CHAPTER II
A COURIER TO THE SOUTH
Harry was awakened by his father shaking his shoulder. It was yet darkoutside, but a small lamp burned on his table.
"It is time for you to go, Harry," said Colonel Kenton, somewhatunsteadily. "Your horse, bridle and saddle on, is waiting. Yourbreakfast has been cooked for you, and everything else is ready."
Harry dressed rapidly in his heaviest and warmest clothing. He and hisfather ate breakfast by lamplight, and when he finished it was not yetdawn. Then the Colonel himself brought him his overcoat, comforter,overshoes, and fur cap.
"The saddlebags are already on your horse," he said, "and they arefilled with the things you will need. In this pocket-book you willfind five hundred dollars, and here is, also, an order on a bank inCharleston for more. See that you keep both money and order safely.I trust to you to spend the money in the proper manner."
Harry put both in an inside pocket of his waistcoat, and then his fatherhanded him a heavy sealed letter.
"This you must guard with your life," he said. "It is not addressedto anybody, but you can give it to Senator Yancey, who is probablyin Charleston, or Governor Pickens, of South Carolina, or GeneralBeauregard, who, I understand, is coming to command the troops there,and whom I knew in former days, or to General Ripley. It containsKentucky's promise to South Carolina, and it is signed by many of us.And now, Harry, let prudence watch over action. It is no common errandupon which you ride."
The colonel walked with him to the gate where the horse stood. Harrydid not know who had brought the animal there, but he believed that hisfather had done so with his own hand. The boy sprang into the saddle,Colonel Kenton gave him a strong grasp of the hand, undertook to saysomething but, as he did so, the words choked in his throat, and hewalked hastily toward the house.
Harry spoke to his horse, but a hundred yards away, before he came tothe first curve in the road, he stopped and looked back. Colonel Kentonwas standing in the doorway, his figure made bright in the moonlight.Harry waved his hand and a hand was waved in return. Tears arose to hisown eyes, but he was youth in the saddle, with the world before him,and the mist was gone quickly.
The snow was six or eight inches deep, and lay unbroken in the road.But the horse was powerful, shod carefully for snow and ice, and Harryhad been almost from infancy an expert rider. His spirits rose.He had no fear of the stillness and the dark. But one could scarcelycall it the dark, since brilliant stars rode high in a bright blueheaven, and the forest on either side of him was a vast and intricatetracery of white touched with silver.
He examined his saddle bags, and found in them a silver-mounted pistoland cartridges which he transferred to his belt. The line of themountains lay near the road, and he remembered Bill Skelly and thoselike him. The weapon gave him new strength. Skelly and his comradesmight come on any pretext they chose.
The road lay straight toward the south, edged on either side by forest.Now and then he passed a silent farm house, set back among the trees,and once a dog barked, but there was no sound, save the tread of thehorse's feet in the snow, and his occasional puff when he blew the steamfrom his nostrils. Harry did not feel the cold. The heavy overcoatprotected his body, and the strong action of the heart, pouring theblood in a full tide through his veins, kept him warm.
The east whitened. Dawn came. Thin spires of smoke began to rise fromdistant houses in the woods or fields. Harry was already many milesfrom Pendleton, and then something rose in his throat again. Heremembered his father standing in the portico, and, strangely enough,the Tacitus lying in his locked desk at the academy. But he crushedit down. His abounding youth made him consider as weak and unworthy,an emotion which a man would merely have reckoned as natural.
The station at Winton was a full twenty miles from Pendleton and,with such heavy snow, Harry did not expect to arrive until late in theafternoon. Nor would there be any need for him to get there earlier,as no train for Nashville reached that place until half past six in theevening. His horse showed no signs of weariness, but he checked hisspeed, and went on at an easy walk.
The road curved nearer to a line of blue hills, which sloped graduallyupward for scores of miles, until they became mountains. All wereclothed with forest, and every tree was heavy with snow. A line betweenthe trees showed where a path turned off from the main road and enteredthe hills. As Harry approached it, he heard the crunching of horses'hoofs in the snow. A warning instinct caused him to urge his own horseforward, just as four riders came into view.
He saw that the men in the saddles, who were forty or fifty yards away,were mountaineers, like Skelly. They wore fur caps; heavy blanketshawls were drooped about their shoulders and every one carried a rifle.As soon as they saw the boy they shouted to him to halt.
Harry's alert senses took alarm. They must have gained some knowledgeof his errand and its nature. Perhaps word had been sent from Pendletonby those who were arraying themselves on the other side that he beintercepted. When they cried to him to stop, he struck his horsesharply, shouted to him, and bent far over against his neck. ColonelKenton had chosen well. The horse responded instantly. He seemed togather his whole powerful frame compactly together, and shot forward.The nearest mountaineer fired, but the bullet merely whistled where thehorse and rider had been, and sent snow flying from the bushes on theother side of the road. A second rifle cracked but it, too, missed theflying target, and the mountaineers, turning into the main road, gavepursuit.
Harry felt a cold shiver along his spine when the leading man pulledtrigger. It was the first time in his life that any one had ever firedupon him, and the shiver returned with the second shot. And since theyhad missed, confidence came. He knew that they could not overtake him,and they would not dare to pursue him long. He glanced back. Theywere a full hundred yards in the rear, riding all four abreast. Heremembered his own pistol, and, drawing it from his belt, he sent abullet toward the pursuit. It was too long a range for serious work,but he intended it as a warning that he, too, was armed and would fight.
The road still ran through the forest with the hills close on the left.Up went the sun, casting a golden glory over the white earth. Harrybeheld afar only a single spire of smoke. The houses were few in thatregion, and he might go four or five miles without seeing a single humanbeing, save those who pursued. But he was not afraid. His confidencelay chiefly in the powerful animal that he rode, and he saw the distancebetween him and the four men lengthen from a hundred to two hundredyards. One of them fired another shot at him, but it only shook thesnow from a tree fifteen feet away. He could not keep from sending backa taunting cry.
On went the sun up the curve of the heavens, and the brilliant lightgrew. The forest thinned away. The line of hills retreated, and beforehim lay fields, extending to both right and left. The eye ranged overa great distance and he counted the smoke of five farm houses. Hebelieved that the men would not pursue him into the open country,but he urged his horse to greater speed, and did not turn in his saddlefor a quarter of an hour. When he finally looked back the mountaineerswere gone. He could see clearly a half-mile, and he knew now that hissurmise had come true. They dared to pursue only in the forest, andhaving failed, they would withdraw into the hills.
He drew his horse down to a walk, patted his shoulder, and spoke to himwords of approval. He was not sorry now that he had passed through theadventure. It would harden him to risks and dangers to come. He madeup his mind, also, to say nothing about it. He could send a warningback from Winton, but the men in Pendleton knew how to protectthemselves, and the message might fall into wrong hands.
His journey continued in such peace that it was hard to believe men hadfired upon him, and in the middle of the afternoon he reached Winton.He left his horse, saddle and bridle at a livery stable, stating thatthey would be called for by Colonel Kenton, who was known throughout theregion, and sought food at the crude little wooden hotel. He was gladthat he saw no one whom he knew
, because, after the fashion of thecountry, they would ask him many questions, and he felt relief, too,when the train arrived.
Dark had already come when Harry entered the car. There were no coachesfor sleepers, and he must make himself comfortable as best he could onthe red plush seat, sprinkled thickly with ashes and cinders from theengine. Fortunately, he had the seat alone, although there were manypeople in the car.
The train, pouring out a huge volume of black smoke, pulled out of thestation with a great clatter that never ceased. Now Harry felt an ebbof the spirits and melancholy. He was leaving behind Pendleton and allthat he had known. In the day the excitement, the cold air, and thefree world about him had kept him up. Now the swaying and jarringof the train, crude like most others in that early time of railways,gave him a sense of illness. The window at his elbow rattledincessantly, and the ashes and cinders sifted in, blackening his faceand hands. Three or four smoking lamps, hung from the ceiling, lightedthe car dimly, and disclosed but partly the faces of the people aroundhim. Some were asleep already. Others ate their suppers from baskets.Harry felt of his pockets at intervals to see that his money and letterswere safe, and he kept his saddle bags closely on the seat beside him.
The nausea created by the motion of the train passed away soon. He puthis face against the dusty window pane and tried to see the country.But he could catch only glimpses of snowy woods and fields, and, onceor twice, flashes of water as they crossed rivers. The effort yieldedlittle, and he turned his attention to the people. He noted only onewho differed in aspect from the ordinary country passenger.
A man of middle years sat rigidly erect at the far end of the car.He wore a black hat, broad of brim, and all his clothing was black andprecise. His face was shaven smoothly, save for a long gray mustachewith an upward curve. While the people about him talked in amiscellaneous fashion, he did not join them, and his manner did notinvite approach even in those easy times.
Harry was interested greatly. The stranger presently opened a valise,took out some food and ate delicately. Then he drew a small silvercup from the same valise, filled it at the drinking stand, drank andreturned it to the valise. Without a crumb having fallen on clothingor floor, he resumed his seat and gazed straight before him.
Harry's interest in the stranger increased. He had a fine face, cutclearly, and of a somewhat severe and melancholy cast. Always he gazedstraight before him, and his mind seemed to be far from the people inthe car. It was obvious that he was not the ordinary traveler, and theboy spent some time in trying to guess his identity. Then he gave it up,because he was growing sleepy.
Excitement and the long physical strain were now telling upon Harry.He leaned his head against the corner of the seat and the wall, drew hisovercoat as a blanket about his body and shoulders, and let his eyelidsdroop. The dim train grew dimmer, and he slept.
The train was due at Nashville between midnight and morning, and Harrywas awakened by the conductor a half hour before he reached the city.He shook himself, put on his overcoat that he had used as a blanket,and tried to look through the window. He saw only darkness rushing past,but he knew that he had left Kentucky behind, and it seemed to him thathe had come into an alien land, a land of future friends, no doubt,but as yet, the land of the stranger.
All the people in the train were awakening, and were gathering theirbaggage sleepily about them. But the stranger, who drank from thesilver cup, seemed not to have been asleep at all. He still sat rigidlyerect, and his melancholy look had not abated. His valise lay on theseat beside him. Harry noticed that it was large and strong, with metalclasps at the corners.
The engine was whistling already for Nashville, and Harry threw hissaddle bags over his arm. He was fully awake now, alert and eager.This town of Nashville was full of promise. It had been the home ofthe great Andrew Jackson, and it was one of the important cities of theSouth, where cities were measured by influence rather than population,because all, except New Orleans, were small.
As the train slowed down, Harry arose and stood in the aisle. Thestranger also stood up, and Harry noticed that his bearing was military.He looked around, his eyes met Harry's--perhaps he had been observinghim in the night--and he smiled. It was a rare, illuminating smile thatmade him wonderfully attractive, and Harry smiled back. He did not knowit, but he was growing lonely, with the loneliness of youth, and hewanted a friend.
"You are stopping in Nashville?" said the man with the friendliness ofthe time.
"For a day only. I am then going further south."
Harry had answered without hesitation. He did not believe it possiblethat this man could be planning anything against him or his errand.The tall stranger looked upon him with approval.
"I noticed you in the train last night when you slept," he said,speaking in the soft, musical accents of the seaboard South. "Yoursleep was very deep, almost like collapse. You showed that you hadbeen through great physical and mental strain, and even before youfell asleep your anxious look indicated that you rode on an errandof importance."
Harry gazed at him in surprise, mingled with a little alarm. Thestrange man laughed musically and with satisfaction.
"I am neither a detective nor a conspirator," he said. "These are timeswhen men travel upon anxious journeys. I go upon one myself, but sincewe are in Tennessee, well south of the Mason and Dixon line, I make nosecret of it. I am Leonidas Talbot, of South Carolina, until a week agoa colonel in the American army, but now bound for my home in Charleston.You boarded this train at a station in Kentucky, either the nearest oramong the nearest to Pendleton. A resemblance, real or fancied, hascaused me to notice you closely."
The man was looking at him with frank blue eyes set well apart, andHarry saw no need of concealing his identity.
"My name is Kenton, Henry Kenton--though people generally call meHarry--and I live at Pendleton in Kentucky," he replied.
Now the smile of Leonidas Talbot, late colonel U. S. A., became rarelysweet.
"I should have guessed it," he said. "The place where you joined us andthe strong resemblance should have made me know. You must be the son ofColonel George Kenton."
"Yes," said Harry.
"Then, young sir, let me shake your hand."
His manner seemed so warm and natural that Harry held out his hand,and Colonel Talbot gave it a strong clasp.
"Your father and I have served together," he said. "We were in thesame class at West Point, and we fought in the same command against theIndians on the plains. I saw him again at Cerro Gordo, and we were sideby side at Contreras, Molino del Rey, and the storming of Chapultepec.He left the service some time after we came back from Mexico, but Iremained in it, until--recent events. It is fitting that I should meethis son here, when we go upon errands which are, perhaps, similar innature. I infer that your destination is Charleston!"
"Yes," said Harry impulsively, and he was not sorry that he had obeyedthe impulse.
"Then we shall go together," said Colonel Talbot. "I take it that manyother people are now on their way to this same city of Charleston,which since the secession of South Carolina has become the most famousin the Union."
"I shall be glad if you will take me with you," said Harry. "I knowlittle of Charleston and the lower South, and I need company."
"Then we will go to a hotel," said Colonel Talbot. "On a journey likethis two together are better than one alone. I know Nashville fairlywell, and while it is of the undoubted South, it will be best for us,while we are here, to keep quiet tongues in our heads. We cannot get atrain out of the city until the afternoon."
They were now in the station and everybody was going out. It was notmuch past midnight, and a cold wind blowing across the hills and theCumberland River made Harry shiver in his overcoat. Once more he wasglad of his new comradeship with a man so much his superior in years andworldly wisdom.
Snow lay on the ground, but not so deep as in Kentucky. Houses, mostlyof wood, and low, showed dimly through the dusk. No
carriages met thetrain, and the people were melting away already to their destinations.
"I'll lead the way," said Colonel Talbot. "I know the best hotel,and for travelers who need rest the best is always none too good."
He led briskly through the silent and lonely streets, until they cameto a large brick building with several lights shining from the wide andopen door. They entered the lobby of the hotel, one carrying his saddlebags, the other his valise, and registered in the book that the sleepyclerk shoved toward them. Several loungers still sat in cane-bottomedchairs along the wall, and they cast curious glances at Harry and thecolonel.
The hotel was crowded, the clerk said. People had been crowding intotown in the last few days, as there was a great stir in the countryowing to the news from Charleston. He could give them only one room,but it had two beds.
"It will do," said the colonel, in his soft but positive voice. "Myyoung friend and I have been traveling hard and we need rest."
Harry would have preferred a room alone, but his trust in Colonel Talbothad already become absolute. This man must be what he claimed to be.There was no trace of deceit about him. His heart had never beforewarmed so much to a stranger.
Colonel Talbot closed and locked the door of their room. It was a largebare apartment with two windows overlooking the town, and two small bedsagainst opposite walls. The colonel put his valise at the foot of onebed, and walked to the window. The night had lightened somewhat and hesaw the roofs of buildings, the dim line of the yellow river, and thedusky haze of hills beyond. He turned his head and looked steadily inthe direction in which lay Charleston. A look of ineffable sadnessoverspread his face.
The light on the table was none too bright, but Harry saw ColonelTalbot's melancholy eyes, and he could not refrain from asking:
"What's the trouble, colonel?"
The South Carolinian turned from the window, sat down on the edge of thebed and smiled. It was an illuminating smile, almost the smile of youth.
"I'm afraid that everything's the matter, Harry, boy," he said. "SouthCarolina, the state that I love even more than the Union to which itbelongs, or belonged, has gone out, and, Harry, because I'm a son ofSouth Carolina I must go with it--and I don't want to go. But I've beena soldier all my life. I know little of politics. I have grown up withthe feeling that I must stay with my people through all things. I mustbe kin by blood to half the white people in Charleston. How could Idesert them?"
"You couldn't," said Harry emphatically.
Colonel Leonidas Talbot smiled. It is possible that, at the moment,he wished for the sanguine decision of youth, which could choose a sideand find only wrong in the other.
"In my heart," he continued, "I do not wish to see the Union broken up,although the violence of New England orators and the raid of John Brownhas appalled me. But, Harry, pay good heed to me when I say it is not amere matter of going out of the Union. It may not be possible for SouthCarolina and the states that follow her to stay out."
"I don't understand you," said the boy.
"It means war! It means war, as surely as the rising of the sun in themorning. Many think that it does not; that the new republic will beformed in peace, but I know better. A great and terrible war is coming.Many of our colored people in Charleston and along the Carolina coastcame by the way of the West Indies. They have strange superstitions.They believe that some of their number have the gift of second sight.In my childhood I knew two old women who claimed the power, and theygave apparent proofs that were extraordinary. I feel just now as if Ihad the gift myself, and I tell you, Harry, although you can see only adark horizon from the window, I see one that is blood red all the wayto the zenith. Alas, our poor country!"
Harry stared at him in amazement. The colonel, although he had calledhis name, seemed to have forgotten his presence. A vivid and powerfulimagination had carried him not only from the room, but far into thefuture. He recovered himself with an abrupt little shrug of theshoulders.
"I am too old a man to be talking such foolishness to a boy," he said,briskly. "To bed, Harry! To bed! Your sleep on the train was briefand you need more! So do I!"
Harry undressed quickly, and put himself under the covers, and thecolonel also retired, although somewhat more leisurely. The boy couldnot sleep for some time. One vision was present in his mind, that ofCharleston, the famous city to which they were going. The effect ofColonel Talbot's ominous words had worn off. He would soon see the citywhich had been so long a leader in Southern thought and action, and hewould see, too, the men who had so boldly taken matters in their ownhands. He admired their courage and daring.
It was late when Harry awoke, and the colonel was already up anddressed. But the man waited quietly until the boy was dressed also,and they went down to breakfast together. Despite the lateness ofthe hour the dining-room was still crowded, and the room buzzed withanimated talk. Harry knew very well that Charleston was the absorbingtopic, just as it had been the one great thought in his own mind.The people about him seemed to be wholly of Southern sympathies, andhe knew very well that Tennessee, although she might take her own timeabout it, would follow South Carolina out of the Union.
They found two vacant seats at a table, where three men already sat.One was a member of the Legislature, who talked somewhat loudly; thesecond was a country merchant of middle age, and the third was a youngman of twenty-five, who had very little to say. The legislator, whosename was Ramsay, soon learned Colonel Talbot's identity, and he wouldhave proclaimed it to everybody about him, had not the colonel beggedhim not to do so.
"But you will at least permit me to shake your hand, Colonel Talbot,"he said. "One who can give up his commission in the army and come backto us as you have done is the kind of man we need."
Colonel Talbot gave a reluctant hand.
"I am proud to have felt the grasp of one who will win many honors inthe coming war," said Ramsay.
"Or more likely fill a grave," said Colonel Talbot, dryly.
The silent young man across the table looked at the South Carolinianwith interest, and Harry in his turn examined this stranger. He wasbuilt well, shaven smoothly, and did not look like a Tennesseean.His thin lips, often pressed closely together, seemed to indicate acapacity for silence, but when he saw Harry looking at him he smiledand said:
"I gather from your conversation that you are going to Charleston.All southern roads seem to lead to that town, and I, too, am goingthere. My name is Shepard, William J. Shepard, of St. Louis."
Colonel Talbot turned a measuring look upon him. It was so intent andcomprehensive that the young man flushed slightly, and moved a little inhis seat.
"So you are from St. Louis?" said the colonel. "That is a great city,and you must know something about the feeling there. Can you tell mewhether Missouri will go out?"
"I cannot," replied Shepard. "No man can. But many of us are at work."
"What do you think?" persisted Colonel Talbot.
"I am hoping. Missouri is really a Southern state, the daughter ofKentucky, and she ought to join her Southern sisters. As the othersgo out one by one, I think she will follow. The North will not fight,and we will form a peaceful Southern republic."
Colonel Leonidas Talbot of South Carolina swept him once more with thatintent and comprehensive gaze.
"The North will fight," he said. "As I told my young friend here lastnight, a great and terrible war is coming."
"Do you think so?" asked Shepard, and it seemed to Harry that his tonehad become one of overwhelming interest. "Then Charleston, as itscenter and origin, ought to be ready. How are they prepared there fordefense?"
Colonel Talbot's eyes never left Shepard's face and a faint pink tintappeared again in the young man's cheeks.
"There are the forts--Sumter, Moultrie, Johnson and Pinckney," repliedthe South Carolinian, "and I heard to-day that they are buildingearthworks, also. All are helping and it is said that ToutantBeauregard is going there to take command."
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"A good officer," said Shepard, musingly. "I believe you said you wereleaving for Charleston this afternoon?"
"No, I did not say when," replied Colonel Talbot, somewhat sharply."It is possible that Harry and I may linger a while in Nashville.They do not need us yet in Charleston, although their tempers are prettywarm. There has been so much fiery talk, cumulative for so many years,that they regard northern men with extremely hostile eyes. It would nottake much to cause trouble."
Colonel Talbot continued to gaze steadily at Shepard, but the Missourianlooked down into his plate. It seemed to Harry that there was some sortof play between them, or rather a thread of suspicion, a fine threadin truth, but strong enough to sustain something. He could see, too,that Colonel Talbot was giving Shepard a warning, a warning, veiled andvague, but nevertheless a warning. But the boy liked Shepard. His faceseemed to him frank and honest, and he would have trusted him.
They rose presently and went into the lobby, where the colonel evadedShepard, as the place was now crowded. More news had come fromCharleston and evidently it was to their liking. There was a greatamount of talk. Many of the older men sprinkled their words withexpressive oaths. The oaths came so naturally that it seemed to be ahabit with them. They chewed tobacco freely, and now and then theirwhite shirt fronts were stained with it. All those who seemed to be ofprominence wore long black coats, waistcoats cut low, and trousers ofa lighter color.
Near the wall stood a man of heavy build with a great shaggy head andthick black hair all over his face. He was dressed in a suit of roughgray jeans, with his trousers stuffed into high boots. He carried inhis right hand a short, thick riding whip, with which he occasionallyswitched the tops of his own boots.
Harry spoke to him civilly, after the custom of the time and place.He took him for a mountaineer, and he judged by the heavy whip hecarried, that he was a horse or cattle trader.
"They talk of Charleston," said Harry.
"Yes, they talk an' talk," said the man, biting his words, "an' they donothin'."
"You think they ought to take Tennessee out right away?"
"No, I'm ag'in it. I don't want to bust up this here Union. But Ireckon Tennessee is goin' out, an' most all the other Southern stateswill go out, too. I 'low the South will get whipped like all tarnation,but if she does I'm a Southerner myself, an' I'll have to git whippedalong with her. But talkin' don't do no good fur nobody. If the Southgoes out, it's hittin' that'll count, an' them that hits fastest,hardest, truest an' longest will win."
The man was rough in appearance and illiterate in speech, but hismanner impressed Harry in an extraordinary manner. It was direct andwonderfully convincing. The boy recognized at once a mind that wouldsteer straight through things toward its goal.
"My name is Harry Kenton," he said politely. "I'm from Kentucky,and my father used to be a colonel in the army."
"Mine," said the mountaineer, "is Nat Forrest, Nathan Bedford Forrestfor full and long. I'm a trader in live stock, an' I thought I'd lookin here at Nashville an' see what the smart folks was doin'. I'd tell'em not to let Tennessee go out of the Union, but they wouldn't pay any'tention to a hoss-tradin' mountaineer, who his neighbors say can'twrite his name."
"I'm glad to meet you, Mr. Forrest," said Harry, "but I'm afraid we'reon different sides of the question."
"Mebbe we are 'til things come to a head," said the mountaineer,laughing, "but, as I said, if Tennessee goes out, I reckon I'll go withher. It's hard to go ag'in your own gang. Leastways, 't ain't in meto do it. Now I've had enough of this gab, an' I'm goin' to skip out.Good-bye, young feller. I wish you well."
Bringing his whip once more, and sharply this time, across the tops ofhis own boots, he strode out of the hotel. His walk was like his talk,straight and decisive. Harry saw Shepard in the lobby making friends,but, imitating his older comrade, he avoided him, and late thatafternoon Colonel Talbot and he left for Charleston.
The Guns of Bull Run: A Story of the Civil War's Eve Page 3