The Rock of Chickamauga by Joseph A. Altsheler (best love novels of all time txt) 📖

permitted to withdraw

to their regiment, which was posted back of Grand Gulf, and which had

quickly become a part of an army flushed with victory and eager for

further action.

 

Before sunset Dick, Warner, and Pennington looked at Grand Gulf, a

little village standing on high cliffs overlooking the Mississippi,

just below the point where the dark stream known as the Big Black River

empties into the Father of Waters. Around the crown of the heights was a

ring of batteries and lower down, enclosing the town, was another ring.

 

Far off on the Mississippi the three saw puffing black smoke marking

the presence of a Union fleet, which never for one instant in the whole

course of the war relaxed its grip of steel upon the Confederacy. Dick's

heart thrilled at the sight of the brave ships. He felt then, as most of

us have felt since, that whatever happened the American navy would never

fail.

 

"I hear the ships are going to bombard," said Warner.

 

"I heard so, too," said Pennington, "and I heard also that they will

have to do it under the most difficult circumstances. The water in front

of Grand Gulf is so deep that the ships can't anchor. It has a swift

current, too, making at that point more than six knots an hour. There

are powerful eddies, too, and the batteries crowning the cliffs are

so high that the cannon of the gunboats will have trouble in reaching

them."

 

"Still, Mr. Pessimist," said Dick, "remember what the gunboats did at

Fort Henry. You'll find the same kind of men here."

 

"I wasn't trying to discourage you. I was merely telling the worst

first. We're going to win. We nearly always win here in the West, but it

seems to me the country is against us now. This doesn't look much like

the plains, Dick, with its big, deep rivers, its high bluffs along the

banks, and its miles and miles of swamp or wet lowlands. How wide would

you say the Mississippi is here?"

 

"Somewhere between a mile and a mile and a half."

 

"And they say it's two or three hundred feet deep. Look at the steamers,

boys. How many are there?"

 

"I count seven pyramids of smoke," said Warner, "four in one group and

three in another. All the pyramids are becoming a little faint as the

twilight is advancing. Dick, you call me a cold mathematical person, but

this vast river flowing in its deep channel, the dark bluffs up there,

and the vast forests would make me feel mighty lonely if you fellows

were not here. It's a long way to Vermont."

 

"Fifteen hundred or maybe two thousand miles," said Dick, "but look

how fast the dark is coming. I was wrong in saying it's coming. It just

drops down. The smoke of the steamers has melted into the night, and you

don't see them any more. The surface of the river has turned black as

ink, the bluffs of Grand Gulf have gone, and we've turned back three or

four hundred years."

 

"What do you mean by going back three or four hundred years?" asked

Warner, looking curiously at Dick.

 

"Why, don't you see them out there?"

 

"See them out there? See what?"

 

"Why, the queer little ships with the high sides and prows! On my soul,

George, they're the caravels of Spain! Look, they're stopping! Now they

lower something in black over the side of the first caravel. I see a man

in a black robe like a priest, holding a cross in his hand and standing

at the ship's edge saying something. I think he's praying, boys. Now

sailors cut the ropes that hold the dark object. It falls into the river

and disappears. It's the burial of De Soto in the Father of Waters which

he discovered!"

 

"Dick, you're dreaming," exclaimed Pennington.

 

"Yes, I know, but once there was a Chinaman who dreamed that he was a

lily. When he woke up he didn't know whether he was a Chinaman who had

dreamed he was a lily or a lily now dreaming he was a Chinaman."

 

"I like that story, Dick, but you've got too much imagination. The tale

of the death and burial of De Soto has always been so vivid to you that

you just stood there and re-created the scene for yourself."

 

"Of course that's it," said Pennington, "but why can't a fellow create

things with his mind, when things that don't exist jump right up before

his eyes? I've often seen the mirage, generally about dark, far out on

the western plains. I've seen a beautiful lake and green gardens where

there was nothing but the brown swells rolling on."

 

"I concede all you say," said Dick readily. "I have flashes sometimes,

and so does Harry Kenton and others I know."

 

"Flashes! What do you mean?" asked Warner.

 

"Why, a sort of lightning stroke out of the past. Something that lasts

only a second, but in which you have a share. Boys, one day I saw myself

a Carthaginian soldier following Hannibal over the Alps."

 

"Maybe," said Pennington, "we have lived other lives on this earth, and

sometimes a faint glimpse of them comes to us. It's just a guess."

 

"That's so," said Warner, "and we'd better be getting back to the

regiment. Grand Gulf defended by Bowen and eight thousand good men is

really enough for us. I think we're going to see some lively fighting

here."

 

The heavy boom of a cannon from the upper circle of batteries swept over

the vast sheet of water flowing so swiftly toward the Gulf. The sound

came back in dying echoes, and then there was complete silence among

besieged and besiegers.

 

The Winchesters had found a good solid place, a little hill among the

marshes, and they were encamped there with their horses. Dick had no

messages to carry, but he remained awake, while his comrades slept

soundly. He had slept so much the night before that he had no desire for

sleep now.

 

From his position he could see the Confederate bluffs and a few lights

moving there, but otherwise the two armies were under a blanket of

darkness. He again felt deeply the sense of isolation and loneliness,

not for himself alone, but for the whole army. Grant had certainly shown

supreme daring in pushing far into the South, and the government at

Washington had cause for alarm lest he be reckless. If there were any

strong hand to draw together the forces of the Confederacy they could

surely crush him. But he had already learned in this war that those who

struck swift and hard were sure to win. That was Stonewall Jackson's

way, and it seemed to be Grant's way, too.

 

Still unable to sleep, he walked to a better position, where he could

see the shimmering dark of the river and the misty heights with their

two circles of cannon. A tall figure standing there turned at his tread

and he recognized Colonel Winchester.

 

"Uneasy at our position, Dick?" said the colonel, fathoming his mind at

once.

 

"A little, sir, but I think General Grant will pull us through."

 

"He will, Dick, and he'll take this fort, too. Grant's the hammer we've

been looking for. Look at his record. He's had backsets, but in the end

he's succeeded in everything he's tried. The Confederate government and

leaders have made a mess of their affairs in the West and Southwest, and

General Grant is taking full advantage of it."

 

"Do we attack in the morning, sir?"

 

"We do, Dick, though not by land. Porter, with his seven gunboats, is

going to open on the fort, but it will be a hazardous undertaking."

 

"Because of the nature of the river, sir?"

 

"That's it. They can't anchor, and with full steam up, caught in all the

violent eddies that the river makes rounding the point, they'll have to

fire as best they can."

 

"But the gunboats did great work at Fort Henry, sir."

 

"So they did, Dick, and we've come a long way South since then, which

means that we're making progress and a lot of it here in the West. Well,

we'll see to-morrow."

 

They walked back to their own camp and sleep came to Dick at last. But

he awoke early and found that the thrill of expectation was running

through the whole army. Their position did not yet enable them to attack

on land, but far out on the river they saw the gunboats moving. Porter,

the commander, divided them into two groups. Four of the gunboats were

to attack the lower circle of batteries and three were to pour their

fire upon the upper ring.

 

Dick by day even more than by night recognized the difficulty of the

task. Before them flowed the vast swift current of the Mississippi,

gleaming now in the sunshine, and beyond were the frowning bluffs,

crested and ringed with cannon. Grant had with him twenty thousand men

and his seven gunboats, and Bowen, eight thousand troops. But if the

affair lasted long other Southern armies would surely come.

 

Dick and his comrades had little to do but watch and thousands watched

with them. When the sun was fully risen the seven boats steamed out in

two groups, four farther down the river in order to attack the lower

batteries, while the other three up the stream would launch their fire

against those on the summit.

 

He watched the crest of the cliffs. He saw plainly through his glasses

the muzzles of cannon and men moving about the batteries. Then there

was a sudden blaze of fire and column of smoke and a shell struck in the

water near one of the gunboats. The boat replied and its comrades also

sent shot and shell toward the frowning summit. Then the batteries, both

lower and upper, replied with full vigor and all the cliffs were wrapped

in fire and smoke.

 

The boats steamed in closer and closer, pouring an incessant fire from

their heavy guns, and both rings of batteries on the cliffs responded.

The water of the river spouted up in innumerable little geysers and now

and then a boat was struck. Over both cliffs and river a great cloud

of smoke lowered. It grew so dense that Dick and his comrades, watching

with eagerness, were unable to tell much of what was happening.

 

Yet as the smoke lifted or was shot through with the blaze of cannon

fire they saw that their prophecies were coming true. The boats in water

too deep for anchorage were caught in the powerful eddies and their

captains had to show their best seamanship while they steamed back and

forth.

 

The battle between ship and shore went on for a long time. It seemed at

last to the watching Union soldiers that the fire from the lower line of

batteries was diminishing.

 

"We're making some way," said Warner.

 

"It looks like it," said Dick. "Their lower batteries are not so well

protected as the upper."

 

"If we were only over there, helping with our own guns."

 

"But there's a big river in between, and we've got to leave it to the

boats for to-day, anyhow."

 

"Look again at those lower batteries. Their fire is certainly

decreasing. I can see it die down."

 

"Yes, and now it's stopped entirely. The boats have done good work!"

 

A tremendous cheer burst from the troops on the west shore as they saw

how much their gallant little gunboats had achieved. Every gun in the

lower batteries was silent now, but the top of the cliffs was still

alive with flame. The batteries there were far from silent. Instead

their fire was increasing in volume and power.

 

The four gunboats that had silenced the lower batteries now moved up to

the aid of their comrades, and the seven made a united effort, steaming

forward in a sort of half-moon, and raining shot and shell upon the

summits. But the guns there, well-sheltered and having every advantage

over rocking steamers, maintained an accurate and deadly fire. The

decks of the gunboats were swept more than once. Many men were killed or

wounded. Heavy shot crashed through their sides, and Dick expected every

instant to see some one of them sunk by a huge exploding shell.

 

"They can't win! They can't win!" he exclaimed. "They'd better draw off

before they're sunk!"

 

"So they had," said Warner sadly. "Boats are at a disadvantage fighting

batteries. The old darky was right when he preferred a train wreck to a

boat wreck, 'ef the train's smashed, thar you are on the solid ground,

but ef the boat blows up, whar is you?' That's sense. The boats are

retiring! It's sad, but it's sense. A boat that steams away will live to

fight another day."

 

Dick was dejected. He fancied he could hear the cheering of their foes

at what looked like a Union defeat, but he recalled that Grant, the

bulldog, led them. He would never think of retiring, and he was sure to

be ready with some new attempt.

 

The gunboats