A Matter of Honor (Dusty Fog Civil War Book 6) Page 16

  It was a conflict of interests capable of taxing a person of greater age and experience than the small Texan!

  ‘Cap’n Dusty,’ Billy Jack said, after having glanced at and received a nod of concurrence from the Indian dark sergeant. ‘By all accounts and what’s said about us frequent, Kiowa ’n’ me ain’t no ways gentlemen. Which being, seeing’s how we float our stick along of you in reckoning this gent’s telled us truthful, you give us the word and we’ll go ’tend to what has to be done.’

  ‘No!’ the small Texan replied, stiffening and his face setting in hard lines. ‘It’s for me to do.’

  ‘It’s not a one man chore, Cap’n!’ Kiowa claimed.

  ‘I know,’ Dusty replied. ‘But I can’t ask you to come with me. If we’re caught, it’ll be a hang-rope and not a prison camp for what we were trying to do.’

  ‘There’s them’s reckon you’re like to wind up dead one way or another, not all of ’em quick ’n’ clean, should you wind up in one of them prison camps run by that Yankee General Smethurst,’ xxvii Kiowa commented. ‘And, seeing’s how you fetched us here with you, I druther face a hangrope than going back to tell Ole Devil and the rest of the boys in Company C we’d come home without you.’

  ‘What they’d do to us,’ the sergeant major supplemented dolefully, ‘hanging’d be quicker ’n’ more merciful-like.’

  ‘All right, damn it!’ the small Texan ejaculated, looking from one non-com to the other and back. Making an effort to conceal his feeling of deep gratitude, knowing to display it would embarrass them, he forced his voice to stay even as he continued, ‘Why shouldn’t I have you pair of useless loafers along to share the hanging with me?’

  ‘What I’ve allus took to about you, Cap’n Dusty,’ Billy Jack announced, speaking with such miserable conviction he might have resigned himself to the inevitability of the mission failing, capture and execution. ‘And that’s how you’re allus looking for ways to do good by Kiowa ’n’ me. It’ll be a honor to get hanged in such company.’

  ‘Likely,’ the small Texan replied, then turned his attention to the Englishman. ‘All right, Mr. Barnes, let’s see what you’ve got in that case and tell us everything you can that will help us get rid of that damned liquid.’

  ‘Lastly, sir, I would like to thank you on behalf of humanity,’ the butler said, at the conclusion of a very thorough explanation. ‘And I give you my word that, my duty to my country notwithstanding, I will never mention the liquid once it has been destroyed to anyone not now present in this room.’ xxviii

  Fifteen – Ole Devil Will Understand

  ‘There’s one good thing, way we’re going at this,’ Sergeant Major Billy Jack asserted in a whisper, as he and his two companions emerged from the Mushogen River to stand among a clump of bushes and study the camp on the northern bank. ‘We’ll likely to get us “poo-monia” and die of it afore they can hang us when they catch us doing what we’ve come for.’

  ‘Which you figure they will do?’ Captain Dustine Edward Marsden “Dusty” Fog announced rather than inquired.

  ‘Certain sure to, with me along,’ the lanky sergeant major asserted, with what appeared to be lugubrious satisfaction. ‘Comes of me busting up a whole box full of mirrors in a medicine show wagon when I was a button. At seven years’ bad luck apiece, I’ve still got me a whole slew of time to go afore I’ve throwed the hex.’

  ‘Ain’t everything going to go bad, though,’ Sergeant Kiowa Cotton claimed. ‘I’ve been figuring on taking me a bath for a fair spell now. Which, doing it this way, I’ve got my clothes washed to boot.’

  ‘Put that way, it looks like some good’s going to come out of this after all,’ the small Texan drawled, starting to remove the waterproof tarpaulin covering from the object he was carrying. ‘Get that thing out, Billy Jack, so’s we can head over and fix it to have ourselves hung.’

  Before they began to obey, the non-coms exchanged brief glances and nods of approval. As each had anticipated, now the time for action was at hand, their young commanding officer had shaken off the preoccupation which had afflicted him for several hours. They had known its cause and respected him all the more for having made what they realized, although neither could fully comprehend just how great an effort of will was required, must have been a very difficult decision.

  In later years, Dusty was to say the hours since the visit he had received from Thaddeus Barnes were the most miserable he ever experienced!

  After supplying all the information he had acquired about the camp, displaying a sound knowledge of what was needed to help carry out the assignment, the butler had opened the leather case and shown the Texans what they would need to use to destroy the deadly liquid. He had also suggested a means by which they could leave the house. Saying he would try to obtain horses, he was assured that Kiowa was better able to attend to this aspect. However, while a plan of campaign was decided upon, the hour was too late—or rather too early in the morning—for it to be put into effect before daybreak. This, Barnes had claimed, posed no problem. Work had begun to erect a ‘pontoon’ bridge across the Mushogen River, but a shortage of materials and trained workers for a task of such magnitude ensured it progressed slowly. As yet, the temporary crossing was not considered safe for use by anything other than the lightest traffic. Having such great hopes for it, Brigadier General Moses J. Buller would not entrust the two wagons loaded with the liquid already manufactured and materials required for producing more until satisfied the crossing could be made without danger.

  After the butler had left the room, locking the door with the device he had used to open it, Dusty had spent a restless time until reveille. Nor had his feelings been improved by the kindness and friendliness which the officers of the Third United States’ Cavalry had displayed. Despite telling himself that men of their caliber would not approve of such a hideous means of waging war and might even be willing to help prevent its use, he was deeply troubled by the thought of breaking his word of honor. Nor were his pangs of conscience lessened by knowing the destruction of the vile liquid would cause a delay in which news of its discovery could be conveyed to President Abraham Lincoln and cause further developments along that line to at least be postponed. It was not even more than a slight relief to think that, should David Aaranovitch die as a result of the destruction, the world would be saved from his discovery as he had not divulged the formula even to his employer.

  Only by exerting a considerable effort of will had the small Texan contrived to conceal his despondency while in the company of the Yankee officers. Nor had he been helped in this by the evidence of their determination to prevent further incidents which might place him in jeopardy. However, nothing untoward had happened. Nor, despite Buller having been in Mushogen engaged in a lengthy conference with Colonel Iain McDonald and a representative of the Adjutant General’s Department, had they met. Before he turned in for the night, he had learned Buller suggested the charges against First Lieutenant Kirby Cogshill be dropped. Stating that to do so would not be in accordance with Regulations, the colonel had refused. Unless the trial took place now the preliminaries were commenced, he had claimed with the support of the legal expert that the young officer would always have the stigma of doubt which could prove detrimental to his future advancement in the Army. Although clearly anything except pleased by this decision, the General had yielded and said the court martial would take place as arranged.

  Coming to join the Texans at the appointed time, Barnes had said the mission must take place that night. Buller had been informed that the bridge had been tested and was capable of taking the weight of his two wagons. Wanting to put his property in a place safe from prying eyes and have production of the liquid commenced as quickly as possible, he had dispatched a message ordering it to be brought across and sent on its way to his headquarters at daybreak in the morning. While it was unlikely that Second Lieutenant Robert Cryer would set off that early, the butler had said, the context of the instructions was such that he would not delay to
any great extent once daylight had come.

  Although the butler had offered to obtain civilian clothing during the day, or try to produce Federal uniforms, Dusty had declined in each case. Even wearing their own uniforms, due to the conditions of their presence in the area, the task upon which he and his men intended to engage would be classed as espionage. Therefore, unless they were killed outright, retaining their own clothing offered two advantages. Firstly, he could try to save the two non-coms by claiming they had no choice other than accompanying him as he had ordered them to do so. Secondly, being the kind of man he was, Colonel McDonald would insist upon learning why an officer of the Confederate States’ Army had broken parole. Presented with the facts, including how Buller had been an active participant in a plot to assassinate President Abraham Lincoln and intended to offer the formula for the liquid to other countries, he would ensure the Department of War in Washington heard of it. Furthermore, unless the small Texan misjudged the colonel’s character, he would send a warning of the threat it posed to General Jackson Baines ‘Ole Devil’ Hardin. In which case, at least part of the assignment would have been achieved.

  Leaving the mansion undetected by the route Barnes used to obtain access on both occasions, the party were wearing the sidearms which had not been taken from them, and were carrying the means of destruction which Barnes had prepared suitably for its delivery. Once outside, Kiowa had justified the confidence of his superior by collecting four horses and their saddles from the picket lines of the Third Cavalry’s enlisted men. Thereafter, the journey to the bridge had passed uneventfully. Although the butler had proved a competent rider, admitting his skills lay in other directions than making an undetected approach to a hostile camp, he had taken the duty of keeping the animals quiet in a small patch of woodland on the southern bank a short distance upstream of their destination.

  Being aware of the necessity to leave no traces of their visit and wanting to avoid killing if possible, as was demanded by his conscience under the circumstances, Dusty and his non-coms had left their firearms in Barnes’ care. Advancing on foot, they had swum across the river near the edge of the encampment and were ready to continue their assignment.

  Regardless of the remarks they had been making, the Texans were aware of how the uncomfortable condition of their clothing could be to their advantage. The majority of the Yankees were already turned in for the night in the lines of tents, but there were sentries posted. While the moon was on the wane, it still gave sufficient light to put their scheme in jeopardy if it had allowed the lighter color of their uniforms to be seen. However, they were bareheaded and, being wet, the material was given a darker hue which could pass as Union blue.

  Having had considerable experience in such matters, based upon the excellent information received from Barnes regarding the layout and routine of the camp, Dusty and his men had settled upon the way which they believed offered the best chance of reaching their destination. One of the factors in their decision was having been told by the butler that the bushes in which they stood were used as a latrine by the occupants of the camp. Therefore, it was an area from which a sentry would be accustomed to seeing men appear, and he would be less likely to feel suspicious than if an approach was made from some other point on the perimeter.

  ‘Let’s go get her done, boys!’ Dusty said quietly, as two square wooden boxes were exposed by the removal of the waterproof coverings. ‘Unless they’ve been moved, Buller’s wagons are off on their own a mite, with his own men guarding them.’

  ‘Shouldn’t go causing us no sweat, nor worrying, happen they’re no better’n that other bunch of New Hampstead Volunteers we run up against,’ Billy Jack declared, then realized such a display of optimism was not in keeping with his assumed attitude towards life. ‘Less’n we fall over something and make so much noise they wakes up and catches us, that is.’

  ‘Happen we do,’ the small Texan growled, simulating exasperation. ‘So help me, I’m going to ask them to let me kick the box out from under you, comes our hanging.’

  ‘You won’t get the chance,’ the sergeant major asserted. ‘Happen I don’t die of the “poo-monia” first, I’ll likely fall off’n bust my neck going up the steps to the scaffold.’

  ‘Why sure,’ Dusty drawled, having learned it was almost impossible to get the better of his lanky subordinate in such exchanges. ‘I’ll head out there and get shot first. Mind you don’t keep them waiting to do it to you.’

  ‘That boy’s being put through all hell doing this, amigo,’ Kiowa commented, as the small Texan set off across the open ground carrying one of the boxes.

  ‘Comes of being born and raised a gentleman,’ Billy Jack replied, with none of his false pessimism or derision in his voice. ‘Going again’ his given word don’t come easy to a man like Cap’n Dusty, young as he is.’

  ‘Ole Devil will understand when he hears,’ the Indian dark sergeant claimed, reaching behind his neck to loosen the knife concealed in its sheath beneath the collar of his tunic. ‘And nobody else’d best mean mouth Cap’n Dusty for doing it where I can hear ’em.’

  Oblivious of the sentiments uttered by his companions, Dusty walked toward the collection of unhitched wagons awaiting the bridge being made strong enough to take their weight. While apparently unconcerned, as a Yankee would be when returning from using the bushes as a latrine, he was tense and alert. Not far away, unauthorized cigarettes glowing redly, a couple of sentries stood talking at the end of the bridge. However, he reached the shelter of the vehicles without either paying the slightest attention to him. Halting in the shadows, he waited with bated breath as Kiowa followed in a similar fashion. Once again, the crossing of the open ground went unchallenged.

  Allowing a couple of minutes to elapse, Billy Jack emerged from concealment carrying the second box. Before he had taken his tenth step, one of the sentries spoke urgently to the other and both tossed their cigarettes into the river.

  For a moment, which seemed far longer to the sergeant major and his watching companions, it seemed the third appearance in so short a time had aroused the suspicions of the first soldier. However, knowing to do otherwise would confirm a supposition of something being amiss, he continued with his steady and apparently disinterested advance. He was a poker player of note and bluff was a prime requisite of that game, but he was aware he had never played for such high stakes. The success of the mission and the lives of his companions was hanging in the balance. Their fate and his own depended entirely upon his ability to convince the Yankees that he too was from the camp and had been engaged in the usual harmless pursuit amongst the bushes.

  Shouldering his rifle, instead of turning it into a position of readiness with the barrel pointed in the direction of the lanky sergeant major, the speaker swung and marched briskly away along the bank of the river. Adopting a more militaristic attitude, the second sentry also betrayed no interest whatsoever in Billy Jack or the other Texans. Before the sergeant major could rejoin his companions, the reason for the change in the pair’s behavior became obvious. Striding from the tent line a stocky and middle-sized figure, whose dress and armament indicated he served in the New Hampstead Volunteers and was doing duty as officer of the day, made for the bridge.

  ‘God damned Yankee officer-boy!’ Billy Jack breathed, as he came up to Dusty and Kiowa. ‘He scared me like to make me piss my breeches!’

  ‘You saw him too, huh?’ the small Texan inquired, sounding surprised.

  ‘Well, yes,’ Billy Jack replied. ‘I could just about reckon you might say I saw the son-of-a-bitch.’

  ‘Bueno!’ Dusty said, in the fashion of one conveying praise. ‘I take to a man’s stays alert. Let’s get going afore he comes this way.’

  Apart from keeping to the shadows as much as possible and refraining from talking, the Texans’ behavior seemed better suited to walking through a camp occupied by their own people than that of the enemy. They were aware that to skulk along would make their intentions obvious, while the method of progr
ess they were employing suggested they had a right to be there. However, due to a number of vehicles having arrived since Barnes left for Mushogen, they found difficulty in following his directions and were compelled to check the insignia on the canopies to identify the pair they sought.

  ‘You men!’ a voice called, as the Texans had located the wagons. ‘What are you doing out here?’

  Turning their heads and halting, Dusty and his companions saw the fancily uniformed officer of the day approaching. Reaching towards the hilt of the knife concealed by the collar of his tunic, Kiowa glanced at but received a prohibitive shake of the head from the small Texan. However, instead of lowering his hand, he changed the movements to rub at the back of his neck as if it was sore or aching.

  ‘Well!’ Second Lieutenant Robert Cryer snapped, looking the trio over as he came to a halt before them. ‘I asked you a question!’

  ‘Sure you did, sir,’ Dusty answered, adopting what he hoped would pass as an Irish brogue. ‘And it’s down by the mess tent we’ve been to catch some rats.’

  ‘Rats?’ Cryer repeated, his voice indicative of puzzlement rather than suspicion.

  ‘Rats it is, sir,’ the small Texan declared, indicating Billy Jack with the box he was carrying and holding it forward. ‘Sure and isn’t it the best rat-killing Irish terrier in the world the O’Reilly here is having to take care of ’em for our amusement. Would you like to see the little devils, sir?’

  ‘No!’ the lieutenant refused, stepping backwards a pace. ‘And you’re not to disturb the camp by doing it tonight!’

  ‘Sir and such wasn’t never our intentions, sir,’ Dusty replied. ‘Tis for the enjoyment of me and the other boys we’ve done the catching and they’re not expecting nothing from us afore the morning’s morning.’

  Eager to get to his bed now he had carried out the rounds which were required of the officer of the day, Cryer gave not a thought to the way in which the diminutive ‘enlisted man’ was doing all the talking, regardless of the other two bearing the chevrons of senior non-coms on their sleeves. At that moment, the benefit of the still wet clothing was manifesting itself. Dusty had removed the gold bars from his collar and, never of an observant nature, the lieutenant failed to notice the ‘chicken guts’ insignia above the cuffs of his jacket. Nor, lacking imagination, did it occur to him that three men walking so openly in a Union Army’s camp were actually Confederate soldiers. Returning the salutes they gave in a casual fashion, he walked away without so much as a backwards glance.