Tom of the Raiders

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[Illustration by Morgan Dennis: Again and again Tom fed logs into the flames.]

TOM OF THE RAIDERS

BY

AUSTIN BISHOP

ILLUSTRATED BY MORGAN DENNIS

To
DOLORES AND SAM
WITHOUT ADHESIONS

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I WITH THE SECOND OHIO II THE RAIDERS START III ARRESTED IV TOM GOES ALONE V TOM ARRIVES AT THE BEEGHAM'S VI ON TO CHATTANOOGA VII IN MARIETTA VIII THE TRAIN IS CAPTURED IX THE RACE X "THEY'RE AFTER US!" XI THE PURSUIT XII SPEEDING NORTHWARD XIII FIGHTING WITH FIRE XIV THE END OF THE RACE XV CAPTURED XVI ESCAPING XVII FIGHTING THE RIVER XVIII NORTH OF THE TENNESSEE XIX THE LAST DASH XX TOM REPORTS AT HEADQUARTERS XXI THAT CERTAIN PERSON

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Again and again Tom fed logs into the flames. Frontispiece

The little ferryboat pitched and turned in the current of the river.

The men were feeding the ties they had collected, out upon the road through an opening they had broken in the rear of the car.

"I didn't want to come here, Marjorie, for fear I'd get you into trouble—"

CHAPTER ONE

WITH THE SECOND OHIO

As he rounded the last bend of the road, Tom saw the white tents of the Union army stretched out before him. He forgot how tired he was after his long walk, and pressed forward eagerly, almost running. The soldiers who were sauntering along the road eyed him curiously.

"Hey, you! You can't go by here without a pass!" The Sentry's rifle, with its long gleaming bayonet, snapped into a menacing attitude.

Tom stopped abruptly, caught his breath, and asked: "Is this the Second
Ohio?"

"Maybe," answered the Sentry coldly. "What do you want to know for?"

"I've come to see my cousin—Herbert Brewster, of Company B."

The Sentry's position relaxed. He brought his rifle to the ground, leaned upon it, and gazed at the young man who stood before him. "Well now!" he said. "He'll certainly be glad to see you! We don't get many visitors down this way. What's your name?"

"Tom Burns."

"Going to enlist?"

"Yes. How'd you guess it?"

"Oh, I dunno. I just thought so. You're pretty young, ain't you?"

"Eighteen," answered Tom. "I'm old enough to fight." He looked past the Sentry, down at the even rows of tents which formed the company streets of the Second Ohio. His heart beat faster at the thought that he would be part of it after today. A soldier in the Union army!

"I'll send a messenger with you down to Company B," said the Sentry. "You'll have to get the Captain's permission before you can see your cousin."

It was early in April, 1862. The troops under the command of General O. M. Mitchel were encamped between Shelbyville and Murfreesboro, Tennessee, after a march from Nashville through a steady drizzle of rain. It had been a dreary, tedious march, made worse by long detours to avoid burnt bridges, detours over roads where the heavy wagons of the army sank hub-deep in the glue-like mud. It had been a fight against the rain and mud every inch of the way. And now, except for the details of bridge repairing, the troops were resting, drying their water-soaked knapsacks, and gathering strength for the march southward. Rumors of Chattanooga were in the air, and the camp was buzzing with talk of "Mitchel's plan of campaign." Groups of soldiers stood about exchanging views on what would happen next, speculating upon the points where they would come into contact with the rebs: others were playing games, or lying upon blankets spread before their tents, sleeping, reading and writing letters. The rows of tents gave a suggestion of military orderliness to the scene, but it was a suggestion only, for the tents and their guy ropes were strung with blankets and clothing put out to dry.

Although it was not quite what he had expected to see, the camp was wonderful and thrilling to Tom Burns. He had expected more military pomp and precision; not simply hundreds of men, half-clothed and weather-worn, loitering and shifting between rows of tents. Even the tents were patched and dirty. But if the scene did not compare with the picture he had in his imagination—of officers mounted upon spirited horses, buglers sounding calls, companies standing at attention—there was a spirit of action and excitement in the air which made him rejoice. These men, who were half-clothed because the only garments they had to put upon their backs were tied to the guy ropes drying, were hardened campaigners; men, roughened and toughened in their months of service, pausing a moment before battle. The stains and tears of the tents were campaign badges. Tom began to feel proud that "his" regiment was not like the new, raw troops he had seen in the north—immaculately clean troops which had never known a night in the open, far from the comforts of barracks.

He was speechless as the messenger who had been detailed by the Sergeant of the Guard led him down the regimental street, where the officers' tents faced each company street. Company F … Company E … Company D…. At the head of each street was a small penciled sign telling them what company they were passing. Tom glanced ahead to Company B. In front of the officer's tent two men were talking.

"Is one of them the Captain?" he asked.

"Yep—the short one," answered the messenger. "The other's the doctor."

"What's the Captain's name?"

"Moffat—Captain Moffat."

They stopped a few paces from where the Captain and the doctor were standing, and waited. Tom hazarded a glance down the street of Company B to see if he could catch a glimpse of his cousin, but Herbert Brewster was not in sight. Presently the Captain turned toward them. He was a short man, heavily built, and his manner was that of a man who had spent a lifetime commanding soldiers.

"Well, what is it?" he asked.

The messenger snapped to attention: he saluted. "This man wants to see
Herbert Brewster of your company, sir."

"I'm his cousin, sir," added Tom.

The Captain dismissed the messenger with a nod. "You're Corporal Brewster's cousin, eh?"

"Corporal?" asked Tom.

The Captain laughed. "I thought that would surprise you. Yes, he was made Corporal last week. You'll find him in the third tent on your left. I don't suppose you know that he's on the sick list with a bad ankle?"

"No!"

"Yep."

"I hope it isn't serious."

"Hm-m-m"—the Captain stroked his chin—"no, the ankle isn't serious, but being on the sick list is. Run along and cheer him up. Tell him that I'll be down to see him in a few minutes."

"Yes, sir."

The Captain turned back to the doctor, and Tom threaded his way down the street. At the third tent he stopped, pulled open the flap and peered in. There was Bert, stretched out on his bedding, writing a letter. His right ankle was a mass of bandages from which his toes peered out. He did not look up from his writing.

"Does Corporal Herbert Brewster of Cleveland, Ohio, live here?" asked Tom.

"You, Tom! you!"

"Don't try to get up on that bad ankle." He rushed over and grabbed Bert's hand. "How are you?"

"What in the world are you doing at Murphytown?—or whatever they call this end of the mud-puddle. And how are all the people? When did you see mother and father last?"

Tom held up his hands in surrender; then, as he sat down on the edge of the bedding, Bert took him by the shoulders and shook him. "They're all fine. I'm here to enlist, Corporal. Will you have me in your squad?"

"You bet! Tell me about home."

Bert had been among the first to enlist, and, except for one furlough of two weeks, he had not been able to return home. Many minutes passed before Tom reached the point of his own departure from Cleveland; how he had gained the consent of his father and mother to his enlistment; his trip to Murfreesboro and all his adventures and misadventures en route. "And, by the way," he ended, "the Captain said that I was to tell you that he'd be here to see you soon. And what did you do to your ankle?"

"The Captain's coming to see me, eh? Humph! A lot of good that'll do me.
Was he talking with the doctor?"

"Yes."

"Humph!" Bert plunged into thought.

"How about the ankle?" Tom reminded him. "What did you do to it?"

"I was on a bridge detail yesterday," answered Bert gloomily. "We were loading some pilings to be hauled up to a bridge, and I was on the wagon, placing them as they were shoved up to me. They were all greasy with mud, and I—well, I was thinking about some other things, and I stepped on a slippery hunk of mud. I went down; then one of the pilings rolled over when my foot struck it, and went on my ankle."

"Gee, that's hard luck!"

"I'd just as soon sprain a dozen ankles," answered Bert. "That isn't the hard luck."

"What do you mean?" asked Tom.

Bert looked at him for a moment, then shook his head. "No," he said. "I can't tell you. It's something we were planning to do, and"—he motioned towards his ankle—"here I am. Perhaps I'll tell you later."

The flap of the tent was pushed aside and the Captain entered. He stood for a moment looking regretfully at Bert. "I'm sorry," he said, "but the doctor says it can't be done. Too bad!"

Bert glared at his ankle. "Well, sir, if it can't be done, it just can't."

Tom watched the two men, wondering what thoughts were in their minds. What was this mysterious plan that was ending so badly?

The Captain spoke at last: "It's nice that you have your cousin here to keep you company while you're waiting for your ankle to heal."

"He'll be with me longer than that, Captain. He's come to enlist."

"Good!" exclaimed Captain Moffat. He turned to Tom. "I 'll be glad to have you, my boy!"

"And I'll be glad to be with you."

"Sir!" corrected Bert. "You'll have to learn to say 'sir' in the army."

"Yes—sir!" replied Tom.

The Captain smiled: "What's your name?"

"Burns, sir. Tom Burns."

"And how old are you!"

"Eighteen, sir."

"Young," commented the Captain, "but you look strong enough to stand the life." He put out his hand. "I'm glad to have you. We need men these days, and we can always handle a few recruits. You can stay here with Corporal Brewster until you're assigned to a squad. I'll have some bedding sent down here for you to use until you draw your kit." He started out, then paused. "Don't be too disappointed, Brewster. There'll be other chances."

"Keep me in mind for the first chance, Captain."

"I'll promise you that."

"Thank you, sir," said Bert. "Do you know who will take my place?"

"Not yet," replied Captain Moffat. "I'll have to select a man."

He left the tent, his heavy sword clanking as he walked. Tom resumed his seat beside Bert.

"What is this scheme of yours, Bert?" he asked. "Can't you tell me? Is it a secret?"

Bert considered the matter for nearly a minute, while Tom watched him intently. "Yes, it's a secret," replied Bert; then he added, "But I'll tell you."

"If it's a military secret, perhaps you'd better not. Of course I wouldn't tell anyone, but…."

"No, it's all right for me to tell you." Bert put his hand into his knapsack which lay beside his bed and pulled forth a map. "Look here." Tom moved up beside him and they spread the map out on their knees. "There's a town called Corinth." Tom pointed with a brown forefinger. "Beauregard is there. And here is Atlanta, which is Beauregard's base of supplies. Here is Murfreesboro where we're camped. If Beauregard's supplies were cut off between Atlanta and Chattanooga, what would happen to Beauregard?"

"He'd been in for trouble," answered Tom.

"And Chattanooga…?"

"Chattanooga would be flying Mitchel's flag." Tom's eyes brightened, and he turned so that he could look squarely at his cousin. "But, Bert, how were you going to do it?"

Bert smiled wanly, and left Tom in suspense a moment before he answered.
Then he glanced balefully at his ankle. "Some of us were going into the
South, and … well, we were simply going to do it."

"The railroad between Atlanta and Chattanooga?" asked Tom.

"You've guessed it, but, on your life, don't breathe a word of it."

Tom's eyes opened wide. "Never! And aren't they going to do it now! Just because you're ankle is broken?"

"They'll do it, all right," answered Bert. "I'm not that important. There's only one man who is so important that they have to have him."

"And who's that?"

"The leader—the man who planned it. He knows the country." Bert folded the map and put it back in his knapsack.

"I'm sorry about your ankle," Tom said weakly. "With a chance like that!" He whistled, and leaned back, with his hands clasped around a knee, gazing steadfastly at the roof of the tent. Bert rested his chin in his hands and sat silently, looking at him. Tom's eyes narrowed and his fingers tightened until they were white.

"Bert…." he began, then stopped.

"Yes?"

Their eyes met. Tom leaned forward and clutched his cousin's arm. "Do you think, Bert, that Captain Moffat would let me go in your place?"

"I don't know," answered Bert. "But we can ask. Asking won't do any harm."

"Will you ask him? Will you really?"

"Do you want to go? Without knowing any more about it than that?"

"More than anything else in the world. Do you think he will let me go, Bert? Tell him that I'm not afraid—that I can be trusted to carry out orders. You know I can do it, don't you, Bert?"

"Yes, I know you can do it. And I thought that you'd probably want to do it. That's why I disobeyed orders and told you. I wanted to give you the chance to volunteer."

"I wonder if the Captain'll just laugh and say that I'm a raw recruit."

"The Captain isn't that kind of man," answered Bert. "He doesn't laugh at a fellow just because he wants to do something. And about being a raw recruit…. It's my opinion that he'd rather send a recruit, if he's a good man, than a trained soldier. Trained soldiers are too scarce. He was willing to let me go because I volunteered months ago for any expedition that was to be sent out. When the call came for a man from each company, he called me into his tent, and just told me that I was going. Of course, a man doesn't have to go. It's for volunteers only. You know what it might mean if you got caught?"

"That we'd be held as spies. And perhaps…?"

"Yes."

They were silent for a moment.

"Will you ask the Captain now?" demanded Tom.

"You go on up to his tent and ask him if he'll come down here for a minute," said Bert. "You're absolutely positive that you want to go? You wouldn't rather have me wait until tomorrow while you think it over?"

"No! Ask him now, before he decides on someone else!"

Tom clapped his cousin on the shoulder, hurried out of the tent and up the company street.

CHAPTER TWO

THE RAIDERS START

"Come with me," said Captain Moffat, as he emerged from Bert Brewster's tent. Tom had been waiting outside, while Bert and the Captain were talking. He had recognized several men from Cleveland in the company and had tried to carry on a conversation with them. But conversation was impossible. His mind was too full of hopes and plans to recall the news from home. Now, as he walked up the company street, he wondered what the Captain was thinking. Would he be allowed to take Bert's place? He hazarded a glance at the Captain's face, but he could find no answering expression there—always the same stern mask, from which black eyes flashed. Tom could feel his heart pounding as they entered the Captain's tent.

"Sit down," said Captain Moffet, pointing to a box. He called his messenger. "I don't want to be disturbed for a few minutes."

"Very good, sir," answered the messenger. He stationed himself a few yards in front.

"It strikes me," the Captain said, as he sat in a folding chair directly before Tom, "that you are entirely too young to be sent out on such an expedition as this. But I like to know that you volunteer for it. It gives me a comfortable feeling to have men in my company who are always ready for anything that comes up, who are perpetual volunteers for the dangerous jobs."

Tom felt his heart sink. Then he wasn't to be allowed to go! This was simply a nice way of telling him that he couldn't!

"But, Captain," he said explosively, "I'd rather do this than anything else on earth. I am young—I'll admit that—but that'll make me all the more valuable. If it comes to carrying messages, I can run for miles without stopping. Why, I can move faster and fight harder just because I am young! Please give me the chance!"

The Captain looked at him narrowly. "You really want to go, don't you?"

"Yes!" Tom almost shouted.

"All right," said the Captain, rising from his chair. "You are going." Tom wanted to thank him, but he was speechless. "You will hold yourself in readiness for orders." The Captain had become the quiet, stern military man again. "You will let it be known that you are here to visit your cousin, and when you leave camp you will say that you are returning home."

"Yes, sir."

"In the meantime, provide yourself with some rough clothes at Shelbyville, and some heavy shoes. I will provide you with a revolver. That will be all now."

"Yes, sir."

Tom hurried back to his cousin's tent in a daze.

The next afternoon at the general store in Shelbyville he bought a rough suit, and a heavy pair of shoes. "Just wrap the suit up," he told the clerk, "I'll be in for it tomorrow, or the next day. I'll wear the shoes." He tramped back to Murfreesboro, displayed his pass to the Sentry, and went to Bert's tent.

"The doctor has been in again," Bert told him. "He says that my ankle will be well in a week or so."

"Good!" exclaimed Tom. "Look at my pretty little shoes." He displayed the heavy, rough boots he had bought at Shelbyville.

"You ought not to start in those things," advised Bert. "New shoes will cripple you. Here, we'll trade." He produced a pair which had been worn soft in miles of marching. "And here's a waterproof cape for you."

"No, I don't want to take your things."

But Bert insisted. "I know this sort of life. You take 'em and don't argue."

Bert had told him all that he knew of the raid, but, as he remarked, "that's little enough." None of the men who had volunteered knew the details of the expedition: they knew only that they were to accept orders from an unknown man, follow him blindly and willingly into whatever he might lead them. It was to be a raid of great importance, a raid that might change the course of the war if it proved successful. So great was the secrecy that no man knew who his companions were to be. All of them, as Tom, were waiting for orders to be given without knowing when the orders would come, nor what they would be. Tom spent hours, when his cousin's tentmates were away, studying the map, memorizing minute details of it.

Orders came on his third day at camp. He was clearing away the tin plates and cups from which they had been eating dinner, when the Captain's orderly appeared at the door of the tent. "Cap'n wants to see you immediately."

Tom and Bert exchanged a glance; then Tom followed the messenger to the
Captain's tent.

When the messenger had been stationed to keep intruders away, the Captain said: "You will leave tonight. Take the Wartrace road out of Shelbyville and walk about a mile and a quarter. When you come to a fork in the road go into the trees and wait until you're picked up. You should be there at eight o'clock. You understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Repeat my instructions."

Tom repeated them without fault.

"Good! Wait here for a moment." The Captain left the tent. He returned presently with the Major of the battalion and another Captain. From the box where the documents of Company B were kept, he produced enlistment papers. For several minutes, while Tom stood tense and erect, the Captain wrote. The other two officers talked in an undertone.

"Sign here," said the Captain. Tom signed. The Major picked up the paper and glanced through it.

"Hold up your right hand," said the Major. Then Tom heard the oath which bound him to serve the United States of America honorably as a soldier.

"I do," he replied, and let his hand drop to his side again.

The two officers signed the papers, shook hands with him, nodded to Captain Moffat and left the tent. It all happened so quickly that Tom could scarcely realize that he was now a soldier. When he had entered the tent he was a civilian, bound merely by promises of service; now he was a soldier, without a uniform, to be sure, but none the less a soldier. His eyes dimmed and he looked away from the Captain.

Captain Moffat folded the paper, returned it to the box, and faced Tom. He looked at him thoughtfully for a few seconds; then placed his hands upon his shoulders.

"Private Tom Burns," he said softly. "Good luck to you. It will be Second Lieutenant Tom Burns if this expedition is a success. Good luck, my boy, and may God be with you." He took Tom's hand and shook it.

And then Tom found himself walking down the street of Company B—a soldier of Company B—and he scarcely knew that his feet were treading ground.

There were two men in the tent, talking with Bert, and Tom waited impatiently for them to leave.

"Tonight," he said shortly, as the tent flap dropped behind them.

"Tonight?"

"Yes."

They sat silently until Bert exclaimed, "I envy you! You're the luckiest boy in the world, walking right into such a chance as this."

"I wish you were going."

"So do I."

Silence overcame them again.

"I'd better write a letter home," Tom said presently. "I'll say that I've enlisted and let it go at that."

It was shortly before six o' clock when Tom left camp. He went to the store in Shelbyville, claimed the suit he purchased two days before, and induced the proprietor to let him make the change in the back room of the store. He made a bundle of the clothes he had discarded, left them at the store saying that he would call for them in a few days, then went out on the one street of the village. It was deserted; the good citizens of Shelbyville were at dinner, and a few soldiers who had come to the village to make purchases were hurrying back to camp to be there when mess call sounded. In the excitement of his departure Tom had forgotten that he must eat, but, with a half-hour to spare before starting for the meeting place, he returned to the store and stuffed his pockets with food. Then, with a hunk of cold meat in one hand and a slice of bread in the other, he walked down the village road, eating his supper as he went. Near the edge of the village he saw two men ahead of him, and he wondered if they too were members of the expedition. They stopped, leaning against a fence, and eyed him as he went by.

Dusk came, and then darkness. The sky was overcast, but occasionally the moonlight flashed through a break in the clouds, showing the road before him. Walking was difficult, for the half-dried mud was slippery, and the broad wheels of wagons had made deep ruts. Several times he stumbled, and once he wrenched his ankle. He made his way more carefully after that, sometimes feeling out the ground with the toes of his boots before he placed his weight forward. The thought of being disabled before he had really started on the adventure, of going back to camp to commiserate with Bert over sprained ankles, filled him with dread. The deepest ruts turned away from the main road to a farm house: a dog barked, and Tom hurried forward. Several hundred yards further along the road, he thought he saw a man who moved behind a tree and hid. He did not stop to investigate.

Tom paused for a moment at the fork of the road; then went forward breathlessly. Between the bushes which lined the edge of the fork stood several tall trees, with their trunks lost in black, ragged undergrowth. In the darkness he made out a trail. Again he paused, straining for the slightest sound. As he took a step forward he heard someone say:

"Hello, there!"

He stopped short. "Hello," he gasped; then, when he had overcome his surprise, "Where are you?"

"Just four feet ahead of you."

"Who are you?"

"Brown, Company F, Twenty-first Ohio."

"Oh,"—this with relief in his voice—"I'm Burns, Company B, of the Second. Are there any others here?" He went forward and they tried to make out each other's faces in the dark.

"No. There was to be a third man with us, Andrews said," answered Brown.
"He hasn't come yet."

"And who's Andrews?" asked Tom.

Brown laughed. "Why, he's the man who's leading us. The one who's going to take us in."

"I didn't know," answered Tom. "They didn't tell me much—except that I was going. That was enough."

"That's about as much as most of the men know," remarked Brown. "Knight and
I were the only ones who talked with Andrews. We are the engineers."

"The engineers?" asked Tom. "What sort of engineers?" He heard Brown chuckle.

"Well, they didn't tell you much, did they? Locomotive engineers, of course. We're going to steal a railroad train."

"Steal a railroad train!" exclaimed Tom.

"Yep! That's what we're going to do."

Tom gave a low whistle.

Brown continued: "We're going to take a train on the Georgia State
Railroad. Knight and I are to run it, and the rest of you…."

From down the road came a mumble of voices. Brown clutched Tom's arm and they listened. "That's them!" exclaimed Brown in a whisper.

One man of the approaching group stepped off the road into the fork, while the others waited.

"Brown," he called.

"Right here, sir." Brown stepped forward, and Tom followed.

"How many are with you?" asked the man.

"Just one—Burns. The third hasn't come yet."

"How are you, Burns? I'm Andrews." He groped for Tom's hand in the darkness, shook it. "I wonder where the other man is. Well, it makes no difference. We won't wait for him. Come on."

They followed him, out to where the others were standing.

"This way, men," said Andrews, starting up the road on the left. Brown and Tom fell in beside him. "The rest of you straggle out so that you can get off the road quickly if anyone comes." Then, to Brown and Tom: "Perhaps he's lost, or perhaps he's changed his mind. Three others weren't where I told them to be, but we'll get along just as well without them. I arranged it this way so that if any of you did decide at the last minute that you didn't want to go…." He did not finish the sentence. Presently he said: "I want no men who aren't anxious to be with me."

Tom could not see Andrews' face, but he liked his calm, pleasant voice. Conversation stopped, except for Brown's remark, "It looks like rain," and Andrews' answering, "Hm-m-m." For several minutes they plodded along the road, hidden even from the intermittent light of the moon by the trees that grew beside the road.

"Here we are," said Andrews presently. They stopped and waited for the others; then turned off the road into a small opening in the woods. Andrews went ahead of them, and called back, "Come over here."

They found him with two men. There came a rumble of thunder, so remote that it seemed like an echo, but to the ears of Andrews' men it was a sharp reminder of the troubles that might lay ahead of them.

"Hm-m-m! Perhaps you were right, Brown," said Andrews.

Thunder sounded again, this time nearer.

"Let's count heads," said Andrews. "Get in a semi-circle, just as close together as possible."

The men groped about, arranging themselves. Tom found himself shoulder to shoulder between two of them. Presently they were quiet. Andrews' calm, authoritative voice came again: "Starting at this end, give your names and your organizations."

Then: "Bensinger, Company G, Twenty-first Ohio"—"Dorsey, Company H,
Thirty-third"—"Brown, Company G, Twenty-first"—"Pittenger, Company G,
Second"…. There were twenty of them, not including Andrews. Tom found
himself between Wilson, Company C, of the Twenty-first Ohio, and Shadrack,
Company K, of the Second Ohio.

The thunder sounded again and a few drops of rain pattered down. A murmer arose from the men. More thunder, and a flash of lightning. Another crash, and more rain splashed about them.

"It looks as though we're in for bad weather, men," said Andrews. "Gather about me so that you can all hear what I'm going to tell you." A streak of lightning illuminated the scene as they moved forward. Tom caught a glimpse of Andrews: a tall man, heavily built, with a long black beard. The rain was falling steadily. Tom unslung the cape which Bert had given him and put it on. There was a general rustle of capes and coats: then silence. Andrews continued: "I want all of you to understand that any man who wishes to change his mind may do so, and return to camp when we leave here. I want only those men who are willing and anxious to see this thing through, to follow me to the end"—he paused—"and that end may well be disaster. You have three days and three nights in which to reach Marietta, and you may travel as you see fit. Avoid forming groups of more than four. The course is east into the Cumberland Mountains, then south to the Tennessee River. Cross the river and travel by train, from whatever station you come to, through Chattanooga to Marietta. I will follow the same general course. Be at the hotel in Marietta not later than Thursday evening, ready to start the next morning. Have you any questions to ask about the route?"

There were questions, many of them. Over and over again he traced the course they were to follow; told them what they might find at certain points, what to avoid.

"I will supply you with all the Confederate money you will need. Carry none of our money with you."

"And if we are questioned?" asked Brown. Tom recognized his voice; then, in another flash of lightning he caught a glimpse of his face. That one glimpse was to change the course of Tom's adventures.

"I am coming to that presently," answered Andrews. "Buy whatever you need, and hire any sort of conveyance that you may think safe. But don't be lavish with the money I'm giving you—it may have to last a long time. It should be more than enough, but we can't tell what will happen. And now about being questioned: If you have to answer questions, say that you come from Fleming County, Kentucky; that you are on your way to join the Southern troops. I happen to know that no men from Fleming County are in the Southern army, and so there will be little risk of meeting anyone from there. And if you are asked why you don't enlist immediately, say that you want to join a regiment in Atlanta."

"And if we're completely cornered?" asked one of the men.

"Then enlist."

"In the Southern army?"

"Surely. Remember, men, that you are playing a bigger game than your own personal likes and dislikes. The idea of enlisting in the Southern army may seem terrible, but it isn't so terrible as being captured and tried as a spy. You can desert at the first chance. And remember this: upon every one of you depends the success or failure of this venture."

There was a murmer of approval, then silence.

Andrews continued:

"Tomorrow morning General Mitchel starts on a forced march. He will surprise and capture Huntsville on Friday. Our work is to capture the train that same day, destroy communications from Atlanta and join him with all possible speed. We will try to reach him with our train. Failing that, we will desert the train and join him as best we can."

Mitchel would move the next morning! Huntsville! Chattanooga! For a moment the men were silent; then came a sharp "Ah!" The long winter campaign was ended; now for action!

"We will start at once," said Andrews. A crash of thunder drowned his words. "From Marietta onwards we will fight it out together."

He began to distribute money to them. Several groups disappeared into the night.

"Shall we go together?" asked a man at Tom's right. "My name's Shadrack."

"Yes. Mine's Burns."

"Mine's Wilson," said another man. "Let's make it three."

"Good!"

They filed past Andrews, took the handful of Confederate money he held out, and started toward the road. The rain ceased for a few seconds; then came a flash of lightning, a burst of thunder, and the rain came swirling down. In an instant, Tom and his two companions were utterly alone in the black night, headed for the Southern lines.

CHAPTER THREE

ARRESTED

"The Union pickets are at Wartrace," said Wilson, as they plodded down the road.

"We ought to pass them tonight," Tom added. "Have we any way of identifying ourselves?"

"No," replied Wilson. "We'd better try to avoid them."

"What I hope," remarked Shadrack, with a chuckle, "is that our pickets are sleepy—dreaming of a nice warm fire at home, instead of keeping on the alert. Whew! what a storm!"

The steady pelting of the rain made conversation impossible. The road was becoming a slippery gumbo into which their feet sank deeply, and they put all their strength into the laborious task of walking. Finally, after an hour, they stopped to rest.

"I don't think we've gone more than two miles," said Tom.

"The railroad track runs along here to the left some place," Wilson remarked. "If we could reach it, we'd find better walking."

"You'll have to swim to get there," muttered Shadrack. "Those fields will be mud up to our necks."

"Be quiet!" Tom whispered. "Someone's coming."

"Probably some of our own men," said Wilson.

They stood silently as two men passed them on the road. It was impossible to see them in the darkness, but they caught a broken sentence, "…find a barn … too much mud…."

"That's about the best thing that we can do," said Shadrack, after the men had gone by. "Find a barn some place, and stay there for the night."

"I'd like to push on," replied Tom. "What do you think, Wilson?"

"Let's try to reach the railroad."

"All right."

Shadrack grunted his assent, and they trudged along the road, looking for an opening to the left. Presently a flash of lightning showed them a field. They climbed the fence and started across. Their feet sank in mud that seemed bottomless, and water oozed in over their shoe-tops.

"Can you make it?" asked Wilson.

"Yeh—go on," answered Tom, panting.

"I'm coming," muttered Shadrack.

It took them a half-hour to cross the field; then they sat on the fence exhausted. No lightning came to show them the way, so they climbed the fence, crossed another road, and entered a second field. The mud here was worse.

"Bogged!" exclaimed Shadrack.

They retreated to the road.

"Let's follow this road," suggested Tom. "It seems to go in the general direction of the railroad tracks."

"Probably goes to a farmhouse," replied Wilson.

"Suits me exactly," said Shadrack.

During the next twenty minutes they made their way slowly along the road, slipping in the mud, sometimes falling. Twice Tom went down on his hands and knees. Shadrack sprawled face downward, and got up muttering something about "eating the filthy stuff."

Ahead of them a dog commenced to bark; then a door opened, and a man stood looking out.

"Call your dog off," yelled Wilson.

"Who are you, and what do you want?" demanded the farmer. The dog continued to bark, but he did not approach them.

"We're on our way to Wartrace," answered Wilson, "and we're lost in the storm. Can you give us a place to sleep?"

"Are you soldiers?"

Wilson paused a moment, then answered, "No."

"Come on up here then, and let's look at ye," answered the farmer. "Here,
Shep, shut up that barking! Come here!"

They saw the dog curl up at its master's feet, and they went forward.

"How far are we from Wartrace?" asked Wilson, as they approached the door.

"'Bout two miles," answered the farmer. "Wait there, and I'll take a look at ye." He reached to one side and took a lamp. Then, shielding his eyes from the light, he held it up and glanced from one to the other. The dog came toward them, whining and growling. "Shut up, Shep. All right—come on in."

They entered the shanty. In one corner of the room a dilapidated stove was glowing; in another corner there was a bed, made of rough boards, with a pile of dirty bedding on the straw. A table and one chair completed the furniture. Near the door some farm implements were stacked. A rusty, battered pan on the floor caught the water that dripped in through a leak in the roof.

Now, for the first time, the three adventurers had an opportunity of seeing each other. Tom, as he took off his cape and water-soaked coat, glanced first at Wilson, then at Shadrack. Wilson was a tall man, nearly forty, with a serious face. His mouth was stern, and he had sharp gray eyes. Shadrack was short and plump. He was still blowing and puffing from his exertions in the mud, but he laughed as he took out a handkerchief and wiped his face. He had, in truth, been eating mud, for his face was streaked with it. "Had my mouth open when I fell," he explained.

The farmer stood at the door, watching them silently as they took off their shoes and put them by the stove. Finally he asked, "What are you going to Wartrace for?"

Tom had been wondering what story they had better tell him. They were still north of their own lines, even though they were in enemy country, and he felt that there might be some danger in saying that they were on their way to join the Southern army. He decided to leave the response to Wilson, who, because of his age and experience, was the natural leader. But, before Wilson could speak, Shadrack replied:

"We're from Fleming County, Kentucky, and we're going through the lines to join the Confederate army."

Wilson frowned and shook his head at Shadrack.

"So?" asked the farmer. "Goin' to fight the Yanks, eh?"

"Yep," answered Shadrack, "an' we're goin' to give 'em a good licking!
That's what they need! We've seen all we want to see of Yanks."

"Well, I'll tell you right now that you're going to waste yer time," replied the farmer. "An' maybe you'll waste more than that."

Shadrack sat down on the floor near the fire, and Tom squatted beside him.

"You have some pretty bad rainstorms in this part of the country, don't you?" Wilson asked.

While Wilson was speaking, Tom nudged Shadrack, and muttered, "Be careful—don't talk too much." Shadrack's eyes lighted in puzzled surprise.

After a long silence, the farmer spoke: "You men better turn around again an' go back to yer homes. Yer folks need you more than the South does. The North is going to win this war."

In their hearts they were elated to hear a Southerner say that their own troops would be victorious; but, having told one story, they decided not to change.

"No," said Wilson solemnly, "we must go on."

Presently the farmer arose and stretched, "I'll go out an' see if the chickens are all right," he said, and left the shanty.

"Don't be a fool," said Wilson earnestly, "Don't be a better rebel than the
Southerners."

"I'm sorry," replied Shadrack. "That's what we were told to say…."

"I know," interrupted Wilson, "but we have to be careful in the way we tell that story. For one thing, remember that we're still inside our own lines."

"Yes," replied Shadrack ruefully.

"I think you'd better do the talking for us," suggested Tom to Wilson.
"We'll just agree to what you say."

"Now, that's a good idea!" exclaimed Shadrack. "We'll just nod our heads an' say, 'That's right!' I'll not say a word after this."

A half-hour passed before the farmer returned. Without speaking, he took off his boots and coat, and lay down on his bed. The others arranged themselves on the floor about the stove, and Tom blew out the light. The floor was hard, but the stove was warm—and they were dry. Sleep came almost immediately.

They were awakened at dawn by the door opening, and a man shouting, "Get up there! Hold you hands up! Strike a light, Johnson."

Tom jumped to his feet. In the half-light of morning he saw the glint of a revolver. Wilson and Shadrack were beside him, and the farmer was sitting on the edge of his bed. They put their hands up—all except the farmer. The bluish flame of a sulphur match sputtered, then grew bright. Three Union soldiers stood before them with drawn revolvers, while a fourth lighted the lamp.

"These are the men, I presume, Smith?" asked the Sergeant.

The farmer grunted.

Tom and Shadrack looked to Wilson to speak, but he said nothing. So the farmer had sent word to Union troops! When he had gone out to look after his chickens, he had sent a messenger with the news that three ardent Southerners were to be captured at his house if the soldiers would come and get them! Captured by their own troops!

"Pull on your boots," ordered the Sergeant. "Wait a minute! Look through their clothes and see if they're armed, Martin."

The soldier who had lighted the lamp approached, and ran his hands through their pockets. He produced three revolvers and laid them on the table. The Sergeant picked them up, glanced at them to be sure they were loaded; then distributed them among the soldiers.

"That's all, Sergeant," said the soldier addressed as Martin.

"All right, get on your boots. You did a good night's work, Smith."

"I told 'em they'd better go back home," said the farmer dully.

Tom, Wilson, and Shadrack sat on the floor pulling on their heavy, water-laden boots. When they stood up, the Sergeant said: "Call Jim and Max." Two more soldiers appeared, making six in all.

"Two of us to a prisoner. Come on."

They left the shanty. The farmer was still sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at them.

CHAPTER FOUR

TOM GOES ALONE

The rain had ceased. Dawn, flooding above the heavy clouds, was at last filtering through, and the world rested tranquilly in a bluish, shadowless light. Tom, as he stepped from the shanty, with his arms held by two Union soldiers, glanced about him in wonderment. This unfamiliar scene, which had been an endless blackness the night before, was like a dream country into which he was straying half awake. The events of the previous day became remote and unreal. He paused for a moment, but the apprehensive tightening of fingers upon his arms made him suddenly aware of the fact that he was a prisoner, and he fell into step with the soldiers.

"So you were a-goin' to fight the Yanks, were you!" asked one of them.

"We'll talk about that later," answered Tom.

"'Pears to me that it ain't anything I'd want to talk about at any time if
I was you," answered the other soldier.