Shades of Gray: A Novel of the Civil War in Virginia (5 page)

* * *

Not far away sat Captain Hunter, holding his
steel-gray mare in check with one hand while she pranced and strained at the
bit like an over-anxious racehorse.

Hunter smiled out of the corner of his mouth as
he surveyed the damage his men had wreaked. Even he could not have envisioned a
more thorough job of devastation in such a short amount of time by so few. The
ties had been removed from a twenty-foot stretch, and the rails, heated from
the wood, had been crossed and bent like huge bow ties around nearby trees. His
gaze shifted to the curve in the tracks that would give the engineer little
time to react when he noticed the destruction, and then to the downhill grade
that would prevent the train from stopping even when he did. Hunter expected a
bountiful yield from the harvest they were about to reap in rations,
supplies—and greenbacks.

Hunter’s mare tossed her head and pawed the
ground in obvious revolt at being restrained. Even without its daunting rider,
the large-boned warhorse was an imposing animal. Appropriately named “Dixie,”
she had a reputation for lunging and baring her teeth at the slightest
provocation.

“Looks like we’re about ready, Captain,” a
lieutenant with a cigar clasped between his teeth reported, keeping his
distance from the unruly horse. “Nothing to do but wait for the train.”

Hunter nodded but did not reply. The jovial
group he gazed upon appeared more like a band of gleeful schoolboys than a
force of ruthless warriors. They milled around the burning ties, laughing and
slapping each other on the back as if attending a celebratory bonfire. Yet
Hunter knew, as did the enemy, they could fight as fearlessly as any set of men
on earth. Though not one of them was a trained soldier, none had needed much
schooling. A high sense of honor and love of country served as the driving
principle for their service to the Confederacy, while the adventure and romance
of serving with Hunter compelled them to fight like demons.

Hunter gave a silent signal and the group and
their horses disappeared into a small grove of trees by the tracks. The men
made themselves comfortable on the carpet of pine needles, though they remained
ready for action with reins looped over their arms. Some laid down to grab a
few minutes of sleep, while others sat around in groups talking in low tones.
Hunter sank down under a tree at the edge of the gathering to nurse his aching
head, but his eyes remained vigilant, scrutinizing everyone and everything.

What he saw
before him was a gathering of some of his best, strange collection though it
was. Ranging in maturity from boys of but fifteen summers to those well
silvered over with the frost of age, the conglomeration proved he robbed
proportionately from cradle to grave for his recruits—as well as from every
segment of Virginia society and culture. Sprawled around him were store clerks
and farmers, wealthy landowners and millers, a mingling of traits and lineage
and social status that bore out equally on the battlefield.
Dissimilar, yet
united
, Hunter mused,
for all possess a common bond: the desire to
defend their native soil.

And young or old, rich or poor, his followers
had something else in common—they were too reckless and too wild for the
discipline and monotony of the regular army. Hunter’s perilous style of warfare
suited this group of men  perfectly. The detached nature of his command and the
mystical nature of its commander added to the appeal of its outlaw allure.

Truth be told, Hunter thought, these men would
not know how to pitch a tent if they were handed one or how to execute a
lateral oblique if they were ordered to. The only strategic movement they
understood was “split up,” a command rarely ever ordered with more than a wave
of his hand, because each man knew instinctively when to initiate the action.
Their camp was the saddle, and their homeland was the battlefield.

When not on active duty, this gallant band of
men protected themselves by disappearing into the homes of Virginian families
equally devoted to the cause of Southern independence. It was on the generosity
of these families the cavaliers relied for meals, and as a result, kings were
neither better fed nor more reverentially treated.

Hunter’s
musings ended when the unwelcome bugle call of Union cavalry fell upon his
ears. In fact, the sound of the approaching train and the sound of the
approaching enemy reached the group at the same instant.

All eyes fell upon Hunter. After a loud curse,
he gave the order to mount up. “Meet at Ebenezer,” he yelled as his men began
to scatter.

Blazes, how did they know?
  The image of
a young, skinny kid skirted across his mind as he turned his mare south. Urging
her faster, he damned the Yankees for stealing his chance to provide the ailing
Confederate army with needed supplies, and for robbing his men of their just
reward for service.

* * *

Hunter leaned his shoulder into the door-jam of
the church and studied his men. Some were occupied with writing letters to
sweethearts while others were engaged with playing cards—but all displayed on
their faces disappointment over the failed raid. The result of the disrupted
foray was more serious than just the loss of spoils. The effect on morale could
no longer be tolerated.

Turning over the day’s events in his mind,
Hunter remembered something one of his scouts had reported to Lieutenant Carter.
He walked around the side of the church with deadly purpose, scouring the yard
until he found the face for which he searched.

“Twiggy, gotta minute?” Hunter paused to light
his pipe.

“Why sure, Cap’n. What’s on yer mind?”

“That boy you saw today,” he paused, searching
for the right words. “What’d he look like?”

“Like I told Lieutenant Carter, Cap’n, jus
looked like some farm boy,” he replied in a slow Southern drawl. “Figgered he
was one of yer new recruits.”

“Well, did you notice anything at all unusual about
him?”

“Naw, not really.” Twiggy rubbed his whiskers,
pondering the question.

Hunter let out a sign of relief. “Thanks. That’s
all I wanted to know.” He turned and started to walk away.

“Well, of caws, thar was that haws.”

Hunter froze and felt the hair on the back of
his neck begin to rise. “That horse?” He did not turn around. He did not need
to. He knew what Twiggy was going to say next, and his hands clenched into
tight fists.

“Yea.” The rebel scout spit and wiped his mouth
with the back of a dirty coat sleeve. “Big black thing, it was. Prettiest darn
piece of haws flesh I’ve seen fer quite awhile.”

Hunter let out an oath with the breath he did
not even realize he’d been holding, then stomped away, not uttering another
word until he reached Dixie. “Mount up!”

From all around the churchyard, loafing—and
startled—Rebels leaped from where they rested. Spurs, belts and pistols
clattered as they were hurriedly gathered. Bridles and saddles flew from tree
limbs, bushes, and fence rails, as a few dozen men scrambled to follow the
order without delay.

* * *

After delivering the dispatch, Andrea rode a
short distance before coming to two conclusions: Justus needed a rest, and
Catherine would have to wait a little while longer for her message from J.J.

Pulling her canteen from her saddle, she plopped
down on a sun-warmed rock and mulled over the day’s events. She pushed from her
thoughts the image of the Confederate scout she had encountered, and dwelled
instead on the handsome figure of Colonel Delaney. Then she closed her eyes and
tried to clear her mind of that vision as well. She did not have the time or
the inclination to deliberate upon the officer’s superb martial bearing or how
she felt about it.

Laying her head back on the rock, Andrea
realized how physically exhausted she was. The few hours of sleep the night
before had done little good, especially with the excitement and danger she had
undergone today. The heat of the rock soaked into her like a warm embrace, and
the low sun made her drowsy.
Maybe I’ll just close my eyes a few minutes,
she
thought, gazing at the terrain around her. She was on a small knoll, with a few
trees shielding her from the vision of anyone coming across the fields below.
If she needed cover, she had only to ride up the hill behind her where larger
boulders offered protection.
Who would find me here anyway?

Andrea awoke
later sensi
ng something was amiss. Finding Justus nearby, she began to
tighten his girth when she heard a loud crack that sounded like a horse kicking
a stall door. That peculiar sound was followed almost instantaneously by a
strange
thwack
of something striking a rock near her. She stared
drowsily at the rock and then shifted her gaze to a cloud of dust traveling
like a fast-moving thunderhead down below. She continued to watch for a moment,
too stunned to move. The approaching horsemen rode in distinct columns of four.
It cannot be Hunter
, she thought.
His men ride in a come-as-you-may
order.

Barely awake, she stood contemplating the
possibility that it was indeed Hunter’s men attempting to appear like a Union
scouting party to confuse her. Another bullet whizzed by her head, convincing
her that the possibility was in all probability a certainty.
Stay calm,
she told herself as she scrambled and clawed her way over the rocks. She jumped
on Justus without bothering to tighten the saddle and headed up the hill full
tilt.
War is no game, Andrea
. Those words replayed in her mind again as
the image of J.J. scolding her appeared before her eyes.

Her saddle
began to slip, her heart to pound. Not knowing where she was heading, Andrea
slowed Justus down as the terrain became more difficult. Glancing back over her
shoulder once, she saw the riders had started up the incline and were gaining
on her. She tried to choke back her fear, but the litany of what she had done
and should not have done continued to run through her mind. Had she not
delivered that last dispatch she would be at Catherine’s by now. Had she not
rested . . . Had she kept riding . . . Had she . . . 
“Oh, blast it!”

A bugle blaring in front of her caused Andrea to
lift her head in surprise. About twenty yards up the hill sat Colonel Delaney
wearing a careless smile. Turning in his stirrups, he yelled a command to a
small detachment of men before heading straight down the hill at a reckless
gallop. “Careful, boys. It’s Alex again. And I think he’s mad.”

A few of Delaney’s men dismounted and saluted
the approaching force with a crackle of carbines. Andrea slid from Justus and
slumped to the ground behind a boulder, her legs trembling too much to bear
weight. With her head between her knees, she listened to the fury down below,
knowing beyond a doubt the skirmish would not last long. Hunter would scatter
his men, recognizing it was useless to fight on such ground; and Delaney would
pull back, knowing the obvious danger of pursuing rebels skilled in the art of
ambush. The notes of the Union bugle recalling the cavalry troopers soon
confirmed her belief.

Within minutes she heard the sound of a horse’s
hooves striking the rocks as it approached from below. Too tired to move, she
closed her eyes and prayed it was not one of the enemy.

“Thanks for being our decoy. I owe you one.”

Andrea smiled at the sound of Daniel Delaney’s
voice, but was too weary to set the record straight on who was in debt to whom.

Delaney
crossed his hands over his pommel and gazed down at her. “You look a bit worn.
How about joining us at camp? It’s not far from here.” Dismounting and
extending a gauntleted hand, he helped Andrea to her feet.

“I appreciate the invitation, Colonel, but I’m
already behind schedule. I should get moving.”

“Nonsense.” He cut her off. “You can’t possibly
be thinking about riding out now. It’s too dangerous with Hunter’s men around,
and I would feel responsible.” His voice was persuasive and filled with
brotherly compassion. “Anyway, a hot meal and a good night’s sleep will do you
good.”

Andrea preferred to move on, but her exhausted
body told her she should rest. Coupled with the fact that her ankle throbbed
and she was too tired to come up with a rebuttal, she nodded her head.

“Are you injured?” Delaney’s tone was laced with
concern at her limping gait.

“Only a sprain. I’m all right.”

Without giving her a chance to mount by herself,
Delaney lifted her into the saddle and then climbed onto his own horse.
“Wherever did you get that beast?” he asked, after they had ridden a short
distance.

“I’ve had him since he was a foal.” Andrea did
not bother to say more, did not believe it necessary to tell him she had stolen
him from her father’s stable in South Carolina.

“Does he know how to walk?”

“This
is
his walk,” she replied
nonchalantly. “He has two other gaits. Fast and faster.”

Andrea smiled shyly at Delaney’s look of
surprise, and then they both began to laugh. From that moment on, Andrea felt
at ease with Daniel Delaney, and understood why J.J. cherished him as a friend.

* * *

The camp contained only a small contingent of
men, and when they retired after dinner to a large campfire, Andrea studied the
colonel’s face in the soft light. Dark complexioned and strikingly handsome, he
possessed eyes that appeared audacious and mirthful, not grave and stern like
when she had first hailed him. He had a distinct gentleness about him that made
her feel safe, and a courteousness that conveyed a man with firm upbringing.
And though he appeared strong and commanding in his role as an officer, there
was something reckless and boyish in the way his blue eyes twinkled that was
both fascinating and attractive.