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

crossing ravines, climbing hills, and picking his

path now and then through soft ground, the most exhausting labor of all.

The sun poured down upon him and his uniform dried fast. He had just

crossed one of the ravines and was climbing into the thicket beyond when

a voice asked:

 

"See any of the Yanks in front?"

 

Dick's heart stood still, and then all his presence of mind came

back. Not in vain had the kindly colonel warned him of the Southern

sharpshooters in the bush.

 

"No," he replied. "They seem to be farther up. One of our fellows told

me he saw a whole regiment of them off there to the right."

 

He plunged deeper into the bush and walked on as if he were among his

own comrades. He realized that his faded uniform with its dye of yellow

mud had caused him to be mistaken for one of Pemberton's men. His

accent, which was Kentuckian and therefore Southern, had helped him

also. He passed three or four other men, bent over, rifle in hand and

watching, and he nodded to them familiarly. In such a crisis he knew

that boldness and ease were his best cards, and he said to one of the

men, with a laugh:

 

"You'll have to tell us Tennesseeans about all your bayous and creeks.

I've just fallen into one that had no right to be there."

 

"You Tennesseeans need a bath anyhow," replied the man, chuckling.

 

"We'd never choose a Mississippi stream for it," said Dick in the

same vein, and passed on leaving the rifleman in high good humor. How

wonderfully these Southerners were like the Northerners! He noticed

presently a half-dozen other sharpshooters in the Confederate butternut,

prowling among the bushes, and through an opening he saw his own people

to the west, but too far away to be reached by anything but artillery.

The slow, deep music of the Northern guns came steadily to his ear, but

their fire was always turned toward Vicksburg.

 

Dick knew that his position was extremely critical. Perhaps it was

growing more so all the while, but he was never cooler. A quiet lad, he

always rose wonderfully to an emergency. He was quite sure that he

was among Mississippi troops, and they could not possibly know all the

soldiers from the other states gathered for the defense of Vicksburg. He

did not differ from those around him in any respect, except that he did

not carry a rifle.

 

He paused and looked back thoughtfully at the distant Union troops.

 

"Can you tell me how they're posted?" he said to a tall, thin

middle-aged man who had a chew of tobacco in his cheek. "I carry

dispatches to General Pemberton, and the more information I can give him

the better."

 

"Yes, I kin tell you," replied the man, somewhat flattered. "They're

posted everywhere. What, with their army and them boats of theirs in the

river, they've got a high fence around us, all staked and ridered."

 

"It doesn't take any more work to tear a fence down than it does to

build it up."

 

"I reckon you're right thar, stranger. But was you at Champion Hill?"

 

"No, I missed that."

 

"Then it was a good thing for you that you did. I didn't set much store

by the Yanks when this war began. One good Southerner could whip five of

'em any time, our rip-roarin', fire-eatin' speech-makers said. I knowed

then, too, that they was right, but I was up thar in Kentucky a while,

an' after Donelson I reckoned that four was about as many as I wanted

to tackle all to oncet. Then thar was Shiloh, an' I kinder had a thought

that if three of 'em jumped on me at one time I'd hev my hands purty

full to lick 'em. Then come Corinth, an,' reasonin' with myself, I said

I wouldn't take on more'n two Yanks at the same time. An' now, since

I've been at Champion Hill, I know that the Yank is a pow'ful good

fighter, an' I reckon one to one jest about suits me, an' even then I'd

like to have a leetle advantage in the draw."

 

"I feel that way about it, too. The Yankees are going to make a heap

of trouble for us here. But I must be going. What's the best path into

Vicksburg?"

 

"See that little openin' in the bushes. Follow it. Jest over the hill

you'll run into a passel of our fellers, but pay no 'tention to 'em. If

they ask you who you are an' whar you're boun' tell 'em to go straight

to blazes, while you go to Vicksburg."

 

"Thank you," said Dick, "I like to meet an obliging and polite man like

you. It helps even in war."

 

"Don't mention it. When I wuz a little shaver my ma told me always to

mind my manners, an' when I didn't she whaled the life out of me. An',

do you know, stranger, she's just a leetle, withered old woman, but if

she could 'pear here right now I'd be willin' to set down right in these

bushes an' say, 'Ma, take up that stick over thar an' beat me across the

shoulders an' back with it as hard as you kin.' I'd feel good all over."

 

"I believe you," said Dick, who thought of his own mother.

 

He followed the indicated path until he was out of sight of everybody,

and then he plunged into the bushes and marsh toward the river. When he

was well hidden he stopped and considered.

 

It was quite evident that he had wandered from the right road, but

it was no easy task to get back into it. There was an unconscious

Confederate cordon about him and he must pass through it somewhere. He

moved farther toward the river, but only went deeper into the swamp.

 

He turned to the south and soon reached firm ground, but he heard

Confederate pickets talking in front of him. Then he caught glimpses of

two or three men watching among the trees, and he lay down in a clump of

bushes. He might pass them as he had passed the others, but he thought

it wiser not to take the risk.

 

He was willing also to rest a little, as he had done a lot of hard

walking. His clothing was now dry, and the mud had dried upon it.

 

He turned aside into one of the deep ravines and then into a smaller one

leading from it. The bushes were dense there and he lay down among them,

so completely hidden that he was invisible ten feet away. Here he still

heard the mutter of the guns, which came in a long, droning sound, and

occasionally a rifle cracked at some point closer by. The Union army

was still busy and he felt a few moments of despondency. His dispatch

undoubtedly was of great importance, and yet he was not able to deliver

It was highly probable that for precaution's sake other messengers

bore the same dispatch, but he was anxious to arrive with his

nevertheless, and he wanted, too, to arrive first. The last now seemed

impossible and the first improbable.

 

The crackling fire came nearer. Owing to the lack of percussion caps,

Pemberton had ordered his men to use their rifles sparingly, but

evidently a considerable body of sharpshooters near Dick were attempting

a flanking movement of some kind, and meant to carry it out with

bullets. He was impatient to see, but prudence kept him in his covert, a

prudence that was soon justified, as presently he heard voices very near

him and then the sound of footsteps.

 

He rose up a little and saw several hundred Confederate soldiers passing

on the slopes not more than a hundred yards away. They went south of

him, and he recognized with growing alarm that the wall across his way

was growing higher. When they were gone and he could no longer hear

their tread among the bushes he slipped from his hiding place and went

directly toward Vicksburg. Being within an iron ring he thought that

perhaps he would be safer somewhere near the center. He might make his

way without much trouble through the vast confused crowd in Vicksburg,

and then in the night go down the river's edge and to the fleet.

 

It was a daring idea, so very daring that it appealed to the strain of

high adventure in the lad. He was encouraged, too, by his earlier and

easy success in passing among the Confederate soldiers. But in order not

to appear reckless and to satisfy his own conscience he tried once more

for the way to the south. But the soldiers entirely barred the path

there, and, being on some duty that required extreme vigilance, they

were likely to prove exacting.

 

He advanced with a clear mind toward Vicksburg, picking his way among

the forests and ravines, but, after long walking over most difficult

ground, he saw before him extensive earthworks thronged with Southern

troops. When he turned westward the result was the same, and then it

became evident that there was no flaw in the iron ring. He could not go

through to Porter, he could not go back to his own army, but Vicksburg

invited him as a guest.

 

He would make the trial at night. It was a long wait, but he dared not

risk it by day, and, going back into one of the ravines, he sought

a secluded and sheltered place. Threshing the bushes to drive away

possible snakes, he crawled into a clump and lay there. Resolved to be

patient in spite of everything, he did not stir, but listened to the far

throbbing of the cannon which poured an incessant storm of missiles upon

unhappy Vicksburg.

 

The warmth and the heavy air in the ravine were relaxing. His brain grew

so dull and heavy that he fell asleep, and when he awoke the twilight

was coming. And yet he had lost nothing. He had gained rather. The time

had passed. His body had been strengthened and his nerves steadied while

he slept.

 

The distant booming of the guns still came. He had expected it. That was

Grant. He had wrapped the coil of steel around Vicksburg and he would

never relax. Dick felt that there was no hope for the town, unless

Johnston outside could gather a powerful army and fight Grant on even

terms. But he considered it impossible, and there, too, was the great

artery of the river along which flowed men and supplies of every kind

for the Union.

 

The Southern twilight turned swiftly into night and, coming from his

lair, Dick walked boldly toward the town. He had eaten nothing since

morning, but he had not noticed it, until this moment, when he began to

feel a little faintness. He resolved that Vicksburg should supply him.

It was curious how much help he expected of Vicksburg, a hostile town.

 

He saw lights soon both to right and to left and he strengthened his

soul. He knew that he must be calm, but alert and quick with the right

answer. With his singular capacity for meeting a crisis he advanced into

the thick of danger with a smiling face, even as his great ancestor,

Paul Cotter, had often done.

 

His calm was of short duration. There was a rushing sound, something

struck violently, and a tremendous explosion followed. Fire flashed

before Dick's eyes, pieces of red hot metal whistled past his head,

earth spattered him and he was thrown to the ground.

 

He sprang up again, understanding all instantly. A shell from his own

army had burst near him, and he had been thrown down by the concussion.

But he had not been hurt, and in a few seconds his pulse beat steadily.

 

He heard a shout of laughter as he stood, brushing the fresh dirt from

his clothing. He glanced up in some anger, but he saw at once that the

arrival of the shell had been most fortunate for his plan. To come near

annihilation by a Federal gun certainly invested him with a Confederate

character.

 

It was a group of young soldiers who were laughing and their amusement

was entirely good-natured. They would have laughed the same way had the

harmless adventure befallen one of their own number. Dick judged that

they were from the Southwest.

 

"Close call," he said, smiling that attractive smile, which was visible

even in the twilight.

 

"It was a friendly shell," said one of the youths, "and it concluded

not to come too close to you. These Yankee shells are so loving that

sometimes they spray themselves in little pieces all over a fellow, like

a shower of rice over a bride at a wedding."

 

"How long do you think the Yankees will keep it up?" asked Dick, putting

indignation in his tone. "Haven't they any respect for the night?"

 

"Not a bit. That fellow Grant is a pounder. They say he'll blow