Part 15 (1/2)
He took a photograph from the Bible. It was the picture of a dark-haired, black-eyed, fair-featured girl, and he gazed upon it till the tears rolled down his cheeks. He drew his brawny hand across his face and wiped them away, but the effort started the bright blood flowing in a fresher stream. ”It is hard to part from her. She promised to be my wife when I came home from the war,” he said, and touched it to his lips, then gazed again till his sight grew dim. He laid it with the Bible on his breast.
Paul wiped the cold sweat from the soldier's brow.
”G.o.d bless you,” he whispered, and looked up and smiled. His eyes closed, and the slowly heaving heart stood still. He was gone to the land where the Faithful and True receive their just reward.
CHAPTER XV.
SHOWING WHAT HE WAS MADE OF.
There came a Sabbath morning,--one of the loveliest of all the year. The sun rose upon a cloudless sky, the air was laden with the fragrance of locust and alder blossoms, the oaks of the forest were changing from the gray of winter to the green of summer. Beneath their wide-spread branches were the tents of a great army; for after the capture of Fort Donelson the troops sailed up the Tennessee, and were preparing to attack the Rebels at Corinth.
Paul was lying in his tent, thinking of home, of the calmness and stillness there, broken only by the chirping of the sparrows and robins, the church-bell, the choir, and the low voices of the congregation. How different from what was pa.s.sing around him, where the drummers were beating the reveille! He was startled from his waking dream by a sudden firing out among the pickets. What could it mean? It grew more furious.
There was confusion. He sprang to his feet and looked out to see what was the matter. Soldiers were running through the camp.
”What is the row?” he asked.
”The Rebels are attacking us.”
It did not take him long to dress; but, while pulling on his boots, a bullet tore through the tent-cloth over his head.
The camp was astir. Officers shouted, ”Fall in!” Soldiers, waking from sound sleep, buckled on their cartridge-boxes, seized their guns, and took their places in the ranks before they were fairly awake. The drummers beat the long-roll, the buglers sounded the signal for saddling horses, the artillery-men got their guns ready, cavalry-men leaped into their saddles, baggage-wagons went thundering towards the river. There was a volley of musketry, and then a deeper roar from the artillery, and the terrible contest of the day began, which became more terrific from morning till noon, from noon till night, with deafening rolls of musketry, with the roaring of a hundred cannon, with the yelling of the Rebels and the cheering of the soldiers of the Union, as the tempest surged through the forest, up and down the ravines, around s.h.i.+loh church, in the old cotton-fields, up to the spring where the country people were accustomed to eat their Sunday dinners, down to the Tennessee River, where the gunboats were waiting for the hour when they could open with their great guns.
Paul was in the storm, riding through the leaden hail which fell all around him, pattering upon the dead leaves, cutting down the twigs of the hazel-bushes, and scarring the trees,--riding along the lines carrying messages to General Sherman, who was fighting like a tiger by the church, with the bullets piercing his clothes,--to McClernand, who was near by,--to Wallace, to Prentice, to Hurlburt, to Stuart,--riding where sh.e.l.ls were bursting, where solid shot cut off great branches from the trees, splintered the trunks, ploughed the ground, whirled men and horses into the air, tearing them limb from limb, and then pa.s.sed away with weird howlings. He breathed the thick smoke as it belched from the cannon's mouth, and felt the hot flashes on his face. He stood beside his commander, General Grant, while waiting for orders, and beheld him when tidings of disaster were brought in,--that General Prentice and hundreds of his men were captured,--that the line was broken, and the men were falling back. He could hear the triumphant shouts of the Rebels.
Yet amid it all he saw that General Grant was cool and collected. ”We will whip them yet,” he said. Paul felt stronger after that, and resolved to die rather than be beaten. But how slowly dragged the hours!
The sun seemed to stand still in the western sky. How hard to see the poor wounded men, thousands of them, borne to the rear, their feet crushed, their legs broken, their arms torn and mangled, and to know that there were other thousands lying upon the ground where they had fallen, and the strife still going on around them! Other thousands who were not wounded were leaving the ranks, exhausted and disheartened.
”Lieutenant Parker, you will select a line along this ravine, throw up such defences as you can, bring up those thirty-two pounders from the river, and put them in position. They can't cross this. We will beat them here,” said General Grant.
Sometimes in battle minutes are of priceless value; momentous decisions must be made at once. Then men show what they are made of. Those are the trial moments of life. Paul galloped along the ravine. He saw that it was wide and deep, and that, if the Rebels could be kept from crossing it, the battle would be won; for it was their object to reach the steamboat-landing, where General Grant had all his supplies of food.
There were five great iron cannon at the landing. There, also, crouching under the river-bank, to avoid the shot and sh.e.l.l, were thousands of fugitives, who had become disheartened, and who had left their comrades to be overpowered and driven back. He saw the situation of affairs in an instant. His brain was clear. He made up his mind instantly what to do.
”Here, you--men!” he shouted. ”Each of you shoulder one of those empty pork-barrels, and carry it up the bluff.” But not a man stirred. His indignation was aroused; but he knew that it was not a time for argument. He drew his revolver, pointed it at a group, and said, ”Start!
or I'll shoot you.” It was spoken so resolutely that they obeyed. He told them how, if they could hold that position, the Rebels would be defeated,--how a few minutes of resolute work would save the army. He saw their courage revive. They dug a trench, cut down trees, rolled up logs, filled the barrels with dirt, and worked like beavers. Others wheeled up the great guns, and Paul put them into position. Others brought shot and sh.e.l.l, and laid them in piles beside the guns. The storm was coming nearer. The lines were giving way. Regiments with broken ranks came straggling down the road.
”Bring all the batteries into position along the ravine,” said General Grant. Away flew half a dozen officers with the orders, and the batteries, one after another, came thundering down the road,--the horses leaping, the artillery-men blackened and begrimed, yet ready for another fight.
”Get anybody you can to work the thirty-twos,” said Colonel Webster, the chief of artillery, to Paul.
”I can sight a cannon,” said a surgeon, who was dressing wounds in the hospital. He laid down his bandages, went up and patted one of the guns, as if it were an old friend, ran his eye along the sights, and told the gunners what to do.
It was sunset. All day long the battle had raged, and the Union troops had been driven. The Rebels were ready for their last grand charge, which they hoped would give them the victory. Onward they came down the steep bank opposite, into the ravine. The Union batteries were ready for them,--Captain Silversparre with his twenty-pounders, Captain Richardson and Captain Russell with their howitzers, Captain Stone with his ten-pounders, Captain Taylor, Captain Dresser, Captain Willard, and Lieutenant Edwards,--sixty or more cannon in all. A gunner was lacking for one of the great iron thirty-twos. Paul sprang from his horse, and took command of the piece.
The long lines of the Rebels came into view. ”Bang! bang! bang! bang!”
went the guns. Then half a dozen crashed at once,--the great thirty-twos thundering heavier than all the others. Sh.e.l.ls, solid shot, and canister tore through the ravine, rolling back the Rebel lines, drenching the hillsides with blood, turning the brook to crimson, and the fresh young leaves to scarlet. O the wild commotion,--the jarring of the earth, the deep reverberations rolling far away, and the shouts of the cannoneers!