The Rock of Chickamauga | Page 3

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