The Sword of Antietam: A Story of the Nation's Crisis by Joseph A. Altsheler (little bear else holmelund minarik txt) 📗
- Author: Joseph A. Altsheler
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“A battle, but it won't stop us. We retreated in time.”
“And we've been defeated. Well, we can stand it. It takes a good nation to stand big defeats. You know I taught school once, Dick, and I learned that the biggest nation the world has ever known was the one that suffered the biggest defeats. Look at the terrible knocks the Romans got! Why the Gauls nearly ate 'em alive two or three times, and for years Hannibal whipped 'em every time he could get at 'em. But they ended by whipping everybody who had whipped them. They whipped the whole world, and they kept it whipped until they played out from old age.”
Dick laughed cheerily.
“Now, you shut up, George,” he said. “You've talked too much. What's the use of going back as far as the old Romans for comfort. We can win without having to copy a lot of old timers.”
He dropped the flap of canvas and rode on listening to the sounds of the combat. A powerful figure stepped out of the bushes and stood beside his horse. It was Sergeant Whitley, who had passed through the battle without a scratch.
“What has happened, Sergeant?” asked Dick, as he sat in the rain and listened to the dying fire.
“There has been a fight, and both are quitting because they can't see enough to carry it on any longer. But General Kearney has been killed.”
The retreat continued until they reached the Potomac and were in the great fortifications before Washington. Then Pope resigned, and the star of McClellan rose again. The command of the armies about Washington was entrusted to him, and the North gathered itself anew for the mighty struggle.
CHAPTER VII. ORDERS NO. 191
When the Union army, defeated at the Second Manassas fell back on Washington, Dick was detached for a few days from the regiment by Colonel Winchester, partly that he might have a day or two of leave, and partly that he might watch over Warner, who was making good progress.
Warner was in a wagon that contained half a dozen other wounded men, or rather boys, and they were all silent like stoics as they passed over the bridge to a hospital in Washington. His side and shoulder pained him, and he had recurrent periods of fever, but he was making fine progress.
Dick found his comrade on a small cot among dozens of others in a great room. But George's cot was near a window and the pleasant sunshine poured in. It was now the opening of September, and the hot days were passing. There was a new sparkle and crispness in the air, and Warner, wounded as he was, felt it.
“We're back in the capital to enjoy ourselves a while,” he said lightly to Dick, “and I'm glad to see that the weather will be fine for sight-seeing.”
“Yes, here we are,” said Dick. “The Johnnies beat us this time. They didn't outfight us, but they had the best generals. As soon as you're well, George, we'll start out again and lick 'em.”
“I'm glad you told 'em to wait for me, Dick. That's what you ought to do. I hear that McClellan is at the head of things again.”
“Yes, the Army of the Potomac is to the front once more, and it's taken over the Army of Virginia. We hear that Pope is going out to the northwest to fight Indians.”
“McClellan is not likely to be trapped as Pope was, but he's so tremendously cautious that he'll never trap anything himself. Now, which kind of a general would you choose, Dick?”
“As between those two I'll take McClellan. The soldiers at least like him and believe in him. And George, our man in the east hasn't come yet. The generals we've had don't hammer. They don't concentrate, rush right in and rain blows on the enemy.”
“Do you think you know the right man, Dick?”
“I'm making a guess. It's Grant. We saw him at Donelson and Shiloh. Surprised at both places, he won anyhow. He wouldn't be beat. That's the kind of man we want here in the east.”
“You may be right, Dick, but the politicians in this part of the country all run him down. Halleck has been transferred to Washington as a sort of general commander and adviser to the President, and they say he doesn't like Grant.”
Further talk was cut short by a young army surgeon, and Dick left George, saying that he would come back the next day. The streets of Washington were full of sunshine, but not of hope and cheerfulness. The most terrible suspense reigned there. Never before or since was Washington in such alarm. A hostile and victorious army was within a day's march. Pope almost to the last had talked of victory. Then came a telegram, asking if the capital could be defended in case his army was destroyed. Next came the army preceded by thousands of stragglers and heralds of disaster.
The people were dropped from the golden clouds of hope to the hard earth of despair. They strained their eyes toward Manassas, where the flag of the Union had twice gone down in disaster. It was said, and there was ample cause for the saying of it, that Lee and Jackson with their victorious veterans would appear any moment before the capital. There were rumors that the government was packing up in order to flee northward to Philadelphia or even New York.
But Dick believed none of these rumors. In fact, he was not greatly alarmed by any of them. He was sure that McClellan, although without genius, would restore the stamina of the troops, if indeed it were ever lost, which he doubted very much. He had seen how splendidly they fought at the Second Manassas, and he knew that there was no panic among them. Moreover, the North was an inexhaustible storehouse of men and material, and whenever one soldier fell two grew in his place.
So he strode through the crowded streets, calm of face and manner, and took his way once more to the hotel, where he had sat and listened to the talk before the Second Manassas. The lobby was packed with men, and there was but one topic, the military situation. Would Lee and Jackson advance, hot upon the heels of their victory? Would Washington fall? Would McClellan be able to save them? Why weren't the generals of the North as good as those of the South?
Dick listened to the talk which was for all who might choose to hear. He did not assume any superior frame of mind, merely because he had fought in many battles and these men had fought in none. He retained the natural modesty of youth, and knowing that one who looked on might sometimes be a better judge of what was happening than the one who took part, he weighed carefully what they said.
He was in a comfortable chair by the wall, and while he sat there a heavy man of middle age, whom he remembered well, approached and stood before him, regarding him with a keen and measuring eye.
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