Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. The Sword of Antietam: A Story of the Nation's Crisis by Joseph A. Altsheler (novels to read in english TXT) 📖
- Author: Joseph A. Altsheler
Book online «The Sword of Antietam: A Story of the Nation's Crisis by Joseph A. Altsheler (novels to read in english TXT) 📖». Author Joseph A. Altsheler
The Winchester regiment lay in deep woods, and the great division although it had rested nearly all the day was quiet in the night. But some ardent souls could not rest. A group of officers, including Colonel Winchester and the three young members of his staff, walked forward through the woods, taking the chance of stray shots from sentinels or skirmishers. But they knew that this risk was not great.
They passed near a mill, its wheels and saws silent now, and presently as the moon rose they saw the square white walls of a building shining in its light.
“The Dunkard church,” said one of the officers. “I think we'd better not go any closer. The Johnnies must be lying thick close at hand.”
“The dim light off to the right must be made by their fires,” said Colonel Winchester. “I wish I knew what troops they are. Jackson's perhaps. It's a rough country, and all these forests and ridges and hills will help the defense. I understand that the farms in here are surrounded by stone fences and that, too, will help the Johnnies.”
“But we'll get 'em,” said another confidently. “The battle can't be put off any longer, and we're bound to smash 'em in the morning.”
They remained in the darkness for a while, trying to see what was passing toward the Southern lines, but they could see little. There was some rifle firing after a while, and the occasional deep note of a cannon, mostly at random and the little group walked back.
“I'm going to sleep, Dick,” said Warner. “I've just remembered that I'm an invalid and that if I overtask myself it will be a bad thing for McClellan to-morrow. The colonel doesn't want us any longer, and so here goes.”
“I follow,” said Pennington. “The dry earth is good enough for me. May I stay on top of it for the next half century.”
Warner and Pennington slept quickly, but Dick lay awake a long time, listening to the stray rifle shots and the distant boom of a cannon at far intervals. After a while, he looked at his watch and saw that it was midnight. It was more than an hour later when slumber overtook him, and while he and his comrades lay there the last of Jackson's men were coming with the help that Lee needed so sorely.
Two divisions which had been left at Harper's Ferry started at midnight just as Dick was looking at his watch and at dawn they were almost to the Potomac. On their flank was a cavalry brigade and A. P. Hill was hurrying with another of infantry. Messenger after messenger from them came to Lee that on the fateful day they with their fourteen thousand bayonets would be in line when they were needed most.
Few of those who fought for the Lost Cause ever cherished anything more vividly than those hours between midnight and the next noon when they marched at the double quick across hill and valley and forest to the relief of their great commander. There was little need for the officers to urge them on, and at sunrise the rolling of the cannon was calling to them to come faster, always faster.
CHAPTER X. ANTIETAM
Dick arose at the first flash of dawn. All the men of the Winchester regiment were on their feet. The officers had sent their horses to the rear, knowing that they would be worse than useless among the rocks and in the forest in front of them.
A mist arising from the two rivers floated over everything, but Dick knew that the battle was at hand. The Northern trumpets were calling, and in the haze in front of them the Southern trumpets were calling, too.
The fog lifted, and then Dick saw the Confederate lines stretched through forest, rock and ploughed ground. Near the front was a rail fence with lines of skirmishers crouching behind it. As the last bit of mist rolled away the fence became a twisted line of flame. The fire of the Southern skirmishers crashed in the Union ranks, and the Northern skirmishers, pressing in on the right replied with a fire equally swift and deadly. Then came the roar of the Southern cannon, well aimed and tearing gaps in the Union lines.
“Its time to charge!” exclaimed Pennington. “It scares me, standing still under the enemy's fire, but I forget about it when I'm rushing forward.”
The Winchester regiment did not move for the present, although the battle thickened and deepened about it. The fire of the Confederate cannon was heavy and terrible, yet the Union masses on either wing had begun to press forward. Hooker hurled in two divisions, one under Meade, and one under Doubleday, and another came up behind to support them. The western men were here and remembering how they had been decimated at Manassas, they fought for revenge as well as patriotism.
At last the Winchester regiment in the center moved forward also. They struck heavy ploughed land, and as they struggled through it they met a devastating fire. It seemed to Dick that the last of the little regiment was about to be blown away, but as he looked through the fire and smoke he saw Warner and Pennington still by his side, and the colonel a little ahead, waving his sword and shouting orders that could not be heard.
Dick saw shining far before him the white walls of the Dunkard church, and he was seized with a frantic desire to reach it. It seemed to him if they could get there that the victory would be won. Yet they made little progress. The cannon facing them fairly spouted fire, and thousands of expert riflemen in front of them lying behind ridges and among rocks and bushes sent shower after shower of leaden balls that swept away the front ranks of the charging Union lines. The shell and the shrapnel and the grape and the round shot made a great noise, but the little bullets coming in swarms like bees were the true messengers of death.
Jackson and four thousand of his veterans formed the thin line between the Dunkard church and the Antietam. They were ragged and worn by war, but they were the children of victory, led by a man of genius, and they felt equal to any task. Near Jackson stood his favorite young aide, Harry Kenton, and on the other side was the thin regiment of the Invincibles, led by Colonel Leonidas Talbot, and Lieutenant-Colonel Hector St. Hilaire.
Around the church itself were the Texans under Hood, stalwart, sunburned men who could ride like Comanches, some of whom when lads had been present at San Jacinto, when the Texans struck with such terrible might and success for liberty.
“Are we winning? Tell me, that we are winning!” shouted Dick in Warner's ear.
“We're not winning, but we will! Confound that fog! It's coming up again!” Warner shouted back.
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