Part 17 (2/2)
”I don't see how you and Pennington and I, all three of us, came out of it alive to-day.”
”That question is bothering me, too, d.i.c.k. A million bullets were fired at each of us, not to count thousands of pieces of sh.e.l.l, shrapnel, canister, grape, and slashes of swords. Take any ratio of percentage you please and something should have got us. According to every rule of algebra, not more than one of us three should be alive now. Yet here we are.”
”Maybe your algebra is wrong?”
”Impossible. Algebra is the most exact of all sciences. It does not admit of error. Both by algebra and by the immutable law of averages at least two of us are dead.”
”But we don't know which two.”
”That's true. Nevertheless it's certain that those two, whoever they may be, are here on borrowed time. What do your wounds amount to, d.i.c.k?”
”Nothing, I had forgotten 'em. I've lost a little blood, but what does it amount to on a day like this, when blood is shed in rivers?”
”That's true. My own skin has been broken, but just barely, four times by bullets. I've a notion that those bullets were coming straight for some vital part of me, but seeing who it was, and knowing that such a n.o.ble character ought not to be slain, they turned aside as quickly as possible, but not so quickly that they could avoid grazing my skin.”
d.i.c.k and Pennington laughed. Warner's fooling amused them and relieved the painful tension of their minds.
”But, George,” said Pennington, ”suppose one of the bullets failed to turn aside and killed you. What could we say then for you?”
”That it was a silly, ignorant bullet not knowing whence it came, or where it was going. Ah, there's light in the darkness! Look across the hill and see that s.h.i.+ning flame!”
d.i.c.k rose and then the three walked to the brow of the hill, where Colonel Winchester stood, using his gla.s.ses as well as he could in the dusk.
”It's the pine forest on fire in places,” he said. ”The sh.e.l.ls did it, and it's been burning for some time, spreading until it has now come into our own sight.”
But they were detached fires, and they did not fuse into a general ma.s.s at any time. Clumps of trees burnt steadily like vast torches and sent up high flames. Bands of men from either side worked silently, removing as many of the wounded as they could. It was a spontaneous movement, as happened so often in this war, and d.i.c.k and his comrades took a part in it.
North and South met in friendliness in the darkness or by the light of the burning pines, and talked freely as they lifted up their wounded. d.i.c.k asked often about Colonel Kenton, meeting at last some Kentuckians, who told him that the colonel had gone through the day without a wound, and was with Buckner. Then d.i.c.k asked if any Mississippians were along the line.
”What do you want with 'em?” asked a long, lank man with a bilious yellow face.
”I've got a friend among 'em. Woodville is his name, and he's about my own age.”
”I've heard of the Woodvilles. Big an' rich family in Missip. 'Roun' Vicksburg and Jackson mostly. I'm from the Yazoo valley myself, an' if I hear of the young fellow I'll send him down this way. But I can't stay out long, 'cause it'll soon be time for me to have my chill. Comes every other night reg'lar. But I'll be all right for battle to-morrow, when we lick you Yankees out of the other boot, having licked you out of one to-day.”
”All right, old Yazoo,” laughed d.i.c.k. ”Go on and have your chill, but if you see Woodville tell him Mason is waiting down here by the wood.”
”I'll sh.o.r.ely do it, if the chill don't git me fust,” said the yellow Mississippian as he strolled away, and d.i.c.k knew that he would keep his word.
The lad lingered at the spot where he had met the man, hoping that by some lucky chance Woodville might come, and fortune gave him his wish. A slender figure emerged from the dark, and a voice called softly: ”Is that you, Mason?”
”n.o.body else,” replied d.i.c.k gladly, stepping forward and offering his hand, which young Woodville shook warmly. ”I was hoping that I might meet you, and I see, too, that you can't be hurt much, if at all.”
”I haven't been touched. It's my lucky day, I suppose.”
”Where's your uncle? I hope he's in some safe place, recovering from his wound.”
Victor Woodville laughed softly.
”Uncle Charles is recovering from his wound perhaps faster than you hope,” he said, ”but he's not in a safe place. Far from it.”
”I don't understand.”
”His wound is so much better that he can walk, though with a hop, and he's right here in the thick of this battle, leading his own Mississippi regiment. His horse was killed under him early this morning, and he's fought all day on foot, swearing in the strange and melodious fas.h.i.+on that you know. It's hop! swear! hop! swear! in beautiful alternation!”
”Good old colonel!”
”That's what he is, and he's also one of the bravest men that ever lived, if he is my uncle. His regiment did prodigies to-day and they'll do greater prodigies to-morrow. The Woodvilles are well represented here. My father is present, leading his regiment, and there are a dozen Woodville cousins of mine whom you've never met.”
”And I hope I won't meet 'em on this field. What about your aunt?”
”She's well, and in a safe place.”
”I'm glad of that. Now, tell me, Victor, how did you happen to be with Slade on that raid? Of course it's no business of mine, but I was surprised.”
”I don't mind answering. I suppose it was a taste for adventure, and a desire to serve our cause. After I got up the bank and climbed into the bushes, I looked back, and I think, Mason, that you may have saved me from a bullet. I don't know, but I think so.”
d.i.c.k said nothing, but despite the dusk Woodville read the truth in his eyes.
”I shan't forget,” said the young Mississippian as he moved away.
d.i.c.k turned back to his own group. They had noticed him talking to the lad in gray, but they paid no attention, nor thought it anything unusual. It was common enough in the great battles of the American civil war, most of which lasted more than one day, for the opposing soldiers to become friendly in the nights between.
”I think, sir,” said Sergeant Whitley, ”that we won't be able to get any more of our wounded to-night. Now, pardon me for saying it, Lieutenant, but we ought to have some rest, because when day comes there's going to be the most awful attack you ever saw. Some of our spies say that Longstreet and the last of the Virginians did not come until night or nearly night and that Longstreet himself will lead the attack on us.”
”Do you think, Sergeant, that it will be made first on our own corps?”
”I don't know, Mr. Mason. We've stood firmest, and them rebel generals are no fools. They'll crash in where we've shown the most weakness.”
The sergeant walked on, carrying the corner of a litter. Warner, who had stood by, whispered to d.i.c.k: ”There goes a general, but he'll never have the t.i.tle. He's got a general's head on his shoulders, and he thinks and talks like a general, but he hasn't any education, and men with much poorer brains go past him. Let it be a lesson to you, d.i.c.k, my son. After this war, go to school, and learn something.”
”Good advice, George, and I'll take it,” laughed d.i.c.k. ”But he isn't so badly off. I wonder if those fires in the pine forest are going to burn all night?”
”Several of 'em will. The big one on our left will be blazing when day comes, and I'm glad of it since no wounded are now in its way. The night's cold. That's a sharp and searching wind, and the sight of flames makes one feel warm even if they are far away.”
It would not be long until day now, and the axes ceased to ring in the forest. A long and formidable line of abattis had been made, but the men were compelled to seek some rest. Despite the cold they suffered from a burning thirst, and they could reach no water, not even the red stream of the Chickamauga. d.i.c.k suffered like the rest, but he was philosophical.
”I fancy that after sunrise we won't have time to think about water,” he said.
But d.i.c.k was not destined to sleep. He lay down for a while, and he saw hundreds of others around him lying motionless as if dead. Warner and Pennington were among them, but he could not close his own eyes. His brain was still hot and excited, and to calm himself if possible he walked along the slope until he saw a faint light in the valley behind it. A tall figure, which he recognized as that of Colonel Winchester, was going toward the light.
d.i.c.k, being on such good terms with his colonel, would have followed him, but when he came to the edge of the glade he drew back. General Thomas was sitting on the huge, upthrust root of an oak, and he was writing dispatches by the light of a flickering candle held by an aide. Officers of high rank, one of whom d.i.c.k recognized as the young general, Garfield, stood around him. Colonel Winchester joined the group, and stood waiting in silence to receive orders, too, d.i.c.k supposed.
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