Under the Stars and Bars (11 page)

* * *

‘Pick up Gilbertson at Murfreesboro, Dustine,’ Ole Devil ordered, showing no sign that his favourite nephew stood at ease before his desk. ‘You’ll not get from the camp to the Snake Ford in one day’s ride with him along, so you’ll have to spend the night in the hotel at Amity.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Dusty replied.

‘It’ll be easy enough,’ Ole Devil continued. ‘And, if I remember correctly, Frank Jex at Murfreesboro sets a good table. We must go up there—on a tour of inspection—one day soon, Beau.’

‘Yo!’ Amesley answered, then looked at the small Texan. ‘Remember, Dusty, if Gilbertson can escape before you reach the Snake Ford, the exchange can’t be put into effect.’

‘I understand, sir,’ Dusty replied.

‘What escort will you be taking?’ Ole Devil inquired.

‘A sergeant, four men. That ought to do it, sir. I’ll not need a large party.’

‘That’ll be enough, I shouldn’t think Gilbertson will bother about trying to escape. How about the rest of your wild men while you’re away?’

‘I’ll leave Cous—Mr. Blaze enough work to keep them occupied, sir.’

‘See you do,’ Ole Devil warned. ‘I don’t want them rampaging around Prescott. It’d be enough to turn the local citizens into Yankees.’

Already, with pride in their solid achievements behind them, Company ‘C’ regarded themselves as the elite of the best damned fighting cavalry regiment in the whole Confederate States’ Army. As was always the case, they insisted that their company commander was the sole authority to which they should be accountable and considered that few other officers had the right to give them orders.

While Ole Devil recognised the military value of such a spirit, especially in the kind of war circumstances compelled him to fight, he wished to avoid friction within his command or among the local citizens. So he wanted to be sure that Company ‘C’s’ more reckless members were held in check. Dusty could do it, but Ole Devil wondered if Red Blaze possessed the type of personality to do so. Knowing his cousin, Dusty felt no such doubts as long as he took certain precautions before leaving.

‘I’ll have a few words with them before I go, sir,’ Dusty promised. ‘Will that be all, sir?’

‘It will,’ Ole Devil confirmed. ‘Get him there and effect the exchange, Dustine. Bring de Malvoisin back here with you. You’re dismissed.’

Saluting, Dusty made an about-face and marched from the office. Leaving the building, he made his way in the direction of his Company’s lines. Strolling along, he gave thought to the composition of the escort. There could be only one choice for his second-in-command. Red would need help to control the Company’s high spirits. It could best be supplied by Billy Jack with the able backing of Sergeants Bixby and ‘Stormy’. Weather. While Kiowa Cotton also held rank as sergeant, his duties were riding scout and he had small interest in disciplinary or administrative matters. Conditions might arise during the delivery of the Yankee prisoner where Kiowa’s specialised talents would be invaluable. For the rest, Dusty would select the men most likely to provoke the kind of incident that Ole Devil wished to avoid.

Hearing his name called, Dusty came out of his reverie and saw Ditch approaching. The sergeant saluted and said, ‘I’ve sent your recruits over, Cap’n Dusty. Berns, Svenson— and Prince.’

‘I know Phil Berns and Ollie Svenson from back home,’ Dusty replied. ‘What’s this Prince yahoo like, Ditch?’

‘Good with a gun. Better’n fair with a hoss.’

‘Now get to the things he’s not so “good” or “better than fair” at.’

‘He’s a mite uppy, like you saw. Which he’ll maybe need his toes taking up a couple of times afore he shapes up. That’s why I assigned him to your Company.’

‘Thanks,’ Dusty said dryly, but he was pleased with the implied compliment.

A long-serving career-soldier, Ditch knew men and could figure out how best to handle them. So he had decided that Dusty was the officer best suited to tame Prince and turn the recruit into a useful soldier.

If a horse on a roundup insisted on repeatedly breaking out of the wranglers’ rope-corral,
⁹
the boss would tell his best roper to ‘take its toes up’ on the next departure. By tossing his loop around the recalcitrant horse’s fore-feet, the roper would slam it to the ground with sufficient force to knock better sense into it, or break its neck. If the latter happened, the rancher would regard it as small enough price for preventing the bad habit spreading among the rest of the remuda.

Such drastic treatment would not be applied to Prince, but he might require a sharp, painful lesson before he accepted discipline.

Continuing his interrupted journey, Dusty approached his company’s lines of cone-shaped Sibley tents. He discovered Billy Jack making the three recruits welcome before assigning them to their quarters. Standing with his back to Dusty, the gangling sergeant major was obviously unaware of his commanding officer’s arrival.

‘Cap’n Dusty don’t make favourites,’ Billy Jack was saying. ‘He’s just naturally mean to everybody. So you-all keep one thing in mind. In this outfit, there’s two ways of going on. How the captain wants it and the wrong way. Do your work and life’ll go so easy you’ll reckon you’d been born rich. Make fuss and you’ll wish you’d never been born at all.’

‘I couldn’t have put it better, sergeant major,’ Dusty declared.

Calling the recruits to attention, Billy Jack performed a much smarter than usual about-face and saluted. Dusty returned the compliment, then turned his grey eyes to the trio. Glancing briefly at Berns and Svenson, he let his gaze stay longer on Prince’s face. Then he dropped his eyes to the gunbelt with its holsters tied low on the recruit’s thighs. Prince had the kind of attitude best calculated to raise Red Blaze’s ire. Until the youngster had learned to accept discipline, he would be better away from Dusty’s fiery-tempered cousin. However, Dusty wanted to avoid making the matter too obvious.

‘Get your gear settled in,’ the small Texan ordered. ‘Inspect their horses, sergeant major. I’ll be taking Svenson and Prince with me on patrol in the morning.’

‘Yo!’ Billy Jack replied, looking more apprehensive than interested. ‘Where’re we headed this time?’

‘You and the Company’ll be headed over to Captain Streeton’s cannon battery,’ Dusty replied. ‘I want you to know all about handling them by the time I get back.’

‘Back?’

‘I’ve got to collect a Yankee prisoner from Mursfreesboro and take him for exchange on the Snake Ford of the Caddo.’

‘I didn’t reckon Yankee prisoners was worth anything in trading,’ Billy Jack sniffed and nodded towards Prince and the stocky, blond-haired Svenson. ‘Will you be wanting somebody beside them?’

‘Sure,’ Dusty replied. ‘I’ll take Kiowa and Graveling; and I’d best have Surtees along. Rations for a week, fifty rounds a man for their revolvers, twenty for their saddle-guns.’

‘Does Surtees need his bugle?’

‘He’s paid for blowing it, so have him bring it along. I don’t want to have to ask the Arkansas Rifles for the loan of a bugler, they might think we don’t have any in the Texas Light.’

Fully aware of the rivalry which existed between the Arkansas Rifles, an infantry regiment, and his outfit, Billy Jack understood Dusty’s point.

‘They’d likely put it around we use smoke-signals if you did,’ the lanky sergeant major admitted. ‘I’ll warn Kiowa and the fellers.’

‘
Bueno!
’ Dusty answered. ‘We’ll be pulling out an hour after reveille in the morning.’

‘They’ll be ready,’ Billy Jack assured him.

‘Huh!’ snorted Prince, after Dusty had walked away. ‘I didn’t join the Army to be nursemaid to a Yankee prisoner.’

‘Happen you don’t like it, go tell Cap’n Dusty you ain’t going,’ Billy Jack advised coldly. ‘Only don’t do it while I’m around. I hates to see the sight of
privates’
blood getting spilled’

‘You sure it’d be the
private’s
blood?’ Prince asked.

‘So sure that, happen you’re
loco
enough to do it, I’ll go start writing to tell your folks how you died,’ the sergeant major replied. ‘Go put up your gear. Feller’s tough as you’ll be a great help to the cooks.’

‘Huh?’ grunted Prince.

‘You got so much
brio escondido
¹⁰
that you can work some of it off peeling potatoes for ‘em,’ Billy Jack explained. ‘Get moving.’

For all his mournful, hang-dog aspect and fake-miserable temperament, the sergeant major was a shrewd judge of character. Unless he missed his guess, young Tracey Prince would either change his ways in the near future or received a well-deserved lesson in manners. If Prince clashed wills with Dusty Fog, Billy jack had no doubts as to what the result would be.

* * *

Always a realist, Ole Devil Hardin had grown increasingly doubtful that the South could win the War. His decision to support the Confederate States had not been motivated by a desire for the right to possess slaves; for he owned none and had no wish to do so. In fact, despite its use by Northern propagandists as a means of justifying and ennobling their cause, the Slavery issue had not been the sole reason for the secession.

Far more important, to most Texans’ way of thinking, had been an infringement of the right of each, or any State—as a sovereign government—to secede from the Union if its affairs and interests became incompatible with those of the Federal Congress.

Since becoming a part of the Union, Texas had been shabbily treated. Having disbanded its efficient Ranger battalions, the State had repeatedly been refused the military protection promised by the Federal government. So the majority of Texans had become disenchanted with the Northern States. On top of that, many Texans had close family ties in the other seceding States. So the Lone Star State had voted by a two-thirds majority to join the Confederate States and Ole Devil had offered his clan’s services.

Slowly but surely, the North’s industrial and economic superiority was crushing the South. Courage and prowess on the battlefield could not avail in the long run. Even without his own humanitarian feelings and sense of chivalry, that factor had made Ole Devil determined that his prisoner-of-war camps would not follow the lead of Andersonville and other Confederate establishments.

To be fair to the staffs of the other Southern camps, much of the terrible conditions, the shortages of food, clothing and medical supplies, could be blamed upon the Yankees themselves. The United States Navy’s blockade of Southern ports had restricted the import of many vital commodities and, not unnaturally, the Confederate authorities had given priority to their own people rather than to their captured enemies.

So there were mitigating circumstances for the adverse conditions in the majority of Confederate camps. Far more so than in those commanded by the Union’s intellectual General Smethurst.
¹¹
There, starvation, ill-treatment and cruelty were permitted, encouraged even, by Smethurst and his kind out of vicious malice against men who had refused to give blind acquiescence to their ‘liberal’ beliefs.

Knowing that men who received reasonable treatment would remember it in later years, Ole Devil had made arrangements and issued strict instructions concerning the prisoners-of-war taken by his command.

Caution demanded that the Yankee officers and men be kept separate; as did military tradition. So there were two camps, perched on the tops of hills about a mile apart, not far from Murfreesboro, seat of Pike County. Inside the stout log pallisades, the enlisted men occupied tents and the officers were quartered in wooden cabins.

Many of the enlisted men fed better than any other time in their lives, for Texas longhorns were such a cheap and easily obtainable commodity that they received beef at least once a day. Such had been the success of Ole Devil’s system that there had never been an attempt to escape from Murfreesboro. In fact, there had been considerable reluctance to accept on the part of several enlisted men who had been offered their freedom and the chance to return to their respective regiments east of the Ouachita.

Wanting to get his assignment over as quickly as possible, Dusty had sent Kiowa on ahead of the rest of the escort. Riding a two-horse relay, the Indian-dark sergeant had reached the camp the previous night and informed its commanding officer that the exchange was due to be implemented.

At ten o’clock on the second day after receiving his orders from Ole Devil, Dusty sat in the office of the camps’ commanding officer and watched Colonel Jex read his authorisation to collect Captain Gilbertson. White-haired, elderly, with a pleasant face, Jex had been a cavalry officer all his service before coming to the more sedentary occupation of running the prisoner-of-war camps. Looking at Dusty as he laid down the paper, Jex expressed the amiability and comradeship that stemmed from their mutual membership of the mounted arm of the service.

‘If Gilbertson wasn’t the son of the top soft-shell politician in New Hampstead,’ Jex remarked after the conventional greetings had ended, ‘I’d wonder why the hell Buller wanted him back. I’ve got career-officers here who’d be far greater use to the North.’

‘What kind of man is he?’ Dusty inquired.

‘If he was a horse, I wouldn’t use him to breed mules,’ Jex sniffed, then cocked his head and listened to the footsteps crossing the porch to his office door. ‘This’ll be him now.’

Turning, Dusty watched the door open and Captain Gilbertson walk in. Clad in an untidy uniform, the man for exchange proved to be tall, thick-set, with heavy, sullen features. Cold, suspicious eyes darted from Jex to Dusty and roamed over the small Texan’s figure with an almost insulting gaze. Slouching across to the colonel’s desk, the Yankee Volunteer threw up a grudging salute.

‘Captain Fog, this is Captain Gilbertson, New Hampstead Volunteers,’ Jex introduced, struggling to sound polite. ‘Captain Gilbertson, may I present your escort? This is Captain Fog of the Texas Light Cavalry.’

Again the cold eyes turned Dusty’s way. There was a hint of condescension in Gilbertson’s attitude. He acknowledged the introduction with only the slightest inclination of his head. Although willing to be friendly, Dusty kept his right hand at his side and made no greater gesture in reply than he had been given.

‘If it’s convenient to you, captain,’ Dusty said evenly, ‘I’d like to leave just after noon.’

‘I’m ready to go straight away,’ Gilbertson answered, his voice well-educated, arrogant and anything but polite. ‘How soon can we start?’

The ungracious response drew an angry intake of breath from Jex. Up to that moment, the colonel had been intending to ask the two young captains to be his guests for lunch. Faced with such blatant bad manners, Jex felt disinclined to offer his hospitality to the Yankee.

‘You can leave when you’re ready, Captain Fog,’ the colonel said blandly, without looking at Gilbertson. ‘I hope that you’ll have an uneventful journey and that you will call by to dine with me on your return.’

‘It will be my pleasure, sir,’ Dusty replied. ‘With your permission, we’ll make a start.’

Walking over to the cupboard at the left of his desk, Jex opened it and took out a Union Army weapon belt with a sabre on its slings. Bringing them across to Gilbertson, he held them out.

‘Your sword, captain.’

Jerking his eyes from their scrutiny of Dusty, Gilbertson looked at the weapon with an air of mistrust. He seemed puzzled and surprised by Jex’s action, maybe even wondering if its return might be some kind of trick. Without a word of thanks, he accepted and buckled on the belt.

‘Have you all your other property, captain?’ Dusty asked.

‘All your men le—’ Gilbertson began, then shrugged. ‘I’ve got it all.’

‘May we go, sir?’ Dusty went on to Jex.

‘You’re dismissed,’ the colonel confirmed.

With a more sociable prisoner, the colonel would have said more. A glance at Dusty assured Jex that his motives and brusque tone were understood. Saluting, the small Texan and the Volunteer turned and left the office. Curious officer-prisoners watched as the two captains walked from the administration compound and crossed to the main gates. Listening to the ribald comments directed at Gilbertson, Dusty concluded that his unpopularity extended to his companions in the camp. Certainly none of them displayed displeasure, or regret, at seeing him leave.

Kiowa and the four privates waited outside the pallisade. Joining his men and accepting his stallion’s reins from the bugler, Dusty indicated the second of the horses held by Svenson.

‘Will you use that one, captain?’ Dusty asked.

Looking at the horse, Gilbertson gave a sniff. It had the appearance of being easy-going, but did not approach the superb quality of the animals to be used by his escort. While its gentle disposition and sober temperament would make it a pleasant animal to ride, it could not hope to outrun the Texans’ mounts. Despite the way in which the words had been framed, the Volunteer knew that he had no choice but accept.

‘It’ll do,’ Gilbertson growled.

Considering that he was being released from captivity and returned to his own people, Gilbertson showed little change in his sullen attitude. With a surly scowl, he swung astride his borrowed horse. Watching his escort mount, he reached conclusions about them. That third bar on the captain’s collar had not been in place for long. For one so young to have reached such a rank hinted that family connections rather than outstanding achievements had taken him there. Apart from the sergeant, the rest of the escort had the appearance of youth, inexperience even. That sergeant would be a decisive element in the event of trouble. Hard-faced and dangerous, he would not be a man amenable to discipline and might require watching.

On the move, Dusty told Kiowa to range ahead, then sent Graveling and Surtees out on the flanks. Watching them go, Gilbertson revised his opinion. For all their smart appearance and new-looking uniforms, those two had seen service. The Volunteer did not need to ask why Dusty was taking such precautions.

After a few attempts had failed during the early days of Ole Devil Hardin assuming defensive positions west of the Ouachita and Caddo Rivers, the Yankee cavalry had shown little tendency to cross and raid. Clearly Captain Fog did not believe in taking chances. There were other factors to be considered besides official Union Army action. Thinking of them, Gilbertson almost approved of his escort’s precautions.

Guerillas, for the most part little better than marauding bands of thieves, roamed both sides of the rivers. Under the pretence of fighting for the North or the South, they looted, pillaged and committed outrages. They would not hesitate to snatch up a Yankee officer, or a Rebel for that matter, so that he could be ransomed by his friends or brought by his enemies. Misguided Southern patriots formed a smaller, but no less real threat. One of them might decide to shoot a Yankee soldier out of malice and without thought of how his actions might affect his own Army. Gilbertson was pleased that his escort seemed aware of the dangers.