The Rock of Chickamauga by Joseph A. Altsheler (best love novels of all time txt) 📖
- Author: Joseph A. Altsheler
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fierce thrill of combat, and, waving his revolver high above his head,
he shouted with the others as they rushed on. The stream of bullets from
the ravine thickened, and the cannon were crashing fast. But the Union
masses did not check their rush for an instant. Although many fell they
charged into the ravine, driving out the enemy, and pursued him on the
other side.
But the Southern cannon, manned by daring gunners, still held the field
and, aided by the thick mud which held back charging feet, they repulsed
every attack. The Winchester regiment was forced to cover, and then Dick
heard the booming of cannon in another direction. He knew that Grant and
Sherman were coming up there, and he expected they would rush at once
into Jackson, but it was a long time before the distant thunder came any
nearer.
Johnston, whose astuteness they feared, was proving himself worthy of
their opinion. Knowing that his forces were far too small to defend
Jackson, he had sent away the archives of the state and most of the
army. Only a small force and seventeen cannon were left to fight and
cover his retreat. But so bold and skillful were they that it was far
beyond noon before Grant and Sherman found that practically nothing was
in front of them.
But where Dick and his comrades rode the fighting was severe for a
while. Then everything seemed to melt away before them. The fire of the
Southern cannon ceased suddenly, and Colonel Winchester exclaimed that
their works had been abandoned. They charged forward, seized the cannon,
and now rode without resistance into the capital of the state, from
which the President of the Confederacy hailed, though by birth a
Kentuckian.
Dick and his comrades were among the first to enter the town, and not
until then did they know that Johnston and all but a few hundreds of his
army were gone.
"We've got the shell only," Dick said.
"Still we've struck a blow by taking the capital of the state," said
Colonel Winchester.
Dick looked with much curiosity at the little city into which they were
riding as conquerors. It was too small and new to be imposing. Yet there
were some handsome houses, standing back on large lawns, and surrounded
by foliage. The doors and shutters of all of them were closed tightly.
Dick knew that their owners had gone away or were sitting, hearts full
of bitterness, in their sealed houses.
The streets were deep in mud, and at the corners little knots of negroes
gathered and looked at them curiously.
"They don't seem to welcome us as deliverers," said Warner.
"They don't yet know what to think of us," said Dick. "There's the
Capitol ahead of us, and some of our troops are going into it."
"Others have gone into it already," said Pennington. "Look!"
They saw the flag of the Union break out above its dome, the beautiful
stars and stripes, waving gently in the light breeze. A spontaneous
cheer burst from the Union soldiers, and the bitter hearts in the sealed
houses grew more bitter.
The army was now pouring in by every road and Colonel Winchester and his
staff sought quarters. They were on the verge of exhaustion. All their
clothing was wet and they were discolored with mud. They felt that they
were bound to have rest and cleanliness.
The victorious troops were making their camp, wherever they could find
dry ground, and soon they were building the fires for cooking. But many
of the officers were assigned to the residences, and Colonel Winchester
and his staff were directed by the general to take quarters in a large
colonial house, standing on a broad lawn, amid the finest magnolias and
live oaks that Dick had ever seen.
Remembering an earlier experience during the Shiloh campaign Colonel
Winchester and his young officers approached the house with some
reluctance. In ordinary times it must have been brilliant with life. Two
little fountains were playing on either side of the graveled walk that
led to the front door. After the old fashion, three or four marble
statues stood in the shrubbery. Everything indicated wealth. Probably
the town house of a great planter, reflected Dick. In Mississippi a man
sometimes owned as many as a thousand slaves, and lived like a prince.
The house offered them no welcome. Its doors and windows were closed,
but Dick had seen thin smoke rising from a chimney in the rear. He
expected that they would have to force the door, but at the first knock
it was thrown open by a tall, thin woman of middle years. The look she
gave them was full of bitter hatred--Dick sometimes thought that
women could hate better than men--but her manner and bearing showed
distinction. He, as well as his comrades, took her to be the lady of the
house.
"We ask your pardon, madame, for this intrusion," said Colonel
Winchester, "but we are compelled to occupy your house a while. We
promise you as little trouble as possible."
"We ask no consideration of any kind from men who have come to despoil
our country and ruin its people," she said icily.
Colonel Winchester flushed.
"But madame," he protested, "we do not come to destroy."
"I do not care to argue with you about it," she said in the same lofty
tone, "and also you need not address me as madame. I am Miss Woodville."
Dick started.
"Does this house belong to Colonel John Woodville?" he asked.
"It does not," she replied crisply, "but it belongs to his elder
brother, Charles Woodville, who is also a colonel, and who is my father.
What do you know of Colonel John Woodville?"
"I met his son once," replied Dick briefly.
She glanced at him sharply. Dick thought for a moment that he saw alarm
in her look, but he concluded that it was only anger.
They stood confronting each other, the little group of officers and the
woman, and Colonel Winchester, embarrassed, but knowing that he must do
something, went forward and pushed back a door opening into the hall.
Dick automatically followed him, and then stepped back, startled.
A roar like that of a lion met them. An old man, with a high, bald and
extremely red forehead lay in a huge bed by a window. It was a great
head, and eyes, set deep, blazed under thick, white lashes. His body was
covered to the chin.
Dick saw that the man's anger was that of the caged wild beast, and
there was something splendid and terrible about it.
"You infernal Yankees!" he cried, and his voice again rumbled like that
of a lion.
"Colonel Charles Woodville, I presume?" said Colonel Winchester
politely.
"Yes, Colonel Charles Woodville," thundered the man, "fastened here
in bed by a bullet from one of your cursed vessels in the Mississippi,
while you rob and destroy!"
And then he began to curse. He drew one hand from under the cover and
shook his clenched fist at them in a kind of rhythmic beat while the
oaths poured forth. To Dick it was not common swearing. There was
nothing coarse and vulgar about it. It was denunciation, malediction,
fulmination, anathema. It had a certain majesty and dignity. Its
richness and variety were unequaled, and it was hurled forth by a voice
deep, powerful and enduring.
Dick listened with amazement and then admiration. He had never heard its
like, nor did he feel any offense. The daughter, too, stood by,
pursing her prim lips, and evidently approving. Colonel Winchester was
motionless like a statue, while the infuriated man shook his fist at him
and launched imprecations. But his face had turned white and Dick saw
that he was fiercely angry.
When the old man ceased at last from exhaustion Colonel Winchester said
quietly:
"If you had spoken to me in the proper manner we might have gone away
and found quarters elsewhere. But we intend to stay here and we will
repay your abuse with good manners."
Dick saw the daughter flush, but the old man said:
"Then it will be the first time that good manners were ever brought from
the country north of the Mason and Dixon line."
Colonel Winchester flushed in his turn, but made no direct reply.
"If you will assign us rooms, Miss Woodville," he said, "we will go
to them, otherwise we'll find them for ourselves, which may be less
convenient for you. I repeat that we desire to give you as little
trouble as possible."
"Do so, Margaret," interrupted Colonel Woodville, "because then I may
get rid of them all the sooner."
Colonel Winchester bowed and turned toward the door. Miss Woodville,
obedient to the command of her father, led the way. Dick was the last to
go out, and he said to the old lion who lay wounded in the bed:
"Colonel Woodville, I've met your nephew, Victor."
He did not notice that the old man whitened and that the hand now lying
upon the cover clenched suddenly.
"You have?" growled Colonel Woodville, "and how does it happen that you
and my nephew have anything in common?"
"I could scarcely put it that way," replied Dick, refusing to be
angered, "unless you call an encounter with fists something in common.
He and I had a great fight at his father's plantation of Bellevue."
"He might have been in a better business, taking part in a common brawl
with a common Yankee."
"But, sir, while I may be common, I'm not a Yankee. I was born and grew
up south of the Ohio River in Kentucky."
"Then you're a traitor. All you Kentuckians ought to be fighting with
us."
"Difference of opinion, but I hope your nephew is well."
The deep eyes under the thick white thatch glared in a manner that Dick
considered wholly unnecessary. But Colonel Woodville made no reply,
merely turning his face to the wall as if he were weary.
Dick hurried into the hall, closing the door gently behind him. The
others, not missing him, were already some yards away, and he quickly
rejoined Pennington and Warner. The younger men would have been glad
to leave the house, but Colonel Winchester's blood was up, and he was
resolved to stay. The little party was eight in number, and they were
soon quartered in four rooms on the lower floor. Miss Woodville promptly
disappeared, and one of the camp cooks arrived with supplies, which he
took to the kitchen.
Dick and Warner were in one of the rooms, and, removing their belts
and coats, they made themselves easy. It was a large bedroom with high
ceilings and wicker furniture. There were several good paintings on the
walls and a bookcase contained Walter Scott's novels and many of the
eighteenth century classics.
"I think this must have been a guest chamber," said Dick, "but for us
coming from the rain and mud it's a real palace."
"Then it's fulfilling its true function," said Warner, "because it has
guests now. What a strange household! Did you ever see such a peppery
pair as that swearing old colonel and his acid daughter?"
"I don't know that I blame them. I think, sometimes, George, that
you New Englanders are the most selfish of people. You're too truly
righteous. You're always denouncing the faults of others, but you never
see any of your own. Away back in the Revolution when Boston called,
the Southern provinces came to her help, but Boston and New England have
spent a large part of their time since then denouncing the South."
"What's struck you, Dick? Are you weakening in the good cause?"
"Not for a moment. But suppose Mississippi troops walked into your
own father's house in Vermont, and, as conquerors, demanded food and
shelter! Would you rejoice over them, and ask them why they hadn't come
sooner?"
"I suppose not, Dick. But, stop it, and come back to your normal
temperature. I won't quarrel with you."
"I won't give you a chance, George. I'm through. But remember that while
I'm red hot for the Union, I was born south of the Ohio River myself,
and I have lots of sympathy for the people against whom I'm fighting."
"For the matter of that, so've I, Dick, and I was born north of the
Ohio River. But I'm getting tremendously hungry. I hope that cook will
hurry."
They were called soon, and eight officers sat at the table. The cook
himself served them. Miss Woodville had vanished, and not a servant was
visible about the great house. Despite their hunger and the good quality
of the food the group felt constraint. The feeling that they were
intruders, in a sense brigands, was forced upon them. Dick was sure
that the old man with the great bald head was swearing fiercely and
incessantly under his breath.
The dining-room was a large and splendid apartment, and the silver still
lay upon the great mahogany sideboard. The little city, now the camp
of an overwhelming army, had settled into silence, and the twilight was
coming.
With the chill of unwelcome
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