The Rock of Chickamauga - Joseph A. Altsheler (macos ebook reader .txt) 📗

Death."

 

Dick saw Grant walking over the field and he wondered what his feelings

were. Although its full result was beyond him he knew, nevertheless,

that Champion Hill was a great victory. At one stroke of his sword Grant

had cut apart the circle of his foes.

 

Dick came back from the pursuit with Colonel Winchester. He had lost

sight of Warner and Pennington in the turmoil, but he believed that they

would reappear unhurt. They had passed through so many battles now that

it did not occur to him that any of the three would be killed. They

might be wounded, of course, as they had been already, but fate would

play them no such scurvy trick as to slay them.

 

"What will be the next step, Colonel?" asked Dick, as they stood

together upon the victorious hill.

 

"Depends upon what Johnston and Pemberton do. Pemberton, I'm sure, will

retreat to Vicksburg, but Johnston, if he can prevent it, won't let his

army be shut up there. Still, they may not be able to communicate, and

if they should Pemberton may disobey the far abler Johnston and stay in

Vicksburg anyhow. At any rate, I think we're sure to march at once on

Vicksburg."

 

A figure approaching in the dusk greeted Dick with a shout of delight.

Another just behind repeated the shout with equal fervor. Warner and

Pennington had come, unharmed as he had expected, and they were exultant

over the victory.

 

"Come over here," said Warner to Dick. "Sergeant Whitley has cooked a

glorious supper and we're waiting for you."

 

Dick joined them eagerly, and the sergeant received them with his

benevolent smile. They were commissioned officers, and he gave them all

the respect due to rank, but in his mind they were only his boys, whom

he must watch and protect.

 

While the fires sprang up about them and they ate and talked of the

victory, Washington was knowing its darkest moments. Lee had already

been marching thirteen days toward Gettysburg, and he seemed unbeatable.

Grant, who had won for the North about all the real success of which

it could yet boast, was lost somewhere in the Southern wilderness. The

messages seeking him ran to the end of the telegraph wires and no answer

came back. The click of the key could not reach him. Many a spirit, bold

at most times, despaired of the Union.

 

But the old and hackneyed saying about the darkest hour just before the

dawn was never more true. The flame of success was already lighted in

the far South, and Lincoln was soon to receive the message, telling him

that Grant had not disappeared in the wilderness for nothing. Thereafter

he was to trust the silent and tenacious general through everything.

 

They were up and away at dawn. Dick was glad enough to leave the hill,

on which many of the dead yet lay unburied, and he was eager for the new

field of conflict, which he was sure would be before Vicksburg. Warner

and Pennington were as sanguine as he. Grant was now inspiring in them

the confidence that Lee and Jackson inspired in their young officers.

 

"How big is this city of Vicksburg?" asked Pennington.

 

"Not big at all," replied Warner. "There are no big cities in the South

except New Orleans, but it's big as a fortress. It's surrounded by

earthworks, Frank, from which the Johnnies can pot you any time."

 

"Well, at any rate, I'll be glad to see it--from a safe distance. I

wouldn't mind sitting down before a town. There's too much wet country

around here to suit me."

 

"It's likely that you'll have a chance to sit for a long time. We won't

take Vicksburg easily."

 

But the time for sitting down had not yet come. The confidence of the

soldiers in their leader was justified continually. He advanced rapidly

toward Vicksburg, and in pursuit of Pemberton's defeated men. The

victory at Champion Hill had been so complete that the Southern army

was broken into detached fragments, and the Southern generals were now

having the greatest difficulty in getting them together again.

 

Grant, with his loyal subordinate, Sherman, continued to push upon the

enemy with the greatest vigor. Sherman had not believed in the success

of the campaign, had even filed his written protest, but when Grant

insisted he had cooperated with skill and energy. He and Grant stood

together on a hill looking toward the future field of conflict, and he

told Grant now that he expected continued success.

 

It was the fortune of the young officers of the Winchester regiment

sitting near on their horses to see the two generals who were in such

earnest consultation, and who examined the whole circle of the country

so long and so carefully through powerful glasses.

 

The effects of the victory deep in the South were growing hourly in

Dick's mind, and the two figures standing there on the hill were full

of significance to him. He had a premonition that they were the men more

than any others who would achieve the success of the Union, if it were

achieved at all. They had dismounted and stood side by side, the figure

of Grant short, thick and sturdy, that of Sherman, taller and more

slender. They spoke only at intervals, and few words then, but nothing

in the country about them escaped their attention.

 

Dick had glasses of his own, and he, too, began to look. He saw a region

much wooded and cut by deep streams. Before them lay the sluggish waters

of Chickasaw Bayou, where Sherman had sustained a severe defeat at an

earlier time, and farther away flowed the deep, muddy Yazoo.

 

"See the smoke, George, rising above that line of trees along the

river?" said Dick.

 

"Yes, Dick," replied Warner, "and I notice that the smoke rises in

puffs."

 

"It has a right to go up that way, because it's expelled violently from

the smoke-stacks of steamers. And those steamers are ours, George, our

warships. Our navy in this war hasn't much chance to do the spectacular,

but we can never give it enough credit."

 

"That's right, Dick. It keeps the enemy surrounded and cuts off his

supplies, while our army fights him on land. Whatever happens the waters

are ours."

 

"And the Mississippi has become a Union river, splitting apart the

Confederacy."

 

"Right you are, Dick, and we're already in touch with our fleet there.

The boats do more than fight for us. They're unloading supplies in vast

quantities from Chickasaw Bayou. We'll have good food, blankets, tents

to shelter us from the rain, and unlimited ammunition to batter the

enemy's works."

 

The investment of Vicksburg had been so rapid and complete that

Johnston, the man whom Grant had the most cause to fear, could not unite

with Pemberton, and he had retired toward Jackson, hoping to form a new

army. Only three days after Champion Hill Grant had drawn his semicircle

of steel around Vicksburg and its thirty thousand men, and the navy in

the rivers completed the dead line.

 

Dick rode with Colonel Winchester and took the best view they could get

of Vicksburg, the little city which had suddenly become of such vast

military importance.

 

Now and then on the long, lower course of the Mississippi, bluffs rise,

although at far intervals. Memphis stands on one group and hundreds

of miles south Vicksburg stands on another. The Vicksburg plateau runs

southward to the Big Bayou, which curves around them on the south and

east, and the eastern slope of the uplift has been cut and gulleyed by

many torrents. So strong has been the effect of the rushing water upon

the soft soil that these cuts have become deep winding ravines, often

with perpendicular banks. One of the ravines is ten miles long. Another

cuts the plateau itself for six miles, and a permanent stream flows

through it.

 

The colonel and Dick saw everywhere rivers, brooks, bayous, hills,

marshes and thickets, the whole turned by the Southern engineers into

a vast and most difficult line of intrenchments. Grant now had forty

thousand men for the attack or siege, but he and his generals did

not yet know that most of the scattered Confederate army had gathered

together again, and was inside. They believed that Vicksburg was held by

fifteen thousand men at the utmost.

 

"What do you think of it, Colonel?" asked Dick, as they sat horseback on

one of the highest hills.

 

"It will be hard to take, despite the help of the navy. Did you ever see

another country cut up so much by nature and offering such natural help

to defenders?"

 

"I've heard a lot of Vicksburg. I remember, Colonel, that, despite its

smallness, it is one of the great river towns of the South."

 

"So it is, Dick. I was here once, when I was a boy before the Mexican

war. Down on the bar, the low place between the bluffs and the river,

was the dueling ground, and it was also the place for sudden fights. It

and Natchez, I suppose, were rivals for the wild and violent life of the

great river."

 

"Well, sir, it has a bigger fight on its hands now than was ever dreamed

of by any of those men."

 

"I think you're right, Dick, but the general means to attack at once. We

may carry it by storm."

 

Dick looked again at the vast entanglement of creeks, bayous, ravines,

forests and thickets. Like other young officers, he had his opinion, but

he had the good sense to keep it to himself. He and the colonel rejoined

the regiment, and presently the trumpets were calling again for battle.

The men of Champion Hill, sanguine of success, marched straight upon

Vicksburg. All the officers of the Winchester regiment were dismounted,

as their portion of the line was too difficult for horses.

 

Their advance, as at Champion Hill, was over ground wooded heavily and

they soon heard the reports of the rifles before them. Bullets began to

cut the leaves and twigs, carrying away the bushes, scarring the trees

and now and then taking human life. The Winchester men fired

whenever they saw an enemy, and with them it was largely an affair

of sharpshooters, but on both left and right the battle rolled more

heavily. The Southerners, behind their powerful fortifications at the

heads of the ravines and on the plateau, beat back every attack.

 

Before long the trumpets sounded the recall and the short battle ceased.

Grant had discovered that he could not carry Vicksburg by a sudden

rush and he recoiled for a greater effort. He discovered, too, from the

resistance and the news brought later by his scouts that an army almost

as numerous as his own was in the town.

 

The Winchester regiment made camp on a solid, dry piece of ground beyond

the range of the Southern works, and the men, veterans now, prepared

for their comfort. The comrades ate supper to the slow booming of great

guns, where the advanced cannon of either side engaged in desultory

duel.

 

The distant reports did not disturb Dick. They were rather soothing. He

was glad enough to rest after so much exertion and so much danger and

excitement.

 

"I feel as if I were an empty shell," he said, "and I've got to wait

until nature comes along and fills up the shell again with a human

being."

 

"In my school in Vermont," said Warner, "they'd call that a considerable

abuse of metaphor, but all metaphors are fair in war. Besides, it's just

the way I feel, too. Do you think, Dick, we'll settle down to a regular

siege?"

 

"Knowing General Grant as we do, not from what he tells us, since he

hasn't taken Pennington and you and me into his confidence as he ought

to, but from our observation of his works, I should say that he would

soon attack again in full force."

 

"I agree with you, Knight of the Penetrating Mind, but meanwhile I'm

going to enjoy myself."

 

"What do you mean, George?"

 

"A mail has come through by means of the river, and my good father and

mother--God bless 'em--have sent me what they knew I would value most,

something which is at once an intellectual exercise, an entertainment,

and a consolation in bereavement."

 

Dick and Pennington sat up. Warner's words were earnest and portentous.

Besides, they were very long, which indicated that he was not jesting.

 

"Go ahead, George. Show us what it is!" said Dick eagerly.

 

Warner drew from the inside pocket of his waist coat a worn volume which

he handled lovingly.

 

"This," he said, "is the algebra, with which I won the highest honors

in our academy. I have missed it many and many a time since I came into

this war. It is filled with the most beautiful problems, Dick, questions

which will take many a good man a whole night to solve. When I think of

the joyous hours I've spent over it some of the tenderest chords in my

nature are touched."

 

Pennington uttered a deep groan and buried his face in