The Andre Norton Megapack - 15 Classic Novels and Short Stories

goin’ on. If you don’t want to roost heah all winter, you’d better come along. Last boats are leavin’ now.”
    As they scrambled after their commander Drew realized that the General had made it his personal business to make sure none of the north side pickets were left behind in the last-minute withdrawal.
    They piled into one of the waiting boats, catching up poles. Forrest took another. Then he balanced where he stood, glaring toward the bow of the boat. A lieutenant was there, his hands empty.
    “You…Mistuh—” Forrest’s voice took on the ring Drew had heard at Harrisburg. “Wheah’s your oar, Mistuh?”
    The man was startled. “As an officer, suh—”
    Still gripping his pole with one hand, the General swung out a long arm, catching the lieutenant hard on one cheek with enough force to send him over the gunwale into the river. The lieutenant splashed, flailing out his arms, until he caught at the pole Drew extended to him. As they hauled him aboard again, the General snorted.
    “Now you, Mistuh officer, take that oar theah and git to work! If I have to knock you over again, you can just stay in. We shall all pull out of this together!”
    The lieutenant bent to the oar hastily as they moved out into the full current of the river.
    CHAPTER 10
    “Dismount! Prepare To Fight Gunboats!”
    “Drew!”
    He turned his head on the saddle which served him as a temporary pillow and was aware of the smell of mule, strong, and the smell of a wood fire, less strong, and last of all, of corn bread baked in the husk, and, not so familiar, bacon frying—all the aromas of camp—with the addition of food which could be, and had been on occasion, very temporary. Squinting his smarting eyes against the sun’s glare, Drew sat up. With four days of hard riding by night and scouting by day only a few hours behind him, he was still extremely weary.
    Boyd squatted by his side, a folded sheet of paper in his hand.
    “…letter…”
    Drew must have missed part during his awakening. Now he turned away from the sun and tried to pay better attention.
    “From who?” he asked rustily.
    “Mother. She got the one you sent from Meridian, Drew! And when Crosely went home for a horse she gave him these to bring back through the lines. Drew, your grandfather’s dead.…”
    Odd, he did not feel anything at all at that news. When he was little he had been afraid of Alexander Mattock. Then he had faced out his fear and all the other emotions bred in him during those years of being Hunt Rennie’s son in a house where Hunt Rennie was a symbol of black hatred; he had faced up to his grandfather on the night he left Red Springs to join the army in ’62. And then Drew had discovered that he was free. He had seen his grandfather as he would always remember him now, an old man eaten up by his hatred, soured by acts Drew knew would never be explained. And from that moment, grandfather and grandson were strangers. Now, well, now he wished—for just a fleeting second or two—that he did know what lay behind all that rage and waste and blackness in the past. Alexander Mattock had been a respected man. As hardly more than a boy he had followed Andy Jackson down to New Orleans and helped break the last vestige of British power in the Gulf. He had bred fine horses, loved the land, and his word was better than most men’s sworn oaths. He had had a liking for books, and had served his country in Congress, and could even have been governor had he not declined the nomination. He was a big man, in many ways a great and honorable man. Drew could admit that, now that he had made a life for himself beyond Alexander Mattock’s shadow. A great man…who had hated his own grandson.
    “This is yours.…” Boyd pulled a second sheet from the folds of the first. Drew smoothed it out to read:
    My dear boy:
    Your letter from Meridian reached me just two days ago, having been many weeks on the way, and I am taking advantage of Henry Crosely’s presence home on leave to reply. I want you to know that I do not, in any way, consider you to blame for Boyd’s joining General organ’s command. He had long been restless here, and it was only a matter of time and chance before he followed his brother.
    I know that you must have done all that you could to dissuade him after your aunt’s appeal to you, but I had already accepted failure on this point. Just as I know that it was your efforts which established him under good care in Meridian. Do not,