Manly Wade Wellman - Novel 1954 by Rebel Mail Runner (v1.1) Read Free Book Online Page B

cover to the next. At sundown they sheltered under overhanging reeds and
ate their last sandwiches, washed down with river water. Then, in the twilight,
they drifted into view of a great shadowy cluster of craft, strung along the
right bank. Lights winked on, one, then another, then another, then several,
like stars in the early night.
                 “Transports,”
Grimes told Barry. “I could see them from Haines’ Bluff. Just beyond there’s
another bend, and real trouble. That’s where the gunboats are.”
                 Keeping
to the left bank, they paddled more swiftly in the cloaking gloom until clear
of the transport anchorage. For a full hour they moved, while stars blazed
overhead. At last they reached the river bend below the transports, and found
themselves almost reversing their course. Beyond was broader, quieter water, and a string of lights directly across their way.
                  “The gunboats,” Grimes called softly.
“They reach nearly all the way from bank to bank. Paddle to the right, Barry,
but not too close to the Louisiana side, for the Yankees have a big force of troops opposite Vicksburg .”
                 As
they angled across the river, Barry heard his heart thumping, like a drum
beating the long roll. When they approached the right bank, Grimes whispered
for a halt. Behind Barry he rose to his knees, then very gingerly to his full
height, balancing with widespread feet in the dugout. Looking over his shoulder,
Barry saw Grimes staring through the darkness toward the lights.
                 “They’re
thick,” came Grimes’ undertone at last. “Twenty, maybe
thirty of them—line after line. All right, Barry, here’s where we start our upside-down voyage.”
                 They
slid their paddles into the wire loops, and Barry slipped into the water,
pushing down on the gunwales. Grimes, out on the other side, heaved strongly,
and between them they overturned the dug- out, which floated like a log in the
dark water.
                 “Out
saucepans and head downstream,” said Grimes. “Don’t splash.”
                Barry floated forward, his feet
trailing behind him. Holding with one hand to the reversed, submerged thwart,
he plied the saucepan with the other. He drew it rearward below the surface,
brought it up silently, reached forward as though scooping, and drew it back
again. They made slow progress. At first they seemed only to creep along with
the current. Then, when Barry glanced up, he realized that they were passing
some scores of yards clear of a gunboat that loomed in the night like a castle
rising from the water. A ship’s lantern blazed on the foredeck, and he could
see two men, pacing back and forth with shouldered muskets like sentinels on
guard.
                 Still
he and Grimes wore their way downstream, past this craft and clear of it.
Beyond and below rode another at anchor, and on this
one gleamed a great searchlight. As they approached the waters alongside, the
fierce white glow shifted back and forth, as though seeking them.
                 “Low,
lie low,” cautioned Grimes. “Sink to your nose.”
                 Barry
submerged until the ripples played against his lips. The light came closer,
crawled over the dug- out’s bottom, seemed to linger there like a great accusing
finger. Barry closed his eyes against its white intensity, and braced himself
to hear an angry challenge, the spatter of musket fire.
                 Then
it was gone. He and Grimes dug and paddled with the saucepans, while the light
quested elsewhere over the water.
                 An
eternity seemed to pass before they had progressed beyond that stretch where
the searchlight played. They dropped below another line of gunboats and
another, but none of these was so close or so inquisitive.
                 “Look
to the left,” bade Grimes at