In World War I it wouldn’t make much difference, whether the Confederacy allied itself with its Northern neighbor or seif-righteously refused to get involved. The support of the Allies by the northern United States would be enough to do in exhausted Germany.
But World War II? The two world wars, starting with the traditional confrontation of men and strategy, would turn increasingly on technological competition. What might be the ultimate effect on 20th century political geography of the South’s absence from American participation in the technological footrace?
Vick turned his thoughts aside from such considerations to the pleasant prospect of returning to his own time in a changed world in which the agrarian South was an independent nation. The time machine was concealed in a haystack some distance south of Five Oaks, and when he had disposed of Grant and made sure Buckner would defend Fort Donelson he would return to it and vanish from this time. He would pretend to Edgington that he had gone back only a few years—maybe he ought to shoot a deer to take back with him as a trophy.
As darkness fell the moderate weather they had enjoyed since meeting at Five Oaks changed abruptly. A wintry north wind arose among the denuded branches of the trees and cold rain began falling. The three of them huddled in the big tent but the wind blew the rain in through the flaps and they were soaked by the time the rain shifted into sleet and snow. Uncle Jobe’s prophetic joints were vindicated.
They slept miserably in damp blankets in the grip of a full-fledged blizzard. Their only consolation was that a watch was patently unnecessary, since no one in his right mind would scout through this flooded terrain, either on horseback or afoot, in such weather.
“Since you’re after General Grant and you say he won’t be ridin’ up this way till tomorrow mornin’, it’s stretchin’ it some to camp out in this muddy wilderness for two days,” grumbled Jem as they ate breakfast. “We could just as well have got here late this afternoon and set up your ambush in plenty of time.”
“Maybe you could, without me,” corrected Vick. “I guess your experience with Forrest’s cavalry makes you confident of slipping through enemy lines. But I never had to do that—we moved in trucks and jeeps. You saying I was wrong in wanting to come up here a couple of days early, before the Federal troops got here?”
“No, I reckon not,” admitted Jem, wondering briefly what Vick meant by “trucks” and “jeeps.” “But if I’d known the whole picture I’d’ve said wait. They probably have supplies and reinforcements moving on those roads between here and Fort Henry but it’s not a solid line of troops, just detachments now and then. We couldn’ta come along the roads the way we did but that wouldn’ta been much loss. We could’ve gone through the woods on the other side of Telegraph Road and I could’ve sneaked us across the roads clean. But it’s too late now so we’ll play it on out.”
“This isn’t too bad, now that it’s daylight and the snow’s let up. At least we can keep a fire going now and get warm and partly dry. Can’t we?”
They lay around uncomfortably all day. Some time after noon the shelling from the direction of the fort was resumed and Vick said the Carondelet had been joined by the ironclads St. Louis, Louisville and Pittsburgh under the command of Commodore Foote, who would be wounded before the gunboats retired down the river in disorder. There was no accompanying small arms fire in the background this day.
The major thrust of last night’s storm was over but the day ended cold and gloomy. Toward evening they were crouching around the fire when a figure appeared silently from the woods. Jem and Rich were on their feet at once, guns ready, but Jem let out his breath in relief at sight of the butternut uniform.
“Sergeant!” exclaimed Jem. “What brings you here?”
“By yo’ leave, suh… you, suh,” replied the newcomer. “Or yo’ slave. Slaves do talk among theyse’ves, you know, an’ Miz Crisp’s slaves knowed you-all was cornin’ up here. I reckoned with all this high water you’d most likely come to this here rise where we useta camp out when we was huntin’ together and I reckoned I ought to make sho’ you was all right, you bein’ wounded and all.”
Jem turned a severe eye on Rich. Rich ducked his head and looked away. He knew he shouldn’t have been gossiping about their mission.
Jem turned to Vick.
“Mr. Vick, this is Sergeant Dever-eaux,” he said. “Sergeant French Devereaux of Forrest’s cavalry, my unit. Sergeant, how’d you get away from the outfit with Yankees all over the place? Aren’t you supposed to be on duty?”
“I’m still on furlough, suh, till nex’ week. They may’ve sent word from the fort callin’ me back but I ain’t been at the house for the last coupla days. I reckon takin’ care of my lieutenant’s jest as impo’tant duty as bein’ at the fort.”
Jem looked at Vick and chuckled.
“I couldn’t ask fo’ a better bodyguard, Mr. Vick,” said Jem. “Dever-eaux don’t miss with that carbine of his. He’d be as apt to pick off that Yankee general as you with yo’ fancy musket.”
“Well, I don’t know,” said Vick. “Do you know what Grant looks like, Sergeant?”
“No suh, never laid eyes on no Gen’l Grant.”
“I know what he looks like, from his pictures,” said Vick triumphantly.
The three men settled down around the fire for a chat while Rich prepared supper. A little later as Jem relieved himself against a tree Devereaux sidled up to him.
“Suh,” Devereaux said, “what do you think about what that Mistuh Vick was sayin’?”
“About knowin’ what’s goin’ to happen? Sergeant, I don’t know what to think. He’s been right about things so far but, shucks, he coulda heard about Fort Henry failin’ and be guessin’ on the rest of it. I figger him for a Confederate agent sent out here—maybe after Grant, maybe jest to poke aroun’ on his own. That way he coulda been told about the way them generals at Donelson are likely to act, but how he could say ahead of time that Yankee admiral’s goin’ to get wounded and that General Grant’s goin’ to ride up Telegraph Road alone… well, you know I don’t believe in the darkies’ juju and that kind of thing. We’ll just have to wait and see if this Grant does show up.”
As they ate supper, enriched by meat from squirrels Rich had shot, Vick said, “Grant’s supposed to leave Mrs. Crisp’s house right after dawn. I think we need to get up maybe an hour before dawn and find a good spot to get a bead on him when he swings around the end of Hickman’s Creek.”
Jem and Devereaux looked at each other and Jem winked.
“I’ll take the last watch of the night myse’f,” decided Jem. “I’m used to havin’ to get goin’ early and I can trust myself to not doze off better than the most heedful sentry.”
“Suh, it ain’t necessa’y for you to be up so ea’ly,” said Devereaux. “I can take the last watch and get us up in time.”
“No, Sergeant, you take the first watch. We’re more likely to have visitors early.”
True to his word, Jem had them all up, sleepily, while it was still pitch dark and very cold. They gnawed down a light, cold meal and mounted to ride westward, splashing through the flooded terrain.
One advantage of choosing a place at the end of the creek for the ambush was that the waterway created a natural alley through the trees, a clear line of fire for some distance. The creek ran pretty straight along here but even so the woods were so thick they had to settle for a spot about three hundred yards from the target area. So much for the Garand’s boasted twelve hundred yard range—but three hundred was enough of a challenge to suit Jem.