Tom of the Raiders | Page 8

from Fleming County are in the Southern army, and so there will
be little risk of meeting anyone from there. And if you are asked why
you don't enlist immediately, say that you want to join a regiment in
Atlanta."
"And if we're completely cornered?" asked one of the men.
"Then enlist."
"In the Southern army?"
"Surely. Remember, men, that you are playing a bigger game than your
own personal likes and dislikes. The idea of enlisting in the Southern
army may seem terrible, but it isn't so terrible as being captured and
tried as a spy. You can desert at the first chance. And remember this:
upon every one of you depends the success or failure of this venture."
There was a murmer of approval, then silence.
Andrews continued:

"Tomorrow morning General Mitchel starts on a forced march. He will
surprise and capture Huntsville on Friday. Our work is to capture the
train that same day, destroy communications from Atlanta and join him
with all possible speed. We will try to reach him with our train. Failing
that, we will desert the train and join him as best we can."
Mitchel would move the next morning! Huntsville! Chattanooga! For a
moment the men were silent; then came a sharp "Ah!" The long winter
campaign was ended; now for action!
"We will start at once," said Andrews. A crash of thunder drowned his
words. "From Marietta onwards we will fight it out together."
He began to distribute money to them. Several groups disappeared into
the night.
"Shall we go together?" asked a man at Tom's right. "My name's
Shadrack."
"Yes. Mine's Burns."
"Mine's Wilson," said another man. "Let's make it three."
"Good!"
They filed past Andrews, took the handful of Confederate money he
held out, and started toward the road. The rain ceased for a few seconds;
then came a flash of lightning, a burst of thunder, and the rain came
swirling down. In an instant, Tom and his two companions were utterly
alone in the black night, headed for the Southern lines.
CHAPTER THREE
ARRESTED
"The Union pickets are at Wartrace," said Wilson, as they plodded
down the road.

"We ought to pass them tonight," Tom added. "Have we any way of
identifying ourselves?"
"No," replied Wilson. "We'd better try to avoid them."
"What I hope," remarked Shadrack, with a chuckle, "is that our pickets
are sleepy--dreaming of a nice warm fire at home, instead of keeping
on the alert. Whew! what a storm!"
The steady pelting of the rain made conversation impossible. The road
was becoming a slippery gumbo into which their feet sank deeply, and
they put all their strength into the laborious task of walking. Finally,
after an hour, they stopped to rest.
"I don't think we've gone more than two miles," said Tom.
"The railroad track runs along here to the left some place," Wilson
remarked. "If we could reach it, we'd find better walking."
"You'll have to swim to get there," muttered Shadrack. "Those fields
will be mud up to our necks."
"Be quiet!" Tom whispered. "Someone's coming."
"Probably some of our own men," said Wilson.
They stood silently as two men passed them on the road. It was
impossible to see them in the darkness, but they caught a broken
sentence, "...find a barn ... too much mud...."
"That's about the best thing that we can do," said Shadrack, after the
men had gone by. "Find a barn some place, and stay there for the
night."
"I'd like to push on," replied Tom. "What do you think, Wilson?"
"Let's try to reach the railroad."
"All right."

Shadrack grunted his assent, and they trudged along the road, looking
for an opening to the left. Presently a flash of lightning showed them a
field. They climbed the fence and started across. Their feet sank in mud
that seemed bottomless, and water oozed in over their shoe-tops.
"Can you make it?" asked Wilson.
"Yeh--go on," answered Tom, panting.
"I'm coming," muttered Shadrack.
It took them a half-hour to cross the field; then they sat on the fence
exhausted. No lightning came to show them the way, so they climbed
the fence, crossed another road, and entered a second field. The mud
here was worse.
"Bogged!" exclaimed Shadrack.
They retreated to the road.
"Let's follow this road," suggested Tom. "It seems to go in the general
direction of the railroad tracks."
"Probably goes to a farmhouse," replied Wilson.
"Suits me exactly," said Shadrack.
During the next twenty minutes they made their way slowly along the
road, slipping in the mud, sometimes falling. Twice Tom went down on
his hands and knees. Shadrack sprawled face downward, and got up
muttering something about "eating the filthy stuff."
Ahead of them a dog commenced to bark; then a door opened, and a
man