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

are with him, too. I expect to

see 'Pap' Thomas again. He's a general to my liking."

 

"And to mine, too," said Pennington, "but we can talk about him later

on, because I'm going to sleep again inside of a minute."

 

Dick was not averse to silence, as he, too, was half asleep; that is, he

was in a dreamy stage, and he was at peace with the world and his fellow

men. From under drooping eyelids he was vaguely watching the low shores

of the Mississippi, and the great mass of yellow waters moving onward

from the far vague forests of the North in their journey of four

thousand miles to the gulf.

 

Like all boys of the great valley, Dick always felt the romance and

spell of the Mississippi. It was to him and them one of the greatest

facts in the natural world, the grave of De Soto, the stream on which

their fathers and forefathers had explored and traded and fought since

their beginnings. Now it was fulfilling its titanic role again, and the

Union fleets upon its bosom were splitting the Confederacy asunder.

 

He, too, fell asleep before long. Warner glanced at his comrades who

slept so well on a hard bench, and his look was rather envious. He

returned his beloved algebra to his pocket, leaned back on the bench

also, and, although he had not believed it possible, slept also inside

of five minutes. Colonel Winchester passing smiled sympathetically, but

his glance lingered longest on Dick.

 

After days on the water the regiment disembarked, marched more days

across the country, joining other regiments on the way, and reached

the rear guard of the army of Rosecrans, which was already marching

southward in the direction of Chattanooga to meet that of Bragg. They

advanced now over the Cumberland mountains through a country wild

and thinly inhabited. The summer was waning, but it was cool on the

mountains and in the passes, nor was it so dry as the year before, when

they fought that terrible battle at Perryville in Kentucky.

 

Dick was glad to be again in the high country, the land of firm soil and

of many clear, rushing streams. Heart and lungs expanded, when he looked

upon the long ridges, clothed in deep forest, and breathed the pure air

that blew down from their summits. Yet his dream of peace was over.

As they advanced through the forests and passes they were harassed

incessantly by sharpshooters on the slopes, who melted away before them,

but who returned on the very heels of the vain pursuit to vex them again

with bullets.

 

They heard soon that the most daring of these bands was led by a man

named Slade, and Dick's pulse took a jump. He felt in a curious sort of

way that this man Slade was still following him. It seemed more than a

decree of chance that their fates should be intertwined. He hoped that

Slade would never hear how he had been hidden in that hole in the ravine

with the Woodvilles. Trouble could come of it for gallant young Victor

Woodville, and even for his uncle. He was sure that Victor was now with

Bragg and they might meet face to face again.

 

As they rode through a defile and came into a wide valley they saw

before them an extensive Union camp, and they were overjoyed to learn

that it was the division of Thomas, the general to whom they were to

report. Dick had once received the personal thanks of Thomas, and

the grave, able man inspired him with immense respect, mingled with

affection.

 

He stood before Thomas in his tent that evening, Colonel Winchester

having yielded to his request to take him with him when he reported the

arrival of his regiment. Thomas, usually so taciturn, delighted the soul

of the lad by remembering him at once.

 

"It was you, Lieutenant Mason, who came to me there in the Kentucky

mountains with the dispatches," he said, "and you were also with us at

Perryville and Stone River."

 

"I was, sir," said Dick, flushing with pride.

 

"And you were with General Grant at the taking of Vicksburg! It was a

great exploit, and it has lifted us up mightily. But I'm glad to have

you back along with Colonel Winchester and the rest of his brave lads.

I think you'll see action before long, action perhaps on a greater scale

than any witnessed hitherto in the West."

 

Dick saluted and withdrew. He knew that a young lieutenant must not stay

too long in the presence of a commanding general and he quickly rejoined

Warner and Pennington.

 

"How's the old man?" asked Pennington, with the familiarity of youth,

which was not disrespectful in the absence of the "old man."

 

"'Pap' Thomas is looking well," replied Dick. "I fancy that his

digestion was never better. He did not act in a belligerent way, but I

think he's hunting for a fight."

 

"Since you and Warner and I have arrived he can begin it."

 

"I think it's coming," said Dick earnestly. "Often you can feel when

things are moving to some end, and I'm sure that we'll measure strength

again with Bragg before the autumn has gone far."

 

The valley in which the camp lay was green and beautiful, and a deep,

clear little river from the mountains, ran rushing, through it. The

three lads lay on their blankets near the bank and listened to the

musical sweep of the stream. Pennington suddenly sprang up and hailed:

 

"Hey, Ohio, is that you? Come here!"

 

A tall youth emerged from the dusk and looked at them inquiringly.

 

"Ohio," said Pennington, "don't you remember your friends?"

 

The long, lean lad looked again, and then he was enthusiastically

shaking hands with each in turn.

 

"Remember you!" he exclaimed. "Of course I do. If it hadn't been so dark

I'd have seen you and called to you first. I'm glad you're alive. It's

a lot to live in these times. I tried to find out about you fellows but

couldn't. We came in a detachment ahead of you. But if you'll invite me,

I'll stay awhile with you and talk."

 

They offered him a blanket and he stretched out upon it, turning his

eyes up to the sky, in which the stars were now coming.

 

"What are you thinking about, Ohio?" asked Dick.

 

"I'm thinking how fast I'm growing old. Two years and a half in the war,

but it's twenty-five years in fact. I hadn't finished school when I left

home and here I am, a veteran of more battles than any soldiers have

fought since the days of old Bonaparte. If I happen to live through

this war, which I mean to do, I wonder how I'll ever settle down at home

again. Father will say to me: 'Get the plough and break up the five-acre

field for corn,' and me, maybe a veteran of a dozen pitched battles in

every one of which anywhere from one hundred thousand to two hundred

thousand men have been engaged, not to mention fifty or a hundred

smaller battles and four or five hundred skirmishes.

 

"When the flies begin to buzz around me I'll think they make a mighty

poor noise compared with the roar of three or four hundred big cannon

and a hundred thousand rifles that I've listened to so often. If a

yellow jacket should sting me, I'd say what a little thing it is,

compared with the piece of shrapnel that hit me at some battle not yet

fought. Maybe I'd find things so quiet I just couldn't stand it. Wars

are mighty unsettling."

 

"I'm thinking," said Dick, "that before this war is over all of us will

get enough of it to last a lifetime. We've got the edge on 'em now,

since Vicksburg and Gettysburg, but the Graybacks are not yet beaten by

a long shot. We've heard how Lee drew off from Gettysburg carrying all

his guns and supplies, and even with Gettysburg we haven't been doing so

well in the East as we have in the West. You know that, Ohio?"

 

"Of course, I do. But I think the Johnnies have made their high-water

mark. Great work our army did down there at Vicksburg, and we'll have

the chance to do just as well against Bragg. We'll defeat him, of

course. Now, Mason, notice that light flickering on the mountain up

there!"

 

He pointed to the crest of a ridge two or three miles away, where Dick

saw a point of flame appearing and reappearing, and answered by another

point farther down, which flickered in the same manner.

 

"Signals of some kind, I suppose," replied Dick, "but I don't know who

makes them or what they mean."

 

"I don't know what they mean, either," said Ohio; "but I can guess

pretty well who's making them. That's Slade."

 

"Slade!" said Dick.

 

"Yes, you seem to have heard of him?"

 

"So I have, and I've seen him, also. I heard, too, that he was up here

making things unhappy for our side. He was in Vicksburg, although you

may not have heard of him there, but he got out before the surrender. A

cunning fellow. A sort of land pirate."

 

"He's all of that. Since we've been coming through the mountains he and

his band have picked off a lot of our men. Those signals must mean that

they're preparing for another raid. I shouldn't like to be a half-mile

from our lines to-night."

 

"Why can't we smoke him out, Ohio?"

 

"Because when we're half way up the slope he and his men are gone on the

other side. Besides, they can rake us with bullets from ambush, while

we're climbing up the ridge. And when we get there, they're gone. It's

these mountains that give the irregulars their chance. See, two lights

are winking at each other now!"

 

"How far apart would you say they are, Ohio?"

 

"A mile, maybe, but one is much higher than the other up the mountain.

The lower light, doubtless, is signaling information about us to the

higher. I see your colonel and our colonel talking together. Maybe we're

going to set a trap. It would be a good thing if we could clean out

those fellows."

 

"I'm thinking that your guess is a good one," said Dick, as he rose to

his feet, "because Colonel Winchester is beckoning to me now."

 

"And there's a call for me, too," said Ohio, rising. "Talk of a thing

and it happens. We're surely going for those lights."

 

They had reckoned right. General Thomas, when he saw the signals,

had summoned some of his best officers and they had talked together

earnestly. The general had not said much before, but the incessant

sharpshooting from the bushes and slopes as they marched southward had

caused him intense annoyance, and, if continued, he knew that it would

hurt the spirit of the troops.

 

"We shall try to trap Slade's band to-night," said Colonel Winchester to

Dick and the other young officers who gathered around him. "We think he

has three or four hundred men and my regiment can deal with that number.

We will defile to the right without noise and make our way up the

mountain. An Ohio regiment, which can also deal with Slade if it catches

him, will defile to the left. Maybe we can trap these irregulars between

Sergeant Whitley will guide my force."

 

The sergeant stepped forward, proud of the honor and trust. Dick,

looking at him in the moonlight, said to himself for the hundredth time

that he was a magnificent specimen of American manhood, thick, powerful,

intelligent, respectful to his superior officers, who often knew less

than he did, a veteran from whom woods, hills, and plains hid few

secrets. He thought it a good thing that the sergeant was to be their

guide, because he would lead them into no ambush.

 

As Dick turned away for departure Ohio said to him:

 

"We'll meet on the mountain side, and I hope we'll catch our game, but

don't you fellows fire into us in the dark."

 

Dick promised and his regiment marched away toward the slope. All were

on foot, of course, and they had received strict instructions to make no

noise. They turned northward, left the camp behind them, and were soon

hidden in the dark.

 

Dick was at the head of the column with Colonel Winchester and the

sergeant. Warner and Pennington were further back. The darkness was

heavy in the shadow of the slope and among the bushes, but, looking

backward, Dick clearly saw the camp of General Thomas with its thousands

of men and dozens of fires. Figures passed and repassed before the

flames, and the fused noises of a great camp came from the valley.

 

Dick took only a glance or two. His whole attention now was for the

sergeant, who was looking here and there and sniffing the air, like a

great hound seeking the trail. The soldier had melted into the scout,

and Colonel Winchester,