The Rock of Chickamauga by Joseph A. Altsheler (top 5 books to read TXT) 📕

he raised it again and said mournfully:

"Let's make a solemn agreement, Dick, to watch over our poor comrade.

I always knew that something was wrong with his mind, although he means

well, and his heart is in the right place. As for me, as soon as I

finished my algebra I sold it, and took a solemn oath never to look

inside one again. That I call the finest proof of sanity anybody could

give. Oh, look at him, Dick! He's studying his blessed algebra and

doesn't hear a word I say!"

Warner was buried deep in the pages of a plus b and x minus y, and Dick

and Pennington, rising solemnly, walked noiselessly from the presence

around to the other side of the little opening where they lay down

again. The bit of nonsense relieved them, but it was far from being

nonsense to Warner. His soul was alight. As he dived into the intricate

problems memories came with them. Lying there in the Southern thickets

in the close damp heat of summer he saw again his Vermont mountains with

their slopes deep in green and their crests covered with snow. The sharp

air of the northern winter blew down upon him, and he saw the clear

waters of the little rivers, cold as ice, foaming over the stones. That

air was sharp and vital, but, after a while, he came back to himself and

closed his book with a sigh.

"Pardon me for inattention, boys," he said, "but while I was enjoying

my algebra I was also thinking of old times back there in Vermont, when

nobody was shooting at anybody else."

Dick and Pennington walked solemnly back and sat down beside him again.

"Returned to his right mind. Quite sane now," said Pennington. "But

don't you think, Dick, we ought to take that exciting book away from

him? The mind of youth in its tender formative state can be inflamed

easily by light literature."

Warner smiled and put his beloved book in his pocket.

"No, boys," he said, "you won't take it away from me, but as soon

as this war is over I shall advance from it to studies of a somewhat

similar nature, but much higher in character, and so difficult that

solving them will afford a pleasure keener and more penetrating than

anything else I know."

"What is your greatest ambition, Warner?" asked Pennington. "Do you,

like all the rest of us, want to be President of the United States?"

"Not for a moment. I've already been in training several years to be

president of Harvard University. What higher place could mortal ask?

None, because there is none to ask for."

"I can understand you, George," said Dick. "My great-grandfather became

the finest scholar ever known in the West. There was something of the

poet in him too. He had a wonderful feeling for nature and the forest.

He had a remarkable chance for observation as he grew up on the border,

and was the close comrade in the long years of Indian fighting of Henry

Ware, who was the greatest governor of Kentucky. As I think I've

told you fellows, Harry Kenton, Governor Ware's great-grandson and my

comrade, is fighting on the other side."

"I knew of the great Dr. Cotter long before I met you, Dick," replied

Warner. "I read his book on the Indians of the Northern Mississippi

Valley. Not merely their history and habits, but their legends, their

folk lore, and the wonderful poetic glow so rich and fine that he threw

over everything. There was something almost Homeric in his description

of the great young Wyandot chieftain Timmendiquas or White Lightning,

whom he acclaimed as the finest type of savage man the age had known."

"He and Henry Ware fought Timmendiquas for years, and after the great

peace they were friends throughout their long lives."

"And I've studied, too, his wonderful book on the Birds and Mammals

of North America," continued Warner with growing enthusiasm. "What

marvelous stores of observation and memory! Ah, Dick, those were

exciting days, and a man had opportunities for real and vital

experiences!"

Dick and Pennington laughed.

"What about Vicksburg, old praiser of past times?" asked Frank. "Don't

you think we'll have some lively experiences trying to take it? And

wasn't there something real and vital about Bull Run and Shiloh and

Perryville and Stone River and all the rest? Don't you worry, George.

You're living in exciting times yourself."

"That's so," said Warner calmly. "I had forgotten it for the moment.

We've been readers of history and now we're makers of it. It's

funny--and maybe it isn't funny--but the makers of history often

know little about what they're making. The people who come along long

afterward put them in their places and size up what they have done."

"They can give all the reasons they please why I won this war," said

Pennington, "but even history-makers are entitled to a rest. Since

there's no order to the contrary I mean to stretch out and go to sleep.

Dick, you and George can discuss your problems all night."

But they went to sleep also.

"Dick," said Colonel Winchester the next morning, "I think you are the

best scout and trailer among my young officers. Mr. Pennington, you are

probably the best on the plains, and I've no doubt, Warner, that you

would do well in the mountains, but for the hills, forests and rivers

I'll have to choose Dick. I've another errand for you, my boy. You're

to go on foot, and you're to take this dispatch to Admiral Porter, who

commands the iron-clads in the river near the city. Conceal it carefully

about you, but I anticipate no great danger for you, as Vicksburg is

pretty well surrounded by our forces."

The dispatch was written on thin, oiled paper. Dick hid it away in the

lining of his coat and departed upon another important mission, full

of pride that he should be chosen for it. He had all the passwords and

carried two good pistols in his belt. Rich in experience, he felt able

to care for himself, even should the peril be greater than Colonel

Winchester had expected.

The sun was not far above the horizon but it was warm and brilliant,

and it lighted up the earth, throwing a golden glow over the plateau of

Vicksburg, the great maze of ravines and thickets and the many waters.

He passed along the lines, walking rapidly southward, and saw more than

one officer of his acquaintance. Hertford's cavalry were in a field, and

the colonel himself sat on a portion of the rail fence that had enclosed

"Into the forest again, Dick," he said.

"Not this time, sir," Dick replied. "It's just a little trip, down the

river."

"Success to the trip and a speedy return."

Dick nodded and walked on. He was quite sure that his dispatch was an

order from Grant for Porter to come up the stream and join in a general

attack which everybody felt sure was planned for an early date.

As he passed through the regiments and brigades he received much

good-humored chaff. The great war of America differed widely from the

great wars of Europe. The officers and men were more nearly on a plane

of equality. The vast majority of them had been volunteers in the

beginning and perhaps this feeling of comradeship made them fight all

the better. North and South were alike in it.

"Which way, sonny?" called a voice from a group. "You don't find the

fighting down there. It's back toward Vicksburg."

Dick nodded and smiled.

"Maybe he's out walking for exercise. These officers ride too much."

Dick walked on with a steady swinging step. He regarded the sunbrowned,

careless youths with the genuine affection of a brother. Many of them

were as young as he or younger, but they were now veterans of battle

and march. Napoleon's soldiers themselves could not have boasted of more

experience than they.

He was coming to the last link in the steel chain, and the colonel of

a regiment, an old man, warned him to be careful as he approached the

river.

"Southern sharpshooters are among the ravines and thickets," he said.

"They fired on our lads about dawn and then escaped easily in the thick

cover."

"Thank you, sir," said Dick, "I'll be on my guard." Yet he did not feel

the presence of danger. Youth perhaps becomes more easily hardened in

war than middle age, or perhaps it thinks less of consequences. The

Union cannon, many of great weight and power, had begun already to

fire upon Vicksburg. Huge shells and shot were rained upon the city.

Pemberton had two hundred guns facing the river and the army, but to

spare his ammunition they made little reply.

Dick looked back now and then. He saw flakes of fire on the northern

horizon, puffs of smoke and the curving shells. He felt that Vicksburg

was no pleasant place to be in just now, and yet it must be full of

civilians, many of them women and children. He was sorry for them. It

was Dick's nature to see both sides of a quarrel. He could never hate

the Southerners, because they saw one way and he another.

It was a passing emotion. It was too fine a morning for youth to grieve.

At the distance the plumes of smoke made by the shells became decorative

rather than deadly. From a crest he saw upon the plateau of Vicksburg

and even discerned the dim outline of houses. Looking the other way,

he saw the smoke of the iron-clads down the river, and he also caught

glimpses of the Mississippi, gold in the morning sun over its vast

breadth.

Then he entered the thickets, and, bearing in mind the kindly warning

of the old colonel, proceeded slowly and with extreme caution. The

Southerners knew every inch of the ground here and he knew none. He

came to a ravine and to his dismay found that a considerable stream was

flowing through it toward the bayou. It was yellow water, and he thought

he might find a tree, fallen across the stream, which would serve him as

a foot log, but a hunt of a few minutes disclosed none, and, hesitating

no longer, he prepared to wade.

He put his belt with the pistols in it around his neck and stepped in

boldly. His feet sank in the mud. The water rose to his knees and then

to his waist. It was, in truth, deeper than he had expected--one could

never tell about these yellow, opaque streams. He took another step and

plunged into a hole up to his shoulders.

Angry that he should be wet through and through, and with such muddy

water too, he crossed the stream.

He looked down with dismay at his uniform. The sun would soon dry it,

but until he got a chance to clean it, it would remain discolored and

yellow, like the jeans clothes which the poorer farmers of the South

often wore. And yet the accident that he bemoaned, the bath in water

thick with mud, was to prove his salvation.

Dick shook himself like a big dog, throwing off as much of the water as

he could. He had kept his pistols dry and he rebuckled his belt around

his waist. Then he returned to his errand. Among the thickets he saw but

little. Vicksburg, the Mississippi, and the Union camp disappeared. He

beheld only a soft soil, many bushes and scrub forest. After going a

little distance he was compelled to stop again and consider. It was

curious how one could lose direction in so small a space.

He paused and listened, intending to regain his course through the sense

of hearing. From the north and east came the thunder of the siege guns.

It had grown heavier and was continuous now. Once more he was sorry for

Vicksburg, because the Union gunners were unsurpassed and he was sure

that bombs and shells were raining upon the devoted town.

Now he knew that he must go west by south, and he made his way over

difficult country,