42. A Courier's Evening
By A TROOPER (1863) The Romance of the Civil War | ||
42. A Courier's Evening
By A TROOPER (1863)
OF all the duties performed by our soldiers in this war, none were more dangerous or exciting than those of the courier. True, the infantry and artillery fought the pitched battles, and the cavalry led the advance, held the outposts, or made long rides around the enemy's flanks; but they were conducted in person by officers of judgment and experience, and, besides, individual danger is immeasurably lessened by facing it en masse.
To the courier, however, were intrusted the written commands for the movements of the army, with which he was expected to make his way alone (unless particular danger was foreseen) through a country that was probably penetrated by the enemy's scouts or infested by the more dreaded guerillas.
We had just got settled into camp again, at Trenton,
It was about ten o'clock on a cool night in the early part of September. Our little cabin blazed with a cheerful fire, which sent a gleam of dancing light out through the open doorway and across the road. The couriers, belted and spurred, stood or reclined in all sorts of positions around the fire, silently awaiting despatches. We had learned to be expectant at night, as experience bad proved that the majority of the mysterious packages came through at that time. Sergeant Daniels had just made a remark to that effect, when the familiar sound of horse's feet broke upon our ears. Mine were, perhaps, more alive to the sound at that moment than the rest, it being my turn to carry the next despatch. I walked to the door to listen. By the speed of the approaching
In another moment the courier arrived. Sergeant Daniels examined the despatch, and handed it to me as I rode up to the door. By the light from within I glanced at the superscription and read: "Major General Thomas, commanding 14th Corps. Full speed."An instant later I was galloping away.
The night was very clear, but chilly, and I braced myself anew for the weary ride. I had traversed those roads several times before at night, but on this occasion they appeared to be unusually gloomy. The fenceless fields by which I swept seemed more forlorn than usual; the woods were darker through which I felt my way; the hideous cry of the owls seemed to fill the air with demon voices. I could not shake from me the presentiment of some impending evil. Instinctively my hand sought the revolver at my side, and half-cocked it. The action caused Shiloh to prick up his ears and increase his speed, and in a short time I found myself under the bold brow of Lookout, which shut out half the heavens, and rendered the darkness more intense.
The approach to the mountain lies through a dense woods, along the outer skirt of which flowed a small stream. Approaching the creek, I loosened the rein in order to allow my horse to drink, as he was accustomed to do at this place. The banks were rather steep, and as he lowered his nose and was about to
But my horse had not proceeded twenty yards before I perceived that his strength was failing. His steps lagged more and more every moment, in spite of my utmost efforts to urge him forward. With a heavy heart I dismounted and examined him. My fears proved too true : he was wounded. I felt a perforation, from which the warm blood oozed slowly down his flanks. The brave beast finally succumbed, and with a deep drawn sigh staggered heavily to the ground. For awhile my own danger was forgotten in sympathy for the poor horse. He had borne me
My situation was certainly alarming. The bushwhacker might follow me, and it was equally probable that others of his clan were lying in advance, to make sure of the victim. Those dreadful marauders seldom traveled alone.
For aught I knew their practiced eyes might even then be staring through the darkness around me. For a moment or two I was in a painful state of indecision. In night rides I had always trusted implicitly to the instinct of my horse; but now that resource was denied me, and my topographical instincts were none of the best. Should I make my way back to the station, remount and bring a comrade with me ? A feeling of pride determined me to go forward at all hazards and deliver my despatch. Quickly stripping the bridle, blanket, and saddle-bags from the dead animal, and securing them about my person, I gave my belt an extra hitch, and started forward.
By the position of the few stars that were visible I assumed the time to be near midnight. The road up the mountain was fearfully trying to legs and wind. For two hours (as I judged) I clambered up the rocky way, stopping every hundred yards to rest and fill my exhausted lungs. The air grew colder as I neared the summit, and the heavy dew saturated my cap and great-coat, already well soaked in the creek. It was growing lighter, too, as I ascended. I turned at times to look off into the valley behind, which stretched away dark and shadowy to the horizon.
I turned away with a sigh and bent my steps again toward the summit. I had not gone far when "Halt! who comes there? "yelled out shrill and clear, as if
"A courier with despatches."
"Dismount, courier, and advance,"he replied.
As I was already dismounted, I proceeded to obey the latter part of the injunction. I had gone but a few yards, however, when I was halted again. "Where's your horse?" inquired the sentinel, who was evidently growing suspicious. This question led to an explanation of affairs; and in a short time I was the centre of a gaping crowd on the mountain top, to whom I related my adventure in the valley. My listeners were a portion of Harrison's Mounted Infantry, who were returning from a scout. I hold in grateful remembrance a tin-cup full of hot coffee, which one of these brave boys prepared for my benefit. I think they called him "Gussy."Aided by the advice of these boys, and a captured mule which they loaned me, I was not long in finding the way into the other valley, where the newly risen sun and freshly traveled roads enabled me to keep track of the 14th Corps. I found the Head-Quarters of Thomas in the saddle, and delivered my despatch to one of his staff.
A PRIVATE.
[Description: Illustration
of a young Union private]
42. A Courier's Evening
By A TROOPER (1863) The Romance of the Civil War | ||