CHAPTER VIII. CHAMPION HILL
Dick on that momentous morning did not appreciate the full magnitude ofthe event about to occur, nor did he until long afterward. He knewit was of high importance, and yet it might have ranked as one of thedecisive battles of history. There were no such numbers as at Shiloh andChancellorsville, but the results were infinitely greater.
Nor was it likely that such thoughts would float through the head of alad who had ridden far, and who at dawn was looking for an enemy.
The scouts had already brought word that the Southerners were in strongforce, and that they occupied Champion Hill, the crest of which wasbare, but with sides dark with forests and thickets. They were riding atpresent through forests themselves, and they felt that their ignoranceof the country might take them at any moment into an ambush.
"We know what army we're going against, don't we?" asked Pennington.
"Why, Pemberton's, of course," replied Dick.
"I'm glad of that. I'd rather fight him than Joe Johnston."
"They've been trying to unite, but we hear they haven't succeeded."
Pemberton, in truth, had been suffering from the most painful doubt.Having failed to do what Johnston had expected of him, he had gothimself into a more dangerous position than ever. Then, after listeningto a divided council of his generals, he had undertaken a movement whichbrought him within striking distance of Grant, while Johnston was yettoo far away to help him.
Dick did not know how much fortune was favoring the daring that morning,but he and his comrades were sanguine. They felt all the time thestrong hand over them. Like the soldiers, they had acquired the utmostconfidence in Grant. He might make mistakes, but he would not doubt andhesitate and draw back. Where he led the enemy could not win anythingwithout having to fight hard for it.
The early summer dawn had deepened, bright and hot, and the sun was nowclear of the trees, turning the green of the forests to gold. Coffee andwarm food were served to them during a momentary stop among the trees,and then the Winchester regiment moved forward again toward ChampionHill.
Rifle shots were now heard ahead of them. They were scattered, but thelads knew that the hostile skirmishers had come in contact. Presentlythe reports increased and through the woods they saw puffs of smoke.Trumpets to right and left were calling up the brigades.
"Open up for the guns!" cried an aide, and a battery lumbered through,the men swearing at their panting horses. But the Southern cannon werealready at work. From the bare crest of Champion Hill they were sendingshells which crashed in the ranks of the advancing foe. Two or threeof the Winchesters were hit, and a wounded horse, losing its rider, ranscreaming through the wood.
The forest and thickets now grew so dense that the officers dismounted,giving their horses to an orderly, and led on foot. The country beforethem was most difficult. Besides the trees and brush it was seared withravines. A swarm of skirmishers in front whom they could not see nowpoured bullets among them, and the shells, curving over the heads ofthe ambushed sharpshooters, fell in the Union ranks. On either flank thebattle opened and swelled rapidly.
"We may have got Pemberton trapped," said Pennington, "but he's got somany bristles that we can't reach in a hand and pull out our captive. MyGod, Dick, are you killed?"
He was pulling Dick to his feet and examining him anxiously.
"I'm all right," said Dick in a moment. "It was the wind of a big roundshot that knocked me down. Just now I'm thanking God it was the wind andnot the shot."
"I wish we could get through these thickets!" exclaimed Warner. "Ourcomrades must be engaged much more heavily than we are. What an uproar!"
The combat swelled to great proportions. The Southern army, beingcompelled to fight, fought now with all its might. The crest of the longhill blazed with fire. The men in gray used every advantage of position.Cannon and rifles raked the woods and thickets, and at many points theUnion attack was driven back. The sun rose slowly and they still heldthe hill, fighting with all the fire and valor characteristic of theSouth. They were cheered at times by the expectation of victory, but thestubborn Grant brought up his remaining forces and continually pressedthe battle.
The Winchester regiment crossed a ravine and knelt among the thickets.Its losses had not yet been heavy, as most of the cannon fire waspassing over their heads. Grape and canister were whistling among thewoods, and Dick was devoutly grateful that these deadly missiles weregoing so high. Yet if they did not hurt they made one shiver, and itwas not worth while to recall that when he heard the sound the shot hadpassed already. One shivered anyhow.
As well as Dick could judge from the volume of sound the battle seemedto be concentrated directly upon the hill. He knew that Grant expectedto make a general attack in full force, and he surmised that one of thecommanders under him was not pushing forward with the expected zeal. Hissurmise was correct. A general with fifteen thousand men was standingalmost passive in front of a much smaller force, but other generals wereshowing great fire and energy.
The Winchester regiment contained many excellent riflemen and they wereso close now that they could use the weapons for which the Kentuckianswere famous. Firing deliberately, they began to cut gaps in the firstranks of the defenders on the slope. Then they rose and with otherregiments pushed forward again.
But they came to a road in the side of the hill defended powerfully byinfantry and artillery, and a heavy fire, killing and wounding many, waspoured upon them. They sought to cross the road and attack the defenderswith the bayonet, but they were driven back and their losses were soheavy that they were compelled to take cover in the nearest thickets.
The men, gasping with heat and exhaustion, threw themselves down, asleet of shells and bullets passing over their heads. Dick had a senseof failure, but it lasted only a moment or two. From both left and rightcame the fierce crash of battle, and he knew that, if they had beendriven back before the road, their comrades were maintaining the combatelsewhere.
"It's merely a delay. We pause to make a stronger attack," said ColonelWinchester, as if he were apologizing to himself. "Are you all right,Dick?"
"Unhurt, sir, and so are Warner and Pennington, who are lying herebeside me."
"Unhurt, but uneasy," said Warner. "I don't like the way twigs andleaves are raining down on me. It shows that if they were to depresstheir fire they would be shearing limbs off of us instead of boughs offthe trees."
The sun was high and brilliant now, but it could not dispel the cloudsof smoke gathering in the thickets. It floated everywhere, and Dick feltit stinging his mouth and throat. Murmurs began to run along the lines.They did not like being held there. They wanted to charge again. Theywere still confident of victory.
Dick was sent toward another part of the army for orders, and he sawthat all along the hill the battle was raging fiercely. But Grant couldnot yet hear the roar of guns which should indicate the advance ofMcClernand and his fifteen thousand. The silent leader was filled withanger, but he reserved the expression of it for a later time.
Dick saw the fiery and impetuous Logan, noticeable for his longcoal-black hair, lead a headlong and successful charge, which carriedthe Union troops higher up the hill. But another general was drivenback, losing cannon, although he retook them in a second and desperatecharge. Still no news from McClernand and his fifteen thousand! Therewas silence where his guns ought to have been thundering, and Grantburned with silent anger.
It was noon, and a half-hour past. The Union plans, made with so muchcare and judgment, and the movements begun with so much skill anddaring seemed to be going awry. Yet Grant with the tenacity, ratherthan lightning intuition, that made him a great general, held on. Hislieutenants clung to their ground and prepared anew for attack.
Dick hurried back to his own regiment, which was still lying in thethickets, bearing an order for its advance in full strength. ColonelWinchester, who was standing erect, walking among his men andencouraging them, received it with joy. Word was speedily passed to allthat the time to win
or lose had come. Above the cannon and rifles themusic of the calling trumpets sounded. The fire of both sides suddenlydoubled and tripled in volume.
"Now, boys," shouted Colonel Winchester, waving his sword, "up the hilland beat 'em!"
Uttering a deep-throated roar the Winchesters rushed forward, firingas they charged. Dick was carried on the top wave of enthusiasm. Hedischarged his pistol into the bank of fire and smoke in front of themand shouted incessantly. He heard the bullets and every form of missilefrom the cannon whining all about them. Leaves and twigs fell upon him.Many men went down under the deadly fire, but the rush of the regimentwas not checked for an instant.
They passed out of the thicket, swept across the road, and drove thedefenders up the hill. Along the whole line the Union army, fired withthe prospect of success, rushed to the attack. Grant threw every manpossible into the charge.
The Southern army was borne back by the weight of its enemy. All of thefront lines were driven in and the divisions were cut apart. Therewas lack of coordination among the generals, who were often unable tocommunicate with one another, and Pemberton gave the order to retreat.The battle was lost to the South, and with it the chance to crush Grantbetween two forces.
The Union army uttered a great shout of victory, and Grant urged forwardthe pursuit. Bowen, one of the South's bravest generals, was the last togive way. The Winchester regiment was a part of the force that followedhim, both fighting hard. Dick found himself with his comrades, wadinga creek, and they plunged into the woods and thickets which blazed withthe fire of South and North. A Confederate general was killed here, butthe brave Bowen still kept his division in order, and made the pursuitpay a heavy cost for all its gain.
Dick saw besides the Confederate column many irregulars in the woods,skilled sharpshooters, who began to sting them on the flank and bringdown many a good soldier. He caught a glimpse of a man who was urgingon the riflemen and who seemed to be their leader. He recognized Slade,and, without a moment's hesitation, fired at him with his pistol. Butthe man was unhurt and Slade's return bullet clipped a lock of Dick'shair.
Then they lost each other in the smoke and turmoil of the battle, and,despite the energy of the pursuit by the Union leaders, they could notbreak up the command of Bowen. The valiant Southerner not only made goodhis retreat, but broke down behind him the bridge over a deep river,thus saving for a time the fragments of Pemberton's army.
The Winchester regiment marched back to the battlefield, and Dick sawthat the victory had been overwhelming. Nearly a third of the Southernarmy had been lost and thirty cannon were the trophies of Grant. Yet thefighting had been desperate. The dead and wounded were so numerous thatthe veteran soldiers who had been at Shiloh and Stone River called it"The Hill of Death."
Dick saw Grant walking over the field and he wondered what his feelingswere. Although its full result was beyond him he knew, nevertheless,that Champion Hill was a great victory. At one stroke of his sword Granthad cut apart the circle of his foes.
Dick came back from the pursuit with Colonel Winchester. He had lostsight of Warner and Pennington in the turmoil, but he believed that theywould reappear unhurt. They had passed through so many battles now thatit did not occur to him that any of the three would be killed. Theymight be wounded, of course, as they had been already, but fate wouldplay them no such scurvy trick as to slay them.
"What will be the next step, Colonel?" asked Dick, as they stoodtogether upon the victorious hill.
"Depends upon what Johnston and Pemberton do. Pemberton, I'm sure, willretreat to Vicksburg, but Johnston, if he can prevent it, won't let hisarmy be shut up there. Still, they may not be able to communicate, andif they should Pemberton may disobey the far abler Johnston and stay inVicksburg anyhow. At any rate, I think we're sure to march at once onVicksburg."
A figure approaching in the dusk greeted Dick with a shout of delight.Another just behind repeated the shout with equal fervor. Warner andPennington had come, unharmed as he had expected, and they were exultantover the victory.
"Come over here," said Warner to Dick. "Sergeant Whitley has cooked aglorious supper and we're waiting for you."
Dick joined them eagerly, and the sergeant received them with hisbenevolent smile. They were commissioned officers, and he gave them allthe respect due to rank, but in his mind they were only his boys, whomhe must watch and protect.
While the fires sprang up about them and they ate and talked of thevictory, Washington was knowing its darkest moments. Lee had alreadybeen marching thirteen days toward Gettysburg, and he seemed unbeatable.Grant, who had won for the North about all the real success of whichit could yet boast, was lost somewhere in the Southern wilderness. Themessages seeking him ran to the end of the telegraph wires and no answercame back. The click of the key could not reach him. Many a spirit, boldat most times, despaired of the Union.
But the old and hackneyed saying about the darkest hour just before thedawn was never more true. The flame of success was already lighted inthe far South, and Lincoln was soon to receive the message, telling himthat Grant had not disappeared in the wilderness for nothing. Thereafterhe was to trust the silent and tenacious general through everything.
They were up and away at dawn. Dick was glad enough to leave the hill,on which many of the dead yet lay unburied, and he was eager for the newfield of conflict, which he was sure would be before Vicksburg. Warnerand Pennington were as sanguine as he. Grant was now inspiring in themthe confidence that Lee and Jackson inspired in their young officers.
"How big is this city of Vicksburg?" asked Pennington.
"Not big at all," replied Warner. "There are no big cities in the Southexcept New Orleans, but it's big as a fortress. It's surrounded byearthworks, Frank, from which the Johnnies can pot you any time."
"Well, at any rate, I'll be glad to see it--from a safe distance. Iwouldn't mind sitting down before a town. There's too much wet countryaround here to suit me."
"It's likely that you'll have a chance to sit for a long time. We won'ttake Vicksburg easily."
But the time for sitting down had not yet come. The confidence of thesoldiers in their leader was justified continually. He advanced rapidlytoward Vicksburg, and in pursuit of Pemberton's defeated men. Thevictory at Champion Hill had been so complete that the Southern armywas broken into detached fragments, and the Southern generals were nowhaving the greatest difficulty in getting them together again.
Grant, with his loyal subordinate, Sherman, continued to push upon theenemy with the greatest vigor. Sherman had not believed in the successof the campaign, had even filed his written protest, but when Grantinsisted he had cooperated with skill and energy. He and Grant stoodtogether on a hill looking toward the future field of conflict, and hetold Grant now that he expected continued success.
It was the fortune of the young officers of the Winchester regimentsitting near on their horses to see the two generals who were in suchearnest consultation, and who examined the whole circle of the countryso long and so carefully through powerful glasses.
The effects of the victory deep in the South were growing hourly inDick's mind, and the two figures standing there on the hill were fullof significance to him. He had a premonition that they were the men morethan any others who would achieve the success of the Union, if it wereachieved at all. They had dismounted and stood side by side, the figureof Grant short, thick and sturdy, that of Sherman, taller and moreslender. They spoke only at intervals, and few words then, but nothingin the country about them escaped their attention.
Dick had glasses of his own, and he, too, began to look. He saw a regionmuch wooded and cut by deep streams. Before them lay the sluggish watersof Chickasaw Bayou, where Sherman had sustained a severe defeat at anearlier time, and farther away flowed the deep, muddy Yazoo.
"See the smoke, George, rising above that line of trees along theriver?" said Dick.
"Yes, Dick," replied Warner, "and I notice that the smoke rises inpuffs."
"It has a right to go up th
at way, because it's expelled violently fromthe smoke-stacks of steamers. And those steamers are ours, George, ourwarships. Our navy in this war hasn't much chance to do the spectacular,but we can never give it enough credit."
"That's right, Dick. It keeps the enemy surrounded and cuts off hissupplies, while our army fights him on land. Whatever happens the watersare ours."
"And the Mississippi has become a Union river, splitting apart theConfederacy."
"Right you are, Dick, and we're already in touch with our fleet there.The boats do more than fight for us. They're unloading supplies in vastquantities from Chickasaw Bayou. We'll have good food, blankets, tentsto shelter us from the rain, and unlimited ammunition to batter theenemy's works."
The investment of Vicksburg had been so rapid and complete thatJohnston, the man whom Grant had the most cause to fear, could not unitewith Pemberton, and he had retired toward Jackson, hoping to form a newarmy. Only three days after Champion Hill Grant had drawn his semicircleof steel around Vicksburg and its thirty thousand men, and the navy inthe rivers completed the dead line.
Dick rode with Colonel Winchester and took the best view they could getof Vicksburg, the little city which had suddenly become of such vastmilitary importance.
Now and then on the long, lower course of the Mississippi, bluffs rise,although at far intervals. Memphis stands on one group and hundredsof miles south Vicksburg stands on another. The Vicksburg plateau runssouthward to the Big Bayou, which curves around them on the south andeast, and the eastern slope of the uplift has been cut and gulleyed bymany torrents. So strong has been the effect of the rushing water uponthe soft soil that these cuts have become deep winding ravines, oftenwith perpendicular banks. One of the ravines is ten miles long. Anothercuts the plateau itself for six miles, and a permanent stream flowsthrough it.
The colonel and Dick saw everywhere rivers, brooks, bayous, hills,marshes and thickets, the whole turned by the Southern engineers intoa vast and most difficult line of intrenchments. Grant now had fortythousand men for the attack or siege, but he and his generals didnot yet know that most of the scattered Confederate army had gatheredtogether again, and was inside. They believed that Vicksburg was held byfifteen thousand men at the utmost.
"What do you think of it, Colonel?" asked Dick, as they sat horseback onone of the highest hills.
"It will be hard to take, despite the help of the navy. Did you ever seeanother country cut up so much by nature and offering such natural helpto defenders?"
"I've heard a lot of Vicksburg. I remember, Colonel, that, despite itssmallness, it is one of the great river towns of the South."
"So it is, Dick. I was here once, when I was a boy before the Mexicanwar. Down on the bar, the low place between the bluffs and the river,was the dueling ground, and it was also the place for sudden fights. Itand Natchez, I suppose, were rivals for the wild and violent life of thegreat river."
"Well, sir, it has a bigger fight on its hands now than was ever dreamedof by any of those men."
"I think you're right, Dick, but the general means to attack at once. Wemay carry it by storm."
Dick looked again at the vast entanglement of creeks, bayous, ravines,forests and thickets. Like other young officers, he had his opinion, buthe had the good sense to keep it to himself. He and the colonel rejoinedthe regiment, and presently the trumpets were calling again for battle.The men of Champion Hill, sanguine of success, marched straight uponVicksburg. All the officers of the Winchester regiment were dismounted,as their portion of the line was too difficult for horses.
Their advance, as at Champion Hill, was over ground wooded heavily andthey soon heard the reports of the rifles before them. Bullets began tocut the leaves and twigs, carrying away the bushes, scarring the treesand now and then taking human life. The Winchester men firedwhenever they saw an enemy, and with them it was largely an affairof sharpshooters, but on both left and right the battle rolled moreheavily. The Southerners, behind their powerful fortifications at theheads of the ravines and on the plateau, beat back every attack.
Before long the trumpets sounded the recall and the short battle ceased.Grant had discovered that he could not carry Vicksburg by a suddenrush and he recoiled for a greater effort. He discovered, too, from theresistance and the news brought later by his scouts that an army almostas numerous as his own was in the town.
The Winchester regiment made camp on a solid, dry piece of ground beyondthe range of the Southern works, and the men, veterans now, preparedfor their comfort. The comrades ate supper to the slow booming of greatguns, where the advanced cannon of either side engaged in desultoryduel.
The distant reports did not disturb Dick. They were rather soothing. Hewas glad enough to rest after so much exertion and so much danger andexcitement.
"I feel as if I were an empty shell," he said, "and I've got to waituntil nature comes along and fills up the shell again with a humanbeing."
"In my school in Vermont," said Warner, "they'd call that a considerableabuse of metaphor, but all metaphors are fair in war. Besides, it's justthe way I feel, too. Do you think, Dick, we'll settle down to a regularsiege?"
"Knowing General Grant as we do, not from what he tells us, since hehasn't taken Pennington and you and me into his confidence as he oughtto, but from our observation of his works, I should say that he wouldsoon attack again in full force."
"I agree with you, Knight of the Penetrating Mind, but meanwhile I'mgoing to enjoy myself."
"What do you mean, George?"
"A mail has come through by means of the river, and my good father andmother--God bless 'em--have sent me what they knew I would value most,something which is at once an intellectual exercise, an entertainment,and a consolation in bereavement."
Dick and Pennington sat up. Warner's words were earnest and portentous.Besides, they were very long, which indicated that he was not jesting.
"Go ahead, George. Show us what it is!" said Dick eagerly.
Warner drew from the inside pocket of his waist coat a worn volume whichhe handled lovingly.
"This," he said, "is the algebra, with which I won the highest honorsin our academy. I have missed it many and many a time since I came intothis war. It is filled with the most beautiful problems, Dick, questionswhich will take many a good man a whole night to solve. When I think ofthe joyous hours I've spent over it some of the tenderest chords in mynature are touched."
Pennington uttered a deep groan and buried his face in the grass. Thenhe 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 meanswell, and his heart is in the right place. As for me, as soon as Ifinished my algebra I sold it, and took a solemn oath never to lookinside one again. That I call the finest proof of sanity anybody couldgive. Oh, look at him, Dick! He's studying his blessed algebra anddoesn't hear a word I say!"
Warner was buried deep in the pages of a plus b and x minus y, and Dickand Pennington, rising solemnly, walked noiselessly from the presencearound to the other side of the little opening where they lay downagain. The bit of nonsense relieved them, but it was far from beingnonsense to Warner. His soul was alight. As he dived into the intricateproblems memories came with them. Lying there in the Southern thicketsin the close damp heat of summer he saw again his Vermont mountains withtheir slopes deep in green and their crests covered with snow. The sharpair of the northern winter blew down upon him, and he saw the clearwaters of the little rivers, cold as ice, foaming over the stones. Thatair was sharp and vital, but, after a while, he came back to himself andclosed his book with a sigh.
"Pardon me for inattention, boys," he said, "but while I was enjoyingmy algebra I was also thinking of old times back there in Vermont, whennobody 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. "Butdon't you think, Dick, we
ought to take that exciting book away fromhim? The mind of youth in its tender formative state can be inflamedeasily 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 soonas this war is over I shall advance from it to studies of a somewhatsimilar nature, but much higher in character, and so difficult thatsolving them will afford a pleasure keener and more penetrating thananything 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 bepresident 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 becamethe finest scholar ever known in the West. There was something of thepoet 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 HenryWare, who was the greatest governor of Kentucky. As I think I'vetold you fellows, Harry Kenton, Governor Ware's great-grandson and mycomrade, is fighting on the other side."
"I knew of the great Dr. Cotter long before I met you, Dick," repliedWarner. "I read his book on the Indians of the Northern MississippiValley. Not merely their history and habits, but their legends, theirfolk lore, and the wonderful poetic glow so rich and fine that he threwover everything. There was something almost Homeric in his descriptionof 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 greatpeace they were friends throughout their long lives."
"And I've studied, too, his wonderful book on the Birds and Mammalsof North America," continued Warner with growing enthusiasm. "Whatmarvelous stores of observation and memory! Ah, Dick, those wereexciting days, and a man had opportunities for real and vitalexperiences!"
Dick and Pennington laughed.
"What about Vicksburg, old praiser of past times?" asked Frank. "Don'tyou think we'll have some lively experiences trying to take it? Andwasn't there something real and vital about Bull Run and Shiloh andPerryville 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'sfunny--and maybe it isn't funny--but the makers of history oftenknow little about what they're making. The people who come along longafterward 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," saidPennington, "but even history-makers are entitled to a rest. Sincethere'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.
The Rock of Chickamauga: A Story of the Western Crisis Page 10
