The Rock of Chickamauga: A Story of the Western Crisis, Joseph A. Altsheler [free children's ebooks online .txt] 📗

him, shielded from the sight of any one who might be passing in the ravine, although there was little danger now from searchers with a great battle going on. Meanwhile he watched the combat with an eagerness fully equal to that of the old colonel.

The mighty crash of cannon and rifles together continued, but for a little while the smoke banked up in front so densely that the whole combat was hidden from them. Then a wind slowly rolled the smoke away. The figures of the men began to appear like shadowy tracery, and then emerged, distinct and separate from the haze.

“They are nearer now,” said the Colonel. “I can plainly see their long lines moving and their light guns coming with them. But our batteries are raking them horribly. Their men are falling by the scores and hundreds.”

Miss Woodville uttered a deep sigh and turned her face away. But she looked again in a few moments. The terrible spell was upon her, too.

Dick's nerves were quivering. His heart was with the assailants and theirs with the assailed, but he would not speak aloud against the hopes of Colonel Woodville and his daughter, since he was in their house, such as it was, and, in a measure, under their protection.

“Their charge is splendid,” continued the colonel, “and I hope Pemberton has made full use of the ground for defense! He will need all the help he can get! Oh, to be out of the battle on such a day! The smoke is in the way again and I can see nothing. Now it has passed and the enemy is still advancing, but our fire grows hotter and hotter! The shells and the grape and the canister and the bullets are smashing through them. They cannot live under it! They must go back!”

Nevertheless the blue lines came steadily toward the Southern earthworks. Dick saw officers, some ahorse, and some afoot, rushing about and encouraging the men, and he saw many fall and lie still while the regiments passed on.

“They are in the nearer thickets,” cried the colonel, “and now they're climbing the slopes! Ah, you riflemen, your target is there!”

The Northern army was so near now that the Southern rifle fire was beating upon it like a storm. Never flinching, the men of the west and northwest hurled themselves upon the powerful fortified positions. Some reached shelves of the plateau almost at the mouths of the guns and hung there, their comrades falling dead or dying around them, but now the rebel yell began to swell along the vast line, and reached the ears of those in the ravine.

“The omen of victory!” exclaimed the colonel exultantly. “Our brave lads feel that they're about to triumph! Grant can't break through our line! Why doesn't he call off his men? It's slaughter!”

Dick's heart sank. He knew that the colonel's words were true. The Southern army, posted in its defenses, was breaking the ring of steel that sought to crush it to death. Groups of men in blue who had seized ground in the very front of the defenses either died there or were gradually driven back. The inner ring along its front of miles thundered incessantly on the outer ring, and repelled every attempt to crush it.

“They yield,” said the colonel, after a long time. “The Northern fire has sunk at many points, and there! and there! they're retreating! The attack has failed and the South has won a victory!”

“But Grant will come again,” said Dick, speaking his opinion for the first time.

“No doubt of it,” said Colonel Woodville, “but likely he will come to the same fate.”

He spoke wholly without animosity. The battle now died fast. The men in gray had been invincible. Their cannon and rifles had made an impenetrable barrier of fire, and Grant, despite the valor of his troops, had been forced to draw off. Many thousands had fallen and the Southern generals were exultant. Johnston would come up, and Grant, having such heavy losses, would be unable to withstand the united Confederate armies.

But Grant, as Colonel Woodville foresaw, had no idea of retreating. Fresh troops were pouring down the great river for him, and while he would not again attempt to storm Vicksburg, the ring of steel around it would be made so broad and strong that Pemberton could not get out nor could Johnston get in.

When the last cannon shot echoed over the far hills Colonel Woodville turned away from the door of his hillside home.

“I must ask your shoulder again, young sir,” he said to Dick. “What I have seen rejoices me greatly, but I do not say it to taunt you. In war if one wins the other must lose, and bear in mind that you are the invader.”

“May I help you back to your bed, sir?” asked Dick.

“You may. You are a good young man. I'm glad I saved you from that scoundrel, Slade. As the score between us is even I wish that you were out of Vicksburg and with your own people.”

“I was thinking, too, sir, that I ought to go. I may take a quick departure.”

“Then if you do go I wish you a speedy and safe journey, but I tell you to beware of one, Slade, who has a malicious heart and a long memory.”

Dick withdrew to his own cell, as he called it, and he passed bitter hours there. The repulse had struck him a hard blow. Was it possible that Grant could not win? And if he could not win what terrible risks he would run in the heart of the Confederacy, with perhaps two armies to fight! He felt that only the Mississippi, that life-line connecting him with the North, could save him.

But as dusk came gradually in the ravine he resolved that he would go. His supper, as usual, was brought to him by Miss Woodville. She was as taciturn as ever, speaking scarcely a half-dozen words. When he asked her if Victor had gone through the battle unharmed she merely nodded, and presently he was alone again, with the dusk deepening in the great gully.

Dick was confident that nobody but Colonel Woodville, his daughter, and himself were in the cave-home. It was but a small place, and new callous places on her hands indicated that she was doing the cooking and all other work. His resolve to risk everything and go was strengthened.

He waited patiently until the full night had come and only the usual sounds of an army in camp arose. Then he made ready. He had surrendered his holster and pistols to Colonel Woodville, and so he must issue forth unarmed, but it could not be helped. He had several ten dollar gold pieces in his pocket, and he put one of them on the tiny table in his cell. He knew that it would be most welcome, and he could not calculate how many hundreds in Confederacy currency it was worth. He was glad that he could repay a little at least.

Then he stepped lightly toward the larger chamber in which Colonel Woodville lay. The usual candle was burning on the table near his bed, but the great bald head lay motionless on the pillow, and the heavy white eyebrows drooped over closed lids. Sound asleep! Dick was glad of it. The colonel, with his strong loyalty to the South, might seek to