Chapter 6: Deceived

They met very few travelers on the highway, passing only two mule-drawn farm wagons headed toward the city, one loaded with a jumble of furniture. That surprised Seth since there had been a lot of traffic heading south the previous couple of days.

A half-dozen Union cavalrymen clattered past, Illinois boys, heading toward Rockville with hardly a glance at the two dusty riders going the other way. Seth noticed that many of the farms along the old road seemed abandoned. Some of the houses and barns sat with doors wide open, and only a few sheep and cattle dotted the fields. At high places, where there was some shade, they paused, and the soldier examined the area with a small pair of field glasses he kept in his saddle bag and made some notes and sketches in his dog-eared copybook.

The countryside looked to be asleep in the wavery heat. From one hilltop, the one with the old church on it, they could see the gleaming dome of the recently finished Capitol building, and Seth told the Rebel cavalryman what it was. Wainder spat into the roadside dust and smiled.

At the bottom of the hill just beyond the Bethesda Meeting House, they paused to let their horses drink from the barely trickling stream and then rode on past the silent farms, another unmanned toll gate and Mr. Darcy's shuttered store, moving steadily toward the District Line.

Several hundred yards in front of Fort Reno, at the foot of the hill that led up to Tenellytown, they were stopped, challenged by a young soldier carrying a rifle musket with a long bayonet, his uniform sweat soaked. Two other guards sat smoking in the nearby shade, the one with sergeant's stripes had crutches beside him and kept his bandaged foot up on a stump. The area was covered with stumps of various sizes. The sentry asked their business, and Wainder said he was going to look at a farm in Silver Spring and calmly asked directions.

Seth squirmed in his hard saddle and thought of yelling for help, but the blue-clad soldier looked very young, like some of the boys at school, and besides Wainder kept his hand at his belt during the whole conversation, his thumb inside the buckle and atop his pistol.

The cavalryman tried two more times to get nearer to Fort Reno but ran into redoubts, occupied trenches and sentry posts at every turn. Between the alert guards, tangled limbs of dozens of felled trees blocked their way. Finally the rebel scout gave up, turned eastward and found the Brookeville Road. The sun pounded on them. Talk seemed to melt away. The horses' heads drooped and their ears flopped.

"Seemed awful young, that first soldier we first met," Wainder said when they stopped for a warm drink from the canteen. "All the blue-jackets we seen today been either old men, fellers wearing bandages or young as that boy."

"Guess most of the army's down around Richmond." Seth tried and again failed to find a comfortable way to sit on his hard saddle. He wiggled his sore backside and half stood in the stirrups.

"Reckon that's right, boy, an' I 'spect that's jes' what Ol' Jube's countin' on. Smart old bugger."

They rode on for a while in exhausted silence, seeking the shade at the road's edges wherever possible and then turned east so the sun was at their backs, baking their shirts dry. The horses' heads bobbed as they followed farm lanes across dry creeks. Then, for no particular reason, the soldier said, scratching at his matted beard, "Nothin' wrong with young soldiers, necessarily. Depends on who they is." He spat, chewing on another unlit cigar.

"Seth, you won't believe this. Shoot, if'n I hadn't seen it with mah own two eyes, I wouldn't believe it. Couple a'months ago, Lord, seems like years, but it was May. The cadets from V.M.I. joined up with us old, grimy horse soldiers. We was in pretty bad shape. General Early, he come along and threw us at them Yankees down around Lynchburg and Charlottesville. An' them boys, them cay-dets, why they did jus' fine as peach fuzz. Marched in line in them fancy uniforms, in step too. Right into canister they did. Fired in volley, too. Bluebellies ran for it. Ran. Haw! Clean out'a the Valley. Course, they did burn the boys' school down." Wainder paused and spat again with little success. He stuck the cigar stub back in his mouth. "Cain't always tell how good a soldier is by whether or not he shaves." He rubbed his chin and smiled.

Seth felt good for the first time that afternoon, felt some of the praise of young soldiers had been for him and believed it was deserved. Here he was facing men with Springfield or Harpers Ferry rifle muskets, men wearing his brother's uniform, facing them bravely astride a rebel's horse, doing the rebels' work, earning a gold coin.

Seth didn't say anything. What he had thought might be an exciting cavalry adventure was turning into painful drudgery. The shadows grew longer, but the sun still baked the land. He was hot, tired and sore. He had found nothing glorious about being a scout. He was not used to riding a horse very far, and he and the cavalryman had covered almost a dozen miles and crossed Rock Creek by the time they reached the shady spring for which Silver Spring was named. They slaked their thirst and watered and rested their horses. The trooper filled his long-empty canteen while Seth lay on his stomach in the weeds.