The veneration bestowed upon him was well deserved. Carter knew no heart burned more brightly with the fire of patriotism nor with more intrepid resolve than Hunter’s. It was obvious in the way he fought, aggressively, fearlessly, exposing himself to the enemy’s fire, never regarding his own personal peril. He led by example, his invincible form always seen where the carnage was greatest, forever ready to risk his own life on behalf of the sacred soil he cherished.
Even without military training, Hunter had adapted, creating a lightning-fast strike force that was now the envy of the Confederate army. The cavalry commander had taught many hard lessons to the Yankees, especially on his specific method of warfare. Carter remembered how Hunter had laughed when a Union prisoner asked what possessed him to attack an opposing force that outnumbered him three to one.
“It’s simple really,” Hunter had said. “A large, well-armed force chasing a small band of horsemen on their native soil, is a bit like trying to catch a field mouse with a bear trap.”
The thought caused Carter to laugh, and then to say a prayer of thanks that he had the privilege to serve under him.
There’s not a man alive who knows more about what to do and where, nor when and how to do it, than Alexander Hunter.
Carter’s mind flicked back to the present when one of the other men rode up beside him.
“Cap’n Hunter’s hanging back in case of pursuit, I reckon.” Gus Dorsey, one of Hunter’s most trusted scouts, flashed him a white-toothed grin.
Carter nodded and smiled. “Yep. And knowing the Captain, he’s back there trying to encourage one.”
Chapter 19
There's the devil to pay.
– Union General John F. Reynolds
Although it was “full dark” as Boonie would say, Andrea rode at a fast pace, paying little attention to any danger that lurked in the shadows. She was more concerned about the approaching storm that rumbled like a great monster on the other side of the mountain range than the enemy. She wanted to beat the tempest before it succeeded in making it across and soaking her.
But she could feel Justus tiring. Dust from the road covered them both, and the air, even though heavy with the signs of rain, still crushed them with oppressive heat.
To Andrea, plunging forward felt like playing a game with fate. She had no idea what or whom might lurk ahead. But instead of fear, she felt excitement, a pulsing pressure of blood through her veins driving her on.
It did not bother her that the stakes of the game she played were life and death. Actually, it did not occur to her. She was too busy thinking about her destination, dreaming about lying down to sleep, and as she so often did, promising God she would never push herself to this extreme again.
Her thoughts wandered to J.J., and she cringed when she thought how angry he would be she had not yet returned. She’d been delayed for hours by General Lawson, and then ordered to deliver a dispatch to an officer south of Centreville. Again, she had been delayed.
Everyone seemed to be in a uproar about something, but no one would bother to tell her why. Another officer insisted she carry a message to the outpost in Gainesville—and since it was close to where she was supposed to meet J.J., she’d agreed.
But that had been miles—and what seemed like—hours ago.
Suddenly a sound came to her out of the inky blackness ahead. It lasted only a split second, a sharp click, like a hoof striking a rock hidden in the dust of the road.
Andrea pulled Justus to a halt and listened, straining every nerve, seeking to penetrate the darkness in front of her. Justus, too, stood perfectly still and tense beneath her, his ears pointed forward, his muzzle twitching as if trying to interpret some message through the thick, night air.
The impatient side of Andrea told her it was nothing but a noise.
Ride on.
The optimistic side reinforced that thought, assuring her it was a Union patrol returning from a scout.
Ride on.
But in a departure from the normal, some inner voice compelled her to react. Dismounting in a flash, she dove toward the side of the road, slipping and sliding down a large bank with her horse right behind her. Within minutes, four shadows on horseback appeared above her, a mere ten feet away. They emerged so quickly from out of the darkness that Andrea had to blink to believe they were really there.
She held her breath and studied them. They looked to be the extreme advance of some body of cavalry, but their uniforms were so dust covered that even if it had been light enough to see, she doubted she could have discerned the color. They did not speak, but in ghostlike silence, simply moved away. She soon saw the main body, about two dozen men, advancing behind them. They too moved in a quiet column that seemed almost unearthly in appearance.
Andrea wanted to move, but she was standing in a thick mire of mud, and was afraid to try to lift her feet. Within the blink of an eye, a rear guard of two more horsemen stopped on the road above her, appearing out of nowhere just like the others had done. One had his hand in the air signaling a halt, and Andrea’s heart suddenly tumbled into her boots.
She needed to see no uniform now. His athletic form was unmistakable. And the familiar gray beast he rode stood out like a beacon in the night.
Andrea’s legs began to wobble. Hunter turned to look at the dark road behind him, his saddle creaking loudly against the stillness of the night. It seemed as if he had heard something, or perhaps just instinctively sensed danger was near.
Turning back, he sat in silence for another moment, his head raised at a slight angle, appearing to sniff the air for signs of the enemy. Andrea had often witnessed him take such precautions. Even when not in the heat of battle, he was ever mindful of the need to protect his men. It was not unusual to see him riding ahead of the battalion in daylight hours, exposing himself to any ambush. Likewise, he often served as rearguard at night when there was reasonable expectation for pursuit.
Suddenly his horse put her head down, snorted, and pawed the ground.
“Looks like Dixie smells a Yankee,” the man with the cigar said, a hint of scorn in his tone.
“So do I.” Hunter turned again in his saddle. “We should be heading south soon, then on to Gainesville.” His voice was so low Andrea could barely hear him over the pounding of her heart.
“Yup,” the man beside him answered, not even bothering to take the cigar from his mouth. “Got Yanks behind us and Yanks in front of us. Just the way you like it, Cap’n.”
“I don’t much like taking this main road.” Hunter stood in his stirrups to stretch his legs. “I guess Dodge knows what he’s doing.”
“Been dodging Yanks for quite a while now.” The other man laughed softly, scratching his ribs as he spoke. “We’ll no doubt be striking the rails soon—getting off the road.”
The captain nodded. “And ride right over whatever gets in our path.”
The men urged their horses forward and Andrea strained to hear. “You hear back from—”
Andrea held her breath, trying to hear the words that evaporated before they reached her. The last thing she made out was, “Thoroughfare Gap.” Then their voices and their images faded completely away.
Andrea held onto Justus for support another moment to catch her breath. She must hurry to get to Gainesville. They were taking the tracks. She would take the road.
In the past few minutes, the air had grown even heavier with the signs of a coming storm. But Andrea no longer thought about the one that brings rain.
Chapter 20
The veil of night is no disguise,
No screen from thy all-searching eyes.
Thy hand can seize thy foes as soon
Through midnight shades as blazing noon.
– The Psalms and Hymns of Isaac Watts
Andrea rode forward, so bone weary and wet she could barely keep her eyes open. The storm had come fast, just a hot breath of wind stirring the leaves at first, followed by a rush of hot air, and then torrential rain and lightning.
The wind on the mountain path had rivaled the thunder with its roaring for a time, but all had quieted now. Only an occasional tree limb broke the silence, writhing and groaning against another as if in excruciating pain. The cold rain from the storm had passed too, replaced by a slight drizzle and thick mist that seemed to rise up from the ground to swallow everything in its path.
Andrea tried desperately to make headway, hoping the fact that she had gone beyond the call of duty would somehow appease J.J.’s wrath when she returned late. This shortcut through Thoroughfare Gap, according to her crude map, would help her make better time.
She knew Hunter had been heading in this direction, but assumed she was ahead of him. Surely he had been delayed, if not entirely cut off by the Union troops. As for the other Confederates Hunter had alluded to, the storm and Justus’ dark color would make them easy to evade.
But just thinking about the possibility that Hunter might be lying in wait made the woods unexpectedly frightening. What if she had misjudged the time and distance it would take him to reach this gap? Suddenly every drop of rain falling from a leaf, every whisper of wind, and every snapping twig became her feared predator.
Andrea tried to penetrate the gloom and mist that reached out endlessly in front of her, but could see nothing. Strange figures appeared to glide among the shadows, and suspicious noises emanated from behind the cloak of darkness. Muted moonbeams transformed trees into armed sentries, creating a haunting trail of fright. Even Justus seemed nervous, shying at ordinary limbs that, in the darkness, appeared like ghostly arms reaching out to seize them both with long ghoulish fingers.
A sudden, death-filled scream in the woods from some small animal accosted by an owl or fox nearly threw Andrea out of the saddle in fright. The scream grew louder, and then died away. Andrea pulled Justus to a halt and listened over the sound of her own beating heart.
Only hushed and oppressive silence now, yet she could not shake the presentiment of impending danger. Andrea comforted herself with the thought that it would soon be dawn. She could get her bearings and head north toward the mill where she was supposed to have met J.J. Her head began nodding in her weariness, and she thought once again of sleep. Lord, my Savior, get me through this and I promise I’ll—
The click of a trigger hammer from out of the heavy stillness resounded like a thunderclap. Andrea sat up straight, jarred wide-awake.
“What is your business?” A low, sinister voice spoke from the darkness, not fifty paces in front of her.
At first Andrea saw nothing, though she searched frantically the dark path before her. Then, as if by command, the mist swirled and parted, revealing a horse and rider from within its protective folds. Hunter held bridle reins in one hand, revolver in the other.
Andrea did not answer at first, but searched for a way to escape. To her right appeared a steep, rocky bank; to her left a yawning void that dropped off abruptly. Despite the darkness and the mist, she feared Hunter’s legendary trigger finger would be quicker than her ability to disappear. From what she knew of the man, it seemed reasonable to assume he would shoot first and find out if it was justified later.
Andrea swallowed hard in an effort to drown the hive of bees that buzzed in her chest, the vibration and tremors of which were causing her to choke. Her voice, hoarse with weariness and cold, finally responded, “A courier with the ahum Virginia.” Andrea hoped he did not notice her deliberate attempt to mumble the name of a regiment. She prayed that with the fog, he had not yet seen the color of her horse, that he’d merely hailed the sound of an approaching rider.
“Where is your escort?” he asked after a long silence.
Andrea’s heart fluttered. “M-my horse is fresh. They could not keep up.”
“Proceed with your hands in the air.”
Hunter sounded utterly calm, but Andrea was not sure that meant he believed her. Filled with dread, she had no choice but to obey. He stood in picturesque silence, one firm hand on his unruly mount, the other aiming his gun with deadly precision. Distorted in form by the swirling mist, the horse and rider appeared supernatural, forcing Andrea to remind herself they were but flesh and blood like her.
Behold my hands and my feet, for a spirit hath not flesh and bone. Andrea strove to drive the Bible verse from her mind and concentrate instead on extricating herself from her blunder. “I’m looking for my unit, suh,” she said, still twenty paces out. She strained to keep her voice calm, to mask her impulse to run.
“You can ride forward with me,” he responded. “This mountain is crawling with Yanks.”
Ah, there is help nearby. Closing her eyes, she said a quick prayer, then spoke again with urgency. “I believe there is Union cavalry behind me. I passed a scouting party on patrol.”
“No fear. My men are dug in ahead.”
Now just fifteen paces away now, Andrea’s heart beat wildly. Hunter would soon be able to distinguish the color and size of her horse. Perhaps he already had. Fourteen-thirteen-twelve… Andrea closed her eyes momentarily and took a deep breath. For whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord shall be saved.
“Sir, behind you!” Andrea pointed over his shoulder, pretending to alert him to an unseen foe.
She did not wait to see if the ploy was successful or not. Wheeling Justus off the path, she plunged down the bank and crashed into the woods with the sound of gunfire echoing behind her.
“Forward the Fifth! Forward the Fifth New York!” she yelled, choosing a regiment she knew Hunter would not want to meet. This ruse seemed to work. She heard a muffled curse and the sound of the large horse’s hoof beats fading away to the west.
Andrea dismounted and leaned against a tree to catch her breath, then sank to the ground as the night returned to nerve-racking stillness. She watched and waited and listened, but her own heart thumping in her ears was the only sound she heard.
Taking a deep breath, she lowered her head into her arms in utter exhaustion. Just as she got her heartbeat back to normal, the distinct plodding of approaching horses and the sound of muffled conversation came to her ears. Instinctively, she held her breath and waited.
Has he come back with reinforcements? Brought a search party? She listened for a few more moments, then stood and carefully slid her gun from its holster on the saddle. Her nerves twitched with fear as she sank noiselessly to the wet ground again, her fingers grasping the handle of the gun for the comfort it gave her.
Listening intently, she heard at least two horses moving back and forth over the trail she had left. The riders appeared to be trying to discern from where the gunshots had come. They began talking, revealing distinctly northern accents.
In fact, she recognized one of the voices.
Colonel Delaney!
Chapter 21
My religious belief teaches me to feel as safe in battle as in bed. God has fixed the time for my death. I do not concern myself about that…
– Confederate General ‘Stonewall’ Jackson
Pacing on a rocky eminence near Thoroughfare Gap at dawn, J.J. searched for signs of a lone rider. If Andrea had gone through Hopewell Gap like he had told her, she should have ridden in behind him by now. Even with a few hours rest at the mill where he was supposed to have met her—and where he’d left a man to advise her of the change of plans—she should have been here. He had expected her yesterday afternoon for heaven sakes!
An aide rode up and saluted. “Anything?” J.J. asked, mounting his horse.
“No sign of Sinclair, sir. No trace of him at Monroe’s Mill yet.”
J.J. rubbed his beard and looked up to heaven. Where in the heck could she be? He had a report that Hunter had crossed the mountains last night. Who knew where he was now?
“There was that storm sir,” the private offered.
J.J. nodded, but he knew that Andrea feared neither darkness nor storm. Mother Nature may have slowed her travels, but bad weather would never have stopped her. She would have ridden right through no matter the conditions. No, it was
not the storm that concerned him. It was her rash and irrational nature that had him rattled.
What if she took this pass, by mistake or otherwise, and collided with Hunter? The thought alarmed him, as did the following reflection: He had given her an order—the type of thing she reverently listened to while he was present and instantly forgot when he was not.
J.J. heard one of his men yelling and turned to see him pointing in the opposite direction he’d been looking. The gazes of a half-dozen men followed his, and became riveted on the movements of a lone horse and rider galloping through the pass less than a hundred yards away—straight through Thoroughfare Gap.
J.J. closed his eyes in prayer. Thank you, Lord. Disobeyed orders—again—but at least she’s safe.
His feeling of relief turned to despair in a split second. The angry bark of a fieldpiece filled the air, and in a moment, the woods across the gap were in full song, spewing forth a steady stream of fire.
J.J. watched the explosion of smoke and flame in disbelief at first, as if it were a dream—and then in complete horror when reality set in. Every man with him instinctively leaned forward with squinting eyes, each one realizing that the gunpowder blasting from those weapons was focused on one lone figure.
“Land sakes!” J.J. cried, urging his horse forward and standing high in his stirrups. He looked at the stricken faces around him and realized they were all thinking the same hopeless thought. What chance had flesh and blood to survive that hellfire?
“To horse, men!” He turned to a courier by his side. “Alert the sharpshooters in the mill. Tell them to pick off as many as they can!” There was no need for the order. Guns already barked a challenge, and spurts of fire erupted from the mill in reply to the voluminous display of weaponry on the opposite ridge. To add to the spectacle, the sun now poured down a crimson light, tinting the smoke so that it appeared almost bloody.
Duty Bound (Shades of Gray Civil War Serial Trilogy Book 1) Page 9