The Big Gun (Dusty Fog's Civil War Book 3)

by J. T. Edson

  The men of the Confederate States’ Army of Arkansas and North Texas admired, respected and trusted Ole Devil, although he had but recently assumed command. It had been due to his excellent planning and superb leadership that they had completed their successful withdrawal to south of the Ouachita River.

  Standing on the judge’s rostrum, with his feet spread slightly apart, Ole Devil presented a commanding, imposing figure. In a subtle way he was paying tribute to the quality of his audience by having taken special care with his appearance.

  A white Jeff Davis campaign hat rested squarely on his head. He had fastened back the lapels of his cadet-gray, double-breasted full dress coat to the top button in each row of eight which narrowed from four inches apart to three inches at the bottom. That exposed his white shirt’s collar and a black silk cravat fastened in the fashion of a bow tie. The stand-up collar—bearing the three gold stars encircled by a laurel wreath insignia of his rank—the cuffs of his sleeves and fringed waist-sash were of cavalry yellow. His ‘chicken guts’ were formed from four strands of gold braid, being further indications of his status as were the two strips of gold braid—5,’8” wide and 1,’8” apart—along the outer seams of his riding breeches. Over the waist-sash was buckled a well-polished black weapon belt that supported a horse-soldier’s saber at the left and had a revolver holstered butt forward on the right. Highly shone Hessian boots, with glittering spurs on their heels, completed his smart uniform.

  Despite its proximity to the enemy, the courthouse at Arkadelphia—seat of Clark County, Arkansas—was crowded with gray-uniformed officers. It was possible to distinguish in which branch of the service they were employed by the color of their collars, cuffs, trousers’ stripes and, where applicable, the tops of their kepis. Infantry, blue; Artillery, red; Cavalry, yellow; Medical, black; Engineers and Staff; buff.

  Occupying the front row of seats were the colonels and lieutenant colonels who commanded Ole Devil’s regiments. Their exact status could be established most easily by respectively three, or two, gold stars on their collars. Majors showed only one star, but their sleeves also carried triple gold braid Austrian knots to show that they held field rank. Next came the majors and senior captains; the leaders of the companies or batteries in the colonels’ outfits.

  Slowly Ole Devil swept his gaze around the room, reading interest, speculation and anticipation in every face. Probably they had already guessed at his reason for gathering them together and were eagerly waiting to discover exactly what the future held in store for them. His news would surprise many, please some but disappoint others.

  The general had known several of the men present before he had assumed command of the Army of Arkansas and North Texas and all had served him well during the withdrawal. Through their efforts, it had been a planned retirement and not a rout followed by an undisciplined flight for safety. Having spent the past seven days in organizing their new defensive positions, he was taking the earliest possibility to warn them of the kind of conditions they would soon be facing.

  ‘Well, gentlemen,’ Ole Devil said, in tones that carried to every corner of the room. ‘Firstly, I want to say—which will probably be a cause for relief to some of you—that I don’t intend to make such gatherings a regular habit. We’ll leave mass councils of war, complete with long, flowing bursts of oratory, to whoever is sent to replace General Culver.’

  There was a burst of laughter. Before his capture, General ‘Cussing’ Culver had gained a name for frequently assembling every available officer—not merely those commanding regiments and companies or batteries—and indulging in long, verbose speeches as he explained his future policies.

  ‘However,’ Ole Devil went on, when silence had returned, ‘I felt that, on this occasion, I should bring you all together and explain the situation. We have crossed the Ouachita and the work of consolidating our positions is well in hand. As most, if not all, of you have guessed, this is as far as we go.’

  A low rumble of satisfaction rose from the assembled officers. Looking at the rows of faces, Ole Devil saw no evidence of defeat or disillusionment despite the fact that they had withdrawn from the State’s capital and left much of Arkansas in the Yankees’ hands.

  ‘How soon will we be taking the offensive, sir?’ asked the tall, handsome, debonair Colonel Beauregard Gaylord; who had financed, recruited and trained his own cavalry regiment, Gaylord’s Dare Devils.

  ‘We will not, at this time, be taking the offensive, gentlemen,’ Ole Devil warned

  ‘Will we after we’ve been reinforced, sir?’ Colonel Harvey Barnett of the 1st Arkansas Rifle Regiment wanted to know.

  ‘That’s one of the things I wanted to explain,’ Ole Devil said soberly. ‘We aren’t going to be reinforced. From now on, we will have to rely upon men recruited in Arkansas and Texas to keep our regiments up to strength.’

  ‘In that case, how can we hope to regain the land we’ve given up?’ Barnett demanded, in a polite, respectful manner, and several of his regiment’s officers muttered their agreement.

  ‘We can’t at this time,’ Ole Devil admitted, wishing that he could have given more reassuring news to the Arkansans—particularly those who had lived north of the Ouachita River. ‘As most of you know, the War isn’t going too well for us. So it has been decided by the High Command that our main strength must be reserved for the protection of Richmond and the sea-board States. Without them, our cause is lost. From now on, they can’t spare any further regiments, men, or much by way of military equipment.’

  ‘So we’re to be left at the Yankees’ mercy, sir?’ suggested an Engineer’s major bitterly, thinking of his home and business in Little Rock.

  ‘Not entirely,’ Ole Devil corrected. ‘In fact, I’d say that we aren’t at anybody’s mercy. Rather we have been entrusted with a vital, important duty. From now on, gentlemen, we are to form a running sore in the Yankees’ side. We have to make them expend men and material here that would otherwise be available for use in the East and South.’

  ‘How can we do that, sir?’ inquired the tall, burly, bearded colonel who was the senior Artillery officer present and the commander of the Arkadelphia garrison. ‘We’re still outnumbered and can’t hope to face up to them in open battle.’

  ‘Our purpose isn’t to try to beat them in open battle, Colonel Galveston,’ Ole Devil pointed out. ‘If it had been, we needn’t have withdrawn from Little Rock. From now on, we concentrate upon holding our ground and fighting back, using the tactics of the Indians. And I mean using all their tactics, gentlemen, although we’ll draw the line at some of their methods. Scalping isn’t to be permitted.’ There were chuckles and he let them die down before continuing, ‘I realize that those of you who have the misfortune not to be Texans—’ Again laughter rose and subsided. A general could always rely on such a response to his attempts at humor. Ole Devil went on, ‘May not be sure just what fighting like Indians entails. It means that we will constantly be raiding the Yankees; striking at them when and where they least expect it; destroying their camps; running off their horses; wrecking and looting—especially the latter—their supply columns. Like the Indians, we will gather a good proportion of our military necessities from the Yankees. As you can see, it will mainly be work for the Cavalry. However, in addition to their work of patrolling the Ouachita and preventing the Yankees from crossing to raid us, the Infantry may be able to indulge in short distance raids beyond the river. The Artillery will be responsible, with Infantry support, for the protection of the riverside towns and villages. I can promise you, gentlemen, there will be work in plenty for everybody.’

  The words met with a mixed reception, especially amongst the more junior captains. Those in the Cavalry looked delighted at the prospect of such active, aggressive participation, with its accompanying opportunities for gaining distinction. Despite Ole Devil’s promise of limited offensive action, the majority of the Infantry and all the Artillery officers—faced with what would most likely be considerable boredom in their de
fensive duties—seemed less pleased. However, one group who wore the blue facings of foot soldiers did not appear to share their compatriots’ gloom. They were members of the 2nd Texas Infantry Regiment, but were becoming a mounted force and, as such, would be able to operate with the Cavalry.

  At the rear of the room, to the right of the big front doors of the building, sat Captain Dustine Edward Marsden Fog, youngest and most junior officer present. By his side was a taller, slightly older captain whose red facings indicated that he belonged to the Artillery. Dark-haired, moderately good looking, with a slim, wiry build, he was Douglas St. John Staunce, and he wore more formal, correct attire and accoutrements.

  The only son of Britain’s leading artillerist, Staunce had come from that country to command a battery of mountain howitzers in the Confederate States’ Army. It had been presented to the South by a group of British cotton manufacturers and was manned by Crimean War veterans who had become disenchanted with civilian life. Staunce and his battery had also distinguished themselves at the Battle of Martin’s Mill, but he had refused promotion as it would have meant that he must leave his men, battery and the four little guns. vii

  Since the Battle, Dusty and Staunce had frequently come into contact with each other. A close friendship had grown up between them, based on mutual admiration and respect. At the moment, however, neither spoke. They were listening to what was being said with considerable interest.

  The abduction of General Culver had been completed without difficulty. Having accepted that defeat was inevitable, the Lancers’ major had made certain that none of his men endangered their own—and their companions’—lives. Every time a soldier had appeared from the pup tents, the major had called out and prevented him from doing anything rash. The Texans had taken away all the horses and had found the rest of their work just as easy. Escorting Culver and their loot to the Ouachita, they had made the crossing without meeting any opposition, then had delivered him to General Hardin’s headquarters.

  From the next morning, Dusty had been busy reorganizing his Company. Sufficient recruits had arrived from Texas for the men he had lost at Martin’s Mill to be replaced and his command fetched up to its full strength. So he would rather have remained with them, helping to weld them and the old hands into a smoothly functioning team, but the meeting had taken precedence over that. The work had had to be left in the capable hands of 1st Lieutenant Blaze—for Red had matured rapidly while carrying out his first important independent assignment during the battle and, anyway, Dusty had always known he could be trusted to carry out his duties in a responsible manner—and Sergeant Major Billy Jack. Despite the latter’s mournful, hang-dog aspect, he was a first-class soldier and stood high in the enlisted men’s esteem,

  ‘I don’t know who will take over command of the Union’s Army of Arkansas,’ Ole Devil admitted. ‘But, until he gets here, there should be some confusion. I intend that we should take full advantage of this and try to make it worse. As the withdrawal proved, the Yankees aren’t using their top-quality regiments against us. With the exception of the New Jersey Dragoons and, possibly, the Wisconsin Heavy Infantry, we were and still are, opposed by mediocre outfits. That will make our work so much easier. Such opposition will soon become disheartened, sullen and discontented if they suffer constant harassment, misfortune and danger. It’s up to you, gentlemen, to make this state happen.’

  ‘When Uncle Devil says “you”,’ Dusty whispered to Staunce. ‘He means us, the cavalry.’

  ‘That’s family influence,’ the Englishman replied, equally quietly. ‘Almost nepotism, old boy. Ole Devil’s a fly-slicer viii , so one can expect him to be biased in favor. Now if my father was commanding general, you’d really see the Artillery in action.’

  ‘What can you wagon-soldiers ix do that us leather bumpers, or even the foot shufflers x can’t do a heap better and quieter?’ Dusty challenged.

  ‘Hit targets from farther away and harder than you can with your revolvers and sabers,’ Staunce countered. ‘We can stand back where you yellow-legs and the puddle-splashers couldn’t even—’

  At that moment, Dusty’s question received an even more pointed answer.

  There was a faint hissing sound, which rapidly grew louder until it ended with a bellowing roar that shattered the windows of the courthouse.

  Every man in the room came to his feet and a thunder of startled conversation rolled forth. For a few seconds, everything was in confusion as officers turned to look in the direction of the explosion, or tried to leave their rows of seats to investigate.

  Like the other occupants of the room, Dusty had risen. He found himself ideally positioned to take a hurried departure. Slapping on the hat he had been nursing, he darted forward and threw open the double doors. Before him stretched the town’s square, and considerable pandemonium reigned across its width.

  Civilians who had gathered before the courthouse, attracted by the presence of so many senior officers, scattered. Women were screaming and the men yelled incoherent warnings. About thirty yards away from the front entrance of the building was a fair-sized, smoking crater. As far as Dusty could see, nobody had been hurt in the explosion. However, all around the square, horses were rearing and plunging in fright. Cursing soldiers struggled to restrain the frightened animals and prevent them from bolting. Not all the attempts had been successful for some of the horses had escaped and were running away.

  Looking around as he left the building, Dusty was grateful for his lack of seniority. Being by far the most junior officer present, he had had to leave his horse well away from the courthouse. So the high-spirited, big and powerful bay gelding appeared to be less disturbed than the animals which had been closer to the explosion.

  Racing across the square, Dusty saw that Company C’s guidon bearer had once more displayed competence in handling his duties. The good-looking, tall, sandy haired young private had already succeeded in bringing his own and Dusty’s mounts under control.

  Gripping one end of each horse’s two-piece reins—the second portion being fastened to the saddle horn—Sandy McGraw had turned to face the courthouse. He watched the small Texan sprinting towards him. If he had been asked to bet on the subject, Sandy would have been willing to gamble heavily on his youthful officer being the first man to emerge from the building. What was more, the guidon bearer felt sure that Captain Fog was already assessing the situation and figuring out the best way to deal with it.

  ‘What happened, Sandy?’ Dusty called,

  ‘Damned if I know, cap’n,’ the guidon bearer admitted, wishing that he could have made a more constructive or informative answer. ‘It just seemed to come from nowhere. I haven’t even heard a cannon going off.’

  Neither had Dusty, which puzzled him.

  Even before the withdrawal had commenced, Ole Devil had arranged for the riverside towns and villages to be defended. So there were well-protected and carefully sited batteries along the southern bank of the Ouachita, backed up by a strong force of infantry.

  When the Yankees had arrived, they had brought three batteries of M1857 twelve-pounder ‘Napoleon’ gun-howitzers. However, they had not been able to locate the weapons into a position from which they could bombard the town.

  Aware of the danger presented by having so many senior officers gathered under one roof and in such close proximity to the enemy, Colonel Galveston had taken very strict security precautions. He had not been content to rely upon the secrecy with which the meeting had been arranged. Although the outskirts of Arkadelphia extended to the river, the courthouse was some distance from it. Neither the front of the building nor the square could be seen from the opposite side of the Ouachita. For all that, Colonel Galveston had given strict orders that a constant watch be kept on the Yankees and any sign of activity—particularly on the part of the ‘Napoleons’—must be reported to him immediately.

  No such warning had been given. Nor could Dusty hear anything to suggest that the opposing forces were engaging each other with canno
n-, or even rifle-fire. The lack of evidence of hostile activity was very puzzling.

  If the Yankees had heard about the meeting and were hoping to kill a number of the Confederate senior officers, they would hardly have restricted their efforts to a single shot. Instead, they would have fired a volley from all eighteen of the three batteries’ ‘Napoleons’. To do that, however, they would have had to move into range and, by doing so, given the defenders some indication, of their intentions.

  ‘Dusty!’ Staunce yelled, having reached the square shortly after the small Texan and discovered that his unattended horse had succeeded in freeing itself and bolting. ‘Where’re you going?’

  ‘To see what’s happening from up on the hill,’ Dusty replied.

  Among the precautions taken for the protection of Arkadelphia had been the establishment of an observation post on top of a nearby small hill. From it, the northern bank of the river could be kept under a more careful scrutiny than was possible at water level. The men on duty had the use of a powerful telescope and could pass messages into town over a telegraph wire.

  Dusty believed that, in the absence of sounds of conflict from alongside the river, the top of the hill would offer him the best opportunity of satisfying his curiosity.

  ‘Loan me a horse and I’ll come along,’ Staunce requested, glancing at the crater in passing. He had reached similar conclusions to Dusty’s and felt that he was more capable of solving the mystery.

  ‘Sure,’ Dusty agreed, without looking back. He was approaching his gelding and addressed the next words to the guidon bearer. ‘Let Captain Staunce borrow your horse, Sandy.’

  Grabbing the rein from the soldier’s hand as he finished speaking, Dusty went astride the big bay with a flying bound. While his spurs’ signal sent the animal bounding forward, with a powerful thrust of muscular energy that would have unseated a less able rider, he released the second strand of the reins and guided it in the required direction.