The Rock of Chickamauga, Joseph A. Altsheler [best book club books txt] 📗

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abundant sleep and good food he was in the highest of spirits. They

were embarked upon a great adventure and he believed that it would be

successful. His confidence was shared by all those about him. Meanwhile

the army advanced in diverging columns upon the Mississippi capital.

 

Jackson, on Pearl River, had suddenly assumed a vast importance in

Dick's mind, and yet it was but a tiny place, not more than three or

four thousand inhabitants. The South was almost wholly agricultural,

and cities, great in a political and military sense, were in reality but

towns. Richmond, itself the capital of the Confederacy, around which so

much centered, had only forty thousand people.

 

The Winchester regiment was detached that afternoon and sent to join the

column under McPherson, which was expected to reach Jackson first. Dick

was mounted again, and he rode with Warner and Pennington on either

side of him. They speculated much on what they would find when they

approached Jackson.

 

"If Joe Johnston is there," said Warner, "I think we'll have a hard

fight. You'll remember that he did great work against us in Virginia,

until he was wounded."

 

"And they'll know, of course, just when to expect us and in what force,"

said Dick. "Slade will tell them that. He probably has a large body of

spies and scouts working under him. But I don't think he'll come inside

our camp again."

 

"Not likely since he's been recognized," said Warner, thoughtfully. "But

I don't think General Grant is afraid of anything ahead. That's why he

made the separation from our own world so complete, and our men are

out cutting down the telegraph lines, so the Johnnies in Jackson can't

communicate with their own government either. It's important to us that

we take Jackson before Pemberton with his army can come up."

 

Warner had estimated the plan correctly. Grant, besides cutting

himself off from his own superiors at Washington, was also destroying

communication between the garrison of Jackson and Pemberton's army of

Vicksburg, which was not far away. The two united might beat him, but

he meant to defeat them separately, and then besiege Vicksburg. It was

a complicated plan, depending upon quickness, courage and continued

success. Yet the mind of Grant, though operating afterward on fields of

greater numbers, was never clearer or more vigorous.

 

They went into camp again after dark, knowing that Jackson was but a

short distance away, and they expected to attack early in the morning.

Dick carried another dispatch to Sherman, who was only a little

more than two miles from them, and on his way back he joined Colonel

Winchester, who, with Warner, Pennington and a hundred infantry, had

come out for a scout. The dismounted men were chosen because they wished

to beat up a difficult piece of wooded country.

 

They went directly toward Jackson, advancing very cautiously through the

forest, the mounted officers riding slowly. The night was hot and dark,

moon and stars obscured by drifting clouds. Pennington, who was an

expert on weather, announced that another storm was coming.

 

"I can feel a dampness in the air," he said. "I'm willing to risk my

reputation as a prophet and say that the dawn will come with rain."

 

"I hope it won't be a big rain," said Colonel Winchester, "because if it

is it will surely delay our attack. Our supply of cartridges is small,

and we can't risk wetting them."

 

Pennington persisted that a storm was at hand. His father had taught

him, he said, always to observe the weather signs on the great Nebraska

plains. They were nearly always hoping for rain there, and he had

learned to smell it before it came. He could smell it now in the same

way here in Mississippi.

 

His opinion did not waver, when the clouds floated away for a while,

disclosing a faint moon and a few stars. They were now on the banks of a

brook, flowing through the wood, and Colonel Winchester thought he saw

a movement in the forest beyond it. It was altogether likely that so

skillful a leader as Joe Johnston would have out bodies of scouts, and

he stopped, bidding his men to take cover.

 

Dick sat on his horse by the colonel's side under the thick boughs of a

great tree, and studied the thickets before them. He, too, had noticed

a movement, and he was confident that the Southern sharpshooters were

there. At the command of the colonel all of the officers dismounted,

and orderlies took the horses to the rear. On foot they continued their

examination of the thickets, and the colonel sent for Sergeant Whitley,

who confirmed his opinion that the enemy was before them. At his

suggestion the Union force was spread out, lest it be flanked and

annihilated in the thickets.

 

Just as the movement was completed rifles began to crack in front and on

both flanks, and the piercing yell of the South arose.

 

It was impossible to tell the size of the force that assailed them, but

the Winchester men were veterans now, and they were not afraid. Standing

among the bushes or sheltered by the trees they held their fire until

they saw dusky figures in the thickets.

 

It had all the aspects of an old Indian battle in the depths of the

great forest. Darkness, the ambush and the caution of sharpshooters were

there. Dick carried a rifle, but he did not use it. He merely watched

the pink beads of flame among the bushes, while he stayed by the side of

his colonel and observed the combat.

 

It soon became apparent to him that it would have no definite result.

Each side was merely feeling out its foe that night, and would not force

the issue. Yet the Southern line approached and some bullets whistled

near him. He moved a little to one side, and watched for an enemy. It

was annoying to have bullets come so close, and since they were shooting

at him he might as well shoot at them.

 

While he was absorbed in watching, the colonel moved in the other

direction, and Dick stood alone behind a bush. The fire in front had

increased somewhat, although at no time was it violent. Occasional shots

from his own side replied. The clouds that had drifted away were now

drifting back, and he believed that darkness alone would soon end the

combat.

 

Then he saw a bush only a dozen yards in his front move a little, and a

face peered through its branches. There was yet enough light for him

to see that the face was youthful, eager and handsome. It was familiar,

too, and then with a shock he remembered. Woodville, the lad with whom

he had fought such a good fight, nature's weapons used, was before him.

 

Dick raised his rifle. Young Woodville was an easy target. But the

motion was only a physical impulse. He knew in his heart that he had

no intention of shooting the young Southerner, and he did not feel the

slightest tinge of remorse because he evaded this part of a soldier's

work.

 

Yet Woodville, seeing nobody and hearing nothing, would come on. Dick,

holding his rifle in the crook of his left arm, drew a pistol and fired

it over the lad's head. At the same moment he dropped almost flat upon

the ground. The bullet cut the leaves above Woodville and he sprang

back, startled. A half-dozen Southern skirmishers fired at the flash

of Dick's pistol, but he, too, lying on the ground, heard them cutting

leaves over his head.

 

Dick saw the face of Woodville disappear from the bush, and then he

crept away, rejoining Colonel Winchester and his comrades. Five minutes

later the skirmish ceased by mutual consent, and each band fell back on

its own army, convinced that both were on the watch.

 

They were to advance at four o'clock in the morning, but Pennington's

prediction came true. After midnight, flashes of lightning cut the sky

and the thunder rolled heavily. Then the rain came, not any fugitive

shower, but hard, cold and steady, promising to last many hours.

 

It was still pouring when the advance began before dawn, but Grant's

plans were complete. He had drawn up his forces on the chessboard,

and they were converging closely upon Jackson. They must keep their

cartridges dry and advance at all costs.

 

The Winchesters were in the van in a muddy road. Dick, Warner and

Pennington were in the saddle, and they were wet through and through.

The rain and dusk were so heavy that they could not see fifty feet, and

they shivered with cold. But their souls were eager and high, and they

were glad when the army toiled slowly forward to battle.

 

CHAPTER VII. THE LITTLE CAPITAL

 

Dick was bent down in his saddle, trying to protect himself a little

from the driving rain which beat in his eyes and soaked through his

clothing. Warner and Pennington beside him were in the same condition,

and he saw just before him the bent back of Colonel Winchester, with his

left arm raised as a shield for his face. Hoofs and wheels made a heavy,

sticky sound as they sank in the mud, and were then pulled out again.

 

"Do you see any signs of daylight, Dick?" asked Pennington.

 

"Not a sign. I see only a part of our regiment, trees on either side of

us bending before the wind, and rain, and mud, mud everywhere. I'll be

glad when it's over."

 

"So will I," said Warner. "I wonder what kind of hotels they have in

Jackson. I'd like to have a bath, good room and a big breakfast."

 

"The Johnnies are holding breakfast for you," said Pennington. "Their

first course is gunpowder, their second bullets, their third shells and

shrapnel, and their fourth bayonets."

 

"They'll have to serve a lot at every course," said Dick, "because

General Grant is advancing with fifty thousand men, and so many need a

lot of satisfying."

 

The storm increased in violence. The rain, falling in a deluge, was

driven by a wind like a hurricane. The horses strove to turn their heads

from it, and confusion arose among the cavalry. The infantry mixed

in the mud swore heavily. Staff officers had the utmost difficulty in

keeping the regiments together. It was time for the sun, but it did not

appear. Everything was veiled in clouds and driving rain.

 

Dick looked at his watch, and saw that it was seven o'clock. They had

intended to attack at this hour, but further advance was impossible

for the time, and, bending their heads, they sought to protect their

ammunition. Presently they started again and toiled along slowly and

painfully for more than two hours. Then, just as they saw the enemy

ahead of them, the storm seemed to reach the very zenith of its fury.

 

Dick, in the vanguard, beheld earthworks, cannon and troops before

Jackson, but the storm still drove so hard that the Union forces could

not advance to the assault.

 

"This is certainly a most unusual situation," said Colonel Winchester,

with an effort at cheerfulness. "Here we are, ready to attack, and the

Southerners are ready to defend, but a storm holds us both fast in our

tracks. Our duty to protect our cartridges is even greater than our duty

to attack the enemy."

 

"The biggest rain must come to an end," said Dick.

 

But it was nearly noon before they could advance. Then, as the storm

decreased rapidly the trumpets sounded the charge, and horse, foot and

artillery, they pressed forward eagerly through the mud.

 

The sun broke through the clouds, and Dick saw before them a wood, a

ravine full of thickets, and the road commanded by strong artillery.

The Northern skirmishers were already stealing forward through the wet

bushes and grass, and soon their rifles were crackling. But the Southern

sharpshooters in the thickets were in stronger force, and their rapid

and accurate fire drove back the Northern men. Then their artillery

opened and swept the road, while the Northern batteries were making

frantic efforts to get up through the deep, sticky mud.

 

But the trumpets were still calling. The Winchester regiment and others,

eager for battle and victory,