Dick was a fine swimmer, he had a good stout plank, and the waters of
the river were warm. He felt that the chief dangers were passed, and
that the muddy Mississippi would now bear him safely to the blockading
fleet below. He gave the plank another shove, sending it farther out
into the stream, and then raised himself up until his elbows rested upon
it. He could thus float gently with a little propulsion from his legs to
the place where he wanted to go.
He saw lights along the bluff and the bar below, and then, with a sudden
shoot of alarm he noticed a dim shadow move slowly from the shore. It
was a long boat, holding a dozen rowers, and several men armed with
rifles, and it was coming toward him. He did not know whether it was
merely an ordinary patrol, or whether they had seen the darker blot on
the stream that he and the plank made, but in any event the result would
be the same.
He slipped his arm off the plank and sank in the stream to the chin.
Then, propelling it gently and without any splashing of the water, he
continued to move down the stream. He was hopeful that the riflemen
would mistake him and his plank for one of those stumps or logs which
the Mississippi carries so often on its bosom.
The head of the boat turned from him a little, and he felt sure now that
he would drift away unnoticed, but one of the soldiers suddenly raised
his rifle and fired. Dick heard the bullet clip the water close beside
him, and he swam as hard as he could for a few moments. Then he
settled again into quiet, as he saw the boat was not coming toward him.
Doubtless the man had merely fired the shot to satisfy himself that it
was really a log, and if Dick allowed it to float naturally he would be
convinced.
It was a tremendous trial of nerves to run the gantlet in this way, but
as it was that or nothing he exerted all his will upon his body, and let
himself float slowly, sunk again to the mouth and with his head thrown
back, so it would present only a few inches above the surface.
The boat turned, and seemed once upon the point of coming toward him. He
could hear the creaking of the oars and the men talking, but they turned
again suddenly and rowed up the stream. Again, his fate had hung on a
chance impulse. He drifted slowly on until the town and the bluffs sank
in the darkness. Then he drew himself upon his plank and swam, doubling
his speed. He knew that some of the Union gunboats lay not far below,
and, when he rounded a curve, he saw a light in the stream, but near the
shore.
He approached cautiously, knowing that the men on the vessel would be on
guard against secret attack, and presently he discerned the outlines
of a sidewheel steamer, converted into a warship and bearing guns. He
dropped down by the side of his plank until he was quite close, and
then, raising himself upon it again, he shouted with all his voice:
“Ship ahoy!”
He did not know whether that was the customary method of hailing on the
Mississippi, but it was a memory from his nautical reading, and so he
shouted a second and yet a third time at the top of his voice: “Ship
ahoy!” Figures bearing rifles appeared at the side, and a rough voice
demanded in language highly unparliamentary who was there and what he,
she or it wanted.
Dick was in a genial mood. He had escaped with an ease that surprised
him, and the warmth of the water in which he was immersed had saved him
from cramp or chill. The spirit of recklessness seized him again. He
threw himself astride his plank, and called out:
“A detachment of the army of the United States escaped from captivity in
Vicksburg, and wishing to rejoin it. It's infantry, not marines, and it
needs land.”
“Then advance infantry and give the countersign.”
“Grant and Victory,” replied Dick in a loud, clear voice.
A laugh came from the steamer, and the rough voice said again:
“Let the detachment advance again, and holding up its hands, show
itself.”
Dick paddled closer and, steadying himself as well as he could, threw
up his hands. The light of a ship's lantern was thrown directly on his
face, and the same voice ordered men to take a small boat and get him.
When Dick stepped upon the deck of the steamer, water streaming from
his clothes, several men looked at him curiously. One in a dingy blue
uniform he believed to be the owner of the rough voice. But his face was
not rough.
“Who are you?” asked the man.
“Lieutenant Richard Mason of Colonel Winchester's regiment in the army
of General Grant, sent several days ago with a message to the fleet, but
driven by Confederate scouts and skirmishers into Vicksburg, where he
lay hidden, seeking a chance of escape.”
“And he found it to-night, coming down the river like a big catfish.”
“He did, sir. He could find no other way, and he arrived on the useful
board which is now floating away on the current.”
“What proof have you that you are what you say.”
“That I saw you before you saw me and hailed you.”
“It's not enough.”
“Then here is the message that I was to have delivered to the commander
of the fleet. It's pretty wet, but I think you can make it out.”
He drew the dispatch from the inside pocket of his waistcoat. It was
soaked through, but when they turned the ship's lantern upon it the
captain could make out its tenor and the names. Doubt could exist no
longer and he clapped his hands heartily upon the lad's shoulder.
“Come into the cabin and have something to eat and dry clothes,” he
said. “This is the converted steamer Union, and I'm its commander,
Captain William Hays. I judge that you've had an extraordinary time.”
“I have, captain, and the hardest of it all was when I saw our army
repulsed to-day.”
“It was bad and the wounded are still lying on the field, but it doesn't
mean that Vicksburg will have a single moment of rest. Listen to that,
will you, lieutenant?”
The far boom of a cannon came, and Dick knew that its shell would break
over the unhappy town. But he had grown so used to the cannonade that
it made little impression upon him, and, shrugging his shoulders, he
descended the gangway with the captain.
Clothing that would fit him well enough was found, and once more he was
dry and warm. Hot coffee and good food were brought him, and while he
ate and drank Captain Hays asked him many questions. What was the rebel
strength in Vicksburg? Were they exultant over their victory of the day?
Did they think they could hold out? What food supply did they have?
Dick answered all the questions openly and frankly as far as he could.
He really knew little or nothing about those of importance, and, as for
himself, he merely said that he had hid in a cave, many of which had
been dug in Vicksburg. He did not mention Colonel Woodville or his
daughter.
“Now,” said Captain Hays, when he finished his supper, “you can have
a bunk. Yes, lieutenant, you must take it. I could put you ashore
to-night, but it's not worth while. Get a good night's sleep, and we'll
see to-morrow.”
Dick knew that he was right, and, quelling his impatience, he lay down
in one of the bunks and slept until morning.
Then, after a solid breakfast, he went ashore with the good wishes of
Captain Hays, and, a few hours later, he was with the Union army and his
own regiment. Again he was welcomed as one dead and his own heart was
full of rejoicing because all of his friends were alive. Warner alone
had been wounded, a bullet cutting into his shoulder, but not hurting
him much. He wore a bandage, his face had a becoming pallor, and
Pennington charged that he was making the most of it.
“But it was an awful day,” said Warner, “and there's a lot of gloom
in the camp. Still, we're not moving away and the reinforcements are
coming.”
Dick explained to Colonel Winchester why he had failed in his mission,
and the colonel promised to report in turn to the commander that the
hand of God had intervened. Dick's conscience was now at rest, and he
resumed at once his duties with the regiment.
Many days passed. While Grant did not make any other attack upon
Vicksburg his circle of steel grew tighter, and the rain of shells and
bombs upon the devoted town never ceased. Reinforcements poured forward.
His army rose to nearly eighty thousand men, and Johnston, hovering
near, gathering together what men he could, did not dare to strike. Dick
was reminded more than once of Caesar's famous siege of Alesia, about
which he had read not so long ago in Dr. Russell's academy at Pendleton.
There were long, long days of intrenching, skirmishing and idleness. May
turned into June, and still the steel coil enclosed Vicksburg. Here the
Union men were hopeful, but the news from the East was bad. Not much
filtered through, and none of it struck a happy note. Lee, with
his invincible legions, was still sweeping northward. Doubtless the
Confederate hosts now trod the soil of a free State, and Dick and his
comrades feared in their very souls that Lee was marching to another
great victory.
“I wish I could hear from Harry Kenton,” said Dick to Warner. “I'd like
to know whether he passed through Chancellorsville safely.”
“Don't you worry about him,” said Warner. “That rebel cousin of yours
has luck. He also has skill. Let x equal luck and y skill. Now x plus y
equals the combination of luck and skill, which is safety. That
proves to me mathematically that he is unharmed and that he is riding
northward--to defeat, I hope.”
“We've got to win here,” said Dick. “If we don't, I'm thinking the
cause of the Union will be more than doubtful. We don't seem to have the
generals in the East that we have in the West. Our leaders hang on here
and they don't overestimate the enemy.”
“That's so,” said Pennington. “Now, I wonder what 'Pap' Thomas is
doing.”
“He's somewhere in Tennessee, I suppose, watching Bragg,” said Dick.
“That's a man I like, and, I think, after this affair here is over, we
may go back to his command. If we do succeed in taking Vicksburg,
it seems likely to me that the heavy fighting will be up there in
Tennessee, where Bragg's army is.”
“Do you know if your uncle, Colonel Kenton, is in Vicksburg?”
“I don't think so. In fact, I'm sure he isn't. His regiment is with
Bragg. Well, George, what does your algebra tell us?”
Warner had taken out his little volume again and was studying it
intently. But he raised his head long enough to reply.
“I have just achieved the solution of a very important mathematical
problem,” he answered in precise tones. “An army of about thirty-five
thousand men occupies a town located on a river. It is besieged by
another army of about seventy-five thousand men flushed with victory.
The besiegers occupy the river with a strong fleet. They are also led
by a general who has shown skill and extraordinary tenacity, while the
commander of the besieged has not shown much of either quality and must
feel great discouragement.”
“But you're only stating the side of the besieged.”
“Don't interrupt. It's impolite. I mean to be thoroughly fair. Now
come the factors favoring the besieged. The assailing army, despite its
superior numbers, is far in the enemy's country. It may be attacked at
any time by another army outside, small, but led by a very able general.
Now, you have both sides presented to you, but I have already arrived at
the determining factor. What would you say it is, Dick?”
“I don't know.”
“You haven't used your reasoning powers. Remember that the man who not
merely thinks, but who thinks hard and continuously always wins. It's
very simple. The answer is in four letters, f-o-o-d, food. As we know
positively, Pemberton was able to provision Vicksburg for five or
six weeks. We can't break in and he can't break out. When his food
is exhausted, as it soon will be, he'll have to give up. The siege of
Vicksburg is over. I know everything, except the exact date.”
Dick was inclined to believe that Warner was right, but he forgot about
his prediction, because a mail came down the river that afternoon, and
he received a letter from his mother, his beautiful young mother, who
often seemed just like an elder sister.
She was in Pendleton, she wrote, staying comfortably in their home. The
town was occupied by three companies of veteran Union troops who behaved
well. They were always glad to have a garrison of good soldiers whether
Federal or Confederate--sometimes it was one and sometimes the other.
But she thought the present Union force would remain quite a while, as
she did not look for the reappearance of the Southern army in Kentucky.
But if the town were left without troops she would go back to her
relatives in the Bluegrass, as Bill Skelly's band to the eastward in
the mountains was raiding and plundering and had become a great menace.
Guerillas were increasing in numbers in those doubtful regions.
“The regular troops will have to deal with those fellows later on,” said
Dick.
“Dr. Russell has had a letter from Harry Kenton,” continued Mrs. Mason.
“It was written from some point near the Pennsylvania line, and, while
Harry did not say so in his letter, I know that General Lee is expecting
a great victory in the North. Harry was not hurt at Chancellorsville,
but he says he does not see how he escaped, the fire of the cannon and
rifles being more awful than any that he had ever seen before. He was
present when General Jackson was mortally wounded, and he seems to have
been deeply affected by it. He writes that the Confederacy could better
have lost a hundred thousand men.”
There was more in the letter, but it was strictly personal to Dick, and
it closed with her heartfelt prayer that God, who had led him safely so
far, would lead him safely through all.
After reading it several times he put it in a hidden pocket. Soldiers
did not receive many letters and they always treasured them. Ah, his
dear, beautiful young mother! How could anyone ever harm her! Yet the
thought of Skelly and his outlaws made him uneasy. He hoped that the
Union garrison would remain in Pendleton permanently.
His mind was soon compelled to turn back to the siege. They were digging
trenches and creeping closer and closer. Warner had made no mistake
in his mathematics. The army and the people in Vicksburg had begun to
suffer from a lack of food. They were down to half rations. They had
neither tea nor coffee, and medicines were exhausted. Many and many a
time they looked forth from their hills and prayed for Johnston, but he
could not come. Always the Union flag floated before them, and the ring
of steel so strong and broad was contracting inch by inch.
The Northern engineers ran mines under the Confederate works. They used
every device of ingenious minds to push the siege. Spies brought word
that all food would soon be gone in Vicksburg, and Grant, grim of
purpose, took another hitch in the steel belt about the hopeless town.
The hostile earthworks and trenches were now so near that the men could
hear one another talking. Sometimes in a lull of the firing they
would come out and exchange tobacco or news. It was impossible for the
officers to prevent it, and they really did not seek to do so, as the
men fought just as well when they returned to their works.
June now drew to a close and the great heats of July were at hand. Dick
was convinced that the defense of Vicksburg was drawing to a like close.
They had proof that some of the irregulars in Vicksburg had escaped
through the lines and he was convinced that Slade would be among them.
They were the rats and Vicksburg was the sinking ship.
They heard that Johnston had gathered together twenty-five thousand men
and was at last marching to the relief of the town. Dick believed that
Grant must have laughed one of his grimmest laughs. They knew that
Johnston's men were worn and half-starved, and had been harassed by
other Union troops. Johnston was skillful, but he would only be a lean
and hungry wolf attacking a grizzly bear. He was sure that all danger
from him had passed.
Now, as they closed in the Northern guns increased their fire. It seemed
to Dick that they could have blown away the whole plateau of Vicksburg
by this time. The storm of shells raked the town, and he was glad that
the people had been able to dig caves for refuge. Colonel Woodville must
be doing some of his greatest swearing now. Dick thought of him with
sympathy and friendliness.
“I don't think it can last much longer, Mr. Mason,” said Sergeant Daniel
Whitley on the morning of the second of July. “Their guns don't answer
ours often and it means that they're out of ammunition, or almost.
Besides, you can stand shells and bullets easier than lack of food.
'Pears to me I can nearly feel 'em crumpling up before us.”
Trumpets blew the next morning. All the firing ceased suddenly and the
three lads saw a Southern general with several officers of lower rank,
riding forward under a white flag. It was Bowen, who came out to meet
Grant.
Dick drew a deep, long breath. He knew that this was the end. So did his
comrades. A cheer started and swept part of the way along the lines, but
the officers quickly stopped it.
“Vicksburg is ours,” said Dick.
“Looks like it,” said Warner.
But Grant told Bowen that he would treat only with Pemberton, and after
delays General Pemberton came out. General Grant went forward to meet
him. The two stood alone under a tree within seventy yards of the
Confederate lines and talked.
Chance or fortune presented a startling coincidence. Almost at the very
moment that Grant and Pemberton met under the tree Pickett's men were
rising to their feet and preparing for the immortal but fatal charge at
Gettysburg. While the cannon had ceased suddenly at Vicksburg they were
thundering from many score mouths at Gettysburg. Fortune was launching
two thunderbolts upon the Confederacy at the same moment. They were to
strike upon fields a thousand miles apart, and the double blow was to be
mortal.
But Dick knew nothing of Gettysburg then, nor was he to know anything
until days afterward. He certainly had no thought of the East while he
watched the two generals under the tree. Dick's comrades were with him,
but so intense was their curiosity that none of them spoke. Thousands
of men were gazing with the same eagerness, and the Southern earthworks
were covered with the defenders.
It was one of the most dramatic scenes in Dick's life, the two men under
the tree, and the tens of thousands who watched. Nobody moved. It seemed
that they scarcely breathed. After the continuous roar of firing the
sudden silence was oppressive, and Dick felt the blood pounding in his
ears.
The heat was close and heavy. Black clouds were floating up in the west,
and lightning glimmered now and then on the horizon. Although the storm
threatened no one noticed. All eyes were still for Grant and Pemberton.
After a while each returned to his own command, and there was an
armistice until the next day, when the full surrender was made, and
Grant and his officers rode into Vicksburg. At the same time Lee was
gathering his men for the retreat into the South from the stricken field
of Gettysburg. It was the Fourth of July, the eighty-seventh anniversary
of the Declaration of Independence, and no one could have possibly
conceived a more striking celebration.
As soon as Dick was free for a little space he hurried to the ravine,
and, as before, found there the open door. He passed in without
hesitation.
The light as of old filtered into the room, and Colonel Woodville lay
just as before in bed with his great bald head upon the pillow. Miss
Woodville sat beside the bed, reading aloud from Addison. Dick's step
was light, but the colonel heard him and held up a finger. The lad
paused until Miss Woodville, finishing a long sentence, closed the
book. Then the colonel, raising a little the great white thatch of his
eyebrows, said:
“Young sir, you have returned again, and, personally, you are welcome,
but I do not conceive how you can stand the company you keep. My
daughter informs me that the Yankees are in Vicksburg, and I have no
reason to doubt the statement.”
He paused, and Dick said:
“Yes, Colonel, it's true.”
“I suppose we must endure it. I should have gone myself and have offered
my sword to General Grant, but this confounded leg of mine is still
weak.”
“At least, sir, we come with something besides arms. May I bring you
rations?”
“You are generous, young man, and my daughter and I appreciate the
obvious nature of your errand here. Speaking for both of us, a little
food will not be unwelcome.”
“Tell me first, what has become of your nephew. Has he escaped from the
city?”
“He slipped out nearly a week ago, and will join his father's regiment
in Bragg's command. That scoundrel, Slade, is gone too. Since the city
had to be surrendered I would gladly have made you a present of Slade,
but it's out of my power now.”
Dick soon returned with ample food for them and helped them later, when
they moved to quarters outside in the shell-torn city. Dick saw that
they were comfortable, and then his mind turned toward Tennessee.
Detachments from Grant's army were to be sent to that of Rosecrans, who
was now heavily threatened by Bragg, and the Winchester regiment, which
really belonged with him, was sure to go.
The order to march soon came, and it was welcome. The regiment, or
rather what was left of it, promptly embarked upon one of the river
steamers and started northward.
As they stood on the deck and looked down at the yellow waters in which
Dick had swum on his trusty plank Warner said:
“I've news of importance. It arrived in a telegram to General Grant, and
I heard it just as we were coming on board.”
“What is it?” asked Dick.
“General Lee was defeated in a great battle at a little place called
Gettysburg in Pennsylvania, and has retreated into Virginia.”
“Gettysburg and Vicksburg!” exclaimed Dick. “The wheel has turned nearly
'round. The Confederacy is doomed now.”
“I think so, too,” said Warner.