The Sword of Antietam: A Story of the Nation's Crisis by Joseph A. Altsheler (novels to read in english TXT) 📖

across the valley, and, raising his light rifle, he fired, quick as a flash. The return shot came at once, and chipped the rock as before, but he dropped back unhurt, and peeping from the side he could see nothing. He might or might not have slain his enemy. The gray cap was no longer visible, and he watched to see if it would reappear.

He heard the sound of a great cannonade before the mouth of the pass, and he saw his own people advancing in force, their lines extending far to the left and right, with several batteries showing at intervals. Then came the rebel yell from the pass and as the Union lines advanced the Southerners poured upon them a vast concentrated fire.

Dick, watching through the smoke and forgetful of his enemy across the valley, saw the Union charge rolled back. But he also saw the men out of range gathering themselves for a new attack. Within the pass preparations were going on to repel it a second time. Then he glanced toward the opposite rock and dropped down just in time. He had seen a rifle barrel protruding above it, and a second later the bullet whistled where his head had been.

He grew angrier than ever. He had left that sharpshooter alone for at least ten minutes, while he watched charge and repulse, and he expected to be treated with the same consideration. He would pay him for such ferocity, and seeing an edge of gray shoulder, he fired.

No sign came from the rock, and Dick was quite sure that he had missed. The blood mounted to his head and surcharged his brain. A thousand little pulses that he had never heard of before began to beat in his head, and he was devoured by a consuming anger. He vowed to get that fellow yet.

Lying flat upon his stomach he drew himself around the edge of the rock and watched. There was a great deal of covering smoke from the artillery in the pass now, and he believed that it would serve his purpose.

But when he got a little distance away from the rock the bank of smoke lifted suddenly, and it was only by quickly flattening himself down behind a little ridge of stone that he saved his life. The sharpshooter's bullet passed so close to his head that Dick felt as if he had received a complete hair cut, all in a flash.

He fairly sprang back to the cover of his rock. What a fine rock that was! How big and thick! And it was so protective! In a spirit of defiance he fired at the top of the other stone and saw the gray dust shoot up from it. Quick came the answering shot, and a little piece of his coat flew with it. That was certainly a great sharpshooter across the valley! Dick gave him full credit for his skill.

Then he heard the rolling of drums and the mellow call of trumpets in front of the pass. Taking care to keep well under cover he looked back. The Union army was advancing in great force now, its front tipped with a long line of bayonets and the mouths of fifty cannon turned to the pass. In front of them swarmed the skirmishers, eager, active fellows leaping from rock to rock and from tree to tree.

Dick foresaw that the second charge would not fail. Its numbers were so great that it would at least enter the pass and hold the mouth of it. Already a mighty cannonade was pouring a storm of death over the heads of the skirmishers toward the defenders, and the brigades came on steadily and splendidly to the continued rolling of the drums.

Dick rose up again, watching now for his enemy who, he knew, could not remain much longer behind the rock, as he would soon be within range of the Northern skirmishers advancing on that side.

He fancied that he could hear the massive tread of the thousands coming toward the pass, and the roll of the drums, distinct amid the roar of the cannon, told him that his comrades would soon be at hand, driving everything before them. But his eyes were for that big rock on the other side of the valley. Now was his time for revenge upon the sharpshooter who had sought his life with such savage persistence. The Northern skirmishers were drawing nearer and the fellow must flee or die.

Suddenly the sharpshooter sprang from the rock, and up flew Dick's rifle as he drew a bead straight upon his heart. Then he dropped the weapon with a cry of horror. Across the valley and through the smoke he recognized Harry Kenton, and Harry Kenton looking toward his enemy recognized him also.

Each threw up his hand in a gesture of friendliness and farewell—the roar of the battle was so loud now that no voice could have been heard at the distance—and then they disappeared in the smoke, each returning to his own, each heart thrilling with a great joy, because its owner had always missed the sharpshooter behind the stone.

The impression of that vivid encounter in the pass was dimmed for a while for Dick by the fierceness of the fighting that followed. The defense had the advantage of the narrow pass and the rocky slopes, and numbers could not be put to the most account. Nevertheless, the Confederates were pressed back along the gap, and when night came the Union army was in full possession of its summit.

But at the other gap the North had not achieved equal success. Longstreet, marching thirteen miles that day, had come upon the field in time, and when darkness fell the Southern troops still held their ground there. But later in the night Hill and Longstreet, through fear of being cut off, abandoned their positions and marched to join Lee.

Dick and his comrades who did not lie down until after midnight had come, felt that a great success had been gained. McClellan had been slow to march, but, now that he was marching, he was sweeping the enemy out of his way.

The whole Army of the Potomac felt that it was winning and McClellan himself was exultant. Early the next morning he reported to his superior at Washington that the enemy was fleeing in panic and that General Lee admitted that he had been “shockingly whipped.”

Full of confidence, the army advanced to destroy Lee, who lay between the peninsula of the Antietam and the Potomac, but just about the time McClellan was writing his dispatch, the white flag was hoisted at Harper's Ferry, the whole garrison surrendered, and messengers were on their way to Lee with the news that Stonewall Jackson was coming.