The Rock of Chickamauga - Joseph A. Altsheler (macos ebook reader .txt) 📗
- Author: Joseph A. Altsheler
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opportunity to strike at Forrest. He must give his horses a short rest,
and then Dick and the sergeant should guide him at speed to the ford
where the opposing forces stood.
"It's twenty-five miles, you tell me?" said Grierson to Dick.
"As nearly as I can calculate, sir. It's through swampy country, but I
think we ought to be there in three or four hours."
"Then lead the way," said Grierson. "Like your colonel, I'll be glad to
have a try at Forrest."
Sergeant Whitley rode in advance. A lumberman first and then a soldier
of the plains, he had noted even in the darkness every landmark and he
could lead the way back infallibly. But he warned Grierson that such a
man as Forrest would be likely to have out scouts, even if they had to
swim the river. It was likely that they could not get nearer by three or
four miles to Colonel Winchester without being seen.
"Then," said Grierson, who had the spirit of a Stuart or a Forrest,
"we'll ride straight on, brushing these watchers out of our way, and if
by any chance their whole force should cross, we'll just meet and fight
it."
"The little river is falling fast," said the sergeant. "It's likely that
it'll be fordable almost anywhere by noon."
"Then," said Grierson, "it'll be all the easier for us to get at the
enemy."
Dick, just behind Grierson, heard these words and he liked them. Here
was a spirit like Colonel Winchester's own, or like that of the great
Southern cavalry leaders. The Southerners were born on horseback, but
the Northern men were acquiring the same trick of hard riding. Dick
glanced back at the long column. Armed with carbine and saber the men
were riding their trained horses like Comanches. Eager and resolute
it was a formidable force, and his heart swelled with pride and
anticipation. He believed that they were going to give Forrest all he
wanted and maybe a little more.
Up rose the sun. Hot beams poured over forest and field, but the
cavalrymen still rode fast, the scent of battle in their nostrils. Dick
knew that these Southern streams, flooded by torrents of rain, rose fast
and also fell fast.
"How much further now, sergeant?" asked Grierson, as they turned from a
path into the deep woods.
"Not more than three miles, sir."
"And they know we're coming. Listen to that!"
Several rifles cracked among the trees and bullets whizzed by them.
Forrest's skirmishers and scouts were on the south side of the stream.
As they had foreseen, the river had sunk so much that it was fordable
now at many points. Dick was devoutly grateful that they had found
Grierson. Otherwise the Winchester regiment would have been flanked, and
its destruction would have followed.
Skirmishers were detached from Grierson's command and drove off the
Southern riflemen. Dick heard the rattling fire of their rifles in the
deep wood, but he seldom saw a figure. Then he heard another fire, heavy
and continuous, in their front, coming quite clearly on a breeze that
blew toward them.
"Your whole regiment is engaged," exclaimed Grierson. "Forrest must have
forded the river elsewhere!"
He turned and shook aloft his saber.
"Forward, lads!" he shouted. "Gallant men of our own army will be
overwhelmed unless we get up in time!"
The whole force broke into a gallop through the woods, the fire in their
front rapidly growing heavier. In ten minutes they would be there, but
rifles suddenly blazed from the forest on their flank and many saddles
were emptied. Nothing upsets like surprise, and for a few moments the
whole command was in disorder. It was evident that Forrest was attacking
Winchester with only a part of his force, while he formed an ambush for
Grierson.
But the Northern cavalrymen had not learned in vain through disaster and
experience. Grierson quickly restored order and drew his men back into
the forest. As the enemy followed the Northern carbines began to flash
fast. The troopers in gray were unable to flank them or drive them back.
Grierson, sure of his superior numbers, pushed on toward Winchester,
while fighting off the foe at the same time.
Dick and the sergeant kept in the van, and presently they came within
sight of Colonel Winchester's men, who, dismounted, were holding off as
best they could the overwhelming attack of Forrest. The Southern leader,
after sending the majority of his men to a new crossing lower down had
forced the ford before the Winchester regiment, and would have crushed
it if it had not been for the opportune arrival of Grierson.
But a tremendous cheer arose as the Northern cavalry leader, who was
already proving his greatness, charged into the battle with his grim
troopers. The men in blue were now more numerous, and, fighting with the
resolve to win or die, they gradually forced back Forrest. Dick began to
foresee a victory won over the great Southern cavalryman.
But the astute Forrest, seeing that the odds were now heavily against
him, ordered a retreat. The trumpets sang the recall and suddenly
the Southern horsemen, carrying their dead with them, vanished in the
forest, where the Northern cavalry, fearful of ambushes and new forces,
did not dare to pursue.
But Winchester and Grierson were shaking hands, and Winchester thanked
the other in brief but emphatic words.
"Say no more, colonel," exclaimed Grierson. "We're all trying to serve
our common country. You'd help me just the same if we had the chance,
and I think you'll find the road clear to Grant. While the siege of
Vicksburg was determined on long ago, as you know, I believe that he is
now moving toward Grand Gulf. You know he has to deal with the armies of
Johnston and Pemberton."
"We'll find him," said Winchester.
A quarter of an hour later his regiment was galloping toward Grant,
while Grierson's command rode eastward to deal with other forces of the
Confederacy.
CHAPTER III. GRANT MOVES
The Winchester regiment had not suffered greatly. A dozen men who had
fallen were given speedy burial, and all the wounded were taken away on
horseback by their friends. Dick rejoiced greatly at their escape from
Forrest, and the daring and skill of Grierson. He felt anew that he was
in stronger hands in the West than he had been in the East. In the East
things seemed to go wrong nearly always, and the West they seemed to
go right nearly always. It could not be chance continued so long. He
believed in his soul that it was Grant, the heroic Thomas, and the great
fighting powers of the western men, used to all the roughness of life
out-of-doors and on the border.
They turned their course toward the Mississippi and that afternoon they
met a Union scout who told them that Grant, now in the very heart of the
far South, was gathering his forces for a daring attack upon Grand
Gulf, a Confederate fortress on the Mississippi. In the North and at
Washington his venture was regarded with alarm. There was a telegram
to him to stop, but it was sent too late. He had disappeared in the
Southern wilderness.
But Dick understood. He had both knowledge and intuition. Colonel
Winchester on his long and daring scout had learned that the Confederate
forces in the South were scattered and their leaders in doubt. Grant,
taking a daring offensive and hiding his movements, had put them on the
defensive, and there were so many points to defend that they did not
know which to choose. Joe Johnston, just recovered from his wound at
Fair Oaks the year before, and a general of the first rank, was coming,
but he was not yet here.
Meanwhile Pemberton held the chief command, but he seemed to lack energy
and decision. There were forces under other generals scattered along the
river, including eight thousand commanded by Bowen, who held Grand Gulf,
but concert of action did not exist among them.
This knowledge was not Dick's alone. It extended to every man in
the regiment, and when the colonel urged them to greater speed they
responded gladly.
"If we don't ride faster," he said, "we won't be up in time for the
taking of Grand Gulf."
No greater spur was needed and the Winchester regiment went forward as
fast as horses could carry them.
"I take it that Grant means to scoop in the Johnnies in detail," said
Warner.
"It seems so," said Pennington. "This is a big country down here, and we
can fight one Confederate army while another is mired up a hundred miles
away.
"That's General Grant's plan. He doesn't look like any hero of romance,
but he acts like one. He plunges into the middle of the enemy, and if he
gets licked he's up and at 'em again right away."
Night closed in, and they stopped at an abandoned plantation--it seemed
to Dick that the houses were abandoned everywhere--where they spent the
night. The troopers would have willingly pushed on through the darkness,
but the horses were so near exhaustion that another hour or two would
have broken them down permanently. Moreover, Colonel Winchester did not
feel much apprehension of an attack now. Forrest had certainly turned
in another direction, and they were too close to the Union lines to be
attacked by any other foe.
The house on this plantation was not by any means so large and fine as
Bellevue, but, like the other, it had broad piazzas all about it, and
Dick, in view of his strenuous experience, was allowed to take his
saddle as a pillow and his blankets and go to sleep soon after dark in a
comfortable place against the wall.
Never was slumber quicker or sweeter. There was not an unhealthy tissue
in his body, and most of his nerves had disappeared in a life amid
battles, scoutings, and marchings. He slept heavily all through the
night, inhaling new strength and vitality with every breath of the
crisp, fresh air. There was no interruption this time, and early in the
morning the regiment was up and away.
They descended now into lower grounds near the Mississippi. All around
them was a vast and luxuriant vegetation, cut by sluggish streams and
bayous. But the same desolation reigned everywhere. The people had fled
before the advance of the armies. Late in the afternoon they saw pickets
in blue, then the Mississippi, and a little later they rode into a Union
camp.
"Dick," said Colonel Winchester, "I shall want you to go with the senior
officers and myself to report to General Grant on the other side of the
Mississippi. You rode on that mission to Grierson and he may want to ask
you questions."
Dick was glad to go with them. He was eager to see once more the man who
had taken Henry and Donelson and who had hung on at Shiloh until Buell
came. The general's tent was in a grove on a bit of high ground, and he
was sitting before it on a little camp stool, smoking a short cigar, and
gazing reflectively in the direction of Grand Gulf.
He greeted the three officers quietly but with warmth and then he
listened to Colonel Winchester's detailed account of what he had seen
and learned in his raid toward Jackson. It was a long narrative, showing
how the Southern forces were scattered, and, as he listened, Grant's
face began to show satisfaction.
But he seldom interrupted.
"And you think they have no large force at Jackson?" he said.
"I'm quite sure of it," replied Colonel Winchester.
Grant chewed his cigar a little while and then said:
"Grierson is doing well. It was an achievement for you and him to beat
off Forrest. It will raise the prestige of our cavalry, which needs it.
I believe it was you, Lieutenant Mason, who brought Grierson."
"It was chiefly, sir, a sergeant named Whitley. I rode with him and
outranked him, but he is a veteran of the plains, and it was he who did
the real work."
The general's stern features were lightened by a smile.
"I'm glad you give the sergeant credit," he said. "Not many officers
would do it."
He listened a while longer and then the three were
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