ten miles east of here. They’d been up scouting the Union positions around Pittsburg Landing.’
Jack lowered his reins. ‘They say where they were headed?’
‘Indeed they did not.’ Denton’s eyes narrowed. ‘Should I not be asking you that question?’
Jack flashed a smile. He had put Denton on his guard, and so tried to defuse the situation with charm. ‘My fellows don’t stay still for long. It makes it hard for chaps like me to catch up with them.’
‘Well, I am sure that is true.’ Denton matched Jack’s smile with one of his own. ‘You fellows are here, there and everywhere, and that’s a fact.’
‘So did my boys tell you much about the Union positions at . . . where did you say it was? Pittsburg Crossing?’ Jack knew exactly where Denton had said the Union force was encamped, but he thought it best to let the major tell his news. Then he could be on his way.
‘Pittsburg Landing.’ Denton preened as he corrected Jack. ‘They told me a little, but I know the ground well enough myself. The Union army is encamped about twenty miles north-east of here. They’ve got the Tennessee river to the east of their position, whilst their left flank is anchored on Lick Creek. Their right, well, that’s nestled nice and close against Owl Creek, and they got Snake Creek to the north. Leaves just one side open, facing towards us here in Corinth.’ He used his hands to draw lines in the sky as he described the Union position.
‘Now, the Tennessee river is not a friend to them.’ Denton paused to glance across at his regiment. The column was nearly past, but the sight did not spur him to leave, and he carried on his explanation, clearly relishing the opportunity to show off his local knowledge to an officer from Bedford Forrest’s famous unit. ‘I’ve lived around these parts my whole life, and I can tell you, you need a big old boat to cross it. Those creeks, why, you can only get across those at the bridges, and believe me, there are not many of those. Those Union boys might feel nice and safe, but the truth is, they’ve gone and got themselves trapped.’
‘Why would they do that?’ Jack was interested. He wanted to know as much as he
could. Anything he learned could only help him find Lyle.
‘That General Grant, he’s waiting for reinforcements. I heard it said that another Union army under General Buell is marching to link up with his men. Grant, he’s the commander of the army at Pittsburg Landing,’ Denton explained.
‘What’s the ground like?’ Jack was warming to the major and so pushed for more information.
‘Oh my, that ground is poor. There’s underbrush everywhere, and there’s no way you can hope to move artillery around without one hell of an effort.’ Denton was happy to continue, even though the rear-file markers of his regiment were now passing by. ‘Nor is it flat. There are slopes, ravines and gullies all over the damn place, and a steep ridge near the Tennessee river. Why, I remember trying to get back up that thing when I was a boy. We’d been fishing on the river and we decided to try to land there.’ He shook his head. ‘We sure got ourselves in a pickle.’ He grinned at the memory.
‘Major!’ A young officer from Denton’s regiment had stopped and now called across. ‘Are you coming?’
‘I’ll be there directly, Lieutenant.’ Denton leaned across and held a hand out towards Jack. ‘Well, it sure was a pleasure meeting you, Captain Pinter.’
Jack shook hands warmly. Denton had been helpful. ‘Likewise. Let’s hope we don’t have to retreat again soon.’
‘Retreat!’ Denton’s eyes widened in mock surprise. ‘Why, Captain Pinter, has no one told you? The retreat is over!’
Jack felt a hint of colour rush to his cheeks. ‘I’ve not been back with the army for long.’
‘Well then, sir, I am pleased to be the one to tell you.’
‘Tell me what?’
‘We’re going to counterattack! We’re going to hit them Yankee sons of bitches right now, before their two armies can unite.’ Denton grinned wolfishly as he revealed the Confederate plan. ‘Grant’s got himself stuck on bad ground and we’re going to strike so hard, why, his whole army could be destroyed!’
Jack matched Denton’s smile with one of his own. The Union army was trapped and the Confederates were going to launch a daring attack.
THE REBEL KILLER Page 28