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upon Bowen's flank. Then, while the Southern defense was diverted to this new attack, the Winchester and the Ohio regiment attacked in front, shouting with triumph.

Hovey's rush was overpowering. He drove in the Southern flank, taking four cannon and hundreds of prisoners, but the dauntless Confederate commander, withdrawing his men in perfect order, retreated to a second ridge, where he took up a stronger position than the first.

Resolute and dangerous, the men in gray turned their faces anew to the enemy and sent back a withering fire that burned away the front ranks of the Union army. Osterhaus, in spite of every effort, was driven back, and the Winchesters and their Ohio friends were compelled to give ground too. It seemed that the utmost of human effort and defiance of death could not force the narrow passage.

But a new man, a host in himself, came upon the field. Grant, who had been on foot for two days, endeavoring to get his army through the thickets and morasses, heard the booming of the cannon and he knew that the vanguards had clashed. He borrowed a cavalry horse and, galloping toward the sound of the guns, reached the field at mid-morning. Grant was not impressive in either figure or manner, but the soldiers had learned to believe in him as they always believe in one who leads them to victory.

A tremendous shout greeted his coming and the men, snatching off their hats and caps, waved them aloft. Grant took no notice but rapidly disposed his troops for a new and heavier battle. Dick felt the strong and sure hand over them. The Union fire grew in might and rapidity. McPherson arrived with two brigades to help Osterhaus, and the strengthened division was able to send a brigade across a ravine, where it passed further around Bowen's flank and assailed him with fury.

Dick felt that their own division under McClernand was also making progress. Although many men were falling they pressed slowly forward, and Grant brought up help for them too. For a long time the struggle was carried on. It was one of the little battles of the war, but its results were important and few were fought with more courage and resolution. Bowen, with only eight thousand against twenty thousand, held fast throughout all the long hot hours of the afternoon. Grant, owing to the nature of the field, was unable to get all his numbers into battle at once.

But when the twilight began to show Dick believed that victory was at hand. They had not yet driven Bowen out, but they were pressing him so close and hard, and Grant was securing so many new positions of advantage, that the Southern leader could not make another such fight against superior numbers in the morning.

Twilight turned into night and Bowen and his men, who had shown so much heroism, retreated in the dark, leaving six guns and many prisoners as trophies of the victors.

It was night when the battle ceased. Cannon and rifles flashed at fitful intervals, warning skirmishers to keep away, but after a while they too ceased and the Union army, exhausted by the long march of the night before and the battle of the day, threw itself panting upon the ground. The officers posted the sentinels in triple force, but let the remainder of the men rest.

As Dick lay down in the long grass two or three bullets dropped from his clothes and he became conscious, too, that a bullet had grazed his shoulder. But these trifles did not disturb him. It was so sweet to rest! Nothing could be more heavenly than merely to lie there in the long, soft grass and gaze up at the luminous sky, into which the stars now stole to twinkle down at him peacefully.

“Don't go to sleep, Dick,” said a voice near him. “I admit the temptation is strong. I feel it myself, but General Grant may have to send you and me forward to-night to win another battle.”

“George, I'm glad to hear your preachy voice over there. Hurt any?”

“No. A million cannon balls brushed my right cheek and another million brushed my left cheek, but they didn't touch me. They scared me to death, but in the last few minutes I've begun to come back to life. In a quarter of an hour I'll be just as much alive as I ever was.”

“Do you know anything of Pennington?”

“Yes. The rascal is lying about six feet beyond me, sound asleep. In spite of all I could do he wouldn't stay awake. I've punched him all over to see if he was wounded, but as he didn't groan at a single punch, he's all right.”

“That being the case, I'm going to follow Pennington's example. You may lecture me as much as you please, George, but you'll lecture only the night, because I'll be far away from here in a land of sweet dreams.”

“All right, if you're going to do it, I will too. You'll hear my snore before I hear yours.”

Both sank in a few minutes into a deep slumber, and when they awoke the next morning they found that Bowen had abandoned Port Gibson and had retreated into Grand Gulf again. There was great elation among the lads and Dick began to feel that the position of the Union army in the far South was strengthened immeasurably. He heard that Sherman, who had stood so staunchly at Shiloh, was on his way to join Grant. Their united forces would press the siege of Grand Gulf and would also turn to strike at any foe who might approach from the rear.

Never since the war began had Dick felt so elated as he did that morning. When he saw the short, thick-set figure of Grant riding by he believed that the Union, in the West at least, had found its man at last.





CHAPTER IV. DICK'S MISSION

The night came down warm and heavy. Spring was far advanced in that Southern region, and foliage and grass were already rich and heavy. Dick, from his dozing position beside a camp fire, saw a great mass of tall grass and green bushes beyond which lay the deep waters of a still creek or bayou. The air, although thick and close, conduced to rest and the peace that reigned after the battle was soothing to his soul.

His friends, the two lads, who were knitted to him by so many hardships and dangers shared, were sound asleep, and he could see their tanned faces when the light of the flickering fires fell upon them. Good old Warner! Good old Pennington! The comradeship of war knitted youth together with ties that never could be broken.

He moved into an easier position. He lay upon the soft turf and he had doubled his blanket under his head as a pillow. At first the droning noises of camp or preparation had come from afar, but soon they ceased and now the frogs down by the sluggish waters began to croak.

It was a musical sound, one that he had heard often in his native state, and, singularly enough, the lad drew encouragement from it. “Be of good cheer! Be of good cheer! Trust in the future! Trust in the future!” said all those voices down among the swamps and reeds. And

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