J.J. waited, somehow expecting the horse and rider to reappear from the haze. Much as he tried to conjure up the image, he saw nothing but the continuous belching and spattering of guns. The peaceful valley of a few moments ago smoldered in a sea of smoke as seconds ticked slowly by.
Suddenly there appeared from within the smoke, some movement—hard for him to discern at first, but yes, it was a horse. The men around him gave a collective, involuntary moan at the sight of the riderless animal, until someone with a spyglass gasped and pointed. “By Jupiter, there he is!”
J.J. saw Andrea appear as if by magic, leaning low over Justus’ back. He cursed and applauded her foolishness all at once. He had often seen her perform the same trick, throwing one leg over the side of her mount and bunching into a ball with all her weight in one stirrup.
How many times had she fooled him with that game, laughing when he thought she’d been thrown from her mount? J.J. continued to hold his breath, fearing any moment the horse would go tumbling, especially after she turned her head toward the enemy and gave them a mocking salute.
“Fletcher, ride down to Broad Run and intercept Sinclair before he heads to Hopewell Gap. Looks like he might finally be following my orders.”
J.J. still heard the popping of sporadic gunfire as the Confederates realized their mistake, but Andrea was well out of range by now.
The sound of firing suddenly increased again, and J.J.’s gaze shifted further up the hill. With the aid of his spyglass, he watched men in blue descending on the Confederates from behind. J.J. forgot about Andrea for a moment and ordered his men forward. They now had the rebels pinned in on three sides, with only one direction for escape.
* * *
Captain Hunter put his hand in the air to signal a cease-fire. “Confound that scoundrel!”
The horse and rider were well out of range now, no sense in wasting ammunition. They’d lost their chance once again, despite the fact they’d waited on this ridge all night for just such an opportunity.
Hunter stared in disbelief and wondrous admiration, as did the rest of his men, at the feat just pulled off before their very eyes. It seemed impossible that a mere boy could rush with such mad recklessness through the very gates of hell with only his fortitude as a shield. A prettier piece of daring and audacity even Hunter had not yet achieved.
He watched the black speck for as long as he could see it, with both wonder and animosity. Never had he seen such grace and power united as one on the back of a horse. He could not help but marvel at the courage and pluck of the exploit, and curse and despise the one who had pulled it off.
“Heck of a rider there,” Lieutenant Carter said, chewing thoughtfully on his cigar. “Got no fear or no sense, that one.”
Hunter did not answer at first. He continued to stare at the familiar horse tearing through the valley with long strides, the rider sitting effortlessly, as if the gauntlet through which he had just ridden was a sporting event. “I’m inclined to believe the latter,” he said with disgust, turning to his horse and motioning for his men to follow. “They’ll be coming soon. Let’s go, men.”
No sooner did he utter the words than heavy fire rained down from behind him. He realized then that the rider had been a decoy, giving the Union troops time to move in behind him and determine the location of his guns. His firing at the rider had done nothing but show the Yankees their exact position.
“The devil with you! You are mine!” Hunter waved his fist at the figure, now only a dot in the distance. The trick inspired him with a doubled rage for revenge, but he knew he must concentrate on getting his men to safety. He had a score to settle, but that could wait. He had only a small piece of real estate to use for his escape—and come hell or high water, he had every intention of making his withdrawal a costly one for the enemy.
Chapter 22
Without the assistance of the Divine Being we cannot succeed. With Him we cannot fail.
– Abraham Lincoln
When Andrea finally cantered into the Union encampment behind the guide, she tried to act as though nothing of importance had transpired. “I see it’s nice and clear up here, boys,” she said to a group of men standing around Justus. “Strangest thing. A bit of a fog suddenly rolled in down below.”
Some of the men gazed with a sense of admiring awe as their eyes traced the path of her recent flight. “Sinclair, you crazy fool,” one of them yelled. “By gravy, you must be the luckiest son-of-a-gun I ever seen!”
“I thought you was food for powder, sure,” another said incredulously.
“Kicked up a little dust is all,” Andrea joked. It was well known that Virginia roads were either dust or mud, depending on the season, and the dry version was not what clung to her at the moment. She was covered in a spattered layer of juicy earth, accumulated from the bed of fathomless mire through which she had galloped.
Andrea looked up to see J.J. stomping toward her, and gave him an exaggerated salute despite clear signs he was not in a joking mood.
“Come with me, Sinclair.” J.J. turned and tramped away without the waste of any more words.
Andrea heard the men behind her talking in hushed tones as she limped to follow him. Now that she was out of danger, the pain in her ankle had grown much more noticeable. By the time she reached the stone mill where J.J. had disappeared, the throbbing was impossible to ignore.
“Damnation! Are you trying to get yourself killed, or does it just appear that way?” J.J.’s voice assaulted her before she’d even closed the door. His breath came in gasps as he patted the perspiration off his head with a handkerchief. The pop, pop, pop of gunfire from the upper floors of the mill echoed through the room as sharpshooters continued to find targets.
“For the love of liberty, if you wish to commit suicide, I will supply the gun,” he roared. “You needn’t provide target practice for the enemy!”
Andrea wasn’t sure how to deal with this unusual display of anger, so decided to try humor. “Obviously they are in need of practice.”
“Where have you been?” J.J. bellowed over the din. “From what I witnessed, your tardiness isn’t due to your horse being lame or your spurs being broke.”
Andrea almost smiled at his use of the two most familiar excuses used by cavalrymen, but decided by his expression that humor was not his intent. “I was…detained.”
“Did you forget my orders?”
This question stumped Andrea for a moment because she rarely ever committed his orders to memory—therefore she could not have forgotten one. “No,” she replied honestly. “I did not forget your orders.”
“Didn’t I tell you to come through the other pass?”
“Oh-h yes. . .but this one was faster—”
“Faster? For what? Dispatching you to your heavenly creator?”
J.J. paced up and down, stopping only long enough to pour himself a drink, which he emptied with a shaking hand.
“A little early for that isn’t it?” Andrea stared at the empty glass, thinking she would not mind having one herself.
“You did not answer my question.” J.J. slammed the glass down. “Do you believe yourself immune to death or are you trying to get yourself killed? Why do you seem to get the most enjoyment out of life when you are within an ace of losing it?”
Andrea shrugged. She had never seen J.J. quite like this. Although it was common practice for her to seek forgiveness rather than permission, J.J. did not seem predisposed to either one today.
“Is your affection for danger so great that you must amuse yourself with it? I believe you would jump off a cliff with the intention—and the hope—of growing wings on the way down!”
“I do not court danger,” Andrea said, trying to defend herself, “if indeed that is what you are trying to say.”
“Oh, you don’t? It just finds you?”
The colonel was still yelling, though there was no need. The gunfire from above had slowed to a sporadic pace.
“J.J.” Andrea sighed heavily again as
she pulled out a chair and sat down. “Duty is ours, the consequences are God’s. If a bullet finds me, it will be according to the order of Providence.”
“It will be according to whether you have any sense or not!” J.J. swiped his hand through his thick, unruly hair. “Blast it! I would have thought your horse’s life, at least, had a little value to you.”
“Please, Colonel,” Andrea said, chafing at his tone and manner. “Perhaps from your vantage point you could not see, but the incline was too steep. They were content with firing over my head.”
“Oh, you have that right.” He walked over and pulled off her hat. “They were indeed firing over your head!” He pointed to a ragged bullet hole she had not known was there. “Tell me, does that make it hot enough for you? Is your thirst for danger satisfied now?”
Andrea frowned uneasily at the hat. “It appears I was fortunate, but as you surely know, to get out of a difficulty one must go through it.”
“It’s just that significant to you, isn’t it?” J.J.’s voice rose again. “I swear I have never met anyone so poor in good judgment and rich in good luck. Is that why you found it necessary to taunt them?”
“Well, I suppose that—”
“And I suppose you are going to tell me you do not take the war lightly either, yet you treat it like a game! You seem to think that if you have no fear, nothing can happen to you.”
“The Lord is the strength of my life,” Andrea quipped. “Of whom shall I be afraid?”
“Don’t try to back up your impudent behavior with that high authority,” he roared. “There is an old saying that God takes care of fools and children, too, but surely you are testing even His patience!”
“I only did what I thought was best, considering the—”
“Did it ever occur to you not to think? To just follow orders? Was your mission not clear? Were my orders not explicit?” Must you persist in your obstinate refusal to obey?”
“You evidently did not follow your own orders, Colonel,” Andrea said as sulfur smoke, sinking down from the upper floors, began to fill the room. “I am apparently not the only one to have taken the wrong pass.”
“I never intended to be at Hopewell. I intended to keep you away from this Gap and the enemy, and thereby out of trouble!”
Andrea blinked in disbelief, realizing for the first time he did not trust her.
“Blazes,” J.J. said, pounding the desk with a fist. “I’m going to have every blasted officer on this side of the Bull Run Mountains demanding my report on this.”
“I think you’d be less likely to criticize my actions if I were a man,” Andrea countered, her voice rising in anger.
“You’d be imprisoned for insubordination if you were a man. And if you still carry any notions about going to Richmond,” he said, standing directly in front of her now as if she couldn’t hear his yelling from across the room, “then I can’t help but fear the voice of reason has entirely abandoned you.”
Andrea’s gaze jerked back to his and she rose to her feet, but he held out his hand for her to be silent. “We have rules here Sinclair,” he said. “In the army we tend to call them orders…those pesky things which you seem to strangely forget, ignore, discount, overlook and disregard.”
“No.” Andrea shook her head. “I did not…exactly…ignore your—”
“You have proven to me time and again that you lack the ability to use prudence, and the prospect of you acquiring that skill, at this point, I’d say, are extremely remote. I can’t have it and I surely won’t stand for it by sending you to Richmond.”
“I promise. I can follow orders, Colonel. I will be—”
“Your record, unfortunately, speaks for itself. Anyway, my scouts tell me Hunter squeezed through our lines and has returned to wherever he came from, so there’s no use deliberating over it now. You are dismissed.”
“Sir, with all due respect—”
“I said you are dismissed.”
When Andrea turned to exit, she nearly collided with an officer striding through the door. “Ah, there you are, boy. Never saw anything like it. How about you, Colonel?” Colonel Dayton dragged Andrea back into the room by her shoulder. “Did you ever see anything like it?”
“Can’t say I ever have,” J.J. said. “Seems to me only a fool or a madman would attempt extinction in such a manner.”
“Colonel, surely you mean dis-tinction,” the officer exclaimed. “Why, I can’t begin to fathom how this young man got through that pass, knowing full well those hills were full of Rebs. Then to have Colonel Delaney move in and attack from behind—mercy but it was incredible. Splendid piece of work turning the tables on Hunter himself. Wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own two eyes.”
“I’ve…not had time to be briefed on the full account,” J.J. said, staring confusedly at Andrea.
“What’s your name anyway, son?”
“Sinclair, sir.” Andrea locked her gaze on a single floorboard.
“That was well done, Sinclair.” Dayton slapped her on the back so hard she stepped forward to remain standing. “Devilish clever!” He turned to leave, and Andrea turned to follow.
“Sinclair!” Andrea stopped at the sound of J.J.’s voice, but did not turn and did not answer. “Get some sleep and then report back to me. Get something to eat too. You can’t live on mud pies.”
Andrea departed the room with the relief of one who has escaped the scene of a scalping, but as soon as she left the mill she was confronted by the cheers and jests of a dozen men.
“By-jmmney hoecakes I ain’t never seen the beat of it! Wha’d the Colonel think?”
“Can you teach me to ride like that?”
Andrea ignored them as she shook her head, trying to rid her brain of dead fatigue. But to her somnolent eyes, the ground was roiling before her and she could barely place her feet.
She kept walking nevertheless, limping heavily, until she saw a discarded blanket lying over a bush and picked it up as she passed by. Heading for a quiet spot near the stream, she wrapped the blanket around her, laid her weary body down on the cold, wet ground, and fell instantly asleep.
Chapter 23
The same canteen, my soldier friend, the same canteen.
There’s never a bond, old friend, like this!
We have drunk from the same canteen.
– We Have Drunk From the Same Canteen, Civil War Song
When Andrea awoke a few hours later, the inside of her mouth felt like it was caked with mud, and her throat itched as if ants had taken up residence there during her slumber. She coughed and spit, trying to force herself into consciousness. Looking down at her clothes, she remembered the events of the night before, her earlier ride—and her meeting with J.J.
Rising stiffly from the wet ground, she heard the familiar buzz and hum of shouted jests floating in the breeze from somewhere downstream. She limped to the edge of the creek and splashed the sleep from her eyes, gasping when the cold mountain water hit her face. Cupping her numb hands, she drank its delicious coolness, then stood as a voice behind her beckoned.
“You awake, Sinclair?”
She turned to see Boonie making his way down the bank.
“My eyes are open, ain’t they?” Andrea wiped the water off her face with her coat sleeve.
“That don’t necessarily mean you’re awake.” Boonie stared hard at her. “Guess you seen we got a regular powwow going on here.” He nodded toward the mill.
Andrea turned her stiff neck. Tethered in front of the mill house were a dozen horses, obviously those of officers and their aides. “What the plague is going on?” She was somewhat curious, but did not really give a hoot. For all she knew or cared, they were up there drinking wine, smoking big, fat cigars, and discussing world politics.
“What’s going on?” Boonie looked dumbfounded. “They’re here about your little escapade near’s I can tell. They say Jordan’s fit to be tied.”
Andrea looked up at Boonie and then back to the mill,
but simply shrugged at his remark. “You don’t say.” Then she sat down and tried to detach her boot from her swollen ankle.
“You don’t say?” Boonie’s voice grew louder. “Is that all you got to say?”
“Well, as to the Jordan part, I was already fully aware, because he’s already given me jaw about it,” she said. “As to the other, I doubt my little escapade was of enough consequence to draw the attention of all those officers.”
“Well, they ain’t here for nothing.” Boonie shook his head. “I heard that a dispatch came in from the division commander and your name was in it.”
Andrea did not bother to answer. Camp rumors no doubt. Once something like that got told, it took wings and flew. But her mind was no longer on the officers in the mill or what they were there for. Instead, she was chastising herself for not removing her boot before going to sleep. Her ankle had swollen tight against the leather again, and she knew J.J. would never consent to giving her another pair if she cut this one off.
“We’re getting a card game going,” Boonie said. “Wanna join in?”
“In a minute.” Andrea wrestled again with her boot and grimaced at the slow progress she made.
Boonie walked over and gently helped her pull it off. “Still bothering you, huh?”
“A little.” Andrea groaned when he pulled her to her feet. She held onto his coat for balance, half-walking, half-hopping toward a circle of soldiers.
“That was sure some ride this morning, Sinclair,” a man named Leroy said in a voice louder than necessary. “If that wasn’t some tall fun to watch, then I’m no judge.”
“Colonel Jordan didn’t think it was too fun to watch.” Andrea sat down and banged her boot on a rock, sending clods of dried mud flying.
Duty Bound (Shades of Gray Civil War Serial Trilogy Book 1) Page 10