Shades of Gray: A Novel of the Civil War in Virginia (7 page)

Twenty-two men, along with their horses,
disappeared without a sound on the dust-covered road, as if they had never been
there at all.

* * *

Although it was “full dark,” as Boonie would
say, Andrea rode at no slow pace, paying little attention to any danger that
lurked in the shadows. The enemy was no longer foremost on her mind. The
approaching storm, rumbling like a great monster on the other side of the
mountain range, controlled her thoughts. She wanted to beat the tempest before
it succeeded in making it across, but she could feel Justus tiring. Dust from
the road covered them both, and the air, even though heavy with the signs of
rain, still crushed them with oppressive heat.

To Andrea, plunging forward felt like playing a
game with fate. She had no idea what or whom might lurk ahead. But instead of
fear, she felt excitement, a pulsing pressure of blood through her veins
driving her on. It did not bother her that the stakes of the game she played
were life and death. Actually, it did not occur to her. She was too busy
thinking about her destination, dreaming about lying down to sleep, and as she
so often did, promising God she would never push herself to this extreme again.

Her thoughts wandered to J.J., and she cringed
when she thought how angry he would be she had not yet returned. She’d been
delayed for hours by General Lawson, and then ordered to deliver a dispatch to
an officer south of Centreville. Again, she had been delayed.

Everyone seemed to be in a flurry about
something, and no one would bother to tell her why. Another officer had insisted
she carry a message to the outpost in Gainesville, where she was headed now.

Andrea pulled Justus to a halt, trying to figure
out how far she had come. From out of the blackness ahead she heard a sharp
click, like a hoof striking a rock hidden in the dust of the road. She held her
breath and listened, but no other sound disturbed the oppressive silence.
Andrea remained still, straining every nerve, seeking to penetrate the darkness
in front of her. Justus, too, stood perfectly still and tense beneath her, his
ears pointed forward, his muzzle twitching as if trying to interpret some
message through the thick, night air.

The impatient side of Andrea told her it was
“nothing but a noise”— that she should ride on. The optimistic side reinforced
that thought, assuring her it was a Union patrol returning from a scout. But in
a departure from the normal, the usually-suppressed wary side caused her to
react. Dismounting in a flash, she dove toward the side of the road, slipping
and sliding down a large bank with her horse right behind her. At the bottom,
she stood in a thick mire of mud, her feet fast sinking. Within minutes, four
shadows on horseback appeared above her, a mere ten feet away. They emerged so
quickly from out of the darkness that Andrea had to blink to believe they were really
there.

She studied them. They looked to be the extreme
advance of some body of cavalry, but their uniforms were so dust covered that
even if it had been light enough to see, she doubted she could have discerned
the color. They did not speak, but in ghostlike silence, simply moved away. She
now saw the main body, about two dozen men, advancing behind them. They too
moved in a quiet column that seemed almost unearthly in appearance.

Andrea wanted to lift her feet from out of the
bog and climb to higher ground, but instinct told her a rearguard might be
coming. Within the blink of an eye, two horsemen stopped on the road above her,
appearing out of nowhere just like the others had done. One had his hand in the
air signaling a halt, and Andrea’s heart suddenly tumbled into her boots. She
needed to see no uniform now. His athletic form upon the horse was
unmistakable. And the familiar gray beast he rode stood out like a beacon in
the night.

Andrea’s legs took on the characteristics of a
toddler, wobbling and on the verge of collapse. Hunter turned to look at the
dark road behind them, his saddle creaking loudly against the stillness of the
night. It seemed as if he had heard something, or perhaps just instinctively
sensed danger was near. Turning back, he sat in silence for another moment, his
head raised at a slight angle, appearing to sniff the air for signs of the
enemy. She had often witnessed him take such precautions. Even when not in the
heat of battle, he was ever mindful of the need to protect his men. It was not
unusual to see him riding ahead of the battalion in daylight hours, exposing
himself to any ambush. Likewise, he often served as rearguard at night when
there was reasonable expectation for pursuit.

Suddenly his horse put her head down, snorted,
and pawed the ground.

“Looks like Dixie smells a Yankee,” the man with
the cigar said, a hint of scorn in his tone.

“Yea, so do I.” Hunter turned again in his
saddle. “We should be heading south soon, then on to Gainesville.” His voice
was so low Andrea could barely hear him over the pounding of her heart.

“Yup,” the man beside him answered, not even
bothering to take the cigar from his mouth. “Got Yanks behind us and Yanks in
front of us. Just the way you like it, Cap’n.”

“I don’t much like taking this main road.”
Hunter stood in his stirrups to stretch his legs. “I guess Dodge knows what
he’s doing.”

“Been dodging Yanks for quite a while now.” The
other man laughed softly, scratching his ribs as he spoke. “We’ll no doubt be striking
the rails soon—get off the road.”

The captain nodded. “And ride right over
whatever gets in our path.”

The men urged their horses forward and Andrea
strained to hear. “You hear back from—”

Andrea held her breath, trying to hear the words
that evaporated before they reached her. The last thing she made out was,
“Thoroughfare Gap.” Then their voices and their images faded completely away.

Andrea held onto Justus for support another
moment to catch her breath. She must hurry to get to Gainesville. They were
taking the tracks. She would take the road.

In the past few minutes, the air had grown even
heavier with the signs of a coming storm. But Andrea no longer thought about
the one that brings rain.

* * *

Hunter and his men moved forward with some
caution, yet they were unaware of any imminent danger. Hunter knew from
captured dispatches that some outposts had been alerted of his presence, but he
planned to accomplish his objective and be gone before they had time to
organize any major assault. In the meantime, he would not pass by any
opportunity favorable for harassing and distressing the enemy.

“Might be getting a bit dangerous to git all the
way over to Gainesville,” Carter said.

“We cannot turn back now. They have some horses
well suited for us.”

Hunter relied on the Yankees to supply his men
with quality horseflesh, and with good reason. Each man needed at least two
mounts, and most had three due to the lively chases that often commenced on
their excursions. He deemed no effort too large relative to the collection and
welfare of horses. His men could fight on empty stomachs; in fact, he had come
to learn they fought better that way. But horses must be acquired, fed, and
rested at any cost and at any sacrifice.

The report of gunfire suddenly shot through the
midnight air.

“Looks like we’re outgunned, outmanned and
outnumbered, Captain,” one of his point riders reported as he came galloping
back. “Appears to be an entire regiment of cavalry.”

“Then it appears this is our lucky night,”
Hunter said with his characteristic coolness. “Let’s teach the Yanks a lesson
in loyalty they shall never forget.” He paused and looked into the eyes of the
men gathered around him. He knew he could count on these unflinching veterans.
They had been in tight spots before, and each knew how to react accordingly. 

“If each man here fights like ten,” Hunter said,
“I am confident our odds will be almost even. Are you with me, men?” He did not
wait for an answer before issuing the necessary orders as calmly as if
discussing the weather, and then offered one last piece of advice.

“Men, they do not know how many we are.” He kept
his voice low but distinct. “Make them think we are many.”

Despite not knowing what lay before them,
Hunter’s men followed him through the darkness. In a maneuver that was certainly
more bold than wise, they rushed toward the sound of gunfire, a small band of
men making enough noise for a hundred.

But it did not take long for Hunter to discover
that what lay before him was more than a regiment of cavalry. Expecting Stuart
and fearing Hunter, the Federal outposts had been strengthened to prepare for
the worst. Hunter faced a unit of cavalry positioned only as bait. A regiment
of infantry sat waiting to ambush them from the secure walls of an old
warehouse not a hundred rods distant.

As fate would have it, the Yankees opened fire
at a point when only the sound of the fearsome rebel yell was in range,
providing Hunter with ample warning of the danger.

Ultimately, seeing the unevenness of the numbers
and the unfairness in their positions, Hunter found a way to extricate his men
from their perilous situation. With characteristic courage and coolness, he
yelled four words in a loud, booming voice. “Bring up the artillery!”

Yankees poured out of the building like so many
ants spilling from an agitated anthill, while God Almighty seemed to
simultaneously heed his call. For at that moment, the brewing storm hit like a
hurricane, shaking the ground with claps of thunder and lashing the sky with
brilliant bursts of lightning. To the Yankees, the very heavens appeared to be
in league with Hunter. The artillery hurled from the sky that night was
evidence to them of yet another weapon in the Confederate wizard’s arsenal.

* * *

Lieutenant Carter watched Hunter pace sullenly
while he and the rest of the men waited out the storm in a thicket of cedars.
He knew they were not done yet. With one plan thwarted, Hunter would feel
obligated to try another. And indeed, it wasn’t long until Hunter ordered
Carter to take charge of the group and meet up with a regiment already in place
at Thoroughfare Gap.

“Keep an eye out, Carter,” Hunter said before he
galloped away. “I can feel it in my bones. There’s a battle near and soon.”

Carter put his head down against the wind-driven
rain and reflected on his commander. Had he met Hunter anywhere but on the
battlefield, he would have thought him a gentleman of quality and breeding. He
had a noble air about him, a manner and tone of voice that instantly riveted
attention. Whether giving orders on the field of battle or merely conversing
with his men, there was something in his voice that was irrefutably
authoritative, a quality that instantly riveted attention. He appeared to exert
a mysterious and almost uncontrollable influence over all he met.

Yet, in battle Hunter had no equal. The
admiration he inspired in his comrades and the fear he aroused in his foes
caused him to be adored or despised in legendary proportions. The gallant
Hunter or the devil Hunter—it was all a matter of geography. But in Virginia,
where he was considered the epitome of Southern honor and chivalry, it was just
plain “Hunter,” a name itself equated to divine royalty.

The veneration bestowed upon him was well
deserved. Carter knew no heart burned more brightly with the fire of patriotism
nor with more intrepid resolve than Hunter’s. It was obvious in the way he
fought, aggressively, fearlessly, exposing himself to the enemy’s fire, never
regarding his own personal peril. He led by example, his invincible form
forever seen where the carnage was greatest, ever ready to risk his own life on
behalf of the sacred soil he cherished.

Even without a military background, Carter
mused, Hunter had quickly taught the Yankee high-ups an important lesson. A
captured dispatch said it best: “… trying to use a large, well-armed force to
catch a small band of horsemen on their native soil is a bit like trying to
catch a field mouse with a bear trap.”

He’s taught me a lesson, too, Carter thought
pensively. There’s not a man alive who knows more about what to do and where, nor
when and how to do it, than Alexander Hunter.

Carter’s mind flicked back to the present when
one of the men rode up beside him.

“Cap’n Hunter’s hanging back in case of pursuit,
I reckon,” Gus Dorsey commented.

Carter nodded and smiled. “Knowing the Captain,
he’s back there trying to encourage one.”

Chapter
7

“The veil of night is no disguise,

No screen from thy all-searching eyes;

Thy hand can seize thy foes as soon

Through midnight shades as blazing noon.”

– Psalms 139:5

Andrea rode forward, so bone weary and wet she
could barely keep her eyes open. The storm had come fast, at first just a hot
breath of wind stirring the leaves, then a rush of hot air, followed by
torrential rain and lightning. The wind on the mountain path had rivaled the
thunder with its roaring for a time, but all had quieted now. Only an
occasional tree limb broke the silence, writhing and groaning against another
as if in excruciating pain. The cold rain from the storm had passed too,
replaced by a slight drizzle and thick mist that seemed to rise up from the
ground to swallow everything in its path.

Andrea tried desperately to make headway, hoping
the fact that she had gone beyond the call of duty would somehow appease J.J.’s
wrath when she returned late. This shortcut through Thoroughfare Gap, according
to her crude map, would help her make better time. She knew Hunter had been
heading in this direction, but assumed she was ahead of him. Surely he had been
delayed, if not entirely cut off by the Union troops. As for the other Confederates
that Hunter had alluded to, the storm and Justus’ dark color would make them
easy to evade.