The Rock of Chickamauga by Joseph A. Altsheler (best love novels of all time txt) 📖

there was a sharp crackling sound, followed quickly by another

and then by many others. The reports did not cease, and, although

blood was shed freely, no man fell from his horse, nor was any wounded

mortally. But the assault was vicious and it was pushed home with the

utmost courage and tenacity, although many of the assailants fell never

to rise again. Cries of pain and anger, and imprecations arose from the

stricken regiment.

 

"Slap! Slap!"

 

"Bang! Bang!"

 

"Ouch! He's got his bayonet in my cheek!"

 

"Heavens, that struck me like a minie ball! And it came, whistling and

shrieking, too, just like one!"

 

"Phew, how they sting! and my neck is bleeding in three places!"

 

"By thunder, Bill, I hit that fellow, fair and square! He'll never

trouble an honest Yankee soldier again!"

 

The fierce buzzing increased all around them and Colonel Winchester

shouted to his trumpeter:

 

"Blow the charge at once!"

 

The man, full willing, put the trumpet to his lips and blew loud and

long. The whole regiment went across the creek at a gallop--the water

flying in yellow showers--and did not stop until, emerging from the

marsh, they reached the crest of a low hill a mile beyond. Here, stung,

bleeding and completely defeated by the enemy they stopped for repairs.

An occasional angry buzz showed that they were not yet safe from the

skirmishers, but their attack seemed a light matter after the full

assault of the determined foe.

 

"I suppose we're all wounded," said Dick as he wiped a bleeding cheek.

"At least as far as I can see they're hurt. The last fellow who got his

bayonet in my face turned his weapon around and around and sang merrily

at every revolution."

 

"We were afraid of being ambushed by Forrest," said Warner, speaking

from a swollen countenance. "Instead we struck something worse; we rode

straight into an ambush of ten billion high-powered mosquitoes, every

one tipped with fire. Have we got enemies like these to fight all the

way down here?"

 

"They sting the rebels, too," said Pennington.

 

"Yes, but they like newcomers best, the unacclimated. When we rode down

into that swamp I could hear them shouting, to one another: 'That fat

fellow is mine, I saw him first! I've marked the rosy-cheeked boy for

mine. Keep away the rest of you fellows!' I feel as if I'd been through

a battle. No more marshes for me."

 

Some of the provident produced bottles of oil of pennyroyal. Sergeant

Daniel Whitley, who rode a giant bay horse, was one of the most

foreseeing in this respect, and, after the boys had used his soothing

liniment freely, the fiery torment left by the mosquito's sting passed

away.

 

The sergeant seemed to have grown bigger and broader than ever. His

shoulders were about to swell through his faded blue coat, and the hand

resting easily on the rein had the grip and power of a bear's paw. His

rugged face had been tanned by the sun of the far south to the color of

an Indian's. He was formidable to a foe, and yet no gentler heart beat

than that under his old blue uniform. Secretly he regarded the young

lieutenants, his superiors in military rank and education, as brave

children, and often he cared for them where his knowledge and skill were

greater than theirs or even than that of colonels and generals.

 

"God bless you, Sergeant," said Dick, "you don't look like an angel, but

you are one--that is, of the double-fisted, fighting type."

 

The sergeant merely smiled and replaced the bottle carefully in his

pocket, knowing that they would have good use for it again.

 

The regiment after salving its wounds resumed its watchful march.

 

"Do you know where we're going?" Pennington asked Dick.

 

"I think we're likely if we live long enough to land in the end before

Vicksburg, the great Southern fortress, but as I gather it we mean

to curve and curl and twist about a lot before then. Grant, they say,

intends to close in on Vicksburg, while Rosecrans farther north is

watching Bragg at Chattanooga. We're a flying column, gathering up

information, and ready for anything."

 

"It's funny," said Warner thoughtfully, "that we've already got so far

south in the western field. We can't be more than two or three hundred

miles from the Gulf. Besides, we've already taken New Orleans, the

biggest city of the South, and our fleet is coming up the river to meet

Yet in the East we don't seem to make any progress at all. We lose

great battles there and Fredericksburg they say was just a slaughter of

our men. How do you make it out, Dick?"

 

"I've thought of several reasons for it. Our generals in the West are

better than our generals in the East, or their generals in the East are

better than their generals in the West. And then there are the rivers.

In the East they mostly run eastward between the two armies, and they

are no help to us, but a hindrance rather. Here in the West the rivers,

and they are many and great, mostly run southward, the way we want to

go, and they bring our gunboats on their bosoms. Excuse my poetry, but

it's what I mean."

 

"You must be right. I think that all the reasons you give apply

together. But our command of the water has surely been a tremendous

help. And then we've got to remember, Dick, that there was never a navy

like ours. It goes everywhere and it does everything. Why, if Admiral

Farragut should tell one of those gunboats to steam across the

Mississippi bottoms it would turn its saucy nose, steer right out of

the water into the mud, and blow up with all hands aboard before it quit

trying."

 

"You two fellows talk too much," said Pennington. "You won't let

President Lincoln and Grant and Halleck manage the war, but you want to

run it yourselves."

 

"I don't want to run anything just now, Frank," rejoined Dick. "What I'm

thinking about most is rest and something to eat. I'd like to get rid,

too, of about ten pounds of Mississippi mud that I'm carrying."

 

"Well, I can catch a glint of white pillars through those trees.

It means the 'big house' of a plantation, and you'll probably find

somewhere back of it the long rows of cabins, inhabited by the dark

people, whom we've come to raise to the level of their masters, if not

above them. I can see right now the joyous welcome we'll receive from

the owners of the big house. They'll be standing on the great piazza,

waving Union flags and shouting to us that they have ready cooling

drinks and luxurious food for us all."

 

"It's hardly a joke to me. Whatever the cause of the war, it's the

bitterness of death for these people to be overrun. Besides, I remember

the words of that old fellow in the blacksmith shop before we fought

the battle of Stone River. He said that even if they were beaten they'd

still be there holding the land and running things."

 

"That's true," said Warner. "I've been wondering how this war would end,

and now I'm wondering what will happen after it does end. But here we

are at the gate. What big grounds! These great planters certainly had

space!"

 

"And what silence!" said Dick. "It's uncanny, George. A place like this

must have had a thousand slaves, and I don't see any of them rushing

forward to welcome their liberators."

 

"Probably contraband, gone long ago to Ben Butler at New Orleans. I

don't believe there's a soul here."

 

"Remember that lone house in Tennessee where a slip of a girl brought

Forrest down on us and had us cut pretty nearly to pieces."

 

"I couldn't forget it."

 

Nor could Colonel Winchester. The house, large and low, stood in grounds

covering an area of several acres, enclosed by a paling fence, now

sagging in many places. Great stone posts stood on either side of the

gateway, but the gate was opened, and it, too, sagged.

 

The grounds had evidently been magnificent, both with flowers and forest

trees. Already many of the flowers were blooming in great luxuriance and

brilliancy, but the walks and borders were untrimmed. The house was of

wood, painted white with green shutters, and as they drew nearer they

appreciated its great size, although it was only two stories in height.

A hundred persons could have slept there, and twice as many could have

found shade in the wide piazzas which stretched the full length of the

four sides.

 

But all the doors and shutters were closed and no smoke rose from any

chimney. They caught a glimpse of the cabins for the slaves, on lower

ground some distance behind the great house. The whole regiment reined

up as they approached the carriage entrance, and, although they were

eight hundred strong, there was plenty of room without putting a single

hoof upon a flower.

 

It was a great place. That leaped to the eye, but it was not marked upon

Colonel Winchester's map, nor had he heard of it.

 

"It's a grand house," he said to his aides, "and it's a pity that it

should go to ruin after the slaves are freed, as they certainly will

be."

 

"But it was built upon slave labor," said Warner.

 

"So it was, and so were many of the most famous buildings in the world.

But here, I'm not going to get into an argument about such questions

with young men under my command. Besides, I'm fighting to destroy

slavery, not to study its history. Sergeant Whitley, you're an

experienced trailer: do you see any signs that troops have passed here?"

 

"None at all, sir. Down near the gate where the drive is out of repair

I noticed wheel tracks, but they were several days old. The freshest of

them were light, as if made by buggies. I judge, sir, that it was the

family, the last to leave."

 

"And the wagons containing their valuables had gone on ahead?"

 

"It would seem so, sir."

 

Colonel Winchester sighed.

 

"An invader is always feared and hated," he said.

 

"But we do come as enemies," said Dick, "and this feeling toward us

can't be helped."

 

"That's true. No matter what we do we'll never make any friends here in

one of the Gulf states, the very core of Southern feeling. Dick, take

a squad of men and enter the house. Pennington, you and Warner go with

him."

 

Dick sprang down instantly, chose Sergeant Whitley first and with the

others entered the great portico. The front door was locked but it

was easy enough to force it with a gun butt, and they went in, but

not before Dick had noticed over the door in large letters the name,

"Bellevue." So this was Bellevue, one of the great cotton plantations of

Mississippi. He now vaguely remembered that he had once heard his uncle,

Colonel Kenton, speak of having stopped a week here. But he could not

recall the name of the owner. Strong for the Union as he was Dick was

glad that the family had gone before the Northern cavalry came.

 

The house was on a splendid scale inside also, but all the rugs and

curtains were gone. As they entered the great parlor Dick saw a large

piece of paper, and he flushed as he read written upon it in tall

letters:

 

          TO THE YANKEE RAIDERS:

     YOU NEED NOT LOOK FOR THE SILVER.

      IT HAS BEEN TAKEN TO VICKSBURG.

 

 

"Look at that!" he said indignantly to Warner. "See how they taunt us!"

 

But Warner laughed.

 

"Maybe some of our men at New Orleans have laid us open to such a stab,"

he said. Then he added whimsically:

 

"We'll go to Vicksburg with Grant, Dick, and get that silver yet."

 

"The writing's fresh," said Sergeant Whitley, who also looked at the

notification. "The paper hasn't begun to twist and curl yet. It's not

been posted up there many hours."

 

Colonel Winchester entered at that moment and the notice was handed to

him. He, too, flushed a little when he read it, but the next instant he

laughed. Dick then called his attention to the apparent fact that it had

been put there recently.

 

"May I speak a word, Colonel," said Warner, who had been thinking so

hard that there was a line the full length of his forehead.

 

"Yes, George, a dozen if you like. Go ahead. What is it?"

 

"The sergeant, who has had much experience as a trailer, told us that

the tracks made by the buggy wheels were several days old. The slaves

probably had been sent southward before that time. Now some one who

saw our advance has come back, and, whoever it was, he was thoroughly

familiar with the house. He couldn't have been a servant. Servants

don't leave taunts of that kind. It must have been somebody who felt our

coming deeply, and if it had been an elderly man he would have waited

for action, he wouldn't