The stench of Dachau’s ovens suddenly in his nostrils, Vick swung the M-l to his right and fired all eight cartridges in its magazine in a chattering burst. The barrel of Devereaux’s carbine jerked up sharply as it discharged into the air and Devereaux crumpled forward into the bush.
Apparently unaware he had been targeted—there was a lot of shooting in the area—Grant and his orderly proceeded across the bridge and vanished behind the trees.
“Dammit all to hell, suh, you shot the sahgent!” Jem yelled, so appalled that his natural drawl was exaggerated.
Vick stood up behind his log and took a step backward. The expression on his face was dazed.
“Ah thought you tol’ me you could shoot that there musket!” Jem snapped, feeling his face turn red.
“Sorry,” Vick mumbled. “I guess I made a mistake about things. The South’s loss of the Civil War won’t destroy it as a civilized society. It’ll save it.”
Abruptly he tossed away the M-l. It splashed heavily into the turbid waters of Hickman’s Creek and sank.
“I’ve got to get back to my machine!” Vick said distraughtly, and ran off into the woods.
Jem took a step in the direction Vick had taken, his carbine in his hands.
“You goin’ after him, Mistuh Jem?” Rich asked.
“No,” said Jem reluctantly. “I doubt we could find him and we need to get over there and see how badly hurt Devereaux is.”
Together they made their way toward Telegraph Road. Jem didn’t have much hope, and rightfully so. Devereaux was dead, hit several times. As Vick had said, he didn’t often miss.
“Rich, I guess there ain’t nothin’ to do now but find a way of gettin’ to Donelson,” Jem said. “I reckon there’ll be fightin’ there soon enough.”
“Mistuh Jem,” said Rich as they headed back for their horses, “you don’ think that’s really no gen’l they was shootin’ at, do you? Hit don’ make no sense, suh, a gen’l ridin’ th’ough hos-tile country with jes’ one man to side him.”
“I couldn’t see from here whether he was a general or not, Rich,” Jem said. “Seems like Vick had his facts right on everything else, though. But Lordy! It’s plain to me now that Vick fellow was a No’thun agent, takin’ us all in. Maybe straight out of Washington. The Yankees musta been plannin’ this drive and Vick’s an advance man sent here to watch out for Grant’s safety—though how he or they could know Grant’d decide to ride up Telegraph Road today’s somethin’ I still can’t figure out. But the son-of-a-bitch killed Devereaux, one of the finest men I ever served with.”
They moved eastward together through the trees.
“Too bad we couldn’ta turkey-shot us that Yankee general,” Jem said, “but anybody with gumption can see no one general makes that much difference in a war. Way I look at it, Vick was talkin’ through his hat and Fort Donelson’ll hold and send them Yankees scootin’ back into Kentucky. Tarnation, Rich, the South’s fightin’ for a cause—and as far as generals go, and fightin’ spirit all ’round, why the Confederacy’s bound to win this war!”