“Think about it, Mason. You said it yourself, they are green troops. If they lose that gun, I think they will also lose their confidence. They may just pull up stakes and leave.”
Hawke didn’t argue with him anymore. The two were equal in rank, and Hawke had no authority to stop him. He also knew that Rathbone was right. If the Yankees lost the gun, they might perceive they had also lost the advantage and leave.
A few minutes later Rathbone had three volunteers prepared to go with him. He gave the signal to Hawke that he was ready.
“All right, men, keep Captain Rathbone covered!” Hawke shouted to the others.
Muskets roared and gun smoke billowed up from the Confederate soldiers in the wrecked train, answered by theUnion soldiers who had taken up their own positions in the tree line across the open field. Eddie Rathbone and three volunteers started across the field, disappearing quickly into the clouds of billowing smoke.
For the next thirty minutes the gunfire continued at such a pace that Hawke was afraid they would soon run out of ammunition. Then he noticed that the artillery fire had stopped.
“The cannon has stopped!” Ian said, putting to words what Hawke had only thought. “Captain Rathbone must’ve gotten through.”
“Yes,” Hawke agreed. “Let’s just pray that he and his men get back all right. Keep firing men, keep firing,” he called.
“Cap’n, we’re runnin’ low on powder and bullets,” one of the men said. “Don’t you think we should ease up a bit?”
“No,” Hawke said. “Keep firing.”
Although Hawke didn’t explain his reasoning, he was keeping up a brisk rate of fire as much to feed the cloud of gun smoke as to inflict any damage upon the enemy.
Then, out of the cloud of gun smoke that obscured the field, they saw the volunteers returning. Only this time, one of the men was being carried. Even from his vantage point, Hawke could tell that the wounded man was Captain Rathbone.
“Sergeant Major,” Hawke said.
“Yes, sir?”
“Set fire to the grass. As soon as the smoke has built up, order the men to pull back. Captain Rathbone bought us some time…let’s take advantage of it.”
“Yes, sir,” Ian replied.
Within moments the smoke from a dozen grass fires mixed with the gun smoke to completely blot out the field.Then, outnumbered and outgunned, Hawke withdrew his men, thus avoiding the necessity of surrender.
Some five miles away from the point of the ambush, Hawke called a halt to the retreat. Looking around, he counted eighty-seven men. Just eighty-seven from a regiment that had once been six hundred strong.
“Captain Hawke,” Ian said, a bloody bandage around his right arm and another around his head.
“Yes, Sergeant Major?”
“I thought I ought to tell you, sir. Captain Rathbone just died.”
“Damn,” Hawke said with an expulsion of breath. He and Eddie Rathbone had fished and hunted together as children.
“What do you want to do now?” Ian asked.
“Nothing,” Hawke said.
“Nothing, sir?” Ian asked, surprised by the response.
“That’s right, Sergeant Major. I want to do absolutely nothing. Major Coleman told me, yesterday, that General Lee had already surrendered and General Taylor was just trying to reposition us to get better terms. As far as I’m concerned, we’ll make our own terms, right here, right now. I’ve only got one last order for you. That is, if you are willing to carry it out.”
“Give me the order, sir, I’ll carry it out,” Ian said.
Hawke opened his knapsack and took out a piece of paper and a pencil, then began writing.
“You are hereby discharged from the army,” Hawke said, handing the paper to Ian. “If anyone is actually still looking for deserters, this should clear the way for you. I want you to take Captain Rathbone’s body back to what is left of his family.”
Ian nodded. “Yes, sir,” he said. “I’d be proud to do that. But I’ll be coming back. I wouldn’t feel right
Hawke didn’t argue with him anymore. The two were equal in rank, and Hawke had no authority to stop him. He also knew that Rathbone was right. If the Yankees lost the gun, they might perceive they had also lost the advantage and leave.
A few minutes later Rathbone had three volunteers prepared to go with him. He gave the signal to Hawke that he was ready.
“All right, men, keep Captain Rathbone covered!” Hawke shouted to the others.
Muskets roared and gun smoke billowed up from the Confederate soldiers in the wrecked train, answered by theUnion soldiers who had taken up their own positions in the tree line across the open field. Eddie Rathbone and three volunteers started across the field, disappearing quickly into the clouds of billowing smoke.
For the next thirty minutes the gunfire continued at such a pace that Hawke was afraid they would soon run out of ammunition. Then he noticed that the artillery fire had stopped.
“The cannon has stopped!” Ian said, putting to words what Hawke had only thought. “Captain Rathbone must’ve gotten through.”
“Yes,” Hawke agreed. “Let’s just pray that he and his men get back all right. Keep firing men, keep firing,” he called.
“Cap’n, we’re runnin’ low on powder and bullets,” one of the men said. “Don’t you think we should ease up a bit?”
“No,” Hawke said. “Keep firing.”
Although Hawke didn’t explain his reasoning, he was keeping up a brisk rate of fire as much to feed the cloud of gun smoke as to inflict any damage upon the enemy.
Then, out of the cloud of gun smoke that obscured the field, they saw the volunteers returning. Only this time, one of the men was being carried. Even from his vantage point, Hawke could tell that the wounded man was Captain Rathbone.
“Sergeant Major,” Hawke said.
“Yes, sir?”
“Set fire to the grass. As soon as the smoke has built up, order the men to pull back. Captain Rathbone bought us some time…let’s take advantage of it.”
“Yes, sir,” Ian replied.
Within moments the smoke from a dozen grass fires mixed with the gun smoke to completely blot out the field.Then, outnumbered and outgunned, Hawke withdrew his men, thus avoiding the necessity of surrender.
Some five miles away from the point of the ambush, Hawke called a halt to the retreat. Looking around, he counted eighty-seven men. Just eighty-seven from a regiment that had once been six hundred strong.
“Captain Hawke,” Ian said, a bloody bandage around his right arm and another around his head.
“Yes, Sergeant Major?”
“I thought I ought to tell you, sir. Captain Rathbone just died.”
“Damn,” Hawke said with an expulsion of breath. He and Eddie Rathbone had fished and hunted together as children.
“What do you want to do now?” Ian asked.
“Nothing,” Hawke said.
“Nothing, sir?” Ian asked, surprised by the response.
“That’s right, Sergeant Major. I want to do absolutely nothing. Major Coleman told me, yesterday, that General Lee had already surrendered and General Taylor was just trying to reposition us to get better terms. As far as I’m concerned, we’ll make our own terms, right here, right now. I’ve only got one last order for you. That is, if you are willing to carry it out.”
“Give me the order, sir, I’ll carry it out,” Ian said.
Hawke opened his knapsack and took out a piece of paper and a pencil, then began writing.
“You are hereby discharged from the army,” Hawke said, handing the paper to Ian. “If anyone is actually still looking for deserters, this should clear the way for you. I want you to take Captain Rathbone’s body back to what is left of his family.”
Ian nodded. “Yes, sir,” he said. “I’d be proud to do that. But I’ll be coming back. I wouldn’t feel right
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