Hedges felt neither, elated nor depressed as he allowed his horse free rein through the mountains, at the head of one column of men and in the wake of another. If he experienced any emotion it was one of low-keyed satisfaction that he had made mistakes at Philippi, but had learned from them. That men had died during the lesson was no fault of his, rather of the circumstances which allowed for no school of war except war itself. Neither did he concern himself with the rumor that McCellan was considering his promotion to captain as soon as a vacancy occurred. When the general had personally commended him, after hearing Leaman's report of the battle, Hedges had been taciturn in his response. He had done what was necessary in the best way he knew how and in his own mind this was what was expected of him and therefore merited no reward.
"Understand you're in line for promotion, lieutenant?" Captain Oliver Jordan was a tall, thin man of forty with an arrogantly handsome face and the manner of an educated hog. Before the taking of Fort Sumter he had been second-in-command of a fort in the south western Territories. He was always willing to regale, and bore, his fellow officers in McClellan's army with tales of his exploits, the details of which were apt to be embroidered at each telling to the point where little credence could be placed in them. Of all the West Pointers Hedges had come across, Jordan had the greatest aversion to ninety-day officers. As he slowed his horse to match pace with Hedges, the captain's eyes displayed a sardonic light and his teeth shone in a supercilious smile.
"So everyone keeps telling me," Hedges answered with merely a glance in the other's direction.
There was a low murmuring of discontent from the men in Hedges' column. While fellow officers disliked the boastful Jordan, the enlisted men hated him for his overbearing attitude and unbending brand of discipline.
"You're still a lieutenant," Jordan reminded.
"Sir," Hedges supplied.
Jordan nodded. "One skirmish doesn't make a soldier."
Hedges continued to ride, eyes to the front, looking across the heads of the troopers towards the rising ground that was beginning to slow the pace. "No, sir," he said.
"You don't say a lot, do you?" A note of irritation had crept into Jordan's voice.
"I've only got one skirmish to talk about, sir," Hedges replied and spat into the lush green grass they were riding over. "Said all I want to about that."
A cackle of laughter sounded from the men behind the officers and was abruptly silenced as Jordan turned in his saddle, his expression hardening. His eyes were still flat with an accusing glare as they returned to Hedges' profile.
"You don't impress me as officer material," he said with soft reproach. "I've got the ear of the general and I'll be watching you, lieutenant."
"I'll try to give you something to see, sir," Hedges came back evenly.
Jordan grunted and heeled his horse into a wheel away from the column of cavalry to return to his position. Another cackle of laughter followed him and was not ended until the men had drained the situation dry of amusement.
They crested one peak and then another in the push towards the Shenandoah Valley before a halt was called and McClellan assembled his senior officers. Hedges made use of the pause to read again the letter from Jeannie Fisher and then scrawled a letter of his own to his brother Jamie. He folded five dollars into the envelope before sealing it and putting the envelope in his pocket to await an opportunity to place it aboard a west-bound stage. C Troop, the designation for the men under Leaman's command, were in a glade and Hedges did his reading and writing under the spreading bows of a gnarled oak which reminded him of the tree standing outside the house of his Iowa spread. Leaman found him there, reading yet again the short note from the girl in Parkersburg.
"See there?" the Captain asked, pointing out of the glade and up the rise to where the side of a mountain could be seen between the trees.
Hedges nodded as he put the letter away.
Leaman lowered his voice to cheat the ears of the nearby troopers who strained to pick up information. "Rich Mountain. Indications are that there are between four and five thousand Confederates dug in up there. They've been waiting there a long time and have thrown up some good defenses.
"Hedges grinned coldly.” You asking for volunteers?"
Leaman attempted to form his boyish features into a cynical grin. "In this war you only volunteer once—to join. After that it's orders all the way. McClellan wants to push on north east with the main body. Jordan's Troop, C Troop and A Troop are going up Rich Mountain."
"When?" Hedges asked.
"Mount up!" a cry rang through the timber, to be followed by identical orders from all around.
"One guess," Leaman replied.
Hedges took off his cap, ran his hand through his lengthening black hair and replaced it. "Before the rebs have time to dig in any deeper."
As Leaman nodded, Hedges signaled to the sallow-faced sergeant. He gave the order and the men stamped out their cigarettes or came up out of reclining positions to pull themselves into their saddles. Hedges mounted his own horse and waited impassively for the command to move forward. When it came, shouted down the line like an echo in a narrow canyon, the column of blue coated figures divided into two, one group sheering to the north into the mouth of a valley as the remainder headed up the rising ground of low foothills.
The shot from the sharpshooter perched high in the elm tree was like a whipcrack, just loud enough to cut across the thud of hooves at the walk and the jingle of harness. But the cry of the wounded man was magnified by the minds of frightened troopers who were thrown into panic by the harsh volley of rifle fire that followed the first shot.
"Charge!"
"Charge!"
"Charge!"
The timber had become sparser as the Union cavalry had climbed and now as the men heeled their mounts into a gallop they broke into open ground and thundered into a murderous barrage of rifle fire from a trench directly in their path. As they came out from cover the troopers rode into an echelon formation, the ranks of which became split by wide gaps as horses and men stumbled under the hail of bullets and ballshot. The screams of the wounded were drowned by the gunfire and the battle-cries of the advancing troopers.
Hedges rode with his body bent forward in the saddle as the headlong rush sent off a wave of pain from the wound in his hip. That bullet had merely creased him, cutting a three inch groove in his side and had seemed to be on the mend but now as he galloped toward the Confederate line he expected each orange plume and grey puff to signal a wound in a vital organ. It never happened, He reached the edge of, the trench unscathed, in the second wave of cavalrymen, and as his mount launched into a jump he kicked free of the stirrups and slid from the saddle.
The first rebel was in a half crouch, ramming powder into the muzzle of his musket as the hind hooves of the horse made contact with his forehead and he was jerked over backwards, pouring blood from a split skull. The second man, just bringing up his loaded musket for a hip shot, folded double as Hedges' boot heels thudded into his stomach. Then Hedges cracked his skull too, with the stock of the Spencer. Hedges hit the ground with a tremendous impact and heard a cry tear from his throat as the jolt wrenched at his wound. A gun exploded close to his right ear and a blue-coated form slumped into the trench beside him. Before a curtain of blood came down from his forehead wound to veil the features, Hedges recognized the sallow face of the sergeant. He turned to see who had fired the lethal shot and saw a young boy—no more than sixteen—struggling to reload an ancient Starr .54 muzzle loader.
"Ain't a healthy time to be young in, kid," he said as he fired the Spencer at point-blank range into the boy's terrified face. The bullet exited from the back of his head amid a great spray of blood and brain tissue.