The Last Confederate (41 page)

Anger flashed in their eyes, and as they turned away, Thad swallowed hard, then said, “Sir, I think I know a way we might get Major Lee off that beach.”

Both men swung back instantly. “How?” Captain Wickham asked.

“Well, when I was with the patrol under Tom Winslow that scouted the riverbanks, I saw something I think might work.”

“Speak up, Corporal!” Beauchamp snapped. “What was it?”

“There’s a log cabin half built, sir, right beside the bank.” He took a deep breath and plunged ahead, feeling foolish trying to tell these officers anything. “And I was thinking, if we could float one of the logs, a couple of us could keep behind it. We could move the log downstream and bring it
up to where Major Lee is pinned down on the bank. Then we could jump out, bring him to the log—and, then we could keep down and let the current take us around the bend down there.”

The two officers looked at Thad with disbelief. “That’s the craziest thing I ever heard, Corporal!” Beauchamp exploded. “Why, every marksman over there will be shooting at that log!”

“They can’t shoot
through
a log, though, can they, Lieutenant?”

“But—you’d never get Lee from behind that horse into the water,” the Captain protested. “They’d pick you off in a second!”

Thad dropped his head for a moment, and when he raised up, his eyes glowed with pride. “We can try, sir!”

His answer silenced both men, and Captain Wickham burst out, “By heavens, it’s the only chance we’ve got! What do you say, Lieutenant?”

Beauchamp stared at Thad, then said slowly, “If I were the one down there, I’d like to think somebody here was doing something to get me out!”

“We’ll try it,” Captain Wickham decided. “Thad, get anybody you need to go with you. When we see the log touch the shore and you make a run for Major Lee, we’ll have every rifle we can find loaded. We’ll blast those Yankees with all we’ve got!”

Thad nodded, whirled, and ran down the line, calling out but keeping his voice low, “I’m going to get Major Lee back from the Yankees—anybody want to go with me?”

Several men laughed, but Dooley was at his side instantly. “Let’s git on with our rat-killin’, Thad. How you plan to work this here miracle?”

Studs Mellon appeared at Thad’s left, said nothing, but nodded.

“Can you both swim?”

“Swim? Shore!” Dooley snapped, and Mellon nodded again.

“You won’t need your rifles,” Thad told them, placing his own on the ground. “Let’s go!”

He led the two toward the rear at a run, and then swung right, plunging into the thickets that sheltered the creek. He made no attempt to explain his plan until he arrived at the cabin. There he paused and while the two listened, he told them what they were going to do.

Dooley just grinned. “Well, I wish to my never! It’d take a scudder like you to think of a thing like that!”

“It’ll probably get us all killed,” Thad said slowly.

“Naw, it’s just nutty enough to work!” Dooley retorted. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Mellon had been studying the logs carefully. Now he said, “They’ve left a bunch of ropes here, Thad. I think we ought to tie two logs together. If we have just one, it’ll roll over and over and we’ll never hang on to it. But two will ride better.”

“Hey, that’s good, Studs!” Thad exclaimed. “Let’s do it!”

They chose two logs fourteen inches in diameter, pulled them near the water, then secured them together at several spots, using the ropes Mellon had noticed. “Ought to do ’er!” Dooley said with satisfaction.

“Gonna be hard to hang on to this thing,” Studs said thoughtfully. “Why don’t we tie some more rope to the ones that are on and pull ’em to the end so we can hold on without exposing our hands.”

“Well, Studs, you do beat all!” Dooley exclaimed. “They’d have shot our hands off if we’d tried to hold on any other way.”

Thad said, “Sure am glad you came along, Studs.” He gave Mellon a look of appreciation that seemed to embarrass him.

“Another thing,” Mellon suggested. “You two midgets stay with the logs when we get there. Ain’t neither one of you could lug the major. You just don’t let that log raft run
off whilst I’m a’fetchin’ him. Sure would feel foolish if I got back with him and the raft was already gone.”

Thad and Dooley exchanged glances. “But, Studs,” Thad said, “that’s the hardest part. I figured to do that part myself.”

“Well, just readjust yore thinkin’,” Mellon grinned. Then he sobered. “I—I wouldn’t have done this yesterday, Thad, but I feel different today. You know what I mean?”

“I know, Studs,” Thad replied. He turned to Dooley and explained, “Studs got saved last night.”

Dooley’s eyes fixed on Mellon, but he said only, “We better git at it, then. The company’s gonna pull out pretty soon.”

They moved into the water, leaving their shoes behind and pushing the makeshift raft ahead of them. The water was cool, and Studs said, “You remember what I told you my ma always wanted me to do, Thad?”

“Be baptized? But—there’s no chaplain to do it, Studs.”

“Couldn’t you? I mean, we’re already in the water—and it don’t take long, do it now?”

Thad was speechless. He had been at only one baptism, and could not remember clearly what the words were, but the pleading look in Mellon’s eyes persuaded him. He moved through the water and said, “I baptize you, Studs, in the name of Jesus Christ—and of the Holy Ghost, and of the Father, too.” Then he pushed Studs’ head under.

Studs came up, shook his face clear of water, and there was a smile on his battered lips. “Ma shore would be proud of me, wouldn’t she, Thad?”

“Sure, she would, Studs!”

Then they took hold of the ropes, Thad wondering all the time how long he had to live. He was not afraid to die, but he hated the thought of failure.
God, let us get that man out of there,
he prayed as the current took them.

“Don’t let this thing get too far in the middle,” Dooley warned. “Mebby the Yanks will think it’s jest a loose log.”

But as soon as they floated within range of the Union line, they all heard a cry, and several slugs thunked into the logs,
while others sent up small geysers of water around them. “Keep her steady,” Thad said. He had taken the front position and looked back to see the heads of Dooley and Mellon bobbing steadily beside the logs away from the Union side. Then he turned and instructed, “When I call out, try to pull this thing into shore. We can’t let it swing out, or they’ll have a clear shot at us.”

The firing from the Confederate line had ceased, and Thad knew they were saving up for a volley. He saw the dead horse lying on the bank not more than fifty feet downstream from them, and despaired to see that it was closer to twenty yards from the creek than ten. “Major Lee!” he called out in a low voice. “Major Lee, can you hear me?”

“Yes!”

Thad felt better then, and called again, “Get ready to leave. We’re coming down behind some floating logs.”

“I can’t walk” was the calm answer. “Don’t risk yourselves for me.”

“You just be ready, sir,” Studs Mellon said. “I’ll have to handle you rough, but it’s better than you’d get in a Yankee prison.”

“Do what you have to, soldier,” Lee answered.

They were only fifteen feet away when Thad said, “Now!” and they all three kicked frantically.
It’s not going to work!
Thad thought, for the logs did not seem to budge—then they moved toward the shore, and he managed to position the front of the raft about five feet ahead of where the dead horse lay on the bank. “Ready, Major?”

“Ready!”

Mellon slowly moved forward to the bank, gathered his legs under him, then in one terrific burst cleared the creek and in short bounds covered the distance to the horse. A startled cry went up from the Yankees, and a single shot slapped into the dead horse. Mellon snatched the officer up in his huge arms and plunged toward the logs, his face contorted with the strain. As he cleared the horse, a fusillade of shots from
the Confederates broke out, and dirt flew all along the Yankee line. Most of the enemy ducked—but not all—as the balls shredded the thickets that covered them.

Mellon reached the bank, but just as he did, a shot hit him in the chest, stopping him as though he had run into a wall. “Studs—!” Thad shouted, but could do nothing. Mellon moved forward and managed to let Major Lee fall in behind the raft—and then two more shots struck him in the body. He fell backward but Thad reached out and grabbed his clothing, pulling him into the water

“Hang on to that rope, Major!” Thad cried. “Dooley—shove off!”

Both of them shoved with their legs, and now every man in the Yankee line knew what had been done, and the shots fell thick as raindrops. The current moved very slowly, and Thad felt the logs jump as hundreds of slugs tore into them—but the raft begin to move along the stream.

“We’re gonna make it!” Dooley screamed. “Major—can you hang on to that rope for a few minutes?”

“Yes—I’m all right. It’s just my leg that’s hurt.”

There was nothing to do but drift and endure the hail of lead that the angered Yankees poured into the craft. Thad had his right wrist secured with the rope, and with the other hand he pulled Mellon close, keeping his head above the water. He felt the shattered body give a lurch. Then Mellon opened his eyes, and for one moment, he saw Thad.

“I done—good! Didn’t I?”

“You did fine, Studs!” Thad replied. “Hang on, now. We’ll be out of this soon.”

“Shore am—glad—you helped me—find—Jesus!” he gasped, and with his last breath, “Jesus!” his body slumped and he was gone.

Major Lee had been watching and now said, “A brave man. God have mercy on him.”

“He will, sir!” Thad whispered, and he felt the hot tears
scald his face as the raft drifted on. He raised his eyes to the bank and instantly cried, “Oh, no!”

“What is it, soldier?” Lee asked. Thad pointed.

Lee followed Thad’s direction and saw Captain Vance Wickham come charging across the open ground, followed by a small band of men. “Go back, Captain!” the major shouted. He turned his head and saw that a party of Yankees had taken advantage of the Confederates attention on the raft. About a dozen Yankees had crossed the bridge and were running down the bank, one of them a lieutenant, opening fire with his pistol.

The helpless men in the water watched as the Yankees charged, and then Wickham and his men met them head on. Neither side could fire from the banks because the two parties were engaged in a wild melee. Thad saw Captain Wickham knock down the lieutenant with one shot, then, as calmly as if he were shooting at a target, two more on the ground. That broke the core of the Yankees’ strength, and Wickham shouted, “Throw down your arms or we’ll kill you all!”

The blue-clad soldiers obeyed promptly, which enabled Wickham to take the Yankees up the hill, using them as a shield. They were almost to the crest, and Major Lee exclaimed, “He did it! By the living God—he did it!”

But even as he spoke, a single shot rang out, and Wickham fell to the ground. He was instantly pulled to cover and the Yankees opened fire on the raft.

Thad hung on to Mellon’s body until the raft drifted around the bend in the stream. Soon they were hidden, and were quickly pulled out of the water by waiting hands. Beauchamp was there with two stretcher bearers, but he paused long enough to look at Thad and ask, “You all right, Thad?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You were magnificent!” Beauchamp’s admiration stirred in his eyes. “But we’ve got to get out of here.”

He turned and Thad struggled to pull Mellon’s body
ashore. Dooley came to help, but said, “Thad—we’ll have to leave him.”

“I know.” Thad straightened up and paused long enough to give the burly shoulder a final pat. “I’ll see you, Studs,” he whispered quietly and then moved off with Dooley.

They followed Beauchamp as he made his way to the rear and found that Vance Wickham had been brought in and lay on a stretcher.

As Thad stopped a few paces away, Major Lee said, “Let me say a word to Captain Wickham, Lieutenant.”

Lee went over to the stretcher and Wickham opened his eyes. “Captain,” Lee said quietly, “I owe my life to you and your fine men.”

Wickham’s face was pale and the shot had already done its deadly work. He whispered, “Thank you, sir! They are brave soldiers.”

“You led them well, sir,” Lee replied.

Wickham nodded and a smile touched his lips. Then he saw Thad and called his name.

Thad came forward and at a nod from Major Lee, the corporal knelt and put his head near Wickham’s mouth.

“Tell Belle—I loved her to the last!”

“I’ll tell her, Captain!”

“She was—the best thing—ever happened—to me!” Then he took a deep breath and sighed.

“He’s gone,” Thad said.

“A very brave man,” Lee replied sadly. Turning to Beauchamp, he ordered, “Have Captain Wickham carried on the retreat, Lieutenant.”

Thad and Dooley found some shoes, picked up their muskets and joined in the retreat. It was a covert movement, according to order, not full scale. They left in small groups, the others keeping up a sharp fire to convince the Yankees they were digging in for a long defense.

Dooley and Thad were among the last to pull back, and by that time the Yankees had almost stopped firing. Thad
stopped at the crest of a small rise to throw one last look at the spot where he had last seen Mellon—and a shot rang out!

He felt a searing pain in his right flank, and as he fell to the earth, the last thing he heard was Dooley crying, “Thad! Thad!” And then he sank into a black pit that had no bottom and no sides.

He was the last casualty of their company at Sharpsburg—the bloodiest day of American history. From sunrise to sunset, almost 24,000 men fell on the field. The North counted it a victory, for Lee had been stopped. But once again, the Army of Northern Virginia had escaped—not intact, but capable of being restored.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

THE LIEUTENANT

He tried to move his legs, but they were like lead. Pain began to trickle through him like water, and as he struggled to turn on his side, the pain intensified until it shot waves of agony through his middle. He felt nauseous and grasped the covers with his hands. A voice came out of the uncertain gray fog that enveloped him: “Thad! Be still; you mustn’t move!” Cool fingers touched his steaming brow, and again he fell into a sub-world the living and healthy never see.