“Admirable!” whispered Walter Jenks, “It’s a sure thing, and the man who invented the scheme has more brains than half the generals in the war!”
As George pictured to himself the stolen train flying along the tracks, in the very heart of the enemy’s country, he could hardly restrain his enthusiasm. “It’s grand!” he murmured. Had he dared he would have given a great cheer.
The leader smiled as he saw, in the dim lamplight, the radiant face of the boy. “You have lots of grit, my lad,” he said, in a kindly fashion, “and God grant you may come out of this business in safety.” Then, turning to Watson, he asked: “How does my plan, as now arranged, impress you, Watson?”
After a minute’s silence, during which the others in the room gazed intently at Watson, that soldier said: “I have as great an admiration for James Andrews as any one of our party, and I am ready to follow wherever he leads. Whatever my faults may be, I’m not a coward. But we should look carefully on each side of a question—and I can’t help thinking that owing to circumstances which we have not taken into account our expedition stands a very decided chance of failure.”
“What are those circumstances?” asked Andrews.
“In the first place,” was the reply, “I find that there is a large encampment of Confederate troops at Big Shanty. Escape in a captured train would have been very easy while those soldiers were elsewhere; but, being there, do you suppose that the sentries of the camp will stand idly by when we seize cars and locomotive and attempt to steam away to the northward? In the second place—and this is no less important—the railroad seems to be obstructed by numerous freight trains, probably not on the schedule, and flying along the track towards Chattanooga will not be as plain sailing as you believe. One unlooked-for delay might be fatal. We are in the midst of enemies, and should there be one hitch, one change in our program, the result will be failure, and perhaps death, for all of us.”
There was a painful silence. At last Andrews said, very quietly, but with an air of strong conviction: “I think the very objections you urge, my dear Watson, are advantages in disguise. I know, as well as you, that there’s a big encampment at Big Shanty, but what of it? No one dreams for one second that there is any plot to capture a train, and no one, therefore, will be on the lookout. The thing will be done so suddenly that there will be no chance for an alarm until we are steaming off from the station—and then we can laugh. If we strike any unscheduled trains, they too will be to our advantage; for they will make such confusion on the road that they will detract attention from the rather suspicious appearance of our own train.”
“Perhaps you are right,” answered Watson, rather dubiously.
Andrews arose from the bed, and solemnly shook hands with each of his four companions. Then he said, very impressively: “I am confident of the success of our enterprise, and I will either go through with it or leave my bones to bleach in ‘Dixieland.’ But I don’t want to persuade any one against his own judgment. If any one of you thinks the scheme too dangerous—if you are convinced beforehand of its failure—you are at perfect liberty to take the train in any direction, and work your way home to the Union camp as best you can. Nor shall I have one word of reproach, either in my mind or on my lips, for a man whose prudence, or whose want of confidence in his leader, induces him to draw back.”
Andrews was an adroit student of men. No speech could have better served his purpose of inducing his followers to remain with him. It was as if he declared: “You may all desert me, but I will remain true to my flag.”