Read Online A Blaze of Glory by Jeff Shaara - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jeff Shaara
Tags: Suspense
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Paul Jones. Well, said he knew a lot of things. Knew the damn rum bottle, that’s for sure. But this here spyglass … a fine piece. You can see clear to the moon. Hmm. Maybe not tonight.”
He seemed to hesitate, a glance at the muddy field glasses hanging uselessly around Seeley’s neck. Seeley looked at the spyglass, and Gladstone huffed, said, “Well, all right. Give it a try, sir.”
Seeley expanded the glass, impressed by the brass and leather, knew Gladstone was watching him carefully. He mimicked the sergeant, put a hand over the far end, shielding the lens, put the smaller end to his eye, was amazed at the detail. He scanned the far side of the river, could clearly see movement, even faces, the brass buttons, stacks of muskets, tents rising. Farther up the rise, more tents were going up, and he saw flags, but even the breeze didn’t move them, revealed almost nothing.
“One looks like Ohio. Maybe. That doesn’t mean a thing. Stars and Stripes … but I guess we knew that.”
Gladstone said, “They got their big brass’s headquarters back in those woods, I betcha. Under the big trees for comfort . They stuck the green lads at the river’s edge. Flood rises up and grabs ’em, nobody’ll care.”
The sergeant laughed, and Seeley couldn’t help a smile. He had already decided that if anything dangerous happened, Gladstone would be the man to follow, rank or not. Seeley could feel it, even in the swamp, knew that this man had never been lost in his life. Maybe, he thought, the captain knows that, too. That’s why he left him here.
The thunder rumbled again, far away, and he glanced upward, the skies still heavy and dark, a hint of a setting sun. But the rain had slowed, the splatter on the river lighter, more sounds flowing across from the Federal camp. He looked again through the spyglass, thought, they got a pile of nice tents, that’s for sure. I’d like to have one of those things. He shivered, the air cooler, another breeze whipping the misty rain in a swirl around him. And now Hinkle pointed, a chattering excitement in his squeaking voice.
“Sir! They’re coming across!”
Near the railroad bridge, a half-dozen men had slid out into the water, were swimming furiously, reaching the first of the wrecked pilings, clambering up, their own island. On the shore behind them, a group of men had gathered, and now a rope was tossed out to one of the men perched up on the piling. He pulled what seemed to be a small raft, piled with some kind of black lump. Now another rope went out, caught by a second man, another raft floating out, pulled by the rope. Seeley watched with a hard burn of curiosity, saw four of the men swimming to the second of the five pilings, then the two towing the rafts. Hands reached out, pulling the men onto the second piling, the small rafts dragged close, then the process began again, the men moving toward the third piling, the largest, at the center of the river. On the far bank, an officer sat on his horse, watching, and Seeley thought, he’s done this, sent them over. Probably picked his best swimmers. They’re gonna be over here as skirmishers, lookouts.
Beside him, the sergeant said, “Those rafts … not big enough to be muskets. Pistols and cartridge boxes, I bet, wrapped in a raincoat. They can keep the powder dry till they reach this side. Then load up. Clever devils.”
Seeley glanced back to the swamp, said, “We gotta get back, tell the captain.”
“Easy there, Lieutenant. They’re clever, but don’t mean they’re smart. Got me an idee , if you’ll permit, sir.”
Seeley felt a small surge of panic, looked at Gladstone, saw the same gap-toothed smile.
“What kind of idea?”
“Right now, they ain’t armed.”
“Neither are we.”
“They don’t know that. It’s getting dark fast. We make enough ruckus, we can scare ’em to death.”
“The captain said no engagement. No casualties. This is just … reconnaissance.”
“I ain’t for
He seemed to hesitate, a glance at the muddy field glasses hanging uselessly around Seeley’s neck. Seeley looked at the spyglass, and Gladstone huffed, said, “Well, all right. Give it a try, sir.”
Seeley expanded the glass, impressed by the brass and leather, knew Gladstone was watching him carefully. He mimicked the sergeant, put a hand over the far end, shielding the lens, put the smaller end to his eye, was amazed at the detail. He scanned the far side of the river, could clearly see movement, even faces, the brass buttons, stacks of muskets, tents rising. Farther up the rise, more tents were going up, and he saw flags, but even the breeze didn’t move them, revealed almost nothing.
“One looks like Ohio. Maybe. That doesn’t mean a thing. Stars and Stripes … but I guess we knew that.”
Gladstone said, “They got their big brass’s headquarters back in those woods, I betcha. Under the big trees for comfort . They stuck the green lads at the river’s edge. Flood rises up and grabs ’em, nobody’ll care.”
The sergeant laughed, and Seeley couldn’t help a smile. He had already decided that if anything dangerous happened, Gladstone would be the man to follow, rank or not. Seeley could feel it, even in the swamp, knew that this man had never been lost in his life. Maybe, he thought, the captain knows that, too. That’s why he left him here.
The thunder rumbled again, far away, and he glanced upward, the skies still heavy and dark, a hint of a setting sun. But the rain had slowed, the splatter on the river lighter, more sounds flowing across from the Federal camp. He looked again through the spyglass, thought, they got a pile of nice tents, that’s for sure. I’d like to have one of those things. He shivered, the air cooler, another breeze whipping the misty rain in a swirl around him. And now Hinkle pointed, a chattering excitement in his squeaking voice.
“Sir! They’re coming across!”
Near the railroad bridge, a half-dozen men had slid out into the water, were swimming furiously, reaching the first of the wrecked pilings, clambering up, their own island. On the shore behind them, a group of men had gathered, and now a rope was tossed out to one of the men perched up on the piling. He pulled what seemed to be a small raft, piled with some kind of black lump. Now another rope went out, caught by a second man, another raft floating out, pulled by the rope. Seeley watched with a hard burn of curiosity, saw four of the men swimming to the second of the five pilings, then the two towing the rafts. Hands reached out, pulling the men onto the second piling, the small rafts dragged close, then the process began again, the men moving toward the third piling, the largest, at the center of the river. On the far bank, an officer sat on his horse, watching, and Seeley thought, he’s done this, sent them over. Probably picked his best swimmers. They’re gonna be over here as skirmishers, lookouts.
Beside him, the sergeant said, “Those rafts … not big enough to be muskets. Pistols and cartridge boxes, I bet, wrapped in a raincoat. They can keep the powder dry till they reach this side. Then load up. Clever devils.”
Seeley glanced back to the swamp, said, “We gotta get back, tell the captain.”
“Easy there, Lieutenant. They’re clever, but don’t mean they’re smart. Got me an idee , if you’ll permit, sir.”
Seeley felt a small surge of panic, looked at Gladstone, saw the same gap-toothed smile.
“What kind of idea?”
“Right now, they ain’t armed.”
“Neither are we.”
“They don’t know that. It’s getting dark fast. We make enough ruckus, we can scare ’em to death.”
“The captain said no engagement. No casualties. This is just … reconnaissance.”
“I ain’t for
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