The Tree of Appomattox by Joseph A. Altsheler (novels for students .TXT) 📖

his presence, because it's really a term of admiration—is another Grant, only younger and on horseback."

"It's fire that does it," said Dick. "No, Frank, I don't mean this material fire burning before us, but the fire that makes him see obstacles little, and advantages big, the fire that makes him rush over everything to get at the enemy and destroy him."

"Well spoken, Dick," said Warner. "A bit rhetorical, perhaps, but that can be attributed to your youth and the region from which you come."

"It's a great pity, George, about my youth and the region from which I come. If so many youths in blue didn't come from that same region the whole Mississippi Valley might now be in the hands of the Johnnies."

"Didn't I tell you, Dick, not to argue with him?" said Pennington. "What's the use? New England has the writers and when this war is ended victoriously they'll give the credit of all the fighting to New England. And after a while, through the printed word, they'll make other people believe it, too."

"Then you Nebraskans and Kentuckians should learn to read and write. Why blame me?" said Warner with dignity.

Colonel Winchester joined them at that moment, having returned from a brief council with Sheridan and his officers. Dick, without a word, passed him a plate of hot ham and a tin cup of sizzling coffee. The colonel, who looked worn to the bone but triumphant, ate and drank. Then he settled himself into an easy place before one of the fires and said:

"A messenger has gone to General Grant with the news of our victory, and it will certainly be a most welcome message. The news will also be sent to the nearest telegraph station, and then it will travel on hundreds of wires to every part of the North, but while it's flashing through space we'll be riding forward to new battle."

"I expected it, sir," said Dick. "I suppose we advance again at dawn."

"And maybe a little sooner. Now you boys must rest. You've had eighteen hours of marching and fighting. I've been very proud of my regiment today, and fortunately we have escaped without large losses."

"And you sleep, too, sir, do you not?" said Warner, respectfully. "If we've been marching and fighting for eighteen hours so have you."

"I shall do so a little later, but that's no reason why the rest of you should delay. How that coffee and ham refreshed me! I didn't know I was so nearly dead."

"Here's more, Colonel!"

"Thank you, Dick. I believe I will. But as I say, go to sleep. I want all my regiment to sleep. We don't know what is before us tomorrow, but whatever it is it won't be easy. Now you boys have had enough to eat and drink. Into the blankets with you!"

He did not wait to see his order obeyed, but strode away on another hasty errand. But it was obeyed and that, too, without delay. The young warriors rolled themselves in their blankets and hunted a soft place for their heads. But their nerves were not yet quiet, and sleep did not come for a little while. The long lines of fires still glowed, and the sounds of an army came to them. Dick looked up into the starshine. He was still rejoicing in the victory, not because the other side had lost, but because, in his opinion, it brought peace much nearer. He realized as he lay there gazing into the skies that the South could never win as long as the North held fast. And the North was holding fast. The stars as they winked at him seemed to say so.

He propped himself upon his elbow and said:

"George, does your little algebra tell you anything about the meaning of this victory?"

Warner tapped his breast.

"That noble book is here in the inside pocket of my tunic," he replied. "It's not necessary for me to take it out, but tucked away on the 118th page is a neat little problem which just fits this case. Let x equal the Army of Northern Virginia, let y equal the army of Early here in the valley, and let x plus y equal a possibly successful defense by the South. But when y is swept away it's quite certain that x standing alone cannot do so. My algebra tells you on the 118th page, tucked away neatly in a paragraph, that this is the beginning of the end."

"It sounds more like a formula than a problem, George, but still I'm putting my faith in your little algebra book."

"George's algebra is all right," said Pennington, "but it doesn't always go before, it often comes after. It doesn't show us how to do a thing, but proves how we've done it. As for me, I'm pinning my faith to Little Phil. He won a great victory today, when all our other leaders for years have been beaten in the Valley of Virginia, and sometimes beaten disgracefully too."

"Your argument is unanswerable, Frank," said Dick. "I didn't expect such logic from you."

"Oh, I think I'm real bright at times."

"Despite popular belief," said Warner.

"I don't advertise my talents," said Pennington.

"But you ought to. They need it."

Dick laughed.

"Frank," he said, "I give you your own advice to me. Don't argue with him. With him the best proof that he's always right is because he thinks he is."

"I think clearly and directly, which can be said of very few of my friends," rejoined Warner.

Then all three of them laughed and lay down again, resting their heads on soft lumps of turf.

They were under the boughs of a fine oak, on which the leaves were yet thick. Birds, hidden among the leaves, began to sing, and the three, astonished, raised themselves up again. It was a chorus, beautiful and startling, and many other soldiers listened to the sound, so unlike that which they had been hearing all day.

"Strange, isn't it?" said Pennington.

"But fine to hear," said Warner.

"Likely they were in the tree this morning when the battle began," said Dick, "and the cannon and the rifles frightened 'em so much that they stayed close within the leaves. Now they're singing with joy, because it's all over."

"A good guess, I think, Dick," said Warner, "but isn't it beautiful at such a time and such a place? How these little fellows must be swelling their throats! I don't believe they ever sang so well before."

"I didn't think today that I'd be sung to sleep tonight," said Dick, "but it's going to happen."

When his eyes closed and he floated away to slumberland it was to the thrilling song of a bird on a bough above his head.

CHAPTER VIII THE MESSENGER FROM RICHMOND

It seemed that Dick and his comrades were to see an activity in the valley under Sheridan much like that which Harry and his friends had experienced under Stonewall Jackson earlier in the war. All of the men before they went to sleep that night had felt confirmed in the belief that a strong hand was over them, and that a powerful and clear mind was directing them. There would be no more prodigal waste of men and supplies. No more would a Southern general have an opportunity to beat scattered forces in detail. The Union had given Sheridan a splendid army and a splendid equipment, and he would make the most of both.

Their belief in Sheridan's activity and energy was justified fully, perhaps to their own discomfort, as the trumpets sounded before dawn, and they ate a hasty breakfast, while the valley was yet dark. Then they were ordered to saddle and ride at once.

"What, so early?" exclaimed Pennington. "Why, it's not daylight yet. Isn't this new general of ours overdoing it?"

"We wanted a general who would lead," said Warner, "and we've got him."

"But a battle a day! Isn't that too large an allowance?"

"No. We've a certain number of battles to fight, and the sooner we fight them the sooner the war will be over."

"Here comes the dawn," said Dick, "and the bugles are singing to us to march. It's the cavalry that are to show the way."

The long line of horsemen rode on southward, leaving behind them Winchester, the little city that had been beloved of Jackson, and approached the Massanuttons, the bold range that for a while divided the valley into two parts. The valley was twenty miles wide before they came to the Massanuttons, but after the division the western extension for some distance was not more than four miles across, and it was here that they were going. At the narrower part, on Fisher's Hill, Early had strong fortifications, defended by his finest infantry, and Colonel Winchester did not deem it likely that Sheridan would make a frontal attack upon a position so well defended.

It was about noon when the cavalry arrived before the Southern works. Dick, through his glasses, clearly saw the guns and columns of infantry, and also a body of Southern horse, drawn up on one flank of the hill. He fancied that the Invincibles were among them, but at the distance he could not pick them from the rest.

The regiment remained stationary, awaiting the orders of Sheridan, and Dick still used his glasses. He swept them again and again across the Confederate lines, and then he turned his attention to the mountains which here hemmed in the valley to such a straitened width. He saw a signal station of the enemy on a culminating ridge called Three Top Mountain, and as the flags there were waving industriously he knew that every movement of the Union army would be communicated to Early's troops below.

Yet the whole scene despite the fact that it was war, red war, appealed to Dick's sense of the romantic and beautiful. The fertile valley looked picturesque with its woods and fields, and on either side rose the ranges as if to protect it. Mountains like trees always appealed to him, and the steep slopes were wooded densely. Lower down they were brown, with touches of green that yet lingered, but higher up the glowing reds and golds of autumn were beginning to appear. The wind that blew down from the crests was full of life.

Sheridan arrived and, riding before the center of his army, looked long and well at the Southern defenses. Then he called his generals, and some of the colonels, including Winchester, and held a brief council.

"It means," said Warner, while the colonel was yet away at the meeting, "that we won't fight any this afternoon, but that we'll do a lot of riding tonight. That position is too strong to be attacked. It would cost us too many men to take it straight away, but having seen a specimen of Little Phil's quality we know that he'll try something else."

"You mean get on their flank," said Dick. "Maybe we can make a passage along the slopes of the mountains."

"As the idea has occurred to me I take it that it will occur to Little Phil also," said Warner.

"Are you sure that he hasn't thought of it first?"

"My politeness forbids an answer. I am but a lieutenant and he is our commander."

The rest of the day was spent in massing the troops across the valley, the Winchester regiment being sent further west until it was against the base of the Massanuttons. Here Shepard came in the twilight and conferred with Colonel Winchester, who called Dick.

"Dick," he said, "Mr. Shepard thinks he can obtain information of value on the mountain. He has an idea that some fighting may occur, and so it's better for a small detachment to go with him. I've selected you to lead the party, because you're at home in the woods."

"May I take Lieutenant Warner and Lieutenant Pennington with me? It would hurt their feelings to be left behind."

"Yes. Under no circumstances must the feelings of those two young men be hurt," laughed Colonel Winchester.

"And Sergeant Whitley, too? He's probably the best scout in our army. He can follow a trail where there is no trail. He can see in the pitchy dark, and he can hear the leaves falling."

"High recommendations, but they're almost true. Take the sergeant by all means. I fancy you'll need him."

The whole party numbered about a dozen, and Shepard was the guide. It was dismounted, of course, as the first slope