Kitabı oku: «The Sword of Antietam: A Story of the Nation's Crisis», sayfa 3

“One commanded by Colonel Winchester, recently sent from the west. We’ve been in only one battle in the east, that fought at Cedar Run against Jackson.”

Watson again looked at Dick intently. The boy felt that he was being measured and weighed by a man of uncommon perceptions. Whatever might be his moral quality there could be no question of his ability.

“I am, as I told you before,” said Watson, “a servant of my country. A man who feeds and clothes the soldiers well is a patriot, while he who feeds and clothes them badly is a mere money grubber.”

He paused, as if he expected Dick to say something, but the boy was silent and he went on:

“It is to the interest of the country that it be served well in all departments, particularly in the tremendous crisis that we now face. Yet the best patriot cannot always get a chance to serve. He needs friends at court, as they say. Now this colonel of yours, Colonel Winchester—I’ve observed both him and you, although I approached you as if I’d never heard of either of you before—is a man of character and influence. Certain words from him at the right time would be of great value, nor would his favorite aide suffer through bringing the matter to his attention.”

Dick saw clearly now, but he was not impulsive. Experience was teaching him, while yet a boy, to speak softly.

“The young aide of whom you speak,” he said, “would never think of mentioning such a matter to the colonel, of whom you also speak, and even if he should, the colonel wouldn’t listen to him for a moment.”

Watson shrugged his shoulders slightly, but made no other gesture of displeasure.

“Doubtless you are well informed about this aide and this colonel,” he said, “but it’s a pity. If more food is thrown to the sparrows than they can eat, is it any harm for other birds to eat the remainder?”

“I scarcely regard it as a study in ornithology.”

“Ornithology? That’s a big word, but I suppose it will serve. We’ll drop the matter, and if at any time my words here should be quoted I’ll promptly deny them. It’s a bad thing for a boy to have his statements disputed by a man of years who can command wealth and other powerful influences. Unless he had witnesses nobody would believe the boy. I tell you this, my lad, partly for your own good, because I’m inclined to like you.”

Dick stared. There was nothing insulting in the man’s tone. He seemed to be thoroughly in earnest. Perhaps he regarded his point of view as right, and Dick, a boy of thought and resource, saw that it was not worth while to make a quarrel. But he resolved to remember Watson, feeling that the course of events might bring them together again.

“I suppose it’s as you say,” he said. “You’re a man of affairs and you ought to know.”

Watson smiled at him. Dick felt that the contractor had been telling the truth when he said that he was inclined to like him. Perhaps he was honest and supplied good materials, when others supplied bad.

“You will shake hands with me, Mr. Mason,” he said. “You think that I will be hostile to you, but maybe some day I can prove myself your friend. Young soldiers often need friends.”

His eyes twinkled and his smile widened. In spite of his appearance and his proposition, something winning had suddenly appeared in the manner of this man. Dick found himself shaking hands with him.

“Good-bye, Mr. Mason,” said Watson. “It may be that we shall meet on the field, although I shall not be within range of the guns.”

He left the lobby of the hotel, and Dick was rather puzzled. It was his first thought to tell Colonel Winchester about him, but he finally decided that Watson’s own advice to him to keep silent was best. He and Colonel Winchester took the train from Washington the next day, and on the day after were with Pope’s army on the Rapidan.

Dick detected at once a feeling of excitement or tension in this army, at least among the young officers with whom he associated most. They felt that a storm of some kind was gathering, either in front or on their flank. McClellan’s army was now on the transports, leaving behind the Virginia that he had failed to conquer, and Pope’s, with a new commander, was not yet in shape. The moment was propitious for Lee and Jackson to strike, and the elusive Jackson was lost again.

“Our scouts discover nothing,” said Warner to Dick. “The country is chockfull of hostility to us. Not a soul will tell us a word. We have to see a thing with our own eyes before we know it’s there, but the people, the little children even, take news to the rebels. A veil is hung before us, but there is none before them.”

“There is one man who is sure to find out about Jackson.”

“Who?”

Dick’s only answer was a shake of the head. But he was thinking of Shepard. He did not see him about the camp, and he had no doubt that he was gone on another of his dangerous missions. Meanwhile newspapers from New York and other great cities reflected the doubts of the North. They spoke of Pope’s grandiloquent dispatches, and they wondered what had become of Lee and Jackson.

Dick, an intense patriot, passed many bitter moments. He, like others, felt that the hand upon the reins was not sure. Instead of finding the enemy and assailing him with all their strength, they were waiting in doubt and alarm to fend off a stroke that would come from some unknown point out of the dark.

The army now lay in one of the finest parts of Virginia, a region of picturesque mountains, wide and fertile valleys, and of many clear creeks and rivers coming down from the peaks and ridges. To one side lay a great forest, known as the Wilderness, destined, with the country near it, to become the greatest battlefield of the world. Here, the terrible battles of the Second Manassas, Fredericksburg, Chancellorsville, the Wilderness, Spottsylvania, and others less sanguinary, but great struggles, nevertheless, were to be fought.

But these were yet in the future, and Dick, much as his eyes had been opened, did not yet dream how tremendous the epic combat was to be. He only knew that to-day it was the middle of August, the valleys were very hot, but it was shady and cool on the hills and mountains. He knew, too, that he was young, and that pessimism and gloom could not abide long with him.

He and Warner and Pennington had good horses, in place of those that they had lost at Cedar Run, and often they rode to the front to see what might be seen of the enemy, which at present was nothing. Their battlefield at Cedar Run had been reoccupied by Northern troops and Pope was now confirmed in his belief that his men had won a victory there. And this victory was to be merely a prelude to another and far greater one.

As they rode here and there in search of the enemy, Dick came upon familiar ground. Once more he saw the field of Manassas which had been lost so hardly the year before. He remembered every hill and brook and curve of the little river, because they had been etched into his brain with steel and fire. How could anyone forget that day?

“Looks as if we might fight our battle of last year over again, but on a much bigger scale,” he said to Warner.

“Here or hereabouts,” said the Vermonter, “and I think we ought to win. They’ve got the better generals, but we’ve got more men. Besides, our troops are becoming experienced and they’ve shown their mettle. Dick, here’s a farmer gathering corn. Let’s ask him some questions, but I’ll wager you a hundred to one before we begin that he knows absolutely nothing about the rebel army. In fact, I doubt that he will know of its existence.”

“I won’t take your bet,” said Dick.

They called to the man, a typical Virginia farmer in his shirt sleeves, tall and spare, short whiskers growing under his chin. There was not much difference between him and his brother farmer in New England.

“Good-day,” said Warner.

“Good-day.”

“You seem to be working hard.”

“I’ve need to do it. Farm hands are scarce these days.”

“Farming is hard work.”

“Yes; but it’s a lot safer than some other kinds men are doin’ nowadays.”

“True, no doubt, but have you seen anything of the army?”

“What army?”

“The one under Lee and Jackson, the rebel army.”

“I ain’t heard of no rebel army, mister. I don’t know of any such people as rebels.”

“You call it the Confederate army. Can you tell us anything about the Confederate army?”

“What Confederate army, mister? I heard last month when I went in to the court house that there was more than one of them.”

“I mean the one under Lee and Jackson.”

“That’s cur’us. A man come ridin’ ‘long here three or four weeks ago. Mebbe he was a lightnin’ rod agent an’ mebbe he had patent medicines to sell, he didn’t say, but he did tell me that General Jackson was in one place an General Lee was in another. Now which army do you mean?”

“That was nearly a month ago. They are together now.”

“Then, mister, if you know so much more about it than I do, what are you askin’ me questions for?”

“But I want to know about Lee and Jackson. Have you seen them?”

“Lord bless you, mister, them big generals don’t come visitin’ the likes o’ me. You kin see my house over thar among the trees. You kin search it if you want to, but you won’t find nothin’.”

“I don’t want to search your house. You can’t hide a great army in a house. I want to know if you’ve seen the Southern Army. I want to know if you’ve heard anything about it.”

“I ain’t seed it. My sight’s none too good, mister. Sometimes the blazin’ sun gits in my eyes and kinder blinds me for a long time. Then, too, I’m bad of hearin’; but I’m a powerful good sleeper. When I sleep I don’t hear nothin’, of course, an’ nothin’ wakes me up. I just sleep on, sometimes dreamin’ beautiful dreams. A million men wouldn’t wake me, an’ mebbe a dozen armies or so have passed in the night while I was sleepin’ so good. I’d tell you anything I know, but them that knows nothin’ has nothin’ to tell.”

Warner’s temper, although he had always practiced self-control, had begun to rise, but he checked it, seeing that it would be a mere foolish display of weakness in the face of the blank wall that confronted him.

“My friend,” he said with gravity, “I judge from the extreme ignorance you display concerning great affairs that you sleep a large part of the time.”

“Mebbe so, an’ mebbe not. I most gen’ally sleep when I’m sleepy. I’ve heard tell there was a big war goin’ on in these parts, but this is my land, an’ I’m goin’ to stay on it.”

“A good farmer, if not a good patriot. Good day.”

“Good day.”

They rode on and, in spite of themselves, laughed.

“I’m willing to wager that he knows a lot about Lee and Jackson,” said Warner, “but the days of the rack and the thumbscrew passed long ago, and there is no way to make him tell.”

“No,” said Dick, “but we ought to find out for ourselves.”

Nevertheless, they discovered nothing. They saw no trace of a Southern soldier, nor did they hear news of any, and toward nightfall they rode back toward the army, much disappointed. The sunset was of uncommon beauty. The hot day was growing cool. Pleasant shadows were creeping up in the east. In the west a round mountain shouldered its black bulk against the sky. Dick looked at it vaguely. He had heard it called Clark’s Mountain, and it was about seven miles away from the Union army which lay behind the Rapidan River.

Dick liked mountains, and the peak looked beautiful against the red and yellow bars of the western horizon.

“Have you ever been over there?” he said to Pennington and Warner.

“No; but a lot of our scouts have,” replied Pennington. “It’s just a mountain and nothing more. Funny how all those peaks and ridges crop up suddenly around here out of what seems meant to have been a level country.”

“I like it better because it isn’t level,” said Dick. “I’m afraid George and I wouldn’t care much for your prairie country which just rolls on forever, almost without trees and clear running streams.”

“You would care for it,” said Pennington stoutly. “You’d miss at first the clear rivers and creeks, but then the spell of it would take hold of you. The air you breathe isn’t like the air you breathe anywhere else.”

“We’ve got some air of our own in Vermont that we could brag about, if we wanted to,” said Warner, defiantly.

“It’s good, but not as good as ours. And then the vast distances, the great spaces take hold of you. And there’s the sky so high and so clear. When you come away from the great plains you feel cooped up anywhere else.”

Pennington spoke with enthusiasm, his nostrils dilating and his eyes flashing. Dick was impressed.

“When the war’s over I’m going out there to see your plains,” he said.

“Then you’re coming to see me!” exclaimed Pennington, with all the impulsive warmth of youth. “And George here is coming with you. I won’t show you any mountains like the one over there, but boys, west of the Platte River, when I was with my father and some other men I watched for three days a buffalo herd passing. The herd was going north and all the time it stretched so far from east to west that it sank under each horizon. There must have been millions of them. Don’t you think that was something worth seeing?”

“We’re surely coming,” said Dick, “and you be equally sure to have your buffalo herd ready for us when we come.”

“It’ll be there.”

“Meanwhile, here we are at the Rapidan,” said the practical Warner, “and beyond it is our army. Look at that long line of fires, boys. Aren’t they cheering? A fine big army like ours ought to beat off anything. We almost held our own with Jackson himself at Cedar Run, and he had two to one.”

“We will win! We’re bound to win!” said Dick, with sudden access of hope. “We’ll crush Lee and Jackson, and next summer you and I, George, will be out on the western plains with Frank, watching the buffalo millions go thundering by!”

They forded the Rapidan and rejoined their regiment with nothing to tell. But it was cheerful about the fires. Optimism reigned once more in the Army of Virginia. McClellan had sent word to Pope that he would have plenty of soldiers to face the attack that now seemed to be threatened by the South. Brigades from the Army of the Potomac would make the Army of Virginia invincible.

Dick having nothing particular to do, sat late with his comrades before one of the finest of the fires, and he read only cheerful omens in the flames. It was a beautiful night. The moon seemed large and near, and the sky was full of dancing stars. In the clear night Dick saw the black bulk of Clark’s Mountain off there against the horizon, but he could not see what was behind it.

CHAPTER III. BESIDE THE RIVER

Dick was on duty early in the morning when he saw a horseman coming at a gallop toward the Rapidan. The man was in civilian clothing, but his figure seemed familiar. The boy raised his glasses, and he saw at once that it was Shepard. He saw, too, that he was urging his horse to its utmost speed.

The boy’s heart suddenly began to throb, and there was a cold, prickling sensation at the roots of his hair. Shepard had made an extraordinary impression upon him and he did not believe that the man would be coming at such a pace unless he came with great news.

He saw Shepard stop, give the pass word to the pickets, then gallop on, ford the river and come straight toward the heart of the army. Dick ran forward and met him.

“What is it?” he cried.

“General Pope’s tent! Where it is! I can’t wait a minute.”

Dick pointed toward a big marquee, standing in an open space, and Shepard leaping from his horse and abandoning it entirely, ran toward the marquee. A word or two to the sentinels, and he disappeared inside.

Dick, devoured with curiosity and anxiety, went to Colonel Winchester with the story of what he had seen.

“I know of Shepard,” said the colonel. “He is the best and most daring spy in the whole service of the North. I think you’re right in inferring that he rides so fast for good cause.”

Shepard remained with the commander-in-chief a quarter of an hour. When he came forth from the tent he regained his horse and rode away without a word, going in the direction of Clark’s Mountain. But his news was quickly known, because it was of a kind that could not be concealed. Pennington came running with it to the regiment, his face flushed and his eyes big.

“Look! Look at the mountain!” he exclaimed.

“I see it,” said Warner. “I saw it there yesterday, too, in exactly the same place.”

“So did I, but there’s something behind it. Lee and Jackson are there with sixty or eighty thousand men! The whole Southern army is only six or seven miles away.”

Even Warner’s face changed.

“How do you know this?” he asked.

“A spy has seen their army. They say he is a man whose reports are never false. At any rate orders have already been issued for us to retreat and I hear that we’re going back until we reach the Rappahannock, behind which we will camp.”

Dick knew very well now that it was Shepard who brought the news, and Pennington’s report about the retreat was also soon verified. The whole army was soon in motion and a feeling of depression replaced the optimism of the night before. The advance had been turned into a retreat. Were they to go back and forth in this manner forever? But Colonel Winchester spoke hopefully to his young aides and said that the retreat was right.

“We’re drawing out of a trap,” he said, “and time is always on our side. The South to win has to hit hard and fast, and in this case the Army of the Potomac and the Army of Virginia may join before Lee and Jackson can come up.”

The lads tried to reconcile themselves, but nevertheless they did not like retreat. Dick with his powerful glasses often looked back toward the dark bulk of Clark’s Mountain. He saw nothing there, nor anything in the low country between, save the rear ranks of the Union army marching on.

But Shepard had been right. Lee and Jackson, advancing silently and with every avenue of news guarded, were there behind the mountain with sixty thousand men, flushed with victories, and putting a supreme faith in their great commanders who so well deserved their trust. The men of the valley and the Seven Days, wholly confident, asked only to be led against Pope and his army, and most of them expected a battle that very day, while the Northern commander was slipping from the well-laid trap.

Pope’s judgment in this case was good and fortune, too, favored him. Before the last of his men had left the Rapidan Lee himself, with his staff officers, climbed to the summit of Clark’s Mountain. They were armed with the best of glasses, but drifting fogs coming down from the north spread along the whole side of the mountain and hung like a curtain between it and the retreating army. None of their glasses could pierce the veil, and it was not until nearly night that rising winds caught the fog and took it away. Then Lee and his generals saw a vast cloud of dust in the northwest and they knew that under it marched Pope’s retreating army.

The Southern army was at once ordered forward in pursuit and in the night the vanguard, wading the Rapidan, followed eagerly. Dick and his comrades did not know then that they were followed so closely, but they were destined to know it before morning. The regiment of Colonel Winchester, one of the best and bravest in the whole service, formed a part of the rearguard, and Dick, Warner and Pennington rode with their chief.

The country was broken and they crossed small streams. Sometimes they were in open fields, and again they passed through long stretches of forest. There was a strong force of cavalry with the regiment, and the beat of the horses’ hoofs made a steady rolling sound which was not unpleasant.

But Dick found the night full of sinister omens. They had left the Rapidan in such haste that there was still a certain confusion of impressions. The gigantic scale of everything took hold of him. One hundred and fifty thousand men, or near it, were marching northward in two armies which could not be many miles apart. The darkness and the feeling of tragedy soon to come oppressed him.

He listened eagerly for the sounds of pursuit, but the long hours passed and he heard nothing. The rear guard did not talk. The men wasted no strength that way, but marched stolidly on in the moonlight. Midnight passed and after a while it grew darker. Colonel Winchester and his young officers rode at the very rear, and Pennington suddenly held up his hand.

“What is it?” asked Colonel Winchester.

“Somebody following us, sir. I was trained out on the plains to take notice of such things. May I get down and put my ear to the ground? I may look ridiculous, sir, but I can make sure.”

“Certainly. Go ahead.”

Pennington sprang down and put his ear to the road. He did not listen long, but when he stood up again he said:

“Horsemen are coming. I can’t tell how many, but several hundreds at least.”

“As we’re the very last of our own army, they must be Southern cavalry,” said Colonel Winchester. “If they want to attack, I dare say our boys are willing.”

Very soon they heard clearly the gallop of the cavalry, and the men heard it also. They looked up and turned their faces toward those who must be foes. Despite the dimness Dick saw their eyes brighten. Colonel Winchester had judged rightly. The boys were willing.

The rear guard turned back and waited, and in a few minutes the Southern horsemen came in sight, opening fire at once. Their infantry, too, soon appeared in the woods and fields and the dark hours before the dawn were filled with the crackle of small arms.

Dick kept close to Colonel Winchester who anxiously watched the pursuit, throwing his own regiment across the road, and keeping up a heavy fire on the enemy. The Union loss was not great as most of the firing in the dusk, of necessity, was at random, and Dick heard bullets whistling all about him. Some times the bark flew from trees and now and then there was a rain of twigs, shorn from the branches by the showers of missiles.

It was arduous work. The men were worn by the darkness, the uncertainty and the incessant pursuit. The Northern rear guard presented a strong front, retreating slowly with its face to the enemy, and always disputing the road. Dick meanwhile could hear through the crash of the firing the deep rumble of Pope’s great army with its artillery and thousands of wagons continually marching toward the Rappahannock. His mind became absorbed in a vital question. Would Lee and Jackson come up before they could reach the bigger river? Would a battle be forced the next day while the Union army was in retreat? He confided his anxieties to Warner who rode by his side.

“I take it that it’s only a vanguard that’s pursuing us,” said the Vermonter. “If they were in great force they’d have been pushing harder and harder. We must have got a good start before Lee and Jackson found us out. We know our Jackson, Dick, and he’d have been right on top of us without delay.”

“That’s right, George. It must be their cavalry mostly. I suppose Jeb Stuart is there leading them. At any rate we’ll soon know better what’s doing. Look there toward the east. Don’t you see a ray of light behind that hill?”

“I see it, Dick.”

“Is it the first ray of the morning, or is it just a low star?”

“It’s the dawn, Dick, and mighty glad I am to see it. Look how fast it comes!”

The sun shot up, over the hill. The sky turning to silver soon gave way to gold, and the clear August light poured in a flood over the rolling country.

Dick saw ahead of him a vast cloud of dust extending miles from east to west, marking where the army of Pope pushed on its retreat to the Rappahannock. There was no need to search for the Northern force. The newest recruit would know that it was here.

The Southern vanguard was behind them and not many hundred yards away. Dick distinctly saw the cavalry, riding along the road, and hundreds of skirmishers pushing through the woods and fields. He judged that the force did not number many thousands and that it could not think of assailing the whole Union army. But with the coming of day the vigor of the attack increased. The skirmishers fired from the shelter of every tree stump, fence or hillock and the bullets pattered about Dick and his comrades.

The Union rear guard maintained its answering fire, but as it was retreating it was at a disadvantage. The regiments began to suffer. Many men were wounded. The fire became most galling. A sudden charge by the rearguard was ordered and it was made with spirit. The Southern van was driven back, but when the retreat was resumed the skirmishers and the cavalry came forward again, always firing at their retreating foe.

“I judge that it’s going to be a very hot morning,” said Colonel Winchester, wiping away a few drops of blood, where a bullet had barely touched his face. “I think the wind of that bullet hurt me more than its kiss. There will be no great battle to-day. We can see now that they are not yet in strong enough force, but we’ll never know a minute’s rest until we’re behind the Rappahannock. Oh, Dick, if McClellan’s army were only here also! This business of retreating is as bitter as death itself!”

Dick saw the pain on his colonel’s face and it was reflected on his own.

“I feel it, sir, in the same way. Our men are just as eager as the Johnnies to fight and they are as brave and tenacious. What do you think will happen, sir?”

“We’ll reach the Rappahannock and take refuge behind it. We command the railroad bridge there, and can cross and destroy it afterward. But the river is broad and deep with high banks and the army of the enemy cannot possibly force the passage in any way while we defend it.”

“And after that, sir?”

“God alone knows. Look out, Dick, those men are aiming at us!”

Colonel Winchester seized the bridle of Dick’s horse and pulled him violently to one side, pulling his own horse in the same direction in the same manner. The bullets of half a dozen Southern skirmishers, standing under the boughs of a beech tree less than two hundred yards away, hissed angrily by them.

“A close call,” said the colonel. “There, they’ve been scattered by our own riflemen and one of them remains to pay the toll.”

The reply of the Northern skirmishers had been quick, and the gray figure lying prone by the trunk of the tree told Dick that the colonel had been right. He was shaken by a momentary shudder, but he could not long remember one among so many. They rode on, leaving the prone figure out of sight, and the Southern cavalry and skirmishers pressed forward afresh.

Many of the Union men had food in their saddle bags, and supplies were sent back for those who did not have it. Colonel Winchester who was now thoroughly cool, advised his officers to eat, even if they felt no hunger.

“I’m hungry enough,” said Pennington to Dick. “Out on the plains, where the air is so fresh and so full of life I was always hungry, and I suppose I brought my appetite here with me. Dick, I’ve opened a can of cove oysters, and that’s a great deal for a fellow on horseback to do. Here, take your share, and they’ll help out that dry bread you’re munching.”

Dick accepted with thanks. He learned that he, too, could eat with a good appetite while bullets were knocking up dust only twenty yards away. Meanwhile there was a steady flash of firing from every wood and cornfield behind them.

As he ate he watched and he saw an amazing panorama. Miles in front the great cloud of dust, cutting across from horizon to horizon swelled slowly on toward the Rappahannock. Behind them rode the Southern cavalry and masses of infantry were pressing forward, too. Far off on either flank rolled the pleasant country, its beauty heightened by the loom of blue mountains.

Colonel Winchester had predicted truly. The fighting between the Northern rearguard, and the Southern vanguard never ceased. Every moment the bullets were whistling, and occasionally a cannon lent its deep roar to the crackling fire of the rifles. Daring detachments of the Southern cavalry often galloped up and charged lagging regiments. And they were driven off with equal courage and daring.

The three boys took especial notice of those cavalry bands and began to believe at last that they could identify the very men in them. Dick looked for his cousin, Harry Kenton. He was sure that he would be there in the front—but he did not see him. Instead he saw after a while an extraordinary figure on a large black horse, a large man in magnificent uniform, with a great plume in his hat. He was nearer to them than any other Southern horseman, and he seemed to be indifferent to danger.

“Look! look! There’s Jeb Stuart!” exclaimed Dick. He had heard so much about the famous Stuart and his gorgeous uniform that he knew him instinctively, and, Warner and Pennington, as their eyes followed his pointing finger felt the same conviction.

Three of the Northern riflemen fired at once at the conspicuous target, and Dick breathed a little sigh of relief when all their bullets missed. Then the brilliant figure turned to one side and was lost in the smoke.

“Well,” said Pennington. “We’ve seen Stonewall Jackson and Jeb Stuart both in battle against us. I wonder who will come next.”

“Lee is due,” said Warner, “but I doubt whether his men will let him expose himself in such a way. We’ll have to slip under cover to get a chance of seeing him.”

The hours went on, and the fight between rear guard and vanguard never ceased. That column of dust miles long was at the same distance in front, continuing in its slow course for the river, but the foes in contact were having plenty of dust showers of their own. Dick’s throat and mouth burned with the dust and heat of the pitiless August day, and his bones ached with the tension and the long hours in the saddle. But his spirit was high. They were holding off the Southern cavalry and he felt that they would continue to do so.

About noon he ate more cold food, and then rode on, while the sun blazed and blazed and the dust whirled in clouds like the “dust devils” of the desert, continually spitting forth bullets instead of sand. Late in the afternoon he heard the sound of many trumpets, and saw the Southern cavalry getting together in a great mass. A warning ran instantly among the Union troops and the horsemen in blue and one or two infantry regiments drew closer together.