Altsheler Joseph Alexander
The Rock of Chickamauga: A Story of the Western Crisis
Uncertain what to do he did nothing, pressing his back against the earth and listening. No sound came, and the dim light still flickering ahead reassured him.
The opening through which he had come was large, and admitted plenty of fresh air. As he stood four or five feet from the entrance he saw several soldiers hurrying along the path, and he knew they were hunting for him. He realized then his fortune in finding this improvised cave-house. After the soldiers passed he walked gently toward the light. Apparently the regular occupants were gone away for the time, and he might find a hiding place there until it was safe to go out.
The passage was narrow, but the carpet was still under his feet, and further in, the sides and roof of the earthen walls had been covered with planks. The light grew brighter and he was quite sure that a room of some size was just ahead. His curiosity became so great that it smothered all apprehension, and he stepped boldly into the room, where the lamp burned on a table.
He would have stepped back as quickly, but a pair of great burning eyes caught his and held them. A bed was standing against the board wall of the cave, and in this bed lay an old man with a huge bald head, immense white eyebrows and eyes of extraordinary intensity.
Once more did Colonel Charles Woodville and Richard Mason stare into the eyes of each other, and for a long time neither spoke.
“I managed to escape from Jackson with my little family,” said the colonel at length, “and I thought that in this, so to say, sylvan retreat I might drop all undesirable acquaintances that I made there.”
The whole scene was grotesque and wild to Dick. It was like a passage out of the Arabian Nights, and an extraordinary spirit of recklessness seized him.
“I appreciate your words, sir,” he said, “and I can understand your feelings. I have felt myself that it was never wise to go where one might not be welcome, and yet chance plays us such tricks that neither your wish nor mine is granted.”
The old man then raised his head a little higher on the pillow. A spark leaped from the burning eyes.
“A lad of spirit,” he said. “I would not withhold praise where praise is due. I recall meeting some one who resembled you very much. Perhaps a brother of yours, eh?”
“No, he was not my brother.”
“Well, it does not matter and we will not pursue the subject. How does it happen that you have come into this hillside castle of mine?”
Young Mason saw a flicker of amusement in the eyes of the old man. He was aware that in his muddy uniform he made no imposing figure, but his spirit was as high as ever, and the touch of recklessness was still there.
“I saw some men coming down the path,” he replied; “men with whom I do not care to associate, and I turned aside to avoid them. I beheld the open door and stepped within, but I did not know the chamber was occupied, and it was far from my purpose to intrude upon you or any one. I trust, sir, that you will believe me.”
The lad took off his cap and bowed. His face was now revealed more clearly, and it was a fine one, splendidly molded, intellectual, and with noble blue eyes. After all, despite the mud and stains, he made a graceful figure as he stood there, so obviously confident of himself, but respectful.
The spark leaped again from the eyes of Colonel Woodville, and, remembering something, there was a slight warmth about the heart which lately had been so cold and bitter.
“I do not blame you,” he said. “A lad, one in his formative years, cannot be too careful about his associates. Doubtless you were justified in taking advantage of the open door. But now that you are here may I ask you what you purpose next to do?”
“I admit, sir, that the question is natural,” replied Dick, suiting his tone and manner to those of the old man. “I have scarcely had time yet to form a purpose, but, since the danger of contamination of which we spoke still exists, it occurs to me that perhaps I might stay here a while. Is there some nook or a cover in which I might rest? I hope I do not trespass too much upon your hospitality.”
Colonel Woodville pondered. His great white eyebrows were drawn together and, for a moment or two, he gazed down the beak of his nose.
“I confess,” he said, “that the appeal to hospitality moves me. I am stirred somewhat, too, by pleasant recollections of the lad who looked like you. But wait, my daughter is coming. We will confer with her. Margaret is a most capable woman.”
Dick heard a light step in the passage and he wheeled quickly. Miss Woodville was before him, a plain, elderly figure in a plain black dress, with a basket on her arm. The basket contained a fowl and some eggs which she had just bought at a great price. When she saw Dick her hand flew to her throat, but when the pulse ceased to beat so hard it came away and she looked at him fixedly. Then a slow smile like the dawn spread over the severe, worn face.
“Come in, Margaret, and put down your basket,” said the colonel in a genial tone. “Meanwhile bid welcome to our unexpected guest, a young man of spirit and quality with whom I was holding converse before you came. He does not wish to go out to-night, because there are many violent men abroad, and he would avoid them.”
Then he turned to Dick, and asked in a tone, sharp and commanding:
“I have your word, young sir, that your unexpected visit to our city was not of a secret nature; that is, it was not of a lawless character?”
“An accident, sir, an accident pure and simple. I answer you on my honor. I have seen nothing and I shall not seek to see anything which I should not see.”
“Margaret,” continued the colonel, and now his tone became deferential as behooved a gentleman speaking to a lady, “shall we ask him to share our simple quarters to-night?”
The lad slowly turned his gaze to the face of the woman. He felt with all the power of intuition that his fate rested on her decision. But she was a woman. And she was, too, a true daughter of her father. A kindred spark leaped up in her own soul, and she met Dick’s gaze. She noted his fearless poise, and she saw the gallant spirit in his eye. Then she turned to her father.
“I think you wish him to stay, sir,” she said, “and the wish seems right to me. Our narrow quarters limit our hospitality in quality, but not in intent. We can offer him nothing but the little alcove behind the blanket.”
She inclined her head toward the blanket, which Dick had not noticed before. It hung near the bed and, wishing to cause this household little trouble, he said:
“Then I assume that you will shelter me for the night, and, if I may, I will go at once to my room.”
Colonel Woodville lowered his head upon the pillow and laughed softly.
“A lad of spirit. A lad of spirit, I repeat,” he said. “No, Margaret, you and I could not have turned him from our earthen roof.”
Dick bowed to Miss Woodville, and that little ghost of a tender smile flitted about her thin lips. Then he lifted the blanket, stepped into the dark, and let the curtain fall behind him.
He stood for a space until his eyes, used to the dusk, could see dimly. It was a tiny room evidently used as a place of storage for clothing and bedding, but there was space enough for him to lie down, if he bent his knees a little.
The strain upon both muscle and nerve had been very great, and now came collapse. Removing his shoes and outer clothing he dropped upon a roll of bedding and closed his eyes. But he was grateful, deeply and lastingly grateful. The bread that he had cast upon the waters was returning to him fourfold.
He heard low voices beyond the blanket, and he did not doubt that they were those of Colonel Woodville and his daughter. The woman in plain black, with the basket on her arm, had seemed a pathetic figure to him. He could not blame them for feeling such intense bitterness. What were the causes of the war to people who had been driven from a luxurious home to a hole in the side of a ravine?
He slept, and when he woke it seemed to be only a moment later, but he knew from the slender edge of light appearing where the blanket just failed to touch the floor that morning had come. He moved gently lest he disturb his host in the larger room without, and then he heard the distant thunder, which he knew was the booming of Grant’s great guns. And so the night had not stopped them! All through the hours that he slept the cannon had rained steel and death on Vicksburg. Then came a great explosion telling him that a shell had burst somewhere near. It was followed by the voice of Colonel Woodville raised in high, indignant tones:
“Can’t they let a gentleman sleep? Must they wake him with one of their infernal shells?”
He heard a slight rustling sound and he knew that it was the great bald head moving impatiently on the pillows. Inferring that it was early, he would have gone back to sleep himself, but slumber would not come. He remained a while, thoughtful, for his future lay very heavy upon him, and then he heard the sound of several voices beyond the blanket.
He listened closely, trying to number and distinguish them. There were three and two belonged to Colonel Woodville and his daughter. The third repelled and puzzled him. It seemed to have in it a faint quality of the fox. It was not loud, and yet that light, snarling, sinister note was evident.
The sensitive, attuned mind can be easily affected by a voice, and the menace of the unknown beyond the blanket deepened. Dick felt a curious prickling at the roots of his hair. He listened intently, but he could not understand anything that was spoken, and then he drew himself forward with great caution.
They must be talking about something of importance, because the voices were earnest, and sometimes all three spoke at once. He reached a slow hand toward the blanket. The danger would be great, but he must see.
He drew back the blanket slightly, a quarter of an inch, maybe, and looked within the room. Then he saw the owner of the sinister voice, and he felt that he might have known from the first.
Slade, standing before Colonel Woodville’s bed, his hat in his hand, was talking eagerly.
CHAPTER X. THE GREAT ASSAULT
The light from the door that was always open illumined the room. The rising sun must have struck full upon it, because it was almost as bright as day there. Slade was in his butternut uniform, and his rifle leaned against the wall. Now that he had made the slight opening Dick could understand their words.
“There are spies within Vicksburg, sir,” said Slade. “Colonel Dustin detected one last night, but in the darkness he escaped down this ravine. The alarm was spread and he could not have got outside our lines. I must catch him. It will be a credit to me to do so. I was under your command, and, although not in active service owing to your wound, your word will go far. I want you to get me an order to search every house or place in which he could hide.”
“Not too much zeal, my worthy Slade. Talleyrand said that, but you never heard of him. Excessive suspicion is not a good thing. It was your chief fault as an overseer, although I willingly pay tribute to your energy and attention to detail. This business of hunting spies is greatly overdone. The fate of Vicksburg will be settled by the cannon and the rifles.”
“But, sir, they can do us great harm.”
“Listen to that, my good Slade.”
The deep booming note of the distant cannon entered the cave.
“That is the sound of Grant’s guns. He can fight better with those weapons than with spies.”
But Slade persisted, and Colonel Woodville, with an occasional word from his daughter, fenced with him, always using a light bantering tone, while the lad who lay so near listened, his pulses beating hard in his temples and throat.
“Your vigilance is to be commended, my good Slade,” Dick heard Colonel Woodville say, “but to-day at least I cannot secure such a commission for you from General Pemberton. We hear that Grant is massing his troops for a grand attack, and there is little time to thresh up all our own quarters for spies. We must think more of our battle line. To-morrow we may have a plan. Come back to me then, and we will talk further on these matters.”
“But think, sir, what a day may cost us!”
“You show impatience, not to say haste, Slade, and little is ever achieved by thoughtless haste. The enemy is closing in upon us, and it must be our chief effort to break his iron ring. Ah, here is my nephew! He may give us further news on these grave matters.”
Dick saw the entrance darken for a moment, then lighten again, and that gallant youth, Victor Woodville, with whom he had fought so good a fight, stood in the room. He was still pale and he carried his left arm in a sling, but it was evident that his recovery from his wound had been rapid. Dick saw the stern face of the old colonel brighten a bit, while the tender smile curved again about the thin lips of the spinster.
Young Woodville gave a warm greeting to his uncle and elderly cousin, and nodded to Slade. Dick believed from his gesture that he did not like the guerilla leader, or at least he hoped so.
“Victor,” said the colonel, “what word do you bring?”
“Grant is advancing his batteries, and they seem to be massing for attack. It will surely come in a day or two.”
“As I thought. Then we shall need all our energies for immediate battle. And now, Mr. Slade, as I said before, I will see you again to-morrow about the matter of which we were speaking. I am old, wounded, and I grow weary. I would rest.”
Slade rose to go. He was not a pleasant sight. His clothes were soiled and stained, and his face was covered with ragged beard. The eyes were full of venom and malice.
“Good day, Colonel Woodville,” he said, “but I feel that I must bring the matter up again. As a scout and leader of irregulars for the Confederacy. I must be active in order to cope with the enemy’s own scouts and spies. I shall return early to-morrow morning.”
Colonel Woodville waved his hand and Slade, bowing, withdrew.
“Why was he so persistent, Uncle Charles?” asked Victor. “He seemed to have some underlying motive.”
“He always has such a motive, Victor. He is a man who suspects everybody because he knows everybody has a right to suspect him. He may even have been suspecting me, his old, and, I fear, too generous employer. He has a mania about a spy hidden somewhere in Vicksburg.”
Young Victor Woodville laughed gayly.
“What folly,” he said, “for your old overseer, a man of Northern origin to boot, to suspect you, of all men, of helping a Yankee in any way. Why, Uncle Charles, everybody knows that you’d annihilate ‘em if you could, and that you were making good progress with the task until you got that wound.”
Colonel Woodville drew his great, white eyebrows together in his characteristic way.
“I admit, Victor, that I’m the prince of Yankee haters,” he said. “They’ve ruined me, and if they succeed they’ll ruin our state and the whole South, too. We’ve fled for refuge to a hole in the ground, and yet they come thundering at the door of so poor an abode. Listen!”
They heard plainly the far rumble of the cannon. The intensity of the fire increased with the growing day. Shells and bombs were falling rapidly on Vicksburg. The face of Colonel Woodville darkened and the eyes under the white thatch burned.
“Nevertheless, Victor,” he said, “hate the Yankees as I do, and I hate them with all my heart and soul, there are some things a gentleman cannot do.”
“What for instance, Uncle?”
“He cannot break faith. He cannot do evil to those who have done good to him. He must repay benefits with benefits. He cannot permit the burden of obligation to remain upon him. Go to the door, Victor, and see if any one is lurking there.”
Young Woodville went to the entrance and returned with word that no one was near.
“Victor,” resumed Colonel Woodville, “this man Slade, who was so preposterously wrong, this common overseer from the hostile section which seeks with force to put us down, this miserable fellow who had the presumption to suspect me, lying here with a wound, received in the defense of the Confederacy, was nevertheless right.”
Victor stared, not understanding, and Colonel Woodville raised himself a little higher on his pillows.
“Since when,” he asked of all the world, “has a Woodville refused to pay his debts? Since when has a Woodville refused asylum to one who protected him and his in the hour of danger? Margaret, lift the blanket and invite our young friend in.”
Dick was on his feet in an instant, and came into the chamber, uttering thanks to the man who, in spite of so much bitterness against his cause, could yet shelter him.
Young Woodville exclaimed in surprise.
“The Yankee with whom I fought at Bellevue!” he said.
“And the one who ignored your presence at Jackson,” said Miss Woodville.
The two lads shook hands.
“And now,” said Colonel Woodville, his old sharpness returning, “we shall be on even terms, young sir. Your uniform bears a faint resemblance to that of your own army, and Slade, cunning and cruel, may have had you shot as a spy. You would be taken within our lines and this is no time for long examinations.”
“I know how much I owe you, sir,” said Dick, “and I know how much danger my presence here brings upon you. I will leave as soon as the ravine is clear. The gathering of the troops for battle will give me a chance.”
“You will do nothing of the kind. Having begun the task we will carry it through. Our cave home rambles. There is a little apartment belonging to Victor, in which you may put yourself in shape. I advise you to lie quiet here for a day or two, and then if I am still able to put my hand on you I may turn you over with full explanations to the authorities.”
Dick noted the significance of the words, “if I am still able to put my hand on you,” but he merely spoke of his gratitude and went with young Woodville into the little apartment. It was on the right side of the hall, and a round shutterless hole opened into the ravine, admitting light and air. The “window,” which was not more than a foot in diameter faced toward the east and gave a view of earthworks, and the region beyond, where the Union army stood.
The room itself contained but little, a cot, some blankets, clothing, and articles of the toilet.
“Mason,” said Woodville, “make yourself as comfortable as you can here. I did not know until I escaped from Jackson that it was you who ignored my presence there. You seem in some manner to have won the good opinion of my uncle, and, in any event, he could not bear to remain in debt to a Yankee. If you’re careful you’re safe here for the day, although you may be lonesome. I must go at once to our lines. Cousin Margaret will bring you something to eat.”
They shook hands again.
“I can’t do much fighting,” said Woodville, “owing to this wounded arm of mine, but I can carry messages, and the line is so long many are to be taken.”
He went out and Miss Woodville came soon with food on a tray. Dick suspected that they could ill spare it, but he must eat and he feared to offer pay. It embarrassed him, too, that she should wait upon him, but, in their situation, it was absolutely necessary that she do so, even were there a servant somewhere, which he doubted. But she left the tray, and when she returned for it an hour later she had only a few words to say.
Dick stood at the round hole that served as a window. There were bushes about it, and, at that point, the cliff seemed to be almost perpendicular. He was safe from observation and he looked over a vast expanse of country. The morning was dazzlingly clear, and he saw sections of the Confederate earthworks with their men and guns, and far beyond them other earthworks and other guns, which he knew were those of his own people.
While he stood there alone, free from the tension that had lasted while Slade was present, he realized the great volume of fire that the Northern cannon were pouring without ceasing upon Vicksburg. The deep rumble was continually in his ears, and at times his imagination made the earth shake. He saw two shells burst in the air, and a shattering explosion told that a third struck near by. To the eastward smoke was always drifting. The Southern cannon seldom replied.
He resolved to attempt escape during the coming night. It hurt him to bring danger upon the Woodvilles and he wished, too, to fulfill his mission. Others, beyond question, would reach the fleet with the message, but he wished to reach it also.
Yet nothing new occurred during all the long day. Miss Woodville brought him more food at noon, but scarcely spoke. Then he returned to the hole in the cliff, and remained there until twilight. Young Woodville came, and he gathered from his manner that there had been no important movement of the armies, that all as yet was preparation. But he inferred that the storm was coming, and he told Victor that he meant to leave that night.
He was opposed vehemently. The line of Southern sentinels watched everywhere. Slade was most vigilant. He might come at any time into the ravine. No, he must wait. The next night, perhaps, but in any event he must remain a while.
Nor did he depart the next night either. Instead, two or three days passed, and he was still in the house dug in the hillside, a guest and yet a captive. The bombardment had gone on, his food was still brought to him by Miss Woodville, and once or twice Victor came, but Dick, as he was in honor bound, asked him no question about the armies.
The waiting, the loneliness and the suspense were terrible to one so young, and so ambitious. And yet he had fared better than he had a right to expect, a fact, however, that did not relieve his situation.
Another night came, and he went to sleep in his lonely cell in the wall, but he was awakened while it was yet intensely dark by a cannonade far surpassing in violence any that had gone before. He rushed to the hole, but he could see nothing in the ravine. Yet the whole plateau seemed to shake with the violence of the concussions and the crash of exploding shells.
The fire came from all sides, from the river as well as the land. The boom of the huge mortars on the boats there sounded above everything. Dick knew absolutely now that the message he was to carry had been delivered by somebody else.
He heard under the continued thunder of the guns sharp commands, and the tread of many troops moving. He knew that the Southern forces were going into position, and he felt himself that the tremendous fire was the prelude to a great attack. His excitement grew. He strained his eyes, but he could see nothing in the dark ravine, or out there where the cannon roared, save the rapid, red flashes under the dim horizon. He had his watch and he had kept it running. Now he was able to make out that it was only three o’clock in the morning. A long time until day and he must wait until then to know what such a furious convulsion would achieve.
The slow time passed, and there was no decrease of the fire. Once or twice he came away from the window and listened at the entrance to his little room, but he could hear nothing stirring in the larger chamber. Yet it was incredible that Colonel Woodville and his daughter should not be awake. They would certainly be listening with an anxiety and suspense not less than his.
Dawn came after painful ages, and slowly the region out there where the Union army lay rose into the light. But it was a red dawn, a dawn in flame and smoke. Scores of guns crashed in front, and behind the heavy booming of the mortars on the boats formed the overnote of the storm.
The opening was not large, but it afforded the lad a good view, and he thrust his head out as far as he could, every nerve in him leaping at the deep roar of the cannonade. He had no doubt that the assault was about to be made. He was wild with eagerness to see it, and it was a cruel hurt to his spirit that he was held there, and could not take a part in it.
He thought of rushing from the place, and of seeking a way through the lines to his own army, but a little reflection showed him that it would be folly. He must merely be a witness, while Colonel Winchester, Warner, Pennington, the sergeant, Colonel Hertford, all whom he knew and the tens of thousands whom he did not know, fought the battle.
A tremendous sound, distant and steady, would not blot out much smaller sounds nearby, and now he heard noises in the larger chamber. The voice of Colonel Woodville was raised in sharp command.
“Lift me up!” he said, “I must see! Must I lie here, eating my soul out, when a great battle is going on! Help me up, I say! Wound or no wound, I will go to the door!”
Then the voice of Miss Woodville attempting to soothe was heard, but the colonel broke forth more furiously than ever, not at her, but at his unhappy fate.
Dick, spurred by impulse, left his alcove and entered the room.
“Sir,” he said respectfully to Colonel Woodville, “you are eager to see, and so am I. May I help you?”
Colonel Woodville turned a red eye upon him.
“Young man,” he said, “you have shown before a sense of fitness, and your appearance now is most welcome. You shall help me to the door, and I will lean upon you. Together we will see what is going to happen, although I wish for one result, and you for another. No, Margaret, it is not worth while to protest any further. My young Yankee and I will manage it very well between us.”
Miss Woodville stepped aside and smiled wanly.
“I think it is best, Miss Woodville,” Dick said in a low tone.
“Perhaps,” she replied.
Colonel Woodville impatiently threw off the cover. He wore a long purple dressing gown, and his wound was in the leg, but it was partly healed. Dick helped him out of the bed and then supported him with his arm under his shoulder. Within that singular abode the roar of the guns was a steady and sinister mutter, but beneath it now appeared another note.
Colonel Woodville had begun to swear. It was not the torrent of loud imprecation that Dick had heard in Jackson, but subdued, and all the more fierce because it was so like the ferocious whine of a powerful and hurt wild animal. Swearing was common enough among the older men of the South, even among the educated, but Colonel Woodville now surpassed them all.
Dick heard oaths, ripe and rich, entirely new to him, and he heard the old ones in new arrangements and with new inflections. And yet there was no blasphemy about it. It seemed a part of time and place, and, what was more, it seemed natural coming from the lips of the old colonel.
They reached the door, the cut in the side of the ravine, and at once a wide portion of the battlefield sprang into the light, while the roar of the guns was redoubled. Dick would have stepped back now, but Colonel Woodville’s hand rested on his shoulder and his support was needed.
“My glasses, Margaret!” said the colonel. “I must see! I will see! If I am but an old hound, lying here while the pack is in full cry, I will nevertheless see the chase! And even if I am an old hound I could run with the best of them if that infernal Yankee bullet had not taken me in the leg!”
Miss Woodville brought him the glasses, a powerful pair, and he glued them instantly to his eyes. Dick saw only the field of battle, dark lines and blurs, the red flare of cannon and rifle fire, and towers and banks of smoke, but the colonel saw individual human beings, and, with his trained military eye, he knew what the movements meant. Dick felt the hand upon his shoulder trembling with excitement. He was excited himself. Miss Woodville stood just behind them, and a faint tinge of color appeared in her pale face.
“The Yankees are getting ready to charge,” said the colonel. “At the point we see they will not yet rush forward. They will, of course, wait for a preconcerted signal, and then their whole army will attack at once. But the woods and ravines are filled with their skirmishers, trying to clear the way. I can see them in hundreds and hundreds, and their rifles make sheets of flame. All the time the cannon are firing over their heads. Heavens, what a bombardment! I’ve never before listened to its like!”
“What are our troops doing, father?” asked Miss Woodville.
“Very little yet, and they should do little. Pemberton is showing more judgment than I expected of him. The defense should hold its fire until the enemy is well within range and that’s what we’re doing!”
The colonel leaned a little more heavily upon him, but Dick steadied himself. The old man still kept the glasses to his eyes, and swept them back and forth in as wide an arc as their position permitted. The hills shook with the thunder of the cannon, and the brilliant sun, piercing through the smoke, lighted up the vast battle line.
“The attack of the skirmishers grows hotter,” said the old man. “The thickets blaze with the fire of their rifles. Heavy masses of infantry are moving forward. Now they stop and lie on their arms. They are awaiting the word from other parts of the field, and it shows with certainty that a grand attack is coming. Two batteries of eight guns each have come nearer. I did not think it possible for the fire of their cannon to increase, but it has done so. Young sir, would you care to look through the glasses?”
“I believe not, Colonel. I will trust to the naked eye and your report.”
It was an odd feeling that made Dick decline the glasses. If he looked he must tell to the others what he saw, and he wished to show neither exultation nor depression. The colonel, the duty of courtesy discharged, resumed his own position of witness and herald.
“The columns of infantry are getting up again,” he said. “I see a man in what I take to be a general’s uniform riding along their front. He must be making a speech. No doubt he knows the desperate nature of the attack, and would inspire them. Now he is gone and other officers, colonels and majors are moving about.”
“What are the skirmishers doing, Colonel?”
“Their fire is not so hot. They must be drawing back. They have made the prelude, and the importance of their role has passed. The masses of infantry are drawing together again. Now I see men on horseback with trumpets to their lips. Yes, the charge is coming. Ah-h! That burnt them!”
