The Rock of Chickamauga by Joseph A. Altsheler (best love novels of all time txt) 📖
- Author: Joseph A. Altsheler
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Dick was a fine swimmer, he had a good stout plank, and the waters of
the river were warm. He felt that the chief dangers were passed, and
that the muddy Mississippi would now bear him safely to the blockading
fleet below. He gave the plank another shove, sending it farther out
into the stream, and then raised himself up until his elbows rested upon
He could thus float gently with a little propulsion from his legs tothe place where he wanted to go.
He saw lights along the bluff and the bar below, and then, with a sudden
shoot of alarm he noticed a dim shadow move slowly from the shore. It
was a long boat, holding a dozen rowers, and several men armed with
rifles, and it was coming toward him. He did not know whether it was
merely an ordinary patrol, or whether they had seen the darker blot on
the stream that he and the plank made, but in any event the result would
be the same.
He slipped his arm off the plank and sank in the stream to the chin.
Then, propelling it gently and without any splashing of the water, he
continued to move down the stream. He was hopeful that the riflemen
would mistake him and his plank for one of those stumps or logs which
the Mississippi carries so often on its bosom.
The head of the boat turned from him a little, and he felt sure now that
he would drift away unnoticed, but one of the soldiers suddenly raised
his rifle and fired. Dick heard the bullet clip the water close beside
him, and he swam as hard as he could for a few moments. Then he
settled again into quiet, as he saw the boat was not coming toward him.
Doubtless the man had merely fired the shot to satisfy himself that it
was really a log, and if Dick allowed it to float naturally he would be
convinced.
It was a tremendous trial of nerves to run the gantlet in this way, but
as it was that or nothing he exerted all his will upon his body, and let
himself float slowly, sunk again to the mouth and with his head thrown
back, so it would present only a few inches above the surface.
The boat turned, and seemed once upon the point of coming toward him. He
could hear the creaking of the oars and the men talking, but they turned
again suddenly and rowed up the stream. Again, his fate had hung on a
chance impulse. He drifted slowly on until the town and the bluffs sank
in the darkness. Then he drew himself upon his plank and swam, doubling
his speed. He knew that some of the Union gunboats lay not far below,
and, when he rounded a curve, he saw a light in the stream, but near the
shore.
He approached cautiously, knowing that the men on the vessel would be on
guard against secret attack, and presently he discerned the outlines
of a sidewheel steamer, converted into a warship and bearing guns. He
dropped down by the side of his plank until he was quite close, and
then, raising himself upon it again, he shouted with all his voice:
"Ship ahoy!"
He did not know whether that was the customary method of hailing on the
Mississippi, but it was a memory from his nautical reading, and so he
shouted a second and yet a third time at the top of his voice: "Ship
ahoy!" Figures bearing rifles appeared at the side, and a rough voice
demanded in language highly unparliamentary who was there and what he,
she or it wanted.
Dick was in a genial mood. He had escaped with an ease that surprised
him, and the warmth of the water in which he was immersed had saved him
from cramp or chill. The spirit of recklessness seized him again. He
threw himself astride his plank, and called out:
"A detachment of the army of the United States escaped from captivity in
Vicksburg, and wishing to rejoin it. It's infantry, not marines, and it
needs land."
"Then advance infantry and give the countersign."
"Grant and Victory," replied Dick in a loud, clear voice.
A laugh came from the steamer, and the rough voice said again:
"Let the detachment advance again, and holding up its hands, show
itself."
Dick paddled closer and, steadying himself as well as he could, threw
up his hands. The light of a ship's lantern was thrown directly on his
face, and the same voice ordered men to take a small boat and get him.
When Dick stepped upon the deck of the steamer, water streaming from
his clothes, several men looked at him curiously. One in a dingy blue
uniform he believed to be the owner of the rough voice. But his face was
not rough.
"Who are you?" asked the man.
"Lieutenant Richard Mason of Colonel Winchester's regiment in the army
of General Grant, sent several days ago with a message to the fleet, but
driven by Confederate scouts and skirmishers into Vicksburg, where he
lay hidden, seeking a chance of escape."
"And he found it to-night, coming down the river like a big catfish."
"He did, sir. He could find no other way, and he arrived on the useful
board which is now floating away on the current."
"What proof have you that you are what you say."
"That I saw you before you saw me and hailed you."
"It's not enough."
"Then here is the message that I was to have delivered to the commander
of the fleet. It's pretty wet, but I think you can make it out."
He drew the dispatch from the inside pocket of his waistcoat. It was
soaked through, but when they turned the ship's lantern upon it the
captain could make out its tenor and the names. Doubt could exist no
longer and he clapped his hands heartily upon the lad's shoulder.
"Come into the cabin and have something to eat and dry clothes," he
said. "This is the converted steamer Union, and I'm its commander,
Captain William Hays. I judge that you've had an extraordinary time."
"I have, captain, and the hardest of it all was when I saw our army
repulsed to-day."
"It was bad and the wounded are still lying on the field, but it doesn't
mean that Vicksburg will have a single moment of rest. Listen to that,
will you, lieutenant?"
The far boom of a cannon came, and Dick knew that its shell would break
over the unhappy town. But he had grown so used to the cannonade that
it made little impression upon him, and, shrugging his shoulders, he
descended the gangway with the captain.
Clothing that would fit him well enough was found, and once more he was
dry and warm. Hot coffee and good food were brought him, and while he
ate and drank Captain Hays asked him many questions. What was the rebel
strength in Vicksburg? Were they exultant over their victory of the day?
Did they think they could hold out? What food supply did they have?
Dick answered all the questions openly and frankly as far as he could.
He really knew little or nothing about those of importance, and, as for
himself, he merely said that he had hid in a cave, many of which had
been dug in Vicksburg. He did not mention Colonel Woodville or his
daughter.
"Now," said Captain Hays, when he finished his supper, "you can have
a bunk. Yes, lieutenant, you must take it. I could put you ashore
to-night, but it's not worth while. Get a good night's sleep, and we'll
see to-morrow."
Dick knew that he was right, and, quelling his impatience, he lay down
in one of the bunks and slept until morning.
Then, after a solid breakfast, he went ashore with the good wishes of
Captain Hays, and, a few hours later, he was with the Union army and his
own regiment. Again he was welcomed as one dead and his own heart was
full of rejoicing because all of his friends were alive. Warner alone
had been wounded, a bullet cutting into his shoulder, but not hurting
him much. He wore a bandage, his face had a becoming pallor, and
Pennington charged that he was making the most of it.
"But it was an awful day," said Warner, "and there's a lot of gloom
in the camp. Still, we're not moving away and the reinforcements are
coming."
Dick explained to Colonel Winchester why he had failed in his mission,
and the colonel promised to report in turn to the commander that the
hand of God had intervened. Dick's conscience was now at rest, and he
resumed at once his duties with the regiment.
Many days passed. While Grant did not make any other attack upon
Vicksburg his circle of steel grew tighter, and the rain of shells and
bombs upon the devoted town never ceased. Reinforcements poured forward.
His army rose to nearly eighty thousand men, and Johnston, hovering
near, gathering together what men he could, did not dare to strike. Dick
was reminded more than once of Caesar's famous siege of Alesia, about
which he had read not so long ago in Dr. Russell's academy at Pendleton.
There were long, long days of intrenching, skirmishing and idleness. May
turned into June, and still the steel coil enclosed Vicksburg. Here the
Union men were hopeful, but the news from the East was bad. Not much
filtered through, and none of it struck a happy note. Lee, with
his invincible legions, was still sweeping northward. Doubtless the
Confederate hosts now trod the soil of a free State, and Dick and his
comrades feared in their very souls that Lee was marching to another
great victory.
"I wish I could hear from Harry Kenton," said Dick to Warner. "I'd like
to know whether he passed through Chancellorsville safely."
"Don't you worry about him," said Warner. "That rebel cousin of yours
has luck. He also has skill. Let x equal luck and y skill. Now x plus y
equals the combination of luck and skill, which is safety. That
proves to me mathematically that he is unharmed and that he is riding
northward--to defeat, I hope."
"We've got to win here," said Dick. "If we don't, I'm thinking the
cause of the Union will be more than doubtful. We don't seem to have the
generals in the East that we have in the West. Our leaders hang on here
and they don't overestimate the enemy."
"That's so," said Pennington. "Now, I wonder what 'Pap' Thomas is
doing."
"He's somewhere in Tennessee, I suppose, watching Bragg," said Dick.
"That's a man I like, and, I think, after this affair here is over, we
may go back to his command. If we do succeed in taking Vicksburg,
it seems likely to me that the heavy fighting will be up there in
Tennessee, where Bragg's army is."
"Do you know if your uncle, Colonel Kenton, is in Vicksburg?"
"I don't think so. In fact, I'm sure he isn't. His regiment is with
Bragg. Well, George, what does your algebra tell us?"
Warner had taken out his little volume again and was studying it
intently. But he raised his head long enough to reply.
"I have just achieved the solution of a very important mathematical
problem," he answered in precise tones. "An army of about thirty-five
thousand men occupies a town located on a river. It is besieged by
another army of about seventy-five thousand men flushed with victory.
The besiegers occupy the river with a strong fleet. They are also led
by a general who has shown skill and extraordinary tenacity, while the
commander of the besieged has not shown much of either quality and must
feel great discouragement."
"But you're only stating the side of the besieged."
"Don't interrupt. It's impolite. I mean to be thoroughly fair. Now
come the factors favoring the besieged. The assailing army, despite its
superior numbers, is far in the enemy's country. It may be attacked at
any time by another army outside, small, but led by a very able general.
Now, you have both sides presented to you, but I have already arrived at
the determining factor. What would you say it is, Dick?"
"I don't know."
"You haven't used your reasoning powers. Remember that the man who not
merely thinks, but who thinks hard and continuously always
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