‘Corporal Vernon James Cuthbert Hassle, bearing in mind that I’m your lawful and superior officer and backed by the full and awful powers of the Manual of Field Regulations,’ First Lieutenant Red Blaze whispered, ‘would you be inclined to say that I maybe talk just a little mite too much on occasion?’
‘Bearing all that in mind,’ the ancient corporal replied sotto voce, ‘I’m obliged to come out right truthful and say “no”. May the Good Lord take pity on me for lying.’
‘You’re a man’s’ll go far,’ Red drawled. ‘Some say the farther the better. Thing being, if I didn’t go opening my mouth, we wouldn’t be lying here in these blasted bushes and figuring out ways to get ourselves killed or captured—which, according to Harry Cable’s likely to come to the same thing.’
‘You-all never telled me’s we could get hurt,’ the old timer complained, with such querulous bitterness that he might have been speaking the truth. ‘And, anyways, no matter whether we come this way or with the Company, we’d’ve had to come in the finish.’
‘If that’s supposed to make me feel happier,’ Red warned, ‘it’s not coming within a good country mile of working.’
Peering through the darkness at his youthful companion, Hassle grinned. Since the Battle of Martin’s Mill—in which Red had distinguished himself by preventing the destruction of a vitally important bridge—the corporal had come to know him very well and had had no cause to revise the high opinion formed about him. Which might have seemed surprising. To most of Red’s elders and superiors, he was a hothead with a penchant for becoming involved in escapades not likely to build up confidence in his capacity as an officer.
To be truthful, Red did have a happy-go-lucky and reckless disposition. What Hassle—and Dusty Fog—realized was that when given work of importance, he became calm, cool and capable of handling it in a responsible manner. Yet, no matter how serious the situation, his sense of humor was always present. Despite his comments, the corporal had not shown the slightest hesitation when Red had asked for his help in the attempt to destroy the Yankees’ observation balloon.
Dressed in Union Army’s Cavalry kepis, tunics and breeches—the latter covering their own garments—but armed and mounted in their usual fashion, Red, Hassle and the selected private soldier had successfully completed the first part of their assignment. They had also been granted ample evidence that there was no other way in which the destruction of the balloon could be accomplished. It had been in the air until nightfall and a body of men the size of Company C and the mountain battery could not have escaped being detected by the observer.
Making use of techniques developed by Hassle and, to a lesser extent, Private Wilbur Sprigg, while fighting Indians in Texas before the War, Red’s detail had travelled in cover as much as possible. At a distance, they would have been indistinguishable from ordinary Yankee soldiers, but they had not wished to be seen if it could be avoided. Apparently they had been successful, for they had arrived in the vicinity of their objective without having been intercepted.
Night had fallen by the time the trio had decided that they dare not risk riding any closer. So, leaving the disgruntled and reluctant Sprigg to keep the horses quiet, Red and Hassle had completed the journey on foot. They had wanted to discover what they were up against. On completing his examination, Red had concluded that their task would be anything but a sinecure. Nor had the youngster—usually an optimist—ever tried to delude himself and his companions that it would be.
The Yankees had established themselves in a large hollow about two miles north of the Ouachita River. Apparently they were not unduly concerned about the danger of their position being located, for the bottom of the depression was illuminated by a big fire and several cressets. The hollow was roughly circular and, wishing to prevent their scent being carried to and alarming the enemies’ horses, Red and Hassle were concealed among some bushes on the southern side. Looking down, Red took in various details and drew conclusions from them.
The soldiers seemed, to be a curious mixture of Cavalry, Infantry and Artillery. Their clothing suggested horse-soldiers, but the long Spencer repeating rifles stacked in pyramidal piles outside the enlisted men’s pup tents were more like Infantry weapons; yet their tunics’ facings and breeches’ stripes implied that they served in the Artillery. One thing they had in common was an air of tough, hard brutality. According to Harry, both of Lyle’s Companies had been recruited from a New York district’s gang. The captain and two lieutenants bore traces of mean, vicious and unscrupulous natures and Harry Cable’s comments on them had been pungent in the extreme. Having looked the three over, Red was inclined to believe that the girl had been speaking the truth.
Harry’s father—who conveyed an impression of strength and intelligence—sat apart from the soldiers, accompanied by the two Negroes who served as the crew of the traction engine. Eli Cable had graying hair, a mustache of considerable proportions, and wore the kind of peaked hat, blue frock coat, trousers and Wellington-leg boots one would more expect to see on a riverboat’s captain than the driver of a land machine.
As Cable’s party sat near Pulling Sue, Red studied it next. It was a massive piece of machinery, parked on the western side of the camp. On a platform ahead of the boiler and engine was a steering wheel such as might have graced a small paddle steamer and other controls. The chimney was tall and narrow, its top opening out like the head of a lily. From his position, Red could only make out that the rear wheels were almost twice as large as those at the front. He failed to detect the features which Harry had claimed made Pulling Sue such an effective weight hauler. A four-wheeled trailer, loaded with logs, was hitched to the rear of the machine in the manner of a railroad engine’s fuel tender.
Next Red’s attention went to the center of the hollow. There stood the big gun, a Parrot 30-Pounder rifle mounted on a siege carriage, long tube already pointing so that it could start hurling death and destruction across the river into the defenseless town of Camden. Never had the youngster seen such a huge weapon. Neither side in Arkansas had previously possessed siege or garrison Artillery pieces, their largest weapons being twelve-pounder ‘Napoleons’. So the cannons with which Red was familiar seemed almost diminutive and puny in comparison with the great bulk of the big gun. Its caisson, holding the ammunition supply in three large chests, was secured to the back of the traction engine’s tender.
While Pulling Sue hauled the Parrot and its caisson, the Yankee party used a number of horses. These stood on picket lines at the northern side, so that the big gun would be firing away from them. The majority were the soldiers’ mounts, but there appeared to be a number more suitable to harness and heavy draught work.
Although the big gun, Pulling Sue, the men and the horses were of interest to Red, he saved his greatest consideration for the balloon. It was on the east of the camp and clearly ready for operation. The huge round silk bag was inflated to such a degree that it tugged against the four tethering ropes which passed from the corners of the wicker basket to pegs sunk deep into the ground. The main anchor cable ran from a hand winch, which was underneath, to pass through the bottom of the basket and be secured on the inside.
Nearby stood two large carts, each with what looked like an enormous wooden crate on it. Thick hosepipes ran from the tops of the boxes to metal containers on the ground. From what Douglas Staunce had said, that would be the equipment for producing hydrogen gas to fill the balloon.
‘What do you reckon, Vern?’ Red inquired, at the conclusion of his scrutiny. He knew the value of requesting advice from an older, more experienced man and was willing to act upon it. ‘Can we get through?’
That depends on the sentries,’ answered the corporal. ‘We can’t say how they’ll carry on once the officers ’n’ non-coms are in bed. From the look of ’em, they won’t be too eager to do their duty.’
‘Let’s hope they’re not,’ Red drawled. ‘Cousin Dusty’ll be madder than a boiled owl happen he gets here and we’ve been killed instead of destroying that blasted balloon.’
‘Sure wouldn’t want to get the cap’n riled,’ Hassle admitted. ‘Was I you, Mr. Blaze, I’d grab me some sleep.’
‘You get some,’ Red answered. ‘I’ll take the first watch.’
‘It ain’t worth arguing about,’ Hassle declared, flipping open the blanket which he had brought from the horses. ‘Give me a shake at midnight.’
‘I’ll do that,’ Red promised and took the hacksaw, borrowed from the mountain battery, from his own blanket. Before he had draped the blanket across his shoulders, his companion lay asleep.
Time dragged by on leaden feet. Red kept watch on the camp, selecting a route by which they could pass through the tents and reach the balloon. The sides of the hollow offered too little cover for them to have easy job. Straight in front of them were the soldiers’ pup tents, with a larger wall tent for the officers situated between them and Pulling Sue. From all appearances, Cable and his Negroes had to bed down alongside the machine and make do with one pup tent. After they had retired for the night, a sentry armed with a Spencer rifle started to patrol around their quarters and the traction engine. Another performed a similar service at the balloon and its equipment. One more was over by the picket line. They appeared to be all the guards considered necessary, for no more were in evidence after the rest of the party had retired to their beds.
Just before midnight, as Red was reaching to shake the corporal, he woke up. There was no slow and noisy transition from sleep to awake. With the youngster’s hand almost touching his shoulder, the corporal stirred and sat up.
Already very tired, Red needed no encouragement to stretch out and close his eyes.
Wrapped in his blanket, Red lay dreaming of attacking the balloon in a wild cavalry charge. Suddenly something descended on his face and covered his mouth. He woke up, trying to struggle.
‘Easy, Mr. Blaze!’ came Hassle’s low-spoken warning, ‘It’ll be sun-up soon.’ He removed the hand from Red’s face, continuing, ‘Sorry about that, but I didn’t want to chance you making any noise when I woke you.’
‘That’s all right, Vern,’ Red replied, shaking himself from the clutches of the blanket. ‘I just hope you’ve not been cleaning out your horse’s butt end. What’s doing?’
‘Nothing so much,’ the corporal answered, in just too casual a tone but Red was not yet sufficiently awake to notice that. ‘Still only three sentries out, but they’ve been a mite more eager than I figured on. They’ve kept the fire and the cressets going, dang ’em.’
‘We wouldn’t want things too easy, now would we?’ Red grinned, looking for the sentries.
‘I would.’ Hassle declared. ‘Reckon it’s time we got moving, Mr. Blaze.’
‘Where’re those blasted sentries at now?’ Red demanded, standing up.
‘One’s with the hosses, t’other over by Mr. Cable’s tent and last ’n’s down by the wagons near the balloon.’
‘I’m damned if I can see the first and last. But the middle bastard’s there all right. Lead the way, Vern. I’d rather you got shot than me, I’m younger and’ve got longer to go.’
‘Sure does me good to know I’m under an officer’s thinks about me welfare,’ Hassle commented, taking up the hacksaw. ‘Happen it’s all right with you, Mr. Blaze, we’ll sort of sneak around the side a ways and come down back of them balloon wagons.’
Leaving their blankets behind, Red and Hassle advanced cautiously along the slope. Once clear of the bushes, they still continued to test the ground with each foot before setting it down and making sure that there was nothing underneath that might snap, or roll. In that way, they proceeded silently and apparently without disturbing the sentry who was continuing to prowl around the pup tent and traction engine. Nor did either of the remaining, unaccounted-for soldiers raise an alarm to show that they were aware of the Texans’ presence.
Red was in a state of tension, but not sufficiently to make him grow careless. All too well he realized their peril and fully understood the penalty for failure. If the balloon went into the air at dawn, Company C would be spotted approaching and met by volleys of fire from seven-shot repeating rifles. Not only that. The big gun would be free to bombard the helpless citizens of Camden.
Step by step, searching for the first sign of the sentry walking his beat, Red drew closer to the two flat-topped wagons with their big, crate-like loads. At his side, Hassle moved in just as careful silence and scanned the camp with eyes which the years had not dimmed to any great extent.
At first, due to the angle at which he was approaching, Red could not see into the gap between the wagons. Nor could he locate the sentry. When he reached a position from which he could look between them, he received something of a shock.
The sentry was sitting, apparently asleep, with his back resting against the rear of the right side vehicle.
Coming to a halt, the youngster turned the palm of his right hand outwards. He closed his fingers about the wooden, forward-pointing handle of the off side Army Colt. Before he could draw the weapon, Hassle’s hand came over to rest lightly on his sleeve.
‘Leave him be, Mr. Blaze,’ the corporal advised in a whisper. ‘He won’t bother us none.’
‘How come?’ Red wanted to know in no louder tones.
‘I drifted down this ways while you was asleep, just after they’d changed the guard. Couldn’t get the bastard by Mr. Cable’s tent, but the other two’re wolf-bait. After I’d got this’n, I couldn’t see to the balloon without fixing him by the picket line’s wagon.’
‘Likely not,’ Red grunted. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I was fixing to until you said for me to get shot afore you did,’ grinned Hassle. ‘Then I figured I’d allow you to find out for yourself.’
‘Gracias,’ Red hissed. ‘Let’s see if we can do what we’ve come for.’
Circling the wagons, the Texans halted in the shadows and surveyed the situation. Due to the danger of fire, none of the cressets were too close to the balloon. However, they still threw an uncomfortable amount of light over the area in which Red and Hassle would have to carry out their attempt.
‘What do you reckon?’ Hassle asked, watching the sentry walking along in front of Cable’s tent.
‘Let him start going around the machine,’ Red replied. ‘Then we’ll head over there and take a look.’
Following the youngster’s suggestion, he and Hassle darted to their objective. The great dome of the balloon towered over them. Bending, they found that the basket had been dragged down almost on to the winch. The gap between them was too small to allow Red or Hassle to use the hacksaw. Gripping the side of the basket, Red hauled himself up and looked in. Several sand-filled ballast sacks hung on hooks around the outer edges. Inside was a couple of chairs and a small table which held a telegraphist’s transmission key. None of these items interested Red as much as the sight of the cable coming through the center of the floor to be secured around a cross bar.
‘If we stay out here much longer, we’ll be seen for sure,’ Hassle warned.
‘I know,’ Red replied. ‘Let’s get in. While you’re sawing the main rope, I’ll cut all but one of the others. Then we’ll jump out, cut the last and get the hell away. The balloon’ll go up and there’ll be no way the Yankees can stop it drifting away.’
Agreeing that the idea appeared sound, Hassle climbed nimbly into the basket. Red followed him, crouching below the wickerwork edge. Swiftly the corporal set to work with the saw. Carefully Red rose and, leaning over the side of the basket, used his Russell-Barlow pocketknife to sever the first of the anchor ropes. As he worked, he kept watch on the traction engine and the Cable’s tent. Clearly the sentry was not hurrying, for Red had released three of the ropes before there was any sign of him.
‘She’s cut, Mr. Bl— !’ Hassle began.
Released from the stabilizing influence of the main cable the balloon started to lift. Held by only one anchor rope, the basket tilted noticeably at the moment the sentry chose to come around the side of Cable’s tent. Dropping his knife, Red caught hold of the side. However, he knew that any hope of remaining undetected had ended.
‘What the he—!’ the sentry commenced, staring at the balloon. Then he began to run forward, unslinging his Spencer. ‘Who’s in that basket?’
Sliding to the lower side, Red twisted the right hand Colt from its holster. Even as the Yankee started to line the rifle, the youngster sighted and cut loose. Struck in the chest, the soldier spun around and fell.
‘That does it!’ Hassle growled, dropping the hacksaw and straightening up.
Shouts of alarm rang out and men started to erupt from the tents. Sword in hand, a Yankee officer dashed forward to try to prevent the Texans releasing the balloon. Leaning over the edge of the basket, Red placed the muzzle of his Colt against the last anchor rope. He squeezed the trigger and the .44 bullet ripped through the strands. Instantly, the balloon began to rise.
Increasing his speed, the officer prepared to leap and grab the basket. Corporal Hassle snatched one of the sand-filled ballast sacks from its hook and flung it down. Struck on the head, the Yankee dropped his sword and fell as if he had been pole-axed. The balloon continued to ascend, carrying the Texans into the safety of the night-blackened sky.
‘Well,’ Red said, returning the Colt to its holster. ‘We’ve sure taken their balloon away from them.’
‘Looks that way,’ admitted the old corporal. ‘There’s but one lil thing bothering me, Mr. Blaze. Ain’t nothing too much, mind, but how do we get the son-of-a-bitching thing down again.’
‘You know something, Vern?’ Red drawled. ‘I was just wondering about that myself.’ He paused, then stared to the east and went on, ‘Tell Wilbur, in Comanch’, to get the hell back to the company and say we’ve got the balloon.’
‘I wouldn’t know how to say “balloon” in Nemenuh,’ xvii Hassle warned. ‘But here goes the rest.’
During their assignment at the Battle of Martin’s Mill, Red and Hassle had used a similar method of preventing the enemy from understanding their instructions to the rest of the detail. The old timer had given his orders in the Tanima—Liver Eaters—band’s dialect, knowing that there would be less chance of a Yankee understanding it than if he had used his second language, Spanish.
As Sprigg’s voice faintly acknowledged Hassle’s words, the balloon continued to rise.
Although the Yankee soldiers were snatching up their rifles, consternation and considerable confusion delayed them. Before they could take aim, their target had passed beyond their range of vision.
‘Ain’t wanting to look nosey, Mr. Blaze,’ Hassle remarked. ‘But I’d admire to know what you’re aiming to do now.’
‘Wind’s still blowing south, what there is of it,’ Red answered. ‘So it’s pushing us in the right direction.’
‘Trouble being, the direction we’re going’s up,’ Hassle pointed out.
‘From what Doug Staunce told me, him having done some of this ballooning, it’ll only go so high afore it can’t lift the weight any more. Only I don’t know how high this thing’s set to go. Anyways, Doug allows that all a man has to do is pull a rope that’s hanging from the bag and it lets the gas out. Then the damned thing stops going any higher.’
‘Could be it starts going lower—fast,’ the corporal warned.
‘Like you say, fast,’ Red conceded and looked to where the eastern horizon was growing lighter. ‘I don’t know what you reckon, but I’m for waiting until we can see what we’re at afore we start to try letting the gas out.’
‘I wouldn’t have it any other way,’ Hassle declared.
Fortunately for the Texans, the wind was not blowing hard. While the basket shook and swayed, its motion was insufficient to cause them any serious discomfort. Gradually daylight came and they could see the land far below them. Not only land, but a river and houses.
‘That’s Camden!’ Red breathed and looked upwards. A length of cord hung from the bottom of the bag and was fastened to one of the basket’s ropes. Gingerly he reached out and gave the cord a tug. There was a hissing sound and he stopped pulling. The noise ended.
‘Just like Doug said,’ the youngster told Hassle, who had been watching with considerable interest. ‘When you pull it, the gas comes out, when you stop there’s a spring or something closes the hole.’
‘What if you’re going down too fast?’ Hassle wanted to know, as Red once more drew on the cord and allowed hydrogen to leak from the silken bag.
‘You start throwing the bags of sand over,’ Red replied.
Despite the youngster’s apparently casual attitude, he was watching and listening to the deflation of the bag and trying to control the rate of descent. Hassle too was looking upwards and neither of them noticed in which direction they were being carried. If they had, they would have observed that they were approaching the Texas Light Cavalry’s camp. What was more, in preparation for moving across the river if Company C should fail to prevent the bombardment of Camden, the regiment had already formed up by Companies. The men sat their horses with the backs to the rapidly sinking balloon.
‘What the hell!’ Hassle yelped, looking down at last and realizing what was happening.
By that time, it was too late for Red or Hassle to prevent the balloon from completing its descent. A man looked around, then yelled and pointed. Others turned, staring at the object which came cruising towards them. Next moment, the entire parade was disintegrated. Men spurred their horses out of the balloon’s path. Others rode to get clear of the ones who had fled.
The basket struck the ground, bounced and dragged as the hydrogen continued to leave the bag. However, it was still carried onwards by its momentum. Luckily, it was only travelling very slowly when it tipped over and pitched out its occupants.
Sprawled on the ground, Red and Hassle stared about them at the devastation they had created.
‘Well,’ the youngster said. ‘We’ve got the blasted thing down.’
‘Why sure,’ Hassle agreed and nodded to where a red-faced, furious-looking Colonel Blaze was galloping in their direction. ‘Know something, Mr. Blaze? I wouldn’t give much for your chances of making captain and I don’t reckon I’ll ever get to be a sergeant.’
‘I should hope not,’ Red answered with some feeling. ‘We can get ourselves into enough damned fuss as we are.’