by J. T. Edson
That won’t be easy, with the kind of country that’s between us and them, old sport,’ Staunce warned. ‘With the balloon up, they’ll know we’re coming and I’d hate to run into a full company armed with Spencers. Especially when they know we’re on our way and can pick their ground.’
‘You blasted foreigners always wants things too easy,’ Red scoffed. ‘And we don’t have much choice, except to chance it.’
‘What’s worrying you, Harry?’ Dusty inquired, for he could see traces of alarm and perturbation on the girl’s face. She had been very helpful, giving them much useful information regarding the strength of the big gun’s escort and other matters, but he had suspected that something was disturbing her as she had been doing so. ‘Something is, I’d say.’
‘Yes,’ the girl admitted. ‘Before Lyle sent Poppa off with Pulling Sue, Mama Lukie—Eric’s mother—heard him telling Captain Stabruck that if it looked like the Rebels were going to capture them, Poppa was to be killed to stop him being able to work for the South.’
‘Whee-dogie!’ Red breathed. ‘Now that’s not what I’d call being helpful to us Southron boys.’
‘Now who’s wanting things easy?’ Staunce countered, but their expressions told the girl that they were concerned by what they had just heard. ‘It just means we’ll have to play things a mite more carefully, as you foreigners say.’
‘That’s for sure,’ Dusty declared. ‘Is there anything else you can tell us that might help, Harry?’
‘Mama Lukie and Oscar, he’s our butler, have told me a few things they’ve overheard,’ the girl answered. ‘Lyle doesn’t want to chance losing either Pulling Sue, or the big gun. So he’s given orders to Stabruck not to take any chances. If it looks like they might be in danger, they have to pull back to the nearest outfit that has strength enough to protect them.’
‘That’s interesting,’ Dusty said quietly.
‘I’ve been thinking about that balloon, Dusty,’ Red remarked. ‘If it wasn’t there, we could likely sneak up on them.’
‘It is there, old thing,’ Staunce pointed out.
‘Why sure,’ Red replied. ‘The Company couldn’t sneak up on it by day and we’d not get there with enough darkness left to do it, even if they hadn’t seen us coming before sundown, But two, or maybe three of us ought to be able to slip through. Especially if we wore Yankee uniforms.’
‘Us?’ Dusty asked.
‘I should’ve said “me” and a couple more,’ Red corrected. ‘You can’t go and Doug has to hold those Limey wagon-soldiers’ hands so they don’t get lost. Which only leaves me.’
‘Like you say,’ Dusty drawled, after looking in silence for almost half a minute at his cousin. ‘That only leaves you. What do you aim to do after you’ve sneaked up on the balloon?’
‘Cut it loose, burn it, burst it, whatever we get the chance to do,’ Red answered. ‘I reckon we could get into their camp and do it while most of them’s sleeping.’
‘They could shoot you as spies if they caught you wearing their uniforms,’ Staunce warned.
‘I’m not figuring on letting them catch me,’ Red countered ‘How about it, Dusty? I’ll order Vern Hassle and Wilbur Sprigg to volunteer and we’ll make a stab at it.’ Then he looked at the girl, ‘Thing being, Harry, what’re they likely to do to your pappy if we should get rid of their balloon?’
‘I don’t think they’d do anything,’ the girl decided after a moment’s consideration. ‘They need him to drive Pulling Sue and keep her rolling. But don’t let Stabruck lay hands on you, Red. He’s a soft-shell and hates all Southrons. He’d kill you out of hand and slowly if he caught you, no matter what uniform you’re wearing.’
‘I’ll mind it,’ Red promised cheerfully. ‘Happen I get to go, that is.’
‘All right,’ Dusty sighed. ‘You’re set on going, so I won’t stop you.’
Chapter Ten – We’ve Sure Taken Their Balloon
‘Corporal Vernon James Cuthbert Hassle, bearing in mind that I’m your lawful and superior officer and backed by the full and awful powers of the Manual of Field Regulations,’ First Lieutenant Red Blaze whispered, ‘would you be inclined to say that I maybe talk just a little mite too much on occasion?’
‘Bearing all that in mind,’ the ancient corporal replied sotto voce, ‘I’m obliged to come out right truthful and say “no”. May the Good Lord take pity on me for lying.’
‘You’re a man’s’ll go far,’ Red drawled. ‘Some say the farther the better. Thing being, if I didn’t go opening my mouth, we wouldn’t be lying here in these blasted bushes and figuring out ways to get ourselves killed or captured—which, according to Harry Cable’s likely to come to the same thing.’
‘You-all never telled me’s we could get hurt,’ the old timer complained, with such querulous bitterness that he might have been speaking the truth. ‘And, anyways, no matter whether we come this way or with the Company, we’d’ve had to come in the finish.’
‘If that’s supposed to make me feel happier,’ Red warned, ‘it’s not coming within a good country mile of working.’
Peering through the darkness at his youthful companion, Hassle grinned. Since the Battle of Martin’s Mill—in which Red had distinguished himself by preventing the destruction of a vitally important bridge—the corporal had come to know him very well and had had no cause to revise the high opinion formed about him. Which might have seemed surprising. To most of Red’s elders and superiors, he was a hothead with a penchant for becoming involved in escapades not likely to build up confidence in his capacity as an officer.
To be truthful, Red did have a happy-go-lucky and reckless disposition. What Hassle—and Dusty Fog—realized was that when given work of importance, he became calm, cool and capable of handling it in a responsible manner. Yet, no matter how serious the situation, his sense of humor was always present. Despite his comments, the corporal had not shown the slightest hesitation when Red had asked for his help in the attempt to destroy the Yankees’ observation balloon.
Dressed in Union Army’s Cavalry kepis, tunics and breeches—the latter covering their own garments—but armed and mounted in their usual fashion, Red, Hassle and the selected private soldier had successfully completed the first part of their assignment. They had also been granted ample evidence that there was no other way in which the destruction of the balloon could be accomplished. It had been in the air until nightfall and a body of men the size of Company C and the mountain battery could not have escaped being detected by the observer.
Making use of techniques developed by Hassle and, to a lesser extent, Private Wilbur Sprigg, while fighting Indians in Texas before the War, Red’s detail had travelled in cover as much as possible. At a distance, they would have been indistinguishable from ordinary Yankee soldiers, but they had not wished to be seen if it could be avoided. Apparently they had been successful, for they had arrived in the vicinity of their objective without having been intercepted.
Night had fallen by the time the trio had decided that they dare not risk riding any closer. So, leaving the disgruntled and reluctant Sprigg to keep the horses quiet, Red and Hassle had completed the journey on foot. They had wanted to discover what they were up against. On completing his examination, Red had concluded that their task would be anything but a sinecure. Nor had the youngster—usually an optimist—ever tried to delude himself and his companions that it would be.
The Yankees had established themselves in a large hollow about two miles north of the Ouachita River. Apparently they were not unduly concerned about the danger of their position being located, for the bottom of the depression was illuminated by a big fire and several cressets. The hollow was roughly circular and, wishing to prevent their scent being carried to and alarming the enemies’ horses, Red and Hassle were concealed among some bushes on the southern side. Looking down, Red took in various details and drew conclusions from them.
The soldiers seemed, to be a curious mixture of Cavalry, Infantry and Artillery. Their clothi
ng suggested horse-soldiers, but the long Spencer repeating rifles stacked in pyramidal piles outside the enlisted men’s pup tents were more like Infantry weapons; yet their tunics’ facings and breeches’ stripes implied that they served in the Artillery. One thing they had in common was an air of tough, hard brutality. According to Harry, both of Lyle’s Companies had been recruited from a New York district’s gang. The captain and two lieutenants bore traces of mean, vicious and unscrupulous natures and Harry Cable’s comments on them had been pungent in the extreme. Having looked the three over, Red was inclined to believe that the girl had been speaking the truth.
Harry’s father—who conveyed an impression of strength and intelligence—sat apart from the soldiers, accompanied by the two Negroes who served as the crew of the traction engine. Eli Cable had graying hair, a mustache of considerable proportions, and wore the kind of peaked hat, blue frock coat, trousers and Wellington-leg boots one would more expect to see on a riverboat’s captain than the driver of a land machine.
As Cable’s party sat near Pulling Sue, Red studied it next. It was a massive piece of machinery, parked on the western side of the camp. On a platform ahead of the boiler and engine was a steering wheel such as might have graced a small paddle steamer and other controls. The chimney was tall and narrow, its top opening out like the head of a lily. From his position, Red could only make out that the rear wheels were almost twice as large as those at the front. He failed to detect the features which Harry had claimed made Pulling Sue such an effective weight hauler. A four-wheeled trailer, loaded with logs, was hitched to the rear of the machine in the manner of a railroad engine’s fuel tender.
Next Red’s attention went to the center of the hollow. There stood the big gun, a Parrot 30-Pounder rifle mounted on a siege carriage, long tube already pointing so that it could start hurling death and destruction across the river into the defenseless town of Camden. Never had the youngster seen such a huge weapon. Neither side in Arkansas had previously possessed siege or garrison Artillery pieces, their largest weapons being twelve-pounder ‘Napoleons’. So the cannons with which Red was familiar seemed almost diminutive and puny in comparison with the great bulk of the big gun. Its caisson, holding the ammunition supply in three large chests, was secured to the back of the traction engine’s tender.
While Pulling Sue hauled the Parrot and its caisson, the Yankee party used a number of horses. These stood on picket lines at the northern side, so that the big gun would be firing away from them. The majority were the soldiers’ mounts, but there appeared to be a number more suitable to harness and heavy draught work.
Although the big gun, Pulling Sue, the men and the horses were of interest to Red, he saved his greatest consideration for the balloon. It was on the east of the camp and clearly ready for operation. The huge round silk bag was inflated to such a degree that it tugged against the four tethering ropes which passed from the corners of the wicker basket to pegs sunk deep into the ground. The main anchor cable ran from a hand winch, which was underneath, to pass through the bottom of the basket and be secured on the inside.
Nearby stood two large carts, each with what looked like an enormous wooden crate on it. Thick hosepipes ran from the tops of the boxes to metal containers on the ground. From what Douglas Staunce had said, that would be the equipment for producing hydrogen gas to fill the balloon.
‘What do you reckon, Vern?’ Red inquired, at the conclusion of his scrutiny. He knew the value of requesting advice from an older, more experienced man and was willing to act upon it. ‘Can we get through?’
That depends on the sentries,’ answered the corporal. ‘We can’t say how they’ll carry on once the officers ’n’ non-coms are in bed. From the look of ’em, they won’t be too eager to do their duty.’
‘Let’s hope they’re not,’ Red drawled. ‘Cousin Dusty’ll be madder than a boiled owl happen he gets here and we’ve been killed instead of destroying that blasted balloon.’
‘Sure wouldn’t want to get the cap’n riled,’ Hassle admitted. ‘Was I you, Mr. Blaze, I’d grab me some sleep.’
‘You get some,’ Red answered. ‘I’ll take the first watch.’
‘It ain’t worth arguing about,’ Hassle declared, flipping open the blanket which he had brought from the horses. ‘Give me a shake at midnight.’
‘I’ll do that,’ Red promised and took the hacksaw, borrowed from the mountain battery, from his own blanket. Before he had draped the blanket across his shoulders, his companion lay asleep.
Time dragged by on leaden feet. Red kept watch on the camp, selecting a route by which they could pass through the tents and reach the balloon. The sides of the hollow offered too little cover for them to have easy job. Straight in front of them were the soldiers’ pup tents, with a larger wall tent for the officers situated between them and Pulling Sue. From all appearances, Cable and his Negroes had to bed down alongside the machine and make do with one pup tent. After they had retired for the night, a sentry armed with a Spencer rifle started to patrol around their quarters and the traction engine. Another performed a similar service at the balloon and its equipment. One more was over by the picket line. They appeared to be all the guards considered necessary, for no more were in evidence after the rest of the party had retired to their beds.
Just before midnight, as Red was reaching to shake the corporal, he woke up. There was no slow and noisy transition from sleep to awake. With the youngster’s hand almost touching his shoulder, the corporal stirred and sat up.
Already very tired, Red needed no encouragement to stretch out and close his eyes.
Wrapped in his blanket, Red lay dreaming of attacking the balloon in a wild cavalry charge. Suddenly something descended on his face and covered his mouth. He woke up, trying to struggle.
‘Easy, Mr. Blaze!’ came Hassle’s low-spoken warning, ‘It’ll be sun-up soon.’ He removed the hand from Red’s face, continuing, ‘Sorry about that, but I didn’t want to chance you making any noise when I woke you.’
‘That’s all right, Vern,’ Red replied, shaking himself from the clutches of the blanket. ‘I just hope you’ve not been cleaning out your horse’s butt end. What’s doing?’
‘Nothing so much,’ the corporal answered, in just too casual a tone but Red was not yet sufficiently awake to notice that. ‘Still only three sentries out, but they’ve been a mite more eager than I figured on. They’ve kept the fire and the cressets going, dang ’em.’
‘We wouldn’t want things too easy, now would we?’ Red grinned, looking for the sentries.
‘I would.’ Hassle declared. ‘Reckon it’s time we got moving, Mr. Blaze.’
‘Where’re those blasted sentries at now?’ Red demanded, standing up.
‘One’s with the hosses, t’other over by Mr. Cable’s tent and last ’n’s down by the wagons near the balloon.’
‘I’m damned if I can see the first and last. But the middle bastard’s there all right. Lead the way, Vern. I’d rather you got shot than me, I’m younger and’ve got longer to go.’
‘Sure does me good to know I’m under an officer’s thinks about me welfare,’ Hassle commented, taking up the hacksaw. ‘Happen it’s all right with you, Mr. Blaze, we’ll sort of sneak around the side a ways and come down back of them balloon wagons.’
Leaving their blankets behind, Red and Hassle advanced cautiously along the slope. Once clear of the bushes, they still continued to test the ground with each foot before setting it down and making sure that there was nothing underneath that might snap, or roll. In that way, they proceeded silently and apparently without disturbing the sentry who was continuing to prowl around the pup tent and traction engine. Nor did either of the remaining, unaccounted-for soldiers raise an alarm to show that they were aware of the Texans’ presence.
Red was in a state of tension, but not sufficiently to make him grow careless. All too well he realized their peril and fully understood the penalty for failure. If the balloon went into the air at dawn, Company
C would be spotted approaching and met by volleys of fire from seven-shot repeating rifles. Not only that. The big gun would be free to bombard the helpless citizens of Camden.
Step by step, searching for the first sign of the sentry walking his beat, Red drew closer to the two flat-topped wagons with their big, crate-like loads. At his side, Hassle moved in just as careful silence and scanned the camp with eyes which the years had not dimmed to any great extent.
At first, due to the angle at which he was approaching, Red could not see into the gap between the wagons. Nor could he locate the sentry. When he reached a position from which he could look between them, he received something of a shock.
The sentry was sitting, apparently asleep, with his back resting against the rear of the right side vehicle.
Coming to a halt, the youngster turned the palm of his right hand outwards. He closed his fingers about the wooden, forward-pointing handle of the off side Army Colt. Before he could draw the weapon, Hassle’s hand came over to rest lightly on his sleeve.
‘Leave him be, Mr. Blaze,’ the corporal advised in a whisper. ‘He won’t bother us none.’
‘How come?’ Red wanted to know in no louder tones.
‘I drifted down this ways while you was asleep, just after they’d changed the guard. Couldn’t get the bastard by Mr. Cable’s tent, but the other two’re wolf-bait. After I’d got this’n, I couldn’t see to the balloon without fixing him by the picket line’s wagon.’
‘Likely not,’ Red grunted. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I was fixing to until you said for me to get shot afore you did,’ grinned Hassle. ‘Then I figured I’d allow you to find out for yourself.’
‘Gracias,’ Red hissed. ‘Let’s see if we can do what we’ve come for.’
Circling the wagons, the Texans halted in the shadows and surveyed the situation. Due to the danger of fire, none of the cressets were too close to the balloon. However, they still threw an uncomfortable amount of light over the area in which Red and Hassle would have to carry out their attempt.