Shades of Gray: A Novel of the Civil War in Virginia (24 page)

“Oh, yes. You have shown me every courtesy, save
liberty,” Andrea argued.

Hunter shook his head. “Though inconvenient, I
do not believe closing the curtains will cause you fatal injury. In fact, I
believe I told you before, I rather think your indignation for the Rebel race
will prevent you from dying in the home of one.”

Andrea seemed to quake with indignation. “This,
sir, is torture in its most revolting, unrelenting and painful form. I’ve
simply been obliged a transfer from Libby Prison to … to Camp Misery!”

Hunter tried to suppress a laugh, but nearly
choked in doing so. “Camp
Misery
?” He glanced around her room at the
accommodations. “No one could object to such agreeable terms as I have bestowed
upon you. What depredations have you been made to endure, pray tell?”

“I do not have to undergo depredations to know I
reside in a worse place than hell!”

“Miss Evans, I am merely
requesting
that
you stay away from the windows for a few hours.” Hunter knew she comprehended
that his request was not a request at all, but most certainly a command that he
intended to be followed. “Contrary to popular belief, Miss Evans, I am a very
easy-going fellow.”

Andrea met his gaze with a mixture of curiosity
and disgust.

“Simply do as I say and we shall get along
fine.”

She snorted in disgust. “Surely you are not
under the illusion that my gratitude for being rescued from hell is going to
outweigh my resentment and loathing for the one who placed me there.”

“I have not
been under that illusion since the moment you awoke, I assure you,” Hunter
responded. “But certainly, Miss Evans, you can understand that I’m not anxious
for my men to discover there is a
Yankee
residing here.”

For a moment there was no sound, save Andrea’s
rapid intake and exhalation of air. That she understood no other epithet
conveyed a bigger insult to the Southern ear than the word Yankee was obvious.
He wondered if he had gone too far in using it to describe her.

“Then hide me away behind closed curtains you
must,” she said, her voice trembling with offense. “For no earthly power shall
keep me from denouncing the enemies of my country!”

Hunter stared at her with furrowed brow. The
intrepid young lady seemed to have no fear, and as for emotions other than fury
and hatred and rage, they appeared to be undiscovered or were dead or had never
been born. She was, without a doubt, the most untamed creature with which he
had ever had to deal. He pitied any man who would attempt the challenge of
trying to domesticate her.

“Then it is evident that your imprisonment is
self-imposed,” he said in response to her fierce pride. “As well may be your
untimely departure from your earthly bounds if you do not learn to control your
temper.”

“Do not dare talk to me like that.” Her voice
grew hushed. “I will not submit to it.”

Hunter laughed at her brazenness. “Submit to
what? My threat or my order? Beg pardon, I mean
request
.”

“You spoke not the truth when you told me I was
not a prisoner?”

“Miss Evans … I mean, Andrew Sinclair. Your
sudden great respect for the truth is incredible, since you so rarely use it
yourself. In fact, I don’t believe I’ve ever had the privilege of meeting
someone who was so adept at telling a lie on such short notice.”

“I resent that.” She pointed her finger at him.
“I have not lied to you.”

“So you are a native of Maryland and your name
is Evans?”

Andrea turned her head away. “Some half-truths
were necessary.”

“I thought as
much.” Hunter started to leave, but then stopped and turned toward her. “For
the record, it is my belief that a half-truth is a whole lie.”

He watched Andrea’s eyes turn a darker shade of
green as she muttered an imprecation he could not quite hear.

“If I may offer some advice,” he said.
“Concentrating on your recovery, instead of ways to aggravate your host, may
prove to be a better investment of your time. I would encourage you to accept,
with gratitude, the offerings I have bestowed upon you.”

“Over my dead body.”

Hunter did not respond verbally, but tried to
convey by his look that her wish could be easily arranged.

“Do not jest with me,” she said, reading the
gaze accurately. “You have not dealt with the likes of me.”

Hunter tilted his head to one side. “Yes, I
believe on that point we are in complete agreement.” He turned to leave. “I
regret the necessity for the inconvenience, but be assured, you may enjoy your
houseguest privileges the moment we depart.”

“But . . . this is unjustifiable imprisonment!”

“Miss Evans, there are enough charges against
you, of which I can personally substantiate, to make a rope around your neck
justifiable. You will please pardon me if I decline to debate legitimate forms
of punishment with you.” He pulled a small watch out of his pocket, glanced at
it and then back at her. “Time is valuable, and you’ve taken a considerable
amount of it. Have a good day.”

“How dare you speak to me this way,” Andrea
yelled when he started to depart.  “You are brutal and malicious and can go to
hell, Captain!”

“It’s
Major
now,” Hunter said over his shoulder. He stopped then and leaned back in the
doorway. “And Miss Evans, can you not restrain your temper and control your
language? It’s most unbecoming—even for a Yankee.”

Andrea responded with a whole inventory of
curses—of which she possessed a goodly store—to do justice to the occasion.
“I’ll be damned if I can! And the hell I will! And too bloody bad if it is!”

“Glad to see you’re feeling better,” Hunter said
under his breath as he descended the stairs two at a time.

Chapter
23

“An army of sheep led by a lion would defeat an army of lions
led by a sheep.”

– Arabian Proverb

Captain Carter watched Hunter sitting in the
shadows with a remote look on his face, while some of the men talked and
bragged in small groups around him. No one appeared mindful of the danger of
the enterprise upon which they were about to embark—except perhaps Hunter
himself. He stared at the distant horizon, apparently envisioning in explicit
detail every facet of the conflict yet to come.

As usual, Hunter had spun a veil of secrecy
around the expedition. But from the looks on the men’s faces, Carter saw they
were content to trust their fate to the one that led them.

“You men looking for trouble?” Hunter came out
of his trance when five of the men rode close enough to cause Dixie to lunge
forward with teeth bared.

“Yes,
suh
,” they shouted in unison.

A devilish grin spread across Hunter’s face.
“Good. Let’s go find you some.”

Carter could not help laughing along with the
men. Hunter appeared to be in a fine mood, and that usually portended plenty of
action. As a result, he knew he would hear his leader’s characteristic speech
at least one time today. It always began with, “The enemy is in force before
us, gentlemen,” and ended just a few sentences later with, “Who here is with
me?”

“What say you we go stir up some Yankees?”
Carter noticed Hunter’s voice held a ring of impatience, indicating his
eagerness to start the foray ordered by General Stuart.

Although
Carter did not know where they were going, he knew what they would be doing: By
keeping the Yankees so busy worrying about Hunter at their backs, they would
have little time to think about Stuart in their front.

The sky had turned dark and angry clouds had
massed when the group finally rode south. Not long after, hat brims began
dripping with a wind-driven rain that soaked man and beast alike. Hunter, at
first, seemed to disregard the deluge as he rode at the head of the column.

But Carter looked at the man riding beside him
and winked when he saw Dixie’s head sweep around to face the ranks. It was time
for Hunter’s customary statement about riding through a storm. No matter how
often they rode in the rain or the sleet or the snow, which was often, Hunter
never said, “sorry, men,” or “try to stay warm, men,” or “we’ll find a place to
get out of the weather.”

It was always the same words said in the same
low voice. “Keep your powder dry, men.”

After two
hours of steady riding, and plenty of jokes and laughter, a call went back the
line for no talking. Not more than a mile farther, through a maze of pines and
shrubs, Hunter directed his men into the shelter of a grove of cedars where
they dismounted.

Carter soon
learned the reason for the need of silence. The campfires of the enemy burned
so close to their right, he could hear the voices of the soldiers talking
around them. To his left, farther away, came the muffled sound of a Union band
playing. They were encamped midway between two enemy outposts, probably about
fifteen miles from support of any kind. Here, Carter knew, they would lie,
watching and waiting for the proper time and opportunity to venture forth and
strike.

Carter sat down and leaned against a tree with
his horse’s reins wrapped around his hand. Hunter, dressed in a rain slicker,
mounted and rode away, an indication that the tranquility of their current
situation would not last. In another few minutes Carter was asleep, despite his
soggy bed.

Sometime later, the sound of Hunter’s voice woke
him. “Carter, wake the men.”

After all
had gathered, Hunter reported what he’d found. “I discovered some good news,
men,” he said, in a low voice. “They have doubled their pickets.”

Carter looked at the confusion on the faces of
the men as they tried to figure out how that was
good
news.

“That will double the number of horses for us
and they are prime,” Hunter continued, ignoring their bewilderment. “I am
inclined to go right in and help ourselves. Who here is with me?”

Carter stood in the shadows and smiled at the
way Hunter talked to his men. He was always a man speaking to men, never
bragging about his rank or power or authority. As for the unpredictable change
in pickets, Hunter’s reaction was completely expected. Double the pickets or no
pickets at all, it was one and the same to him. He never focused on the
possibility of failure, only the chance for success. If his men were in the
proper mood for a fight, which was pretty much all the time, he felt justified
in disregarding the inequalities of force and firepower.

“Let’s go recruit some Yankee horses to the
Confederate service, men,” Hunter said before turning on his heel and mounting
his horse.

And so with double the pickets, which Carter
knew would make it hard to get
in
, and surrounded by five hundred of the
enemy, which, likewise he understood would make it hard to get
out
, he
and the rest of the band of rebels mounted and followed their leader.

Dressed in rain slickers and armed with courage,
they rode straight into the outpost. The slumped, weary position in which they
sat their horses and the casual way in which they nodded at the sentries, led
the Yankee guards to believe they were a returning scouting party of their own
men. Once within, they went to work with practiced haste, each knowing his duty
and performing it without words and little noise. Twenty minutes later, the
group rode out of the camp accompanied by another seventy-five horses without a
shot being fired.

Hunter sent the horses back to Hawthorne with a
small detachment of his men and headed deeper into enemy territory. Once a
respectable distance from the Yankee encampment, he allowed his men to lie down
and rest in the mud in another grove of cedars. Hunter nodded at Carter,
indicating he wanted some company on a scout.

Carter had learned long ago that Hunter’s reward
for liking someone was to order the person to accompany him on a risky
expedition. Carter therefore considered himself
very
well liked. Often
called upon to “probe the enemy’s numbers,” Carter knew that in Hunter’s
command that meant, “ride forward and start firing, then count the number of
guns firing back.”

Thunder rolled in great booming waves as Carter
followed Dixie’s shadowy form at a full gallop through a blinding rain. He lost
sight of the duo when they veered off the road and into a grove of pines, but a
lightning bolt illuminated their misty figures before they disappeared.

Blinking a few times to clear his lashes of
raindrops, Carter saw why they had stopped. A few hundred Yankees materialized
in the mist about fifty feet away—more than likely the advance for the wagon
train they sought. He watched Hunter gaze out of the darkness like a wily wolf,
staring hard, unblinking, reluctant to take his eyes from the quarry he
stalked. Carter knew he was busy counting their numbers, inspecting their
array, and satisfying himself of their armament and readiness. If he thought
the force too strong, he would move on in search of other prey.

“Let’s get back,” Hunter whispered. “It appears
we’ve found some game worthy of pursuit.” 

* * *

Hunter awakened Carter well before dawn and
ordered him to push the men forward. The sun had just begun to spread its
golden fingers upon the horizon when the group drew rein on the summit of a
small hill. Carter took in at a glance what Hunter had ascertained the night
before. A wagon train, heavily guarded in the front and rear, moved through the
valley below them. Amazingly, it had no escort in the center. Before them sat a
feast of riotous abundance.

Hunter stood on the hill enshrined by the early
morning light and stared at his imprudent enemy below. “Well, go to it, Captain
Carter,” he said, never taking his eyes off the enemy’s careless movements.