A Dangerous Promise (7 page)

Mike couldn't help bursting in: "Then why doesn't General Lyon do something about it right now? General Sweeny sent those Rebs on the run down at Forsyth. We could do it again!"

Ben snickered. "Want to tell that to General Lyon, Harley?"

Harley laid down a card and smiled a satisfied smile. "I don't talk to generals. I listen to what they've got to say, and then I pass along the word."

But on August first, orders were given so swiftly that even Harley Botts had no advance notice. General Lyon had learned from his scouts that a strong column of Confederate soldiers was less than eighteen miles from Springfield.

That afternoon, the men in Major Sturgis's battalion left

camp and began their march to join Lyon's brigade. They forded Wilson's Creek, which was fairly shallow in the August heat, and halted in a field north of Skegg's Branch. Mike eagerly helped set up camp for nearly six thousand officers and men. He beat his drum calls with unmatched vigor and excitement, and the next morning, when the march began again, he was sure his drumbeats were the liveliest along the route.

Captain Steele, with a battalion and artillery, led the advance, chasing off a smattering of Confederates as he deployed two of his companies along Telegraph Road after them.

"I told you," Mike said proudly to Harley, as the march was halted and word was passed down the line, "it's easy to send those Rebs scurrying."

Harley grunted. "Don't be too sure. Take a look at what's around us—forest, thick underbrush, steep hills. It's easier to fight in the open than in terrain like this, take my word for it."

Word came that the Missouri State Guard had attacked Steele's vanguard at Dug Springs, so Lyon sent some of his brigade ahead to reinforce Steele's forces.

As instructed, Mike's company stood by to wait for further orders. "Why don't we go into action?" Mike demanded.

"Settle down," Todd answered. "We'll find out soon enough."

"Eager to fight, are you, boy?" Billy muttered.

To Mike's surprise, he saw that most of the men seemed restless or nervous. Few of them shared the excitement he felt.

That night at camp, rumors were as thick as the clouds of moths that beat against the lanterns' glass. A group of soldiers gathered around Harley, eager for any scrap of information, but Harley could only guess at what was happening.

The next morning, under cover of Totten's battery of guns, Lyon's army resumed its advance. Word filtered down that five men liad died and thirty-six were wounded. Mike didn't know the men who'd been killed, so the statistics meant little to him. He was interested only in the order for the Second Kansas to advance past Dug Springs for three miles into McCulla's Springs, where the army would look for and engage the Confederates.

For twenty boring hours, the Second Kansas remained at McCulla's Springs, with no sign of a single gray-coated Reb, before Lyon recalled them. The general had heard that a large force of Confederates was moving to support General Sterling Price, and there was a strong chance that their cavalry would cut off Lyon's army from its base in Springfield, twenty-six miles to the northeast. To make matters worse, supplies were almost depleted.

"We're retreating? We've lost?" Mike was astounded when Harley passed on the news.

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"We haven't lost," Harley explained. "We're just moving our army back a ways to regroup."

Mike must have looked as dismayed as he felt, because Harley said, "Have you ever played draughts—maybe chess?" When Mike nodded, Harley explained, "Pieces are moved here and there, back and forth, and it's called strategy."

"This isn't a game," Mike said stubbornly.

"No, it's war," Harley agreed. "But we've got to do what the general decides is best."

That night they camped at Terrell Creek, where the springs provided plenty of fresh water. Throughout the camp, soldiers supplemented their meager rations with boiled ears of newly ripened sweet com from nearby fields.

The next day, Lyon led his army back to the outskirts of Springfield and ordered them to make a secure camp, allowing no one to leave or enter without proper credentials.

"He'd better have us do somethin' pretty soon," Ben complained. "It's gettin' closer and closer to August fourteenth."

"As I said before," Harley reminded him, "don't count on gettin' out by then. If Lyon loses most of his volunteers, he'll have to retreat practically out of the state and lose Missouri. Do you think he'll give up so easy?"

"I don't," Mike answered loyally, and went off to find Todd.

On August 8, a supply train arrived, providing many of the men with new clothes and shoes. Mike strode up and down in new, well-fitted boots, thankful he could throw away his old pair of shoes, which had large holes in the soles and one missing heel. Without the new boots, he'd probably have been marching south to meet the enemy in bare feet.

He chuckled to himself at the number of volunteers who complained about being issued "crooked shoes."

"Never had shoes like these afore this," Ben gnmibled.

"One made for the right foot and one for the left. TheyYe not as comfortable as the straight shoes I've always worn."

Mike had seen plenty of "straight shoes," shoes made with rounded toes to fit either foot. "Just be glad to have shoes," he said.

Mike knew they'd be either heading into battle or retreating from Missouri soon. Everyone had been expecting marching orders for days. On August 9, the orders came.

Soon after a dispatch from General Fremont, in which he stated his decision not to send reinforcements, one of Lyon's spies reported McCuUoch's decision to attack the Federals on the following day.

Upon hearing this startling news, Lyon called for a council of war. Most of his officers agreed that retreating from Springfield would be a disaster. As Harley explained to the cluster of men around him, "The brigade would lose artillery and other equipment—and ultimately, the state of Missouri to the Confederacy."

"Surprise is our only hope," Lyon said. Captain Dawes informed his men of Lyon's decision to attack that very night.

Officers hurried to ready their troops to leave. Mike, his heart pounding, began to pack.

Sergeant Gridley looked at Mike's stuffed bedroll. "Leave it behind," he told Mike. "We have to travel as light as possible."

As Todd prepared to join Colonel Mitchell's unit, Mike gripped his hand. "Good luck," he said.

Todd's eyes were dark with fear. "Remember your promise," he said.

My promise? Oh, yes — the watch! "Of course I remember, but don't worry," Mike answered. "Just wish me good luck in return."

"Good luck, Mike," Todd murmured. He grabbed his bugle and ran to join the colonel.

He wouldn't be here except for my urging, Mike thought,

watching Todd go. But there was no time to think about it. The army was ready to move.

At six in the evening, with only two companies of home guards left to secure Springfield, the columns moved out. General Lyon's command, marching on the west flank along the Mt. Vernon Road, would cross Grand Prairie and attack the southerners' left flank. General Sigel took his troops to fight against the Confederates' rear and right.

The march began briskly, with some of the men singing loudly along with the drumbeat, Mike among them. The Kansas volunteers outsang them all as they bellowed "Happy Land of Canaan."

Close to midnight, Lyon ordered an end to the singing and drumming, as the noise might alert the enemy.

A little after one in the morning, Lyon's advance scouts discovered the Missouri State Guard's campfires and called a halt. The men rested, but only a few of them could sleep on the hard bare ground. Mike, his drum close to his side, found Todd by the moonlight's gleam on his bugle and squatted down next to him under a scrub oak. "It won't be long now," Mike said. "Those Rebs won't stand a chance."

"What time do you think we'll move in?" Todd asked.

"Probably not until light. It's too dark right now to know friend from foe."

Harley stumbled over a tree root, plopping down beside Mike and Todd. "If that don't beat all," he said. "I heard from Sergeant Gridley that yesterday two Rebel women spies, bold as brass but wrong as can be, got a pass to leave Springfield and drove down to talk to McCuUoch at Wilson's Creek. Somehow they got the notion that General Lyon was packed up, ready to retreat from Springfield." He chuckled. "General Price, mad over the idea of the Federals gettin' away, told McCuUoch he'd order the attack himself, if McCuUoch wouldn't."

Todd asked, "The Rebs are going to attack us? When?"

Harley laughed again. "They were gonna start their

march about the same time we started om-s, only they had a light rain shower, and McCulloch was afraid the rain would ruin his men's ammunition, which I understand is in short supply.

"Lyon's scouts discovered that the Confederates have withdrawn their pickets, thinkin' we turned tail, so they're set up for a surprise. In a few hours those Rebs will find out they don't need to come to us. We've already come to them!"

"How far away are the Rebs?" Mike asked.

"Less than three and a half miles," Harley answered. Grunting, he struggled to his feet. "You boys get your rest. You'll need it come morning."

As Harley left, Todd murmured, "I can't sleep. Can you?"

Mike sighed. "With all that's going on, how could anyone sleep?"

But in a few minutes Mike heard Todd's gentle snoring, and he leaned back against the tree trunk, staring up through the leafy branches at the smattering of bright stars.

The camp was nearly silent, with only the sounds of sleep and an occasional rustle of the underbrush traveling on the light breeze. Tears burned Mike's eyes as he thought of his family and the father he missed more than ever. "Da," he whispered, "I need you. Be with me now."

There was no answer, but Mike's mind and heart filled with contentment. Knowing that his father had heard him, he drifted off to sleep.

Suddenly, Mike started. Someone was shaking his shoulder. It took him several seconds to recognize Sergeant Grid-ley bending over him in the darkness.

"No call to reveille this morning, boys," the sergeant said. "It's four o'clock. Wake the men as quietly as you can."

As Mike and Todd scrambled to their feet, Todd murmured, "Remember your promise."

Shocked by the ghostly pallor of Todd's face, Mike said, "Todd, you know I will. But by this time tomorrow, we'll all be celebrating a big victory over those Rebs."

Without a word Todd snatched up his bugle and disappeared into the darkness.

Mike had no time to worry about his friend. He had work to do, and quickly.

By the time the night blue of the sky faded into a pearly pink-tinged gray, Lyon's battle line had been formed across the way from the northern end of the Confederate line. With infantry in front and Totten's battery just behind, the Union opened fire, and the Battle of Wilson's Creek began.

Eager to join the fray, Mike hurried to his post at Captain Dawes's side, only to discover that the Second Kansas was to be held in reserve, out of sight of the skirmish.

"Another wait! And for what?" Mike grumbled.

"What makes you so set on gettin' into the fight?" Ben mumbled close to Mike's ear. "It would suit me just fine if we stayed far and away from it."

"Stay out of the battle?" Mike was indignant. "Just what are you here for?"

Ben gave a long sigh. "Danged if I know. Right now I surely wish I'd stayed to home."

Mike listened to the booms of the cannons, the sharp blasts of gunfire, and the cries and shouts. Through the hubbub he could hear drum calls, and he squirmed impatiently as he clutched his own drum.

Fm a drummer, Mike thought restlessly. Fm here, ready to serve. When am. I going to get the chance?

By the end of the first hour, the sounds of battle had grown to a head-pounding roar. The reserve army, most of whom were sprawled on the ground to get some rest, heard conflicting reports: The Rebs were putting up a vigorous battle. The Rebs were being beaten so badly, they'd never recover. The First Missouri and First Kansas had valiantly reached the site of what they were calling "Bloody Hill" and were winning the battle. If only that last report were true! No such luck. On the contrary, the shells from the Confederates' battery kept forcing back the Union troops.

* By eight o'clock, Mike thought he couldn't stand to wait another minute. Then orders came for the Second Kansas to go to the aid of the First Missouri, which was about to be overcome. Colonel Mitchell, Captain Dawes, and the other officers mounted their horses.

It was close to nine o'clock and the sun was glaring a bright silver-gold, before Mike, energetically beating out the call to advance, began to climb the hill at Captain Dawes's

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side. The men in Dawes's company eagerly sm*ged forward, so Mike was almost upon the bodies that lay sprawled on the ground before he saw them. He gagged as bile rose in his throat, and for an instant he was too sickened to beat his drum.

"Steady, Mr. Kelly." Captain Dawes's voice was firm.

Mike took a deep breath and tried to concentrate on the drumbeats, but he couldn't ignore the sight of the dead all around him, some with gaping wounds in their chests, some with parts of their heads blown away. The most terrifying sight was the wounded soldiers who were still alive, some writhing and screaming in agony. No one at that moment could respond to their cries.

In desperation Mike forced his gaze beyond the crest of the hill to the cornfields and oatfields below, where men in blue fought men in gray, thrashing their way through the broken stalks. He noticed a small white farmhouse close to the road, not too far from Wilson's Creek. Confederate soldiers positioned at the back of the house kept up a barrage of fire at Union soldiers who had reached the roadway. Where were the people in the farmhouse? Mike wondered. Had they been able to get out of the way of this raging fury?

A bullet bounced off the rim of Mike's drum. The force made him stagger, but he quickly straightened, keeping his drumbeats loud and true despite the fear that knotted his stomach and made his head throb.