by J. T. Edson
The remainder of Company C was to remain south of the Fourche la Fave River, under Sergeant Major Smalley’s command. In the event of Dusty’s and Harry’s attempt and the other Texans’ rescue bid failing, the Englishman was to destroy Pulling Sue and the Big Gun. Then he was to allow Cable to decide on his own future, but must return with his howitzers to the Confederate States’ side of the Ouachita River.
Visiting her family’s friends, Harry and Dusty had obtained the items they required to disguise themselves. The girl was wearing a sunbonnet, old blouse and a too-large skirt over her shirt, breeches and riding boots. For his part, Dusty had exchanged his Jeff Davis hat, tunic and gun belt for a battered straw hat, patched shirt and ancient trousers. He retained his breeches and Hessian boots, hoping—as Harry did regarding her male attire—that the borrowed garments would conceal them for as long as was necessary.
While their outer clothing and having all visible skin blackened by soot would not have stood up to even a casual inspection by daylight, they hoped that it would be sufficient at night to lull the sentries into a sense of false security. That could be very, very, important.
Knowing that the fourteen inches’ length and not inconsiderable bulk of the Colt 1860 Army revolver did not render it an easily concealed weapon, Dusty had concluded that he could not carry even one of them on his person. Instead, the weapon belt, with its matched revolvers, was wrapped in a burlap sack under the rear seat. Harry, who was less likely to be searched, carried her Colt Pocket Pistol thrust into the rear of her breeches’ waistband. Extracting it quickly in an emergency would be impossible, but she had been warned by her companion that she must attempt to use it only as a last resort.
At sundown, Dusty and Harry had been guided by Kiowa to the hidden boat. Billy Jack was already making a long circle to place his detail into their supporting position. On the southern side of the lake, Cable and Smalley had already selected the area from which—if all went well—they would use the big gun the following morning.
On boarding the little boat and concealing his weapons, Dusty had been ready to do the rowing. Harry had stated that to do so might strike any guards who saw them as being out of character. Although the majority of Negro men did not loaf around while their women did all the work, the type of soldiers enlisted by Lyle believed that they did. So any watcher would be less likely to suspect the couple’s arrival, even after dark, if Dusty was acting in what would most likely be regarded as in keeping with a colored man’s normal, shiftless behavior.
Leaving Kiowa to take care of their horses, Harry had started to row the boat across the lake and towards the rear side of the island. At the conclusion of the brief, quietly spoken conversation, she looked at the big young Texan. Thinking of what lay ahead, she found herself taking comfort from remembering the stories of his prowess and capabilities which various members of Company C had told to her during the journey north. Sensing that there had been much truth in the tales, she considered Dusty ought to have a better than fair chance of pulling them through the perils of the visit.
While talking, Dusty was also examining his destination. Like Nimrod Lake, the island was roughly oblong in shape and extended from east to west. Although the Gables had assured him that the landing beach could not be seen from the guards’ quarters by the bridge, there was little cover available on any side.
As Dusty had expected, the two cressets were glowing on the main landing area of the shore. After two visitations, Lyle could be counted upon to strengthen the efficiency of his guards arid their aids. None of the soldiers were in evidence, which did not rule out the possibility that one or more could be watching from the darkness. That was why he had asked Harry to make for the boats which had been drawn up under the lights and above the water’s level. To have gone elsewhere would have been certain to arouse suspicion.
At first Dusty was puzzled by why Lyle, making use of Cable’s Negro employees, had not placed more cressets along the bank. Then the answer had become obvious. Just beyond the eastern fringe of the light, he could make out the massive bulk of the third Vandenberg Volley gun and, close by, a shelter built to protect the ammunition supply on the caisson. The gun was positioned to sweep the beach, making an unauthorized departure very hazardous.
‘What’s wrong?’ Harry inquired as she saw Dusty stiffen slightly.
‘There’s at least one of them waiting for us!’ the small Texan replied. ‘I saw just a little glint of something metallic over by the caisson.’
‘Just one man?’
‘That’s all I could see.’
‘What shall we do?’
‘Keep on going in,’ Dusty ordered. ‘If we swerve away, he’ll maybe challenge, or even throw lead at us. Either way, we’d never get in again tonight.’
‘Do you want me to go into the light?’ Harry wanted to know.
‘Can you make it look like you’re trying to, but’re being pulled by?’
‘It shouldn’t be hard.’
‘Go towards the Vandenburg,’ Dusty requested.
‘Towards it?’ the girl breathed.
‘Why sure,’ Dusty confirmed. ‘That way, the feller’ll think we haven’t seen him and don’t have any bad notions. It’ll put him even more off his guard.’
‘You could be right,’ Harry admitted, but contrived to sound as if she doubted he would be.
Watching the manner in which the girl was handling the boat, Dusty silently conceded that he could not have done it so well. She was bringing to bear all the experience she had gained during her tomboy childhood. In those days, she had spent many hours rowing on the lake. They were not sufficiently far behind for her to have lost her touch. With swiftly taken glances over her right shoulder, she kept the bows pointing towards the dark bulk of the Volley Gun.
‘Land-sakes, Mandy!’ Dusty said in a loud voice and with a pretty fair impersonation of an exasperated Negro’s voice. ‘Why’n’t you-all head for the lights?’
‘I’m trying, Jethro, I’m trying!’ Harry answered, sounding even more realistic. ‘If you-all wasn’t such a shiftless no-account, it’d be you rowing this boat, not me.’
‘It ain’t fitten for a gentleman with his freedom to row,’ Dusty explained, using an excuse which he felt sure would be accepted by the listening soldier. ‘That’s woman’s work.’
Even as the words were leaving Dusty’s lips, he became aware that there was not one, but two soldiers. The second had been standing against the gun and had been unnoticed until his companion joined him.
‘You keep abusing me!’ Harry shrilled. ‘And it won’t be no love-potion I gets from Mama Lukie.’
Keeping up a torrent of protests, the girl guided the boat into the shallows until the bows grounded. Complaining bitterly at her ‘stupidity’ in having landed them away from the lights, Dusty rose and stepped over the side. He left his weapons aboard, for he was not counting on them as a means of quelling the sentries. On Harry joining him, they waded ashore. They did not enter the illuminated section, yet avoided conveying the impression that they were deliberately staying away from it.
‘Hold it right there!’ barked a harsh voice from one of the dark shapes which Dusty was overtly watching.
‘Yipes!’ the small Texan yelped, while Harry acted equally alarmed. ‘Who-alls’s there?’
Advancing, the pair of large figures proved to be a sergeant, with empty hands—but whose weapon belt carried a holstered revolver and a saber—and an enlisted man armed with a Spencer rifle. Footsteps sounded at the far side of the lighted area and a second burly, rifle-toting soldier hurried across it.
‘Who’re you pair,’ Sergeant Block demanded, ‘and what’re you doing here?’
‘We’ve come to see Mama Lukie, sir,’ Dusty answered, studying the trio as they converged upon him and the girl.
‘At this time of the night?’ Block growled.
‘It’s all Mandy’s fault, sir,’ Dusty explained humbly. ‘She just wouldn’t row no faster.’
‘�
�T’ain’t my place to row—!’ Harry began indignantly.
‘Where’ve you pair come from?’ Block interrupted.
‘The French place, sir,’ Dusty supplied, using the name of a family along the Fourche la Fave River who were suspected of having Union sympathies. ‘We’d’ve been here sooner only Mandy wouldn’t row—’
‘Don’t you-all keep on about my rowing, Jethro!’ Harry shrilled.
‘She’s not bad looking, or shaped, Blocky,’ Grilpan remarked. ‘I’ve never had a colored gal, have you?’
‘Nope,’ the sergeant admitted and his right hand passed to draw the saber from its sheath. With the weapon dangling at his side, he moved to his left. ‘I don’t see why Lyle should be the only one to have him a mite of woman-fun. Anything else on the lake, Dasour?’
‘Not’s I can see,’ the second enlisted man answered, slowing his pace and looking across the water.
All the time the conversation had been taking place, Dusty was keeping the soldiers under observation. After Block had drawn the saber, Grilpan leaned his Spencer against the Vandenburg. Dasour was still several yards away, strolling along leisurely with his rifle at the trail.
Although Harry realized what the soldiers’ comments were implying, she displayed no hint of her knowledge. Instead, she continued to berate Dusty for his insults to her rowing ability. At the same time, she edged towards the water. That gave Dusty an excuse to turn his back on the soldiers. Just as he had hoped, Grilpan came up behind him. In all probability, the soldier intended to attack him from the rear.
Suddenly, without giving any warning of his intentions, Dusty took a step in Grilpan’s direction. The soldier spread apart his arms, ready to engulf his victim. Back hurled the small Texan’s right arm bending as it moved. The point of his elbow smashed, with all the power of his muscular young body behind it, full into the Yankee’s solar plexus. It was a devastating blow, delivered with force and precision. Completely unprepared, Grilpan felt as if he had been struck in the chest by a cannonball. Letting out a strangled, agonized croak, he blundered to the rear.
As soon as Dusty had completed the attack on Grilpan, he turned his attention to the sergeant. An experienced brawler, Block had had his suspicions lulled by the visitors’ appearances and behavior. So he had not expected such violent opposition on the part of what he assumed to be a small, insignificant Negro. He very quickly learned that appearances could be deceptive. Unfortunately, the lesson was not one from which he would derive any lasting benefit.
Pivoting to the right as he completed the attack on Grilpan, Dusty drew his bent left arm across his chest. Then he reversed his direction and used the momentum of his turn to provide impetus as his arm extended and swung in an arc. He held his left hand clenched, but did not strike in the conventional Occidental manner. Instead, he used it as the uraken, back fist, of karate as he had been taught by his uncle’s Japanese servant.
The protruding root of Dusty’s second finger struck Block just under the nose, grinding savagely into the philtrum collection of nerves in the center of the top lip. Raw agony ripped through the sergeant, blinding him with involuntary tears and causing him to release his grasp of the saber as he reeled back a few steps. The point of the weapon spiked into the ground and it stood almost erect.
Still moving with the same devastating speed, Dusty rushed towards Dasour. Swerving around the nearest of the boats, the man skidded to a halt. For a vitally important moment, he was frozen into immobility by what he was seeing happen to his companion. Belatedly, he tried to bring his rifle into a firing position.
Sprinting forward, Dusty sprang into the air. As he rose, he drew up and bent his right leg. At the height of his leap, he thrust forward the leg. The bottom of his foot smashed as hard as his gluteus muscles could force it against the top of Dasour’s chest. As Dusty rebounded from the leaping side kick, the soldier was pitched backwards. Dasour’s legs struck the side of the boat and he overbalanced. Falling backwards, his shoulders crashed into the opposite side and his head snapped downwards with an audible crack.
‘Dusty!’ Harry cried, reaching behind her and trying to liberate the Pocket Pistol as she stared from Block to Grilpan.
The latter was hanging against the side of the Vandenburg, trying to refill his lungs. Already, however, the sergeant was wiping his eyes with his left knuckles, while his right hand clawed at the flap of his holster.
Alighting from the kick, Dusty flung himself back in the way from which he had come. Reaching out, he caught hold of the saber and plucked it from the ground. Instantly, he realized that it was not the heavy, awkward, U.S. Army Model of 1840 pattern that was unflatteringly known as the ‘Old Wrist-Breaker’. In size, weight and balance, it came close to his own Haiman Brothers’ saber. Looking down, he realized that he held Staunce’s British-made Light Artillery weapon. That implied that his friend was dead. Probably the sergeant was responsible for whatever had happened to Staunce and had also killed Eric.
Already Block had the holster flap open and the Colt was coming from it. Two bounding strides carried Dusty into range and he delivered a backhand swing. Although Block saw what was coming, his brain reacted far too slowly. Hissing through the air, the edge of the blade sliced into the side of his neck and almost decapitated him. Dusty had no trouble in liberating his weapon.
Harry let out a muffled scream and turned around to hide the hideous sight from her gaze. With the head tilted at an unnatural angle and blood spurting from the wound, Block’s body stood for a moment. Then it toppled sideways.
Ignoring the girl for the moment, the small Texan turned on Grilpan. The soldier was clawing at his rifle. Darting forward as if making a fleche attack, Dusty lunged and thrust with the saber. Its point passed below Grilpan’s arm and into his chest. Stiffening, Grilpan dropped the rifle. As Dusty withdrew the saber’s blade, he crumpled face down and lay still.
‘All right, Harry,’ Dusty said gently, walking towards the girl. ‘It’s all over now.’
‘Oh lord!’ moaned Harry, feeling as if she would collapse and fetch up. ‘It was terrible.’
‘It always is,’ Dusty answered, taking her by the arm. ‘Come on. You’d best go and see if you can get to Mama Lukie. While you’re doing it, I’ll tend to the gun.’
Leading Harry behind the Vandenburg, Dusty saved her from needing to look again at the bodies. Then, after watching her hurrying towards the Negroes’ homes, he collected his weapons from their boat. Strapping on the gun belt, he went to the boat in which Dasour was lying. A quick examination told the small Texan that the man was of no further danger to him. In falling backwards, Dasour had broken his neck.
Returning to the Vandenburg, Dusty grasped the handles of the breech mechanism. Turning them, he unscrewed and drew the breech along its key-way until it tilted upright on the piece’s stock. Listening for any sounds to suggest that Harry had been discovered by the Yankees, he removed the ninety-eight cartridges from their individual chambers and tossed each one into the water. After taking out and disposing of the central charge which, on being ignited by a percussion cap, would have set off every cartridge, he closed and screwed home the breech. Reloading the weapon was a lengthy process. So, providing that the Negroes could take to the boats without being detected, they were safe from the Volley Gun.
Chapter Sixteen – We Don’t Aim to Get Killed
‘I’ll hit the island with every shell,’ Sergeant Major Smalley told Eli Cable as they stood watching the big gun being loaded. ‘But at this range I couldn’t say where in a hundred yards’ square the shells’ll drop. One thing I’ll promise is that I’ll try to keep them away from your home.’
‘I’d rather you tried to avoid hitting my people’s homes,’ the engineer answered. ‘They’ll need somewhere to live and I’ve an idea that it will be a long time before Harry and I can call Cable Grange our home again.’
The evacuation of the island had taken place successfully. On reaching Mama Lukie’s house, Harriet Cable had found t
he old woman ready. It almost seemed that Mama Lukie had used her strange powers and discovered that the attempt would be made. Swiftly the Negress and her husband had alerted the rest of Cable’s employees. Although there were guards at the bridge, the rest of the soldiers had been in bed. So the Negroes had been able to slip away undetected. A couple of the boats had been crowded, but there had been sufficient to transport all the party to the southern side of Nimrod Lake in one trip. Dusty’s precautions with the Vandenburg had proven to be unnecessary, which did not cause him to regret having taken them.
Having completed the first and most important part of his assignment—Oscar had told him what had happened to Captain Staunce, having witnessed the duel from the garden once more—Dusty had wondered if he could take advantage of the island’s unguarded state. Unfortunately, before he could make the necessary arrangements, the alarm had been raised.
What had happened was that, when Sergeant Block did not return to the guardhouse, its occupants became suspicious. Block had never been noted for his devotion to duty and, as there had been an undercurrent of unrest amongst the Negroes all day, the corporal sent soldiers to investigate. They discovered that the houses were deserted and, going to the rear of the island, had found the three bodies. So they had aroused the rest of their party.
Rather than chance losing men, Dusty had decided to wait until dawn and continue with his original idea.
So Dusty was on the northern side of the lake, with half of his Company and the two prisoners. As yet, they had not shown themselves. While they remained in concealment, about a mile from the bridge, he lay hidden behind a bush and kept watch through his field glasses.
