Chapter 8: The Seeker For Help

Colonel Talbot, Lieutenant-Colonel St. Hilaire, and four other officers were in a deep alcove that had been dug just under the highest earthwork, where they were not likely to be interrupted in their deliberations by any fragment of an exploding shell. The only light was that of the stars and the early moon which had now come out, but it was sufficient to show faces oppressed by the utmost anxiety. Three other men also had been summoned to the council.

“We have chosen you six for an important errand,” said Colonel Talbot, “but you are to go upon it singly, and not collectively. As you see, we are besieged here by a greatly superior force. Its assault has been repulsed, but it will not go away. It will bombard us incessantly, and, since we are not strong enough to break through their lines and have limited supplies of food and water, we must fall in a day or two, unless we get help. We want you to make your way over the hills tonight to General Beauregard’s army and bring aid. Even should five be captured or slain the sixth may get through. Lieutenant Kenton, you will go first. You will recall that the horses of the officers were left on the crest of the mountain with a small guard. They may be there yet, and if you can secure a mount, so much the better. But the moment you leave this fort you must rely absolutely upon your own skill and judgment.”

Harry bowed. It was a great trust and he felt elation because he had been chosen first. He was again a courier, and he would do his best.

“I should advise you not to take either a rifle or a sword,” said Colonel Talbot, “as they will be in the way of speed. But you’d better have two pistols. Now, go! I send you upon a dangerous errand, but I hope that the son of George Kenton, my old friend, will succeed. Hark! There is Carrington again! How strangely this war arrays comrades against one another!”

A shell burst almost at the center of the fort, and, for a few moments, the air was full of earth and flying fragments of steel. But in another minute Harry made his preparations, dropped over the rear earthwork, and crouched for a little while against it. Before him stretched an open space of several hundred yards and here he felt was his greatest danger. The Northern sharpshooters might be lurking at the edge of the forest, and he ran great danger of being picked off as he fled. He looked up hopefully at the skies and saw a few clouds, but they did not promise much. Starshine and moonshine together gave enough light for a good sharpshooter.

Bending until he was half stooped, he took his chance and ran across the clearing. His flesh quivered, fearing the sudden impact of a bullet upon it, but no crack of a rifle came and he darted into the protecting shades of the forest. He lay a few minutes among the trees until his lungs filled with fresh air. Then he rose and advanced cautiously up the slope, which lay to the south of the fort. The besieging force was massed on the northern side of the fort, but it was probable that they had outposts here also, to guard against such errands as the one upon which Harry himself was bent.

Yet he felt sure of getting through. One youth in a forest was hard to find. The clouds at which he had looked so hopefully were really growing a little heavier now. It would take good eyes to find him and swift feet to catch him. He paused again halfway up the slope and saw a flash of flame from the Northern forest. Then came the thunderous roar of one of Carrington’s guns, all the louder in the still night, and he saw the shell burst just over the fort.

He knew that these guns would play all night on the Southern recruits, allowing them but little rest and sleep and shaking their nerves still further.

But he must not pause for the guns. A hundred yards further and he sank quietly into a clump of bushes. Voices had warned him and he lay quite still while a Northern officer and twenty soldiers passed. They were so near that he heard them talking and they spoke of the recapture of the fort within two days at least. When they were lost among the trees he rose and advanced more rapidly than before.

He met no interruption until he reached the crest of the mountain when he ran almost into the arms of a sentinel. The man in the darkness did not see the color of his uniform and hailed him for news.

“Nothing,” replied Harry hastily, as he darted away. “I carry a message from our commander to a detachment stationed further on!”

But the sentinel, catching sight of his uniform, and exclaiming: “A Johnny Reb!” threw up his rifle and fired. Luckily for Harry, it was such a hurried shot that the bullet only made his flesh creep, and passed on, cutting the twigs. Then Harry lifted himself up and ran. Lifting himself up describes it truly. He had all the motives which can make a boy run, pressing danger, love of life, devotion to his cause, and a burning desire to do his errand. Hence he lifted his feet, spurned the earth behind him, and fled down the slope at amazing speed. Several more shots were fired, but the bullets flew at random and did not come near him.

Harry did not stop until he was two or three miles from the fort, when he knew that he was safe from anything but a chance meeting with the Northern troops. Then he lay down under a big tree and panted. But his breathing soon became easy, and, rising, he examined the region. He always had a good idea of locality, and soon he found the road by which the Invincibles had come. No one could mistake the tracks made by the cannon wheels. He would retrace his steps on that road as fast as he could. He saw that it was useless now to look for the men with the horses. Fear of capture had compelled them to move long since, and a search would merely waste time.

He tightened his belt, squared his shoulders, and bending a little forward, ran at a long, easy gait along the trail. He was a strong and enduring youth, trained to the woods and hills, and, with occasional stops for rest, he knew that he could continue until he reached the camp at Manassas. He wondered if the others had got through. He hoped they had, but he was still anxious to be the first who should reach Beauregard, an ambition not unworthy on the part of youth.

He stopped after midnight for a longer rest than usual. Colonel Talbot, at the last moment, had made him take a small knapsack with some food in it, and now he was grateful for his commander’s foresight. He ate, drank from a tiny brook that he heard trickling among the trees, and felt as if he had been made anew. He wisely protracted this stop to half an hour and then he went forward at an increased gait.

His flight, save for short rests, continued without interruption until morning. Always he looked about for a horse, intending in such an emergency to take a horse by force and gallop to Beauregard. But the country was populated very thinly and he saw none. He must continue to rely upon his own good lungs, strong muscles, and dauntless spirit.

Dawn came, bathing the hills in the gray light and unveiling the green of the valleys below. Then the sun showed an edge of red fire in the east, and the full day was at hand. Harry saw below him many horsemen in the smooth array. They seemed to have just started, as a huge campfire a little further up the valley was still burning.

To the weary and anxious boy, it seemed a most gallant command, fresh as the dawn, splendid horses, splendid men, overflowing with life and strength and spirits. His eyes traveled to one who was a little in advance of all the others and rested there. The figure that held his gaze was scarcely modern, it was more like that of a knight of old romance.

He saw a young man, tall, and built very powerfully, riding upon an immense black horse. His hair and beard were long and thick, of a golden brown that looked like pure flowing gold in the brilliant rays of the young sun. His coat had two rows of shining brass buttons down the front and was sewn thickly with gold braid. Heavy gold braid covered the seams of his trousers and a great sash of yellow silk was tied around his waist. Spurs of gold gleamed in the sun. Long yellow gloves covered his hands. His hat was of the finest felt, the brim pinned back with a golden star, while a black ostrich plume waved over the crown.

Harry gazed at this singular and striking figure with wonder. He had seen in the pictures knights of old France wearing such a garb as this, and yet it did not seem so strange here. These were strange times. Everything was out of the normal, and the brilliant colors which would have seemed so dandyish to him at other times appealed to him now.

He suddenly recalled that these men were in gray uniforms, and he, too, wore a gray uniform. They were his own people, cavalry of the Southern army. Recovering his presence of mind, he ran forward, shouting and waving his hands. The leader was the first to notice him and gave the order to halt. The whole command stopped with beautiful precision, the ranks remaining even. Then the leader, looking more than ever like a medieval knight, rode slowly forward on his great black horse to meet the youth who was running to meet him.

When Harry came near he saw that the man was young, under thirty. He gazed steadily at the boy out of deep blue eyes, and his hair and beard rippled like molten gold under the light breeze.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“My name is Kenton, Henry Kenton, and I am a lieutenant in the regiment of the Invincibles, commanded by Colonel Leonidas Talbot! We were sent to take a fort on the other side of the mountain and took it, but the regiment is besieged there by a much larger Northern force, and I came through in the night for help.”

The man stroked his golden beard and a light leaped up in his eye. Any dandyish or foppish quality that he might have seemed to have disappeared at once, and Harry saw only the soldier.

“Ah, I have heard of this expedition,” he said, “and so the Invincibles are in a trap. We had started on another errand, but we will go to the relief of Colonel Talbot. My name is Stuart, lad, J. E. B. Stuart, and this is my command.”

It was Harry’s first meeting with the famous Jeb Stuart, the most picturesque of all the Southern cavalry leaders, although not superior to the illiterate man of genius, Forrest. Stuart inspired supreme confidence in him. His manner, the very brilliancy of his clothes, seemed to say that here was one who would dare anything.

“We have some extra horses,” said Stuart, “you shall mount one and guide us.”

“The country is very difficult for cavalry,” said Harry. “The slopes are steep and are wooded heavily.”

“For ordinary cavalry, yes,” replied Stuart, proudly, “but these horsemen of mine can go anywhere. But we will not rely upon cavalry alone. I will send two men at full speed to the main army for infantry reinforcements. Meanwhile, we will hurry forward.”

Mounted on a good horse, Harry felt like a new being, and his spirits rose rapidly as the whole troop set off at a swift pace. He rode by the side of Stuart, who asked him many questions. Harry saw that he was not only brilliant and dashing but thorough. He was planning to relieve Colonel Talbot, but he had no intention of dashing into a trap.

Soon they were deep in the hills and here they picked up a weary youth, dodging about among the trees. It was St. Clair. He had run the gauntlet, but he had been pursued so hotly that he had been forced to lie hidden in the forest a long time. He had made his uniform look as spruce as possible and he held himself with dignity when the horsemen approached, but he could not conceal the fact that he was exhausted.

“I congratulate you, Harry,” he said when he also was astride a horse. “It is likely that you are the only one who has got through so far. I’m quite sure that Langdon was driven back, and I don’t know what has become of the others. But it was great luck to find such a command as this.”

He looked somewhat enviously at Jeb Stuart’s magnificent raiment, and again pulled and brushed at his own.

“You cannot expect to equal it,” said Harry, smiling.

“Not unless my opportunities improve greatly. I must say, also, that the colors are a little too bright for me, although they suit him. Everything must be in harmony, Harry, and it is certainly true of Stuart and his uniform that they are in perfect accord. Good clothes, Harry, give one courage and backbone.”

Stuart and his men continued to advance rapidly, although they were now deep in the hills, and Harry realized to the full that it was a splendid command, splendid men and splendid horses, led by a cavalryman of genius. Stuart neglected no precaution. He sent scouts ahead and threw out flankers. When they reached the forest the ranks opened out, and, without losing touch, a thousand men rode among the trees as easily as they had ridden in the open fields.

They reached the crest of the last slope and Stuart, sitting his horse with Harry and St. Clair on either side, looked through his glasses at the valley below.

“Our people still hold it,” he said. “I can see their gray uniforms and I have no doubt the besiegers are still in the forest. Yes, there’s their signal!”

The heavy report of a cannon shot rolled up the valley and Harry saw a shell burst over the fort. Carrington was still at work, playing upon the nerves of the defenders.

“While we have ridden through the forest,” said Stuart, “a cavalry charge here is not possible. We must dismount, leaving one man in every ten to hold the horses, signal to Colonel Talbot that help has come, and then attack on foot.”

A bugler advanced on horseback at Stuart’s command, blew a long and thrilling call, and then another man beside him broke out an immense Confederate flag.

“They see us in the fort and recognize us,” said Stuart. “Hark to the cheer!”

The faint sound of many voices in unison came up from the valley, and Harry knew it to be the Invincibles expressing joy that help had come. The fort then opened with its own guns, and Stuart’s dismounted horsemen, who were armed with carbines, advanced through the forest, using the trees for shelter, and attacking the Northern force on the flank. They and the Invincibles together were not strong enough to drive off the enemy, but the heavy skirmishing lasted until the middle of the afternoon when a whole brigade of infantry came up from the main army. Then the Northern troops retreated slowly and defiantly, carrying with them all their wounded and every gun.

“I’ve got to take my hat off to the mill hands and mechanics,” said St. Clair. “I think, Harry, that if it hadn’t been for your skill and luck in getting through we would soon have been living our lives according to their will.”

Colonel Talbot congratulated Harry, but his words were few.

“Lad,” he said, “you have done well.”

Then he and Stuart consulted. Harry, meanwhile, found Langdon, who had been driven back, as St Clair had suspected. He had also sustained a slight wound in the arm, but he was rejoicing over their final success.

“Everything happens for the best,” he said. “You might have been driven back, Harry, as I was. You might not have met Stuart. This little wound in my arm might have been a big one in my heart. But none of those things happened. Here I am almost unhurt, and here we are victorious.”

“Victorious, perhaps, but without spoils,” said St. Clair. “We’ve got this fort, but we know it will take a big force to keep it. I don’t like the way these mill hands and mechanics fight. They hang on too long. After we drove them out of the fort they ought to have retreated up the valley and left us in peace. If they act this way when they’re raw, what’ll they do when they are seasoned?”