The Rock of Chickamauga by Joseph A. Altsheler (best love novels of all time txt) 📖
- Author: Joseph A. Altsheler
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path now and then through soft ground, the most exhausting labor of all.
The sun poured down upon him and his uniform dried fast. He had just
crossed one of the ravines and was climbing into the thicket beyond when
a voice asked:
"See any of the Yanks in front?"
Dick's heart stood still, and then all his presence of mind came
back. Not in vain had the kindly colonel warned him of the Southern
sharpshooters in the bush.
"No," he replied. "They seem to be farther up. One of our fellows told
me he saw a whole regiment of them off there to the right."
He plunged deeper into the bush and walked on as if he were among his
own comrades. He realized that his faded uniform with its dye of yellow
mud had caused him to be mistaken for one of Pemberton's men. His
accent, which was Kentuckian and therefore Southern, had helped him
also. He passed three or four other men, bent over, rifle in hand and
watching, and he nodded to them familiarly. In such a crisis he knew
that boldness and ease were his best cards, and he said to one of the
men, with a laugh:
"You'll have to tell us Tennesseeans about all your bayous and creeks.
I've just fallen into one that had no right to be there."
"You Tennesseeans need a bath anyhow," replied the man, chuckling.
"We'd never choose a Mississippi stream for it," said Dick in the
same vein, and passed on leaving the rifleman in high good humor. How
wonderfully these Southerners were like the Northerners! He noticed
presently a half-dozen other sharpshooters in the Confederate butternut,
prowling among the bushes, and through an opening he saw his own people
to the west, but too far away to be reached by anything but artillery.
The slow, deep music of the Northern guns came steadily to his ear, but
their fire was always turned toward Vicksburg.
Dick knew that his position was extremely critical. Perhaps it was
growing more so all the while, but he was never cooler. A quiet lad, he
always rose wonderfully to an emergency. He was quite sure that he
was among Mississippi troops, and they could not possibly know all the
soldiers from the other states gathered for the defense of Vicksburg. He
did not differ from those around him in any respect, except that he did
not carry a rifle.
He paused and looked back thoughtfully at the distant Union troops.
"Can you tell me how they're posted?" he said to a tall, thin
middle-aged man who had a chew of tobacco in his cheek. "I carry
dispatches to General Pemberton, and the more information I can give him
the better."
"Yes, I kin tell you," replied the man, somewhat flattered. "They're
posted everywhere. What, with their army and them boats of theirs in the
river, they've got a high fence around us, all staked and ridered."
"It doesn't take any more work to tear a fence down than it does to
build it up."
"I reckon you're right thar, stranger. But was you at Champion Hill?"
"No, I missed that."
"Then it was a good thing for you that you did. I didn't set much store
by the Yanks when this war began. One good Southerner could whip five of
'em any time, our rip-roarin', fire-eatin' speech-makers said. I knowed
then, too, that they was right, but I was up thar in Kentucky a while,
an' after Donelson I reckoned that four was about as many as I wanted
to tackle all to oncet. Then thar was Shiloh, an' I kinder had a thought
that if three of 'em jumped on me at one time I'd hev my hands purty
full to lick 'em. Then come Corinth, an,' reasonin' with myself, I said
I wouldn't take on more'n two Yanks at the same time. An' now, since
I've been at Champion Hill, I know that the Yank is a pow'ful good
fighter, an' I reckon one to one jest about suits me, an' even then I'd
like to have a leetle advantage in the draw."
"I feel that way about it, too. The Yankees are going to make a heap
of trouble for us here. But I must be going. What's the best path into
Vicksburg?"
"See that little openin' in the bushes. Follow it. Jest over the hill
you'll run into a passel of our fellers, but pay no 'tention to 'em. If
they ask you who you are an' whar you're boun' tell 'em to go straight
to blazes, while you go to Vicksburg."
"Thank you," said Dick, "I like to meet an obliging and polite man like
you. It helps even in war."
"Don't mention it. When I wuz a little shaver my ma told me always to
mind my manners, an' when I didn't she whaled the life out of me. An',
do you know, stranger, she's just a leetle, withered old woman, but if
she could 'pear here right now I'd be willin' to set down right in these
bushes an' say, 'Ma, take up that stick over thar an' beat me across the
shoulders an' back with it as hard as you kin.' I'd feel good all over."
"I believe you," said Dick, who thought of his own mother.
He followed the indicated path until he was out of sight of everybody,
and then he plunged into the bushes and marsh toward the river. When he
was well hidden he stopped and considered.
It was quite evident that he had wandered from the right road, but
it was no easy task to get back into it. There was an unconscious
Confederate cordon about him and he must pass through it somewhere. He
moved farther toward the river, but only went deeper into the swamp.
He turned to the south and soon reached firm ground, but he heard
Confederate pickets talking in front of him. Then he caught glimpses of
two or three men watching among the trees, and he lay down in a clump of
bushes. He might pass them as he had passed the others, but he thought
it wiser not to take the risk.
He was willing also to rest a little, as he had done a lot of hard
walking. His clothing was now dry, and the mud had dried upon it.
He turned aside into one of the deep ravines and then into a smaller one
leading from it. The bushes were dense there and he lay down among them,
so completely hidden that he was invisible ten feet away. Here he still
heard the mutter of the guns, which came in a long, droning sound, and
occasionally a rifle cracked at some point closer by. The Union army
was still busy and he felt a few moments of despondency. His dispatch
undoubtedly was of great importance, and yet he was not able to deliver
It was highly probable that for precaution's sake other messengersbore the same dispatch, but he was anxious to arrive with his
nevertheless, and he wanted, too, to arrive first. The last now seemed
impossible and the first improbable.
The crackling fire came nearer. Owing to the lack of percussion caps,
Pemberton had ordered his men to use their rifles sparingly, but
evidently a considerable body of sharpshooters near Dick were attempting
a flanking movement of some kind, and meant to carry it out with
bullets. He was impatient to see, but prudence kept him in his covert, a
prudence that was soon justified, as presently he heard voices very near
him and then the sound of footsteps.
He rose up a little and saw several hundred Confederate soldiers passing
on the slopes not more than a hundred yards away. They went south of
him, and he recognized with growing alarm that the wall across his way
was growing higher. When they were gone and he could no longer hear
their tread among the bushes he slipped from his hiding place and went
directly toward Vicksburg. Being within an iron ring he thought that
perhaps he would be safer somewhere near the center. He might make his
way without much trouble through the vast confused crowd in Vicksburg,
and then in the night go down the river's edge and to the fleet.
It was a daring idea, so very daring that it appealed to the strain of
high adventure in the lad. He was encouraged, too, by his earlier and
easy success in passing among the Confederate soldiers. But in order not
to appear reckless and to satisfy his own conscience he tried once more
for the way to the south. But the soldiers entirely barred the path
there, and, being on some duty that required extreme vigilance, they
were likely to prove exacting.
He advanced with a clear mind toward Vicksburg, picking his way among
the forests and ravines, but, after long walking over most difficult
ground, he saw before him extensive earthworks thronged with Southern
troops. When he turned westward the result was the same, and then it
became evident that there was no flaw in the iron ring. He could not go
through to Porter, he could not go back to his own army, but Vicksburg
invited him as a guest.
He would make the trial at night. It was a long wait, but he dared not
risk it by day, and, going back into one of the ravines, he sought
a secluded and sheltered place. Threshing the bushes to drive away
possible snakes, he crawled into a clump and lay there. Resolved to be
patient in spite of everything, he did not stir, but listened to the far
throbbing of the cannon which poured an incessant storm of missiles upon
unhappy Vicksburg.
The warmth and the heavy air in the ravine were relaxing. His brain grew
so dull and heavy that he fell asleep, and when he awoke the twilight
was coming. And yet he had lost nothing. He had gained rather. The time
had passed. His body had been strengthened and his nerves steadied while
he slept.
The distant booming of the guns still came. He had expected it. That was
Grant. He had wrapped the coil of steel around Vicksburg and he would
never relax. Dick felt that there was no hope for the town, unless
Johnston outside could gather a powerful army and fight Grant on even
terms. But he considered it impossible, and there, too, was the great
artery of the river along which flowed men and supplies of every kind
for the Union.
The Southern twilight turned swiftly into night and, coming from his
lair, Dick walked boldly toward the town. He had eaten nothing since
morning, but he had not noticed it, until this moment, when he began to
feel a little faintness. He resolved that Vicksburg should supply him.
It was curious how much help he expected of Vicksburg, a hostile town.
He saw lights soon both to right and to left and he strengthened his
soul. He knew that he must be calm, but alert and quick with the right
answer. With his singular capacity for meeting a crisis he advanced into
the thick of danger with a smiling face, even as his great ancestor,
Paul Cotter, had often done.
His calm was of short duration. There was a rushing sound, something
struck violently, and a tremendous explosion followed. Fire flashed
before Dick's eyes, pieces of red hot metal whistled past his head,
earth spattered him and he was thrown to the ground.
He sprang up again, understanding all instantly. A shell from his own
army had burst near him, and he had been thrown down by the concussion.
But he had not been hurt, and in a few seconds his pulse beat steadily.
He heard a shout of laughter as he stood, brushing the fresh dirt from
his clothing. He glanced up in some anger, but he saw at once that the
arrival of the shell had been most fortunate for his plan. To come near
annihilation by a Federal gun certainly invested him with a Confederate
character.
It was a group of young soldiers who were laughing and their amusement
was entirely good-natured. They would have laughed the same way had the
harmless adventure befallen one of their own number. Dick judged that
they were from the Southwest.
"Close call," he said, smiling that attractive smile, which was visible
even in the twilight.
"It was a friendly shell," said one of the youths, "and it concluded
not to come too close to you. These Yankee shells are so loving that
sometimes they spray themselves in little pieces all over a fellow, like
a shower of rice over a bride at a wedding."
"How long do you think the Yankees will keep it up?" asked Dick, putting
indignation in his tone. "Haven't they any respect for the night?"
"Not a bit. That fellow Grant is a pounder. They say he'll blow
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