The Rock of Chickamauga

J >> Joseph A. Altsheler >> The Rock of Chickamauga

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This ebook was produced by Ken Reeder

THE ROCK OF CHICKAMAUGA
A STORY OF THE WESTERN CRISIS

by JOSEPH A. ALTSHELER

FOREWORD

"The Rock of Chickamauga," presenting a critical phase of the great
struggle in the west, is the sixth volume in the series, dealing with the
Civil War, of which its predecessors have been "The Guns of Bull Run,"
"The Guns of Shiloh," "The Scouts of Stonewall," "The Sword of Antietam"
and "The Star of Gettysburg." Dick Mason who fights on the Northern side,
is the hero of this romance, and his friends reappear also.

THE CIVIL WAR SERIES

VOLUMES IN THE CIVIL WAR SERIES

THE GUNS OF BULL RUN.
THE GUNS OF SHILOH.
THE SCOUTS OF STONEWALL.
THE SWORD OF ANTIETAM.
THE STAR OF GETTYSBURG.
THE ROCK OF CHICKAMAUGA.
THE SHADES OF THE WILDERNESS.
THE TREE OF APPOMATTOX.

PRINCIPAL CHARACTERS IN THE CIVIL WAR SERIES

HARRY KENTON, A Lad Who Fights on the Southern Side.
DICK MASON, Cousin of Harry Kenton, Who Fights on the Northern Side.
COLONEL GEORGE KENTON, Father of Harry Kenton.
MRS. MASON, Mother of Dick Mason.
JULIANA, Mrs. Mason's Devoted Colored Servant.
COLONEL ARTHUR WINCHESTER, Dick Mason's Regimental Commander.
COLONEL LEONIDAS TALBOT, Commander of the Invincibles,
a Southern Regiment.
LIEUTENANT COLONEL HECTOR ST. HILAIRE, Second in Command of the
Invincibles.
ALAN HERTFORD, A Northern Cavalry Leader.
PHILIP SHERBURNE, A Southern Cavalry Leader.
WILLIAM J. SHEPARD, A Northern Spy.
DANIEL WHITLEY, A Northern Sergeant and Veteran of the Plains.
GEORGE WARNER, A Vermont Youth Who Loves Mathematics.
FRANK PENNINGTON, A Nebraska Youth, Friend of Dick Mason.
ARTHUR ST. CLAIR, A Native of Charleston, Friend of Harry Kenton.
TOM LANGDON, Friend of Harry Kenton.
GEORGE DALTON, Friend of Harry Kenton.
BILL SKELLY, Mountaineer and Guerrilla.
TOM SLADE, A Guerrilla Chief.
SAM JARVIS, The Singing Mountaineer.
IKE SIMMONS, Jarvis' Nephew.
AUNT "SUSE," A Centenarian and Prophetess.
BILL PETTY, A Mountaineer and Guide.
JULIEN DE LANGEAIS, A Musician and Soldier from Louisiana.
JOHN CARRINGTON, Famous Northern Artillery Officer.
DR. RUSSELL, Principal of the Pendleton School.
ARTHUR TRAVERS, A Lawyer.
JAMES BERTRAND, A Messenger from the South.
JOHN NEWCOMB, A Pennsylvania Colonel.
JOHN MARKHAM, A Northern Officer.
JOHN WATSON, A Northern Contractor.
WILLIAM CURTIS, A Southern Merchant and Blockade Runner.
MRS. CURTIS, Wife of William Curtis.
HENRIETTA GARDEN, A Seamstress in Richmond.
DICK JONES, A North Carolina Mountaineer.
VICTOR WOODVILLE, A Young Mississippi Officer.
JOHN WOODVILLE, Father of Victor Woodville.
CHARLES WOODVILLE, Uncle of Victor Woodville.
COLONEL BEDFORD, A Northern Officer.
CHARLES GORDON, A Southern Staff Officer.
JOHN LANHAM, An Editor.
JUDGE KENDRICK, A Lawyer.
MR. CULVER, A State Senator.
MR. BRACKEN, A Tobacco Grower.
ARTHUR WHITRIDGE, A State Senator.

HISTORICAL CHARACTERS

ABRAHAM LINCOLN, President of the United States.
JEFFERSON DAVIS, President of the Southern Confederacy.
JUDAH P. BENJAMIN, Member of the Confederate Cabinet.
U. S. GRANT, Northern Commander.
ROBERT B. LEE, Southern Commander.
STONEWALL JACKSON, Southern General.
PHILIP H. SHERIDAN, Northern General.
GEORGE H. THOMAS, "The Rock of Chickamauga."
ALBERT SIDNEY JOHNSTON, Southern General.
A. P. HILL, Southern General.
W. S. HANCOCK, Northern General.
GEORGE B. McCLELLAN, Northern General.
AMBROSE B. BURNSIDE, Northern General.
TURNER ASHBY, Southern Cavalry Leader.
J. E. B. STUART, Southern Cavalry Leader.
JOSEPH HOOKER, Northern General.
RICHARD S. EWELL, Southern General.
JUBAL EARLY, Southern General.
WILLIAM S. ROSECRANS, Northern General.
SIMON BOLIVAR BUCKNER, Southern General.
LEONIDAS POLK, Southern General and Bishop.
BRAXTON BRAGG, Southern General.
NATHAN BEDFORD FORREST, Southern Cavalry Leader.
JOHN MORGAN, Southern Cavalry Leader.
GEORGE J. MEADE, Northern General.
DON CARLOS BUELL, Northern General.
W. T. SHERMAN, Northern General.
JAMES LONGSTREET, Southern General.
P. G. T. BEAUREGARD, Southern General.
WILLIAM L. YANCEY, Alabama Orator.
JAMES A. GARFIELD, Northern General, afterwards President of
the United States.

And many others

IMPORTANT BATTLES DESCRIBED IN THE CIVIL WAR SERIES

BULL RUN
KERNSTOWN
CROSS KEYS
WINCHESTER
PORT REPUBLIC
THE SEVEN DAYS
MILL SPRING
FORT DONELSON
SHILOH
PERRYVILLE
STONE RIVER
THE SECOND MANASSAS
ANTIETAM
FREDERICKSBURG
CHANCELLORSVILLE
GETTYSBURG
CHAMPION HILL
VICKSBURG
CHICKAMAUGA
MISSIONARY RIDGE
THE WILDERNESS
SPOTTSYLVANIA
COLD HARBOR
FISHER'S HILL
CEDAR CREEK
APPOMATTOX

CONTENTS

I. AT BELLEVUE

II. FORREST

III. GRANT MOVES

IV. DICK'S MISSION

V. HUNTED

VI. A BOLD ATTACK

VII. THE LITTLE CAPITAL

VIII. CHAMPION HILL

IX. THE OPEN DOOR

X. THE GREAT ASSAULT

XI. THE TAKING OF VICKSBURG

XII. AN AFFAIR OF THE MOUNTAINS

XIII. THE RIVER OF DEATH

XIV. THE ROCK OF CHICKAMAUGA

XV. BESIDE THE BROOK

THE ROCK OF CHICKAMAUGA

CHAPTER I

AT BELLEVUE

"You have the keenest eyes in the troop. Can you see anything ahead?"
asked Colonel Winchester.

"Nothing living, sir," replied Dick Mason, as he swept his powerful
glasses in a half-curve. "There are hills on the right and in the center,
covered with thick, green forest, and on the left, where the land lies
low, the forest is thick and green too, although I think I catch a flash
of water in it."

"That should be the little river of which our map tells. And you, Warner,
what do your eyes tell you?"

"The same tale they tell to Dick, sir. It looks to me like a wilderness."

"And so it is. It's a low-lying region of vast forests and thickets,
of slow deep rivers and creeks, and of lagoons and bayous. If Northern
troops want to be ambushed they couldn't come to a finer place for it.
Forrest and five thousand of his wild riders might hide within rifle shot
of us in this endless mass of vegetation. And so, my lads, it behooves
us to be cautious with a very great caution. You will recall how we got
cut up by Forrest in the Shiloh time."

"I do, sir," said Dick and he shuddered as he recalled those terrible
moments. "This is Mississippi, isn't it?"

Colonel Winchester took a small map from his pocket, and, unfolding it,
examined it with minute care.

"If this is right, and I'm sure it is," he replied, "we're far down in
Mississippi in the sunken regions that border the sluggish tributaries of
the Father of Waters. The vegetation is magnificent, but for a home give
me higher ground, Dick."

"Me too, sir," said Warner. "The finest state in this Union is Vermont.
I like to live on firm soil, even if it isn't so fertile, and I like to
see the clear, pure water running everywhere, brooks and rivers."

"I'll admit that Vermont is a good state for two months in the year,"
said Dick.

"Why not the other ten?"

"Because then it's frozen up, solid and hard, so I've heard."

The other boys laughed and kept up their chaff, but Colonel Winchester
rode soberly ahead. Behind him trailed the Winchester regiment, now
reorganized and mounted. Fresh troops had come from Kentucky, and
fragments of old regiments practically destroyed at Perryville and Stone
River had been joined to it.

It was a splendid body of men, but of those who had gone to Shiloh only
about two hundred remained. The great conflicts of the West, and the
minor battles had accounted for the others. But it was perhaps one of
the reliefs of the Civil War that it gave the lads who fought it little
time to think of those who fell. Four years crowded with battles,
great and small, sieges and marches absorbed their whole attention.

Now two men, the dreaded Forrest and fierce little Joe Wheeler, occupied
the minds of Winchester and his officers. It was impossible to keep
track of these wild horsemen here in their own section. They had a habit
of appearing two or three hundred miles from the place at which they were
expected.

But the young lieutenants while they watched too for their redoubtable
foes had an eye also for the country. It was a new kind of region for
all of them. The feet of their horses sank deep in the soft black soil,
and there was often a sound of many splashings as the regiment rode
across a wide, muddy brook.

Dick noted with interest the magnolias and the live oaks, and the great
stalks of the sunflower. Here in this Southern state, which bathed
its feet in the warm waters of the Gulf, spring was already far along,
although snows still lingered in the North.

The vegetation was extravagant in its luxuriance and splendor. The
enormous forest was broken by openings like prairies, and in every one
of them the grass grew thick and tall, interspersed with sunflowers and
blossoming wild plants. Through the woods ran vast networks of vines,
and birds of brilliant plumage chattered in the trees. Twice, deer
sprang up before them and raced away in the forest. It was the
wilderness almost as De Soto had traversed it nearly four centuries
before, and it had a majesty which in its wildness was not without its
sinister note.

They approached a creek, deeper and wider than usual, flowing in slow,
yellow coils, and, as they descended into the marsh that enclosed its
waters, there was a sharp crackling sound, followed quickly by another
and then by many others. The reports did not cease, and, although
blood was shed freely, no man fell from his horse, nor was any wounded
mortally. But the assault was vicious and it was pushed home with the
utmost courage and tenacity, although many of the assailants fell never
to rise again. Cries of pain and anger, and imprecations arose from the
stricken regiment.

"Slap! Slap!"

"Bang! Bang!"

"Ouch! He's got his bayonet in my cheek!"

"Heavens, that struck me like a minie ball! And it came, whistling and
shrieking, too, just like one!"

"Phew, how they sting! and my neck is bleeding in three places!"

"By thunder, Bill, I hit that fellow, fair and square! He'll never
trouble an honest Yankee soldier again!"

The fierce buzzing increased all around them and Colonel Winchester
shouted to his trumpeter:

"Blow the charge at once!"

The man, full willing, put the trumpet to his lips and blew loud and
long. The whole regiment went across the creek at a gallop--the water
flying in yellow showers--and did not stop until, emerging from the marsh,
they reached the crest of a low hill a mile beyond. Here, stung,
bleeding and completely defeated by the enemy they stopped for repairs.
An occasional angry buzz showed that they were not yet safe from the
skirmishers, but their attack seemed a light matter after the full
assault of the determined foe.

"I suppose we're all wounded," said Dick as he wiped a bleeding cheek.
"At least as far as I can see they're hurt. The last fellow who got his
bayonet in my face turned his weapon around and around and sang merrily
at every revolution."

"We were afraid of being ambushed by Forrest," said Warner, speaking
from a swollen countenance. "Instead we struck something worse; we rode
straight into an ambush of ten billion high-powered mosquitoes, every one
tipped with fire. Have we got enemies like these to fight all the way
down here?"

"They sting the rebels, too," said Pennington.

"Yes, but they like newcomers best, the unacclimated. When we rode down
into that swamp I could hear them shouting, to one another: 'That fat
fellow is mine, I saw him first! I've marked the rosy-cheeked boy for
mine. Keep away the rest of you fellows!' I feel as if I'd been through
a battle. No more marshes for me."

Some of the provident produced bottles of oil of pennyroyal. Sergeant
Daniel Whitley, who rode a giant bay horse, was one of the most
foreseeing in this respect, and, after the boys had used his soothing
liniment freely, the fiery torment left by the mosquito's sting passed
away.

The sergeant seemed to have grown bigger and broader than ever. His
shoulders were about to swell through his faded blue coat, and the hand
resting easily on the rein had the grip and power of a bear's paw.
His rugged face had been tanned by the sun of the far south to the color
of an Indian's. He was formidable to a foe, and yet no gentler heart
beat than that under his old blue uniform. Secretly he regarded the
young lieutenants, his superiors in military rank and education, as brave
children, and often he cared for them where his knowledge and skill were
greater than theirs or even than that of colonels and generals.

"God bless you, Sergeant," said Dick, "you don't look like an angel,
but you are one--that is, of the double-fisted, fighting type."

The sergeant merely smiled and replaced the bottle carefully in his
pocket, knowing that they would have good use for it again.

The regiment after salving its wounds resumed its watchful march.

"Do you know where we're going?" Pennington asked Dick.

"I think we're likely if we live long enough to land in the end before
Vicksburg, the great Southern fortress, but as I gather it we mean to
curve and curl and twist about a lot before then. Grant, they say,
intends to close in on Vicksburg, while Rosecrans farther north is
watching Bragg at Chattanooga. We're a flying column, gathering up
information, and ready for anything."

"It's funny," said Warner thoughtfully, "that we've already got so far
south in the western field. We can't be more than two or three hundred
miles from the Gulf. Besides, we've already taken New Orleans, the
biggest city of the South, and our fleet is coming up the river to meet
us. Yet in the East we don't seem to make any progress at all. We lose
great battles there and Fredericksburg they say was just a slaughter of
our men. How do you make it out, Dick?"

"I've thought of several reasons for it. Our generals in the West are
better than our generals in the East, or their generals in the East are
better than their generals in the West. And then there are the rivers.
In the East they mostly run eastward between the two armies, and they
are no help to us, but a hindrance rather. Here in the West the rivers,
and they are many and great, mostly run southward, the way we want to go,
and they bring our gunboats on their bosoms. Excuse my poetry, but it's
what I mean."

"You must be right. I think that all the reasons you give apply
together. But our command of the water has surely been a tremendous
help. And then we've got to remember, Dick, that there was never a
navy like ours. It goes everywhere and it does everything. Why, if
Admiral Farragut should tell one of those gunboats to steam across the
Mississippi bottoms it would turn its saucy nose, steer right out of the
water into the mud, and blow up with all hands aboard before it quit
trying."

"You two fellows talk too much," said Pennington. "You won't let
President Lincoln and Grant and Halleck manage the war, but you want to
run it yourselves."

"I don't want to run anything just now, Frank," rejoined Dick. "What I'm
thinking about most is rest and something to eat. I'd like to get rid,
too, of about ten pounds of Mississippi mud that I'm carrying."

"Well, I can catch a glint of white pillars through those trees. It
means the 'big house' of a plantation, and you'll probably find somewhere
back of it the long rows of cabins, inhabited by the dark people, whom
we've come to raise to the level of their masters, if not above them.
I can see right now the joyous welcome we'll receive from the owners of
the big house. They'll be standing on the great piazza, waving Union
flags and shouting to us that they have ready cooling drinks and
luxurious food for us all."

"It's hardly a joke to me. Whatever the cause of the war, it's the
bitterness of death for these people to be overrun. Besides, I remember
the words of that old fellow in the blacksmith shop before we fought the
battle of Stone River. He said that even if they were beaten they'd
still be there holding the land and running things."

"That's true," said Warner. "I've been wondering how this war would end,
and now I'm wondering what will happen after it does end. But here we
are at the gate. What big grounds! These great planters certainly had
space!"

"And what silence!" said Dick. "It's uncanny, George. A place like this
must have had a thousand slaves, and I don't see any of them rushing
forward to welcome their liberators."

"Probably contraband, gone long ago to Ben Butler at New Orleans.
I don't believe there's a soul here."

"Remember that lone house in Tennessee where a slip of a girl brought
Forrest down on us and had us cut pretty nearly to pieces."

"I couldn't forget it."

Nor could Colonel Winchester. The house, large and low, stood in grounds
covering an area of several acres, enclosed by a paling fence, now
sagging in many places. Great stone posts stood on either side of the
gateway, but the gate was opened, and it, too, sagged.

The grounds had evidently been magnificent, both with flowers and forest
trees. Already many of the flowers were blooming in great luxuriance and
brilliancy, but the walks and borders were untrimmed. The house was of
wood, painted white with green shutters, and as they drew nearer they
appreciated its great size, although it was only two stories in height.
A hundred persons could have slept there, and twice as many could have
found shade in the wide piazzas which stretched the full length of the
four sides.

But all the doors and shutters were closed and no smoke rose from any
chimney. They caught a glimpse of the cabins for the slaves, on lower
ground some distance behind the great house. The whole regiment reined
up as they approached the carriage entrance, and, although they were
eight hundred strong, there was plenty of room without putting a single
hoof upon a flower.

It was a great place. That leaped to the eye, but it was not marked upon
Colonel Winchester's map, nor had he heard of it.

"It's a grand house," he said to his aides, "and it's a pity that it
should go to ruin after the slaves are freed, as they certainly will be."

"But it was built upon slave labor," said Warner.

"So it was, and so were many of the most famous buildings in the world.
But here, I'm not going to get into an argument about such questions with
young men under my command. Besides, I'm fighting to destroy slavery,
not to study its history. Sergeant Whitley, you're an experienced
trailer: do you see any signs that troops have passed here?"

"None at all, sir. Down near the gate where the drive is out of repair
I noticed wheel tracks, but they were several days old. The freshest of
them were light, as if made by buggies. I judge, sir, that it was the
family, the last to leave."

"And the wagons containing their valuables had gone on ahead?"

"It would seem so, sir."

Colonel Winchester sighed.

"An invader is always feared and hated," he said.

"But we do come as enemies," said Dick, "and this feeling toward us can't
be helped."

"That's true. No matter what we do we'll never make any friends here in
one of the Gulf states, the very core of Southern feeling. Dick, take
a squad of men and enter the house. Pennington, you and Warner go with
him."

Dick sprang down instantly, chose Sergeant Whitley first and with the
others entered the great portico. The front door was locked but it was
easy enough to force it with a gun butt, and they went in, but not before
Dick had noticed over the door in large letters the name, "Bellevue."
So this was Bellevue, one of the great cotton plantations of Mississippi.
He now vaguely remembered that he had once heard his uncle, Colonel
Kenton, speak of having stopped a week here. But he could not recall the
name of the owner. Strong for the Union as he was Dick was glad that the
family had gone before the Northern cavalry came.

The house was on a splendid scale inside also, but all the rugs and
curtains were gone. As they entered the great parlor Dick saw a large
piece of paper, and he flushed as he read written upon it in tall letters:

TO THE YANKEE RAIDERS:
YOU NEED NOT LOOK FOR THE SILVER.
IT HAS BEEN TAKEN TO VICKSBURG.

"Look at that!" he said indignantly to Warner. "See how they taunt us!"

But Warner laughed.

"Maybe some of our men at New Orleans have laid us open to such a stab,"
he said. Then he added whimsically:

"We'll go to Vicksburg with Grant, Dick, and get that silver yet."

"The writing's fresh," said Sergeant Whitley, who also looked at the
notification. "The paper hasn't begun to twist and curl yet. It's not
been posted up there many hours."

Colonel Winchester entered at that moment and the notice was handed to
him. He, too, flushed a little when he read it, but the next instant he
laughed. Dick then called his attention to the apparent fact that it had
been put there recently.

"May I speak a word, Colonel," said Warner, who had been thinking so hard
that there was a line the full length of his forehead.

"Yes, George, a dozen if you like. Go ahead. What is it?"

"The sergeant, who has had much experience as a trailer, told us that
the tracks made by the buggy wheels were several days old. The slaves
probably had been sent southward before that time. Now some one who
saw our advance has come back, and, whoever it was, he was thoroughly
familiar with the house. He couldn't have been a servant. Servants
don't leave taunts of that kind. It must have been somebody who felt our
coming deeply, and if it had been an elderly man he would have waited for
action, he wouldn't have used saucy words. So, sir, I think it must have
been a boy. Just like Pennington there, for instance."

"Good, George, go on with your reasonings."

"As surely, sir, as z plus y equals the total of the two, the one who put
up the placard was a son of the owner. He alone would feel deeply enough
to take so great a risk. The conditions absolutely demand that the owner
has such a son and that he has done it."

"Very good, George. I think you're right, and this youth in giving way
to a natural burst of anger, although he did not mean to do so, has
posted up for us a warning. A lad of his spirit would go in search
of Forrest, and we cannot forget our experience with that general in
Tennessee. Now, boys, we'll make ready for the night, which is not far
away."

The house was built for a Southern climate, although Dick had learned
that it could be cold enough in Central Mississippi in midwinter.
But it was spring now and they opened all the doors and windows, letting
the pleasant air rush through the musty house.

"It may rain," said Colonel Winchester, "and the officers will sleep
inside. The men will spread their blankets on the piazzas, and the
horses will be tethered in the grounds. I hate to see the flowers and
grass trodden down, but nature will restore them."

Some of the soldiers gathered wood from heaps nearby and fires were
kindled in the kitchen, and also on the hearths in the slave quarters.
Colonel Winchester had been truly called the father of his regiment.
He was invariably particular about its health and comfort, and, as he
always led it in person in battle, there was no finer body of men in the
Union service.

Now he meant for his men to have coffee, and warm food after this long
and trying ride and soon savory odors arose, although the cooking was not
begun until after dark, lest the smoke carry a signal to a lurking enemy.
The cavalrymen cut the thick grass which grew everywhere, and fed it to
their horses, eight hundred massive jaws munching in content. The beasts
stirred but little after their long ride and now and then one uttered a
satisfied groan.

The officers drank their coffee and ate their food on the eastern piazza,
which overlooked a sharp dip toward a creek three or four hundred yards
away. The night had rushed down suddenly after the fashion of the far
South, and from the creek they heard faintly the hoarse frogs calling.
Beyond the grounds a close ring of sentinels watched, because Colonel
Winchester had no mind to be surprised again by Forrest or by Fighting
Joe Wheeler or anybody else.

The night was thick and dark and moist with clouds. Dick, despite the
peace that seemed to hang over everything, was oppressed. The desolate
house, even more than the sight of the field after the battle was over,
brought home to him the meaning of war. It was not alone the death
of men but the uprooting of a country for their children and their
children's children as well. Then his mind traveled back to his uncle,
Colonel Kenton, and suddenly he smote his knee.

"What is it, Dick," asked Colonel Winchester, who sat only two or three
yards away.

"Now I remember, sir. When I was only seven or eight years old I heard
my uncle tell of stopping, as I told you, at a great plantation in
Mississippi called Bellevue, but I couldn't recall the name of its owner.
I know him now."

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