Dark Chaos (# 4 in the Bregdan Chronicles Historical Fiction Romance Series) (76 page)

             
Matthew gazed up at the sun.  “We’ll make it.”  He hoped he was telling the truth.

CHAPTER
THIRTY-TWO

Moses had just strapped his pistol to his waist and stuffed his haversack with biscuits when Pompey sauntered over.

“You goin’ somewhere?” Pompey eyed his preparations.

Moses nodded, his stomach churning.  Impatiently he reached for his coat and tried to shove down his nervousness.

“You don’t act none too excited about it.”

Moses knew Pompey was giving him the invitation to talk without attempting to pry.  He turned and sank down on
to a log.  Pompey followed suit.  They had been back with Meade’s army for about a month and a half now.  “I’ve been called out to join a special mission.”  He still wondered what it was about it that bothered him so much.  Pompey waited quietly.  “I’m to ride with Colonel Dahlgren.”

Pompey frowned in concentration.  “That the fellow who los
e his leg at Gettysburg?”

“That’s him.  He recovered, strapped a new right leg on, and is back in the saddle.”  In spite of his uneasiness, Moses respected Dahlgren’s courage and determination.  But something about the twenty-one year old colonel’s brash attitude bothered him.  When Captain Jones had called him into the tent
to me meet the colonel, Dahlgren had scanned him quickly, then shrugged.  “He’ll do if I need a backup,” he had said brusquely.  Moses had felt like a piece of meat being examined for sale.

Mose
s took a deep breath and crammed his hat on his head to shelter it from the rain that had been falling all day.  A few degrees colder and the ground would be blanketed in snow.  Moses would have preferred that to the bone-chilling wind enveloping him.  “We’re headed to Richmond,” he said finally. 

“Richmond?”  Pompey echoed
in surprise.

“General Kilpatrick and Colonel Dahlgren have cooked up a scheme to tr
y to release the Union prisoners held there.  Lincoln was in on it from the beginning.  While we’re down there, he wants us to distribute flyers talking about the amnesty he’s offering Confederate soldiers.”  He paused.  “Seems they need some of Meade’s infantry to stage a little skirmish and gain Lee’s attention while several thousand of us cross over and head for the capital.”

“Just several thousand?” Pompey asked skeptically.  “To take the whole city?”

“Supposedly they have received reports about the meager defenses surrounding the city from one of the spies there.  They believe them to be quite reliable.”  He managed a smile.  “It will be a stunning coup if it works.  Can you imagine five thousand prisoners free in Richmond?  It could be the final stroke to make the city fall.”

“Why you going’?” Pompey peered at him.  “Especially without none of your men?”

Moses shrugged.  “I’m going as a scout for Colonel Dahlgren.  That is if he needs me.  He’s already got a fellow, an ex-slave, who says he knows the area well and can lead him to a shallow ford on the James River.  Surprise and speed are essential to the success of the mission.”

“You know that area well?”

Moses paused.  “Not really.  I grew up in Goochland County, but my owner didn’t let us off the plantation very much.  Captain Jones volunteered my services because he knew I came from there.”

“But you
ain’t feelin’ none too good about it.”

Moses started to deny it but k
new Pompey would know he was lying.  “I’m not sure what’s bothering me,” he admitted.  There’s just something in my gut…”

“The
gut don’t usually lie, Moses,” Pompey warned.  “You pay real close attention to it while you be out there.”

              It was late on Sunday night when two lines of Union cavalrymen galloped by the Spotsylvania Courthouse in Fredericksburg.  So far, everything had gone off without a hitch.  General Custer had crossed the Rapidan River in a successful feint to draw Confederate cavalry after him.  Yankee scouts had surprised and captured Southern pickets at Ely’s Ford, east of General Lee, cutting telegraph lines to ruin communications with Richmond.  Kilpatrick and Dahlgren had crossed the Rapidan River behind them and were now riding toward Richmond, and had been unmolested because they were completely unknown.

             
Moses pulled his collar up against the raw cold.  He was impressed with how things had gone so far.  He still felt uneasy, but he was comforted by the smoothness of the operation.

             
When Dahlgren gave the order, a column of five hundred troopers split off from the original four thousand.  The plan was for Kilpatrick to take his stronger force and attack Richmond from the north while Dahlgren crossed the James River and swung downstream on the south side to free the prisoners at Belle Island.  Kilpatrick would dash straight in to free those at Libby and at the other prisons.  Dahlgren’s men would cross over and join Kilpatrick who would be stronger by several thousand more men.  They would then torch the city and capture Confederate leaders.

             
“We’ll have some kind of party down there,” one grizzled trooper called jubilantly.

             
“They ain’t gonna know what hit them,” another crowed.

             
The dark night swallowed them and concealed their presence as they galloped down the road toward Goochland and Louisa County. 

             
Moses was quiet with his own thoughts.  He was the only black face in a sea of white.  He had grown accustomed to it over the last few years, but he didn’t know any of these men - didn’t know how they viewed his presence.  The ex-slave Dahlgren had hired was riding at the front of the line where he could best direct them.  Moses would feel safe only if he stayed on his guard.

             
They were just approaching the river, north of Louisa County, when the sun lent a little color to the dark, rainy day.  They stopped for a quick bite to eat and then sprang back into their saddles.  “We’re making good time, men!” Dahlgren called out.  “No reason we can’t do a little damage on the way down.”

             
The men whooped and hollered.  There had been absolutely no resistance.  The Rebels had no idea they were about to be fallen upon.  By mid-morning the smoke from burning grist and sawmills dotted the sky behind them, melting invisibly into the thick cloud covering.  Six canal boats loaded with grain had been torched then sunk.

             
Moses could feel the excitement rising to a fever-pitch as they neared where they would cross over, well into Goochland, but still far enough west of Richmond to escape detection.  The men were quiet now, the thud of horse hooves the only indicator of impending doom for the unsuspecting city.

             
Suddenly the entire column ground to a halt.  The rain had stopped falling, but the gray day still hung around them like a cloying cloak.  The men shifted impatiently, eager to be on their way now that they were so close.  Every second they were delayed could mean disaster.

             
“What are they doing up there?” one man muttered.

             
“It shouldn’t be taking this long,” another agreed.

             
A trooper dashed down the road beside the stalled column.  “Where is Moses Samuels?” he hollered.

             
Several men twisted in their saddles to stare at him as Moses urged his horse forward out of line. “Right here, sir,” he called.

             
“Colonel Dahlgren wants you up front,” the trooper snapped.  “Follow me.”

             
Moses galloped after him.  What had happened that would demand his services?  It took several minutes to pass the long, stalled column.  When he reached the banks of the river, he sucked in his breath.  The usually calm James River bulged at its banks, straining to find a way to release the water rushing in a foaming cascade.  He glanced away and was suddenly riveted by another drama.

             
Colonel Dahlgren stood beside his horse, but he was staring down at the water with undisguised fury.  Standing a few yards away from him was the ex-slave trembling in obvious terror. Moses had seen him from a distance earlier that morning.  The man’s breath was coming in quick gasps, and his eyes were bulging. 

             
The colonel swung around.  “Trooper Samuels?” he snapped.

             
“Yes, sir.”  Moses urged his horse forward and then swung easily to the ground when he reached the colonel.

             
“You’re from around here, aren’t you?” Dahlgren barked.  “What do you think of this river crossing?”

             
Moses hesitated, then spoke honestly. “I wouldn’t recommend using it, sir.”

             
“Why not? I was informed this crossing would be shallow enough for my men.”

             
“I’m sure it usually is, but the rain the last few days has made it impassable, I’m afraid.”  Moses tried to control the pounding of his heart.  Why had Dahlgren really called him up here?  It was obvious to anyone with any intelligence that the river was impassable.  Dahlgren didn’t need him to point out the obvious.

             
Dahlgren, his eyes blazing with anger, spun on his good leg toward the cowering guide.  “You tricked me!” he yelled.  “You set me up!”

             
“No, sir!”  The terrified man fluttered his hands wildly.  “I ain’t done no tricking.”  He sucked in his breath.  “How I supposed to be knowin’ the river be up like this?”

             
Dahlgren spun toward Moses, his eyes flashing.  “Where can I cross the river?” he demanded.

             
Moses knew he was risking the colonel’s fury as well, but he met his eyes squarely.  “I’m not aware of another place, sir.”

             
Dahlgren’s anger spewed over.  His face turned red, and the veins bulged in his neck as he swung toward the wild-eyed guide.  “You may think I’m beat, but I’m not,” he screamed.  “I’ll find another way into Richmond.”  He scowled, reached out to strike the guide, but then seemed to change his mind.

             
Moses watched in fascinated horror.  The colonel was obviously out of control.

             
Dahlgren wheeled away, stared at the river for another long moment, then spun toward several of his men.  “Hang him,” he ordered.

             
Moses gasped.  Suddenly he noticed dozens of black men gathered on the side of the clearing.  He had heard that slaves, learning of their mission, had left their plantations to join in on the excitement.  They stared at the drama now, disbelief on their frightened faces.

             
“Please!” the guide pleaded in a strained voice.  “I ain’t done nothing’.  I ain’t done nothin’ wrong!”

             
Moses felt sick at the fear he heard in the condemned man’s voice.

             
Dahlgren waved impatiently at the group of men he had spoken to.  “I said hang him!” he ordered again.  “And be quick about it.  We’ve got to get out of here.”

             
His men stared at him for a moment then one sprang forward with a rope.

             
Moses stared in disbelief at the scene unfolding in front of him.  He opened his mouth to protest but then closed it.  He had witnessed a scene like this before.  He recognized the look of demented fury that wouldn’t listen to reason.  He had seen it on the face of the man who had hanged his father.  At nine years old, he had watched his father be lynched by a man he’d dared to cross.  Moses battled the sickness rolling in his stomach.

             
A sudden cry at the edge of the clearing grabbed his attention.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw several of the slaves watching edge toward the tree where the rope was being hung.  Quickly he glanced toward the troopers arraigned in the open clearing and staring at the drama taking place before them.  Moses made up his mind.