The Big Gun (Dusty Fog's Civil War Book 3)

by J. T. Edson

  Certainly nobody challenged, or gave other indications of being aware of the boat as it ran silently through the gloom and grounded its bows a short distance from the bank. Climbing out, the men made their way cautiously and watchfully ashore.

  ‘This way!’ Titus hissed and his voice was throbbing with strain as he darted nervous glances around him. ‘Mama Lukie said for me to fetch you-all to the workshop.’

  Without bothering to answer, for it was neither the time nor the place for conversation, Staunce and Eric followed the lanky man towards the big building. Leading the way to a side door near a lean-to which housed the Cables’ carriage and other vehicles, Titus let them precede him through it. The interior of the workshop was sparsely lit by a couple of hanging lamps and it appeared to be deserted.

  Concluding that Mama Lukie had not yet arrived, Staunce gave his attention to the second of Eli Cable’s machines. Few details of its appearance could be seen, for it was encased in a box-like iron structure which hid the engine and control platform. The metal sides were pierced with rifle-slits and the Williams Rapid Fire cannons were positioned to fire respectively to the front and the rear. Although the door in the side was open, none of the lamps’ light reached beyond it and Staunce could not make out anything of the interior. For all that, he assumed the machine was practically ready to be put into operation.

  ‘Where’s Mama Lukie?’ Eric demanded, turning to his cousin when they were about half way to the machine.

  ‘She’ll be along,’ Titus answered, but his eyes were darting from point to point as if he was expecting somebody to already be present.

  ‘I don’t like this, Captain St—’ Eric began, returning his gaze to the Englishman.

  At that moment, footsteps sounded from the doorway by which the men had entered. They were heavy, hurrying, masculine feet and threw an ominous note into the proceedings. Especially when taken in conjunction with the two figures who jumped from the machine’s doorway.

  They were dressed in the uniforms of the United States’ Artillery!

  First out, going to the left, was a big, burly, black bearded sergeant with a heavy saber in his right fist. Next, moving to the right, came an equally large enlisted man who carried a Spencer rifle and turned its barrel in Staunce’s direction.

  ‘I got them here for you, Sergeant Block!’ Titus announced, scuttling forward hurriedly.

  ‘You bastard!’ Eric shouted and sprang after his cousin.

  Bringing up his left hand, Block—who had been promoted to replace the previous sergeant after he had been killed in a quarrel over a card game—thrust Titus to the right. Then he went into a pretty fair lunge with the saber. Unable to halt, Eric advanced to meet the out-driving point. It pierced his left breast and continued to burst out at the rear. Killed instantly, Eric hung on the blade until Block wrenched it out and allowed him to fall.

  Although Titus had been thrust to safety, he came between Staunce and the enlisted man’s rifle. Trying to make the most of the chance presented to him, the Englishman flashed his right hand towards the flap of his holster. Just an instant too late, he remembered having heard footsteps coming from behind him. While he had become aware that there was probably another enemy to his rear, the realization, or recollection, had not come quite soon enough.

  Having hidden in the lean-to until the men had entered, Private Grilpan was on hand and close enough to prevent the Englishman from drawing a weapon. Darting forward, the soldier swung the butt of his Spencer against the back of Staunce’s head.

  For a moment, bright lights seemed to burst inside Staunce’s skull. Then everything went black for him.

  ‘Oh my Lord!’ Titus croaked, staring horrified at the twitching, gory body of his cousin. ‘You killed him!’

  ‘So what?’ Block countered calmly.

  ‘Lordy, lord!’ Titus moaned. ‘I’ve got to get away from here. Mama Lukie—’

  ‘Shut up, you stupid black bastard!’ Block snarled. ‘Go make sure none of the blacks’ve heard anything, Dasour. Make sure that bastard’s not faking, Gril. I said shut up!’ The last words were directed at the whining, clearly terrified Negro. ‘We’ll not let anything happen to you.’

  ‘You-all can’t stop what she’ll do to me!’ Titus moaned. No longer did he pretend to have no belief in the powers of the conjure woman. Instead, he was filled with superstitious dread. So much so that he could barely stand, or take his eyes from Eric’s corpse. ‘She’ll put a hex on me and I’ll—’

  ‘He’s alive, Blocky,’ Grilpan announced, having knelt by Staunce and conducted a perfunctory examination. Unbuckling the officer’s waist belt, he dragged it and its weapons free. ‘That’s how Lyle said for us to get him.’

  ‘Nobody’s heard nothing, Blocky,’ Dasour called from the door.

  ‘There, you ignorant black bastard!’ the sergeant raged at the quivering Negro. ‘Nobody heard him yell out. So how’ll she know what’s happened. She reckons this—’ He kicked the corpse contemptuously and started to wipe the blood from his saber on Eric’s clothing— ‘son-of-a-bitch is with the Cable gal.’

  ‘She—she’ll know!’ Titus insisted.

  ‘Listen!’ Block snarled, raising the saber so that its point touched the black throat of the cringing man. ‘I’ll tell you what we’ll do. We’ll fasten some weights to his legs. Then Dasour’ll help you tote him to a boat. You can row him into the lake and drop him over. That way she’ll never find out what happened.’

  ‘I—I—!’ Titus began.

  ‘Go and fetch the old whore down to see what we’ve done to her son,’ Block growled over his shoulder.

  ‘N—no!’ Titus almost screamed, eyes rolling and face wet with perspiration. ‘I’ll do like you say.’

  ‘I figured you would,’ Block sneered. ‘Lend him a hand, Dasour. Come on, Gril, we’ll haul this bastard up to the house.’

  ‘What do you reckon Lyle’ll do with him, Blocky?’ Grilpan inquired as they grasped Staunce by the arms and started to drag him from the workshop.

  ‘I dunno,’ the sergeant admitted. ‘But I’m willing to bet on one thing. No matter who he is, nor what he’s doing here, he won’t leave alive.’

  ‘You reckon Lyle’ll chance killing him?’ Grilpan asked.

  ‘I reckon he might at that,’ Block confirmed. ‘He’s got him some mighty big ambitions and he’s not about to let anybody spoil them.’

  ‘Us knowing so much of what’s been going on,’ Grilpan said thoughtfully. ‘We ought to be able to do pretty well for ourselves after the War.’

  ‘I wouldn’t count on it,’ Block warned. ‘If he offers us anything, we’ll take it. But he’s one bastard I wouldn’t want to try to blackmail.’

  Being aware of the kind of man the sergeant was, Grilpan felt impressed and revised his views on the hoped-for life of wealthy ease that he had hoped could be obtained from Lyle.

  ~*~

  Although Titus was shivering, fear lent him the strength to help carry out Block’s orders. His hope that Dasour would not accompany him came about and he wasted no time in rowing his burden away from the island. Once he had reached an area of deep water, he mustered his courage and started to raise the body. Muttering prayers that were incongruous when taken with the evil work he was doing, he tipped his cousin over the side. Watching Eric’s body sink, Titus reached for the oars with trembling hands. He had no intention of returning to the island. Instead, he decided that he would make for the shore close to where he had picked up his victims, leave the boat and head north on foot. Almost as soon as he had stepped ashore, he found himself confronted by the lean figure of a soldier.

  ‘Howdy,’ greeted Kiowa Cotton and slipped his bowie knife from its sheath. ‘I reckon you and me’d best have us a lil talk.’

  Chapter Fourteen – Fetch My Gun Box, Block

  Although Captain Douglas St. John Staunce had recovered from the blow on the head while being transported to the main house, he had managed to prevent his captors from realizing that he
was conscious. At first, the motion of being half dragged and half carried had hidden his involuntary reactions to recovering. Then he had had sufficient presence of mind to understand that resistance would avail him nothing. He was unarmed and in no physical shape to try to fight off two heavier men. So, instead of struggling futilely, he continued to dangle limply in their hands and allowed his strength to ebb back slowly.

  On reaching the mansion’s front door, Block kicked at it until Oscar came and admitted them. Shoving by the butler, the sergeant and Grilpan hauled their burden across the hall and into the dining room. Still maintaining his pose of being unconscious, Staunce peered about him through slitted eyes. Coming to their feet at the big table, Major Lyle and Monica Cable—who was dressed elegantly and displayed no alarm at the intrusion—gazed at the newcomers.

  ‘We got him, major,’ Block announced unnecessarily. ‘Grilpan had to club him down, but he’s still alive.’

  ‘Put him on a chair and search him,’ Lyle ordered. ‘Was he alone?’

  ‘Nobody’s with him,’ Block answered evasively.

  Realizing the futility of opposition at that moment, Staunce allowed the enlisted men to carry out their superior’s wishes. Once his fake identification documents had been removed, he began to groan his way convincingly towards ‘consciousness’.

  Lyle studied the documents, then flung them onto the table. Filling a glass with water, he strolled forward and flung its contents into the Englishman’s face. Staunce reacted naturally, for his eyes had been closed and he was not expecting to be doused. Jerking and almost falling off the chair, he shook his head, opened his eyes and glared around.

  ‘What—Where—How—?’ Staunce gasped, using the Teutonic accent but slurring the words as if he had just recovered. ‘What’s the meaning of this? Why was I attacked?’

  ‘Why were you sneaking about the island?’ Lyle countered and indicated the documents on the table. ‘If you’re Captain Rudolph Schmidt—’

  ‘I’m not. My name is Ludwig Schmidt,’ Staunce corrected, knowing that the major was trying to trap him.

  ‘If you are Captain Ludwig Schmidt, of the Adjutant General’s Department, you could have come across the bridge openly and with full military honors.’

  ‘Not if what Miss Cable told us—’

  ‘The little bitch did go to Culver’s headquarters, Kade!’ Monica yelped.

  ‘Keep your yapper closed!’ Lyle commanded, scowling at the woman. Then he swung his cold gaze back to the Englishman. ‘What did Miss Cable tell you, captain?’

  ‘That, going by the way your men treated the colored folks here, she believed you must be Rebels in disguise,’ Staunce answered.

  ‘She was a Reb herself,’ Monica put in.

  ‘And I told you to keep out of this!’ Lyle roared, swinging around with a fury that made its recipient cringe back. Once more he turned his attention to Staunce. ‘And you came here alone to find out if her story was true?’

  ‘Who says I’m alone?’

  ‘There was only him and that black kid who run off with the gal in the boat,’ Block interjected, neither knowing nor caring that Oscar was listening in the hall.

  ‘Where’s he now?’ Lyle wanted to know. ‘The black kid, I mean.’

  ‘At the bottom of the lake,’ Block replied. ‘I had to kill him and Titus took him out to get rid of him.’

  Only by exercising all his will power did Oscar prevent himself from letting the occupants of the dining room know that he had overheard the words. Turning, he walked swiftly and silently to the rear door and passed through it.

  ‘You should have killed Titus while you were at it,’ Lyle sniffed. ‘If he talks, we could have trouble with the rest of them.’

  ‘We can soon enough settle anything they start,’ Block grinned.

  ‘That sounds like the talk I’d expect from Rebels,’ Staunce commented. ‘Not from an officer and sergeant of the Union Army.’

  ‘Come on now, Schmidt,’ Lyle scoffed. ‘You’re too intelligent to pretend to believe we’re fighting this War to let a few black bastards have freedom.’

  ‘Titus doesn’t know who was with me,’ Staunce warned, not taking that aspect of the conversation any further. ‘All he saw was myself and Eric.’

  ‘And you’ve got a large escort close by?’ asked Lyle.

  ‘Is it likely I’d come here unescorted?’ Staunce replied, exuding calm confidence.

  Lyle did not answer immediately. From Titus’s arrival with news of the ‘Yankee’ officer wanting to visit the island secretly, the major had sensed an even greater threat to his secret ambitions than had been posed when Conrad Blucher had arrived.

  Ever since Lyle had first heard of Cable’s machines, he had realized their full potential. Monica—an old friend—had contrived to keep him informed of her husband’s activities, even after war had been declared. Having seen an opportunity to lay his hands on something of great value, Lyle had set about obtaining the means to do so. When deciding to expend his fortune on the organization of a small Army unit, he had given considerable thought to what form it would take. Having no wish to be killed in action, he had considered that the Artillery offered him a solution; but only a partial one. When the time came to put his scheme into operation, he wanted a fighting force to back up his play.

  Eventually Lyle had reached the compromise. Using his contacts in New York, he had gathered sufficient men for two fifty-strong companies. In addition, he had enlisted the aid of Stabruck—an Artillery officer with social and political ambitions—and a balloonist. The latter would be a means of drawing much needed attention to the next item of Lyle’s equipment. Although calling his outfit Artillery, he had only purchased one cannon; the massive Parrot 30-pounder. For the rest, his men drilled as Cavalry and were armed with Spencer repeaters. They were, he had insisted, to become a specialized Artillery group.

  By making representations in the appropriate places, Lyle had arranged for his outfit to be sent to Arkansas. They were such an unconventional unit that, even though short of men, General Culver had never found a use for them. In the excitement of pursuing the Rebels towards the Ouachita River, Lyle’s command had been left behind and almost forgotten. As far as he knew, nobody in the Army of Arkansas was aware of his presence at Cable Grange.

  A shrewd businessman, Lyle had always realized that Cable’s revolutionary machines would not sell in large quantities unless the public could be conditioned to accept them. To gain this acceptance, they would have to prove their worth in a spectacular manner. So he had worked out the means to raise them into prominence. Once they had helped to bring about a Northern victory in Arkansas, he would find no difficulty in raising sufficient capital to make more of them. When the War ended, especially if his machines had helped to bring it about, he would be in a position to turn out peacetime versions and have civilians willing to buy them.

  That could all be spoiled, however, if any hint of the machines’ capabilities were made public before the completion of the scheme. So, even if ‘Schmidt’ was genuine—and Lyle did not doubt that he was—he could not be permitted to leave the island. He must be killed, in an acceptable manner, before his escort—assuming that he had one—missed him. Then, when they came to investigate, Lyle would have had time to think up a suitable excuse for his outfit’s continued presence on the island.

  ‘Do you know what I think you are?’ Lyle inquired, having reached that final conclusion.

  ‘No,’ Staunce answered, although a memory stirred and started to give him a warning of what might be coming.

  ‘I think you’re a Rebel spy and a liar,’ Lyle said.

  ‘Then I’ll call up my men,’ Staunce replied, starting to rise. “That—’

  ‘I said you’re a stinking traitor and a liar,’ Lyle repeated.

  With that, the major lashed the back of his left hand against Staunce’s right cheek. Slammed down on the chair’s seat, the Englishman responded in a natural manner.

  ‘You bastard!�
� Staunce shouted furiously and made as if to leap at his assailant.

  ~*~

  ‘What’s ailing you, Oscar?’ Mama Lukie demanded worriedly, as her husband entered their small, comfortably furnished and spotlessly clean home close behind the main house.

  ‘It’s Eric,’ the butler croaked, sinking into a chair.

  ‘Eric?’ the big woman repeated. ‘I’ve had this feeling all night that something was wrong with that boy. What’s happened?’

  ‘He—He was killed by the Yankees!’ Oscar answered, tears trickling down his cheeks.

  ‘Where?’ Mama Lukie asked. ‘How?’

  ‘On the island. Titus brought him and a Yankee officer here. That Sergeant Block said he’d killed Eric and Titus was fixing to drop his body into the lake.’

  ‘Lordy lord!’ the woman ejaculated.

  Although visibly shaken by the news, Mama Lukie retained her self control. She too was crying as she poured out a cup of coffee and placed it before her husband. Then she asked him for more details. Having taken a drink, Oscar braced his shoulders and complied. There was not much more that he could tell her, but at the second mention of Titus’s part in the affair, she nodded her head.

  ‘He allus was a mean, untrusting feller,’ the woman said quietly.

  ‘What’re we going to do now, Mama Lukie?’ Oscar wanted to know. ‘With Massa Cable and Miss Harry both gone, there’s nothing to hold none of us here.’

  ‘Nothing ’cept all them fellers, their rifles and that there big cannon that’s guarding the boats. The fellers who does guard on the back’ve been told to use it if we tries to leave. And they wouldn’t think twice about doing it, even though there’d be women ’n’ children in the boats.’

  Oscar nodded his agreement. Shortly after their arrival, the Yankees had brought in added means of protecting the island. The ‘cannon’ was one of three Vandenburg volley guns which had been left behind when the Army of Arkansas went after the retreating Rebels. xx While two of the guns were placed to sweep the bridge, the third had been situated so that it could cover the landing beach. It was not kept manned, but the sentries in that area all knew how to fire it and its ninety-eight barrels would spew out their loads like a gigantic shotgun.