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

by J. T. Edson

  Dusty and his volunteers would be within the range of the balls.

  ‘Spherical case,’ Staunce finally stated, reaching the decision reluctantly but making it.

  ‘With respect, sir,’ Smalley warned, ‘there’s not much margin for error.’

  ‘Captain Fog and his men accepted that when they took up their positions.’ Staunce replied. ‘They’re game to take their chances and we’ll have to hope for the best.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Smalley answered.

  Both Staunce and the sergeant major were aware of the desperate risks to which Dusty’s detail must be exposed in the hope of minimizing the danger to Eli Cable. The smooth bores and round balls of the little howitzers did not make for extreme accuracy, particularly when using spherical case. There were too many unpredictable factors involved for Staunce to have been able to offer his companions complete safety once his battery opened fire.

  Crouching behind a rock that was closer to the valley’s bottom than the positions of his men, Dusty Fog watched the Yankees drawing nearer. An uprooted bush was placed as naturally as possible above him and its foliage had not yet withered sufficiently to betray him. So far, none of the Yankees appeared to have located any part of the ambush. That was not surprising. There had been considerable effort put into selecting and—although the word had not yet come into general usage—camouflaging the hiding places of his detail. Every man whom he had picked was a veteran Indian fighter and had learned the value of remaining practically motionless at such moments.

  Like Staunce, Dusty was deeply concerned over his cousin’s fate. To divert his thoughts from how Red Blaze might be faring, the small Texan studied Stabruck and wondered what the Yankee captain was pondering upon.

  Riding in the lead of his command, Captain Arthur Stabruck scowled continuously to his front. He slouched morosely on his saddle, ignoring his two lieutenants. All too well he could guess what they were thinking. That it had been his disobedience of orders which was causing their withdrawal and had lost them a valuable observation balloon. So he was trying to decide how he might exculpate himself, or turn the blame elsewhere, when called upon—as he was sure to be—to explain why he had deviated so far from his original orders.

  In the first place, Stabruck had merely been dispatched to make a long tour of various outfits, so as to display the hauling powers of the traction engine. It had been drawing its tender, two ammunition caissons and the Parrot rifle. Lyle’s idea had been to impress the various regiments’ commanding officers and gain their backing for the rest of his scheme.

  While travelling down the trail from Malvern to the river opposite Arkadelphia, one of the caissons had broken a wheel. Intending to pass the time while letting his men attempt repairs, Stabruck had ordered the balloon sent up. When the lieutenant who acted as observer had reported a large number of Rebel officers entering a building in Arkadelphia, Stabruck had decided to show initiative. So he had ordered the bombardment. Although he had failed to create the havoc he had hoped among the enemy’s officers, he had done considerable damage to a number of buildings before being ordered—by the commanding officer of the detachment covering the approaches to the town—to stop the indiscriminate shelling.

  However, the sending of the Rebels’ cavalry company—seen and reported by the observer in the balloon—had allowed Stabruck to avoid being called to account for his behavior. Using the information, he had set up an ambush and driven off his attackers with heavy losses. After which, he had turned off the trail and headed east parallel to the Ouachita River.

  A chance meeting with a friend who was a member of the United States Secret Service had presented Stabruck with what had seemed—at the time—an ideal opportunity to gain personal acclaim and to win an important, influential supporter. Learning that his friend had a contact on the other side of the river, he had caused the printer of the Fordyce, Dallas County, newspaper to produce the warning notices. By doing so, he had hoped to secure General Culver’s release from captivity.

  With the balloon stolen, Stabruck had been fully aware of the danger. So he had set his men immediately to breaking camp. While he was heading for the main body of the 6th ‘New Jersey’ Dragoons, he had not sent a messenger with word of his coming so that he might have been granted a larger escort.

  There had been two reasons for the omission.

  Firstly: if the Rebels had not sent a force to destroy the Parrot, Stabruck would have been regarded as a cowardly alarmist who had panicked and fled without any cause to do so.

  Secondly: the reaction of the detachment’s commanding officer had warned him that his activities might not receive a favorable reaction; especially when he had failed to achieve his purpose.

  So Stabruck intended to arrive at the Dragoons’ camp, as if on the mission for which he had been dispatched. If he should be questioned about the bombardment of Arkadelphia, he would claim he had been trying to wipe out a large number of Confederate senior officers.

  Once certain that there was no danger, Stabruck could return to Nimrod Lake and rejoin Lyle. Later, after a new commanding general had been appointed, they could put up their idea to force the Confederate States’ Army to return across the Ouachita River. Having brought about the full-scale confrontation, they could use the second of Cable’s machines to ensure a Northern victory.

  Thinking about the latter point, Stabruck saw something which he might use as an excuse for revising Lyle’s plan. He would claim that he had hoped to secure Culver’s freedom so that the confrontation and defeat of the Rebels could be accomplished without delay.

  While the Union captain and his men rode onwards along the bottom of the valley, completely oblivious of their peril, the crews of the four howitzers had made everything ready to open fire.

  Each chief-of-piece had aligned his barrel and adjusted its elevation to the correct five degrees angle for the distance over which it would be firing. The fuses had been cut so that—in theory at any rate—they would cause the burster charges to detonate when the cases were a few feet above the mass of Yankee horsemen; and the fixed rounds were rammed fully home.

  Everything was now waiting for Staunce to give the word of command.

  Moving behind his battery, the English captain took up a position between the Numbers Two and Three howitzers. He stared into the valley, watching the traction engine drawing level with the small Texan’s position.

  ‘Good luck, Dusty!’ Staunce breathed, then raised his voice. ‘Get set, men. Ready! Fire!’

  On their officer’s order, four hands tugged sharply at the firing lanyards. Even as the quartet of howitzers bellowed in what came as practically a single sound, Smalley stared towards the other side of the valley and waved his right hand over his head.

  Sitting his horse at the top of the second slope, Sergeant Major Billy Jack was able to watch the battery’s preparations. Receiving Smalley’s signal, the gangling Texan swung his doleful features towards the waiting men of Company C.

  ‘Let’s go and get ourselves killed,’ Billy Jack suggested, sounding as if he believed that it was certain to happen. ‘Company, forward at a walk. Yo!’

  With that, the sergeant major started his mount moving. The rest of the Company, formed into a single line, followed him. When the spherical case shells exploded, he increased the pace and they were soon galloping recklessly down the slope.

  From his place, Dusty had been unable to make out what was happening on either rim. However, he knew that the howitzers would speak as soon as the traction engine was passing his position. Slowly it rolled level, but he refrained from moving. To appear prematurely might spoil all his carefully laid plans.

  The attack took Stabruck and his men completely by surprise. Curving through the air, the shells were descending towards their targets before the bellows of the howitzers reached the bottom of the valley. One exploded too high to be very effective, but the other three’s fuses burned with greater accuracy. The triple eruption of burned powder smoke were accompanied by mu
sket balls scattering in all directions.

  Men and horses were struck by the balls. The animals which had not been hit displayed alarm and fright at the sudden noises. In a moment, the four lines of blue-clad riders were disrupted and thrown into utter confusion.

  Before Dusty could start to rise, he felt something strike the bush which was covering him and a musket ball fanned his cheek in passing. Ignoring the thought of how close he had come to being struck by one of his companions’ missiles, he hurled aside the foliage and thrust himself erect.

  ‘Yeeah! Texas Light!’ Dusty bellowed, hands flashing down and across to draw the matched Army Colts.

  The remainder of the volunteers for the assignment also sprang into view. Each man held the weapon—or weapons—of his choice and they were spaced along the bottom of the slopes.

  Twisting on his saddle at the sound of the shells exploding, Stabruck was almost unseated as his horse plunged. He managed to retain his seat and started to rein the animal around.

  ‘Kill Cable!’ Stabruck screeched, right hand clawing at the flap of his holster.

  Hardly had the words left the Yankee captain’s mouth than a bullet, fired by one of Dusty’s detail, ripped into his head and toppled him lifeless to the ground. Neither of the lieutenants survived him by many seconds, for the Texans knew the value of depriving their enemies of leadership.

  Despite the confusion and pandemonium that raged behind them, Stabruck’s first sergeant and the other three-bar heard his order. They also remembered what they had been instructed to do in the event of an attack. Sending their horses plunging forward, they liberated their carbines from the clips of the slings. One of them headed along each side of the traction engine, determined to prevent the engineer from being taken alive by the attacking Rebels.

  Hurdling over the rock, Dusty swung up and fired his right hand Colt. He sent its bullet into the first sergeant’s chest. Rocking backwards on the saddle, the Yankee non-com let his carbine fall and slid after it. However, Dusty knew that he could not hope to deal with the second would-be killer.

  Being aware of the plans laid for his employer’s removal, one of the Negroes acted fast, He thrust the shovel he was holding into the furnace and brought it out again heaped with red-hot chunks of wood. Swinging, he hurled them into the sergeant’s face. Even as the stricken soldier started to scream, one of Dusty’s volunteers shot him in the head.

  With many of their horses rearing and pitching wildly, none of the Yankee soldiers were in a condition to make a fight. Some had been thrown off, others found themselves being carried away by their bolting mounts. The remainder, conscious of having their rifles slung in an inaccessible manner, strove to regain control of their mounts and surrender.

  Inside five minutes, the incident had ended. The three Union officers and two senior non-coms were all dead, the enlisted men who had not fled stood disarmed. Harry Cable was enfolded in her father’s arms and the big gun was in the possession of the Confederate States’ Army.

  Chapter Twelve – He Takes Real Pleasure in Killing

  ‘Sergeant Weather!’ Captain Dusty Fog barked, swaggering arrogantly to where the stocky non-com was supervising the captured Union soldiers. ‘You’ll take six men and escort these Yankee bastards to our lines.’

  ‘Six men?’ Weather repeated, sounding worried and uncertain. ‘May I suggest that—?’

  ‘The hell you may!’ Dusty roared, quivering with well-simulated rage at the sergeant’s action. ‘You’ll do as I said.’

  ‘With respect, sir,’ Weather protested, stiffening into a brace. ‘Last time proved six men can’t control so many prisoners.’

  ‘Things turned out all right last time, and they will this time, sergeant,’ Dusty answered, without looking at the prisoners but conscious that they were hanging on his every word. ‘You and your men will all have repeaters. Don’t hesitate to use them. It’s all one to me whether any of these Unionist scum are still alive when you reach the Ouachita.’

  ‘But that’d be murd—’ Weather commenced.

  ‘You’ll take that escort as its sergeant,’ Dusty interrupted coldly, ‘or ride in it as a private. It’s your choice.’

  ‘Yo!’ Weather grunted and saluted.

  Having listened to the conversation, the prisoners exchanged glances with each other. Six men would not be a large number to act as their escort, so they would have the opportunity to escape. Or might have had, if that damned short-grown captain had not made known his views on the matter. They watched Dusty walk away and Weather approach them. The sergeant looked concerned, alarmed almost, by the orders he had received.

  ‘That captain sounds like a real mean bastard,’ one of the Yankee corporals remarked.

  ‘You don’t know the half of it,’ Weather replied, grateful for the comment as it allowed him to pass on further information without arousing the Yankees’ suspicions. ‘He’s the most cold-blooded bastard I’ve ever ridden under. He takes real pleasure in killing.’

  ‘We’ve got two of ’em like that,’ the corporal admitted. ‘Or did have. You killed one of ’em.’

  ‘Was I you fellers,’ Weather continued, hiding the delight he was feeling at the way the deception was going, ‘I’d not even look like I was thinking about escaping. You’ll right soon wish you hadn’t if you try it.’

  ‘How’s that?’ demanded another of the blue-clad soldiers.

  ‘We had to do something like this during the withdrawal,’ Weather explained, sounding so convincing that his audience did not doubt that they were hearing the truth. ‘He sent off a small escort with a big bunch of prisoners, but followed without them knowing. When the prisoners tried to escape, he brought the rest of the Company down and butchered ’em all.’

  Watching the prisoners as he spoke, Weather could read alarm on every face. Having served under two officers who they knew were capable of such an act, the Yankees were willing to believe that Dusty would not hesitate to put it into effect. That had been the reason for the performance. The small Texan hoped that it would persuade the prisoners to cooperate and so make their disposal easier.

  Having no wish to be hampered by the captured Yankees, nor the desire to weaken his force by sending them away under an adequate guard, Dusty had arranged the little byplay with Sergeant Weather. If the deception had worked, Weather and his men would have no trouble controlling the prisoners for as long as necessary. What was more, it would be possible to leave them with a suitable impression on another matter.

  ‘Sergeant!’ Dusty shouted. ‘Get those bastards moving. We’ll take the big gun with us.’

  ‘Yo!’ Weather replied. ‘You heard the captain. Get ready to pull out.’

  ‘If they shows signs of being ornery, send a rider back for us,’ Dusty went on. ‘We’ll not be too far away.’

  ‘Just like last time,’ Weather sighed, looking at the prisoners. ‘Form up and get moving, or he might not even let you go.’

  Staunce had joined Dusty and they stood side by side, watching Weather’s detail mount up. Forming around the prisoners, who were on foot, the Texans started them moving in a southerly direction.

  ‘A very convincing performance, if I may say so,’ the Englishman declared, grinning at his companion.

  ‘Feel free to say it,’ Dusty authorized cheerfully.

  ‘I don’t think Sergeant Weather will have much trouble with them,’ Staunce went on.

  ‘Nope,’ Dusty agreed. ‘Just so long as Stormy can keep them moving until nightfall, everything’ll be fine. Then he and his men can leave them and join us. Time they’ve met up with more Yankees, we’ll be long gone and, with luck, they’ll all figure we’ve gone back south of the Ouachita.’

  ‘Now we’d better go and talk to Mr. Cable,’ Staunce suggested, feeling as Dusty did that the deception would produce the desired results.

  ‘Why sure,’ Dusty agreed. ‘Let’s see if we can get him to back our play.’

  ‘What if he won’t, Dusty?’ Staunce inquired.


  ‘I don’t know,’ the small Texan confessed frankly. ‘Let’s hope that he will help, and leave trying to decide what to do next until after he’s refused.’

  From what Harriet Cable had told them about Big Minnie, the second and more powerful of her father’s machines, Dusty and Staunce had recognized that it posed a very serious threat to the Army of Arkansas and North Texas. More than that, the success of Big Minnie would lead to the production and use of similar traction engines by the Union. The North’s industrial capacity would permit them to bring out the machines in a comparatively short time and the Confederate States had nothing with which to counter them. So the young officers had decided that, if they were successful in their attempt to liberate the engineer and capture the big gun, they would also try to destroy the armored traction engine before it could be put into the field.

  Encouraging Harry to talk, partly as a means of taking her mind off the danger which their attack would cause to her father, Dusty and the Englishman had formed a pretty fair estimation of the conditions they would be up against. Possession of the big gun, which Staunce and his men could operate, would be of the greatest assistance. It might make all the difference between success and failure.

  Providing, of course, that they could take it to Nimrod Lake.

  Everything depended on Eli Cable agreeing to help them.

  Harry and her father were sitting together on the control platform of the traction engine, while Eric was talking with the other two Negroes by the still burning furnace. As the two officers approached, the girl and Cable dropped to the ground.

  Looking at the approaching pair, Harry sensed what was bringing them. Being shrewd and intelligent, she had guessed what had been behind their interest in Big Minnie and curiosity regarding the defenses of the island. She was equally aware of the purpose to which they hoped to put Pulling Sue.

  Gripping her father’s arm with her left hand, Harry looked up at him. From the first moment she had seen that he was safe, she had been deeply disturbed and anxious regarding his reactions to her having deserted her stepmother. She had hated the thought that she must tell her father of Monica’s betrayal. Yet, much to her amazement and perturbation, he had not pressed her for information on the point which she had been dreading. Instead, he had merely asked if Monica was in good health and had turned the conversation to the subject of her escape. Harry did not know what to make of that development. It almost seemed that he had known, or suspected, his wife’s infidelity; but wished to prevent Harry from realizing that he did so.