The warmth and the heavy air in the ravine were relaxing. His brain grew so dull and heavy that he fell asleep, and when he awoke the twilight was coming. And yet he had lost nothing. He had gained rather. The time had passed. His body had been strengthened and his nerves steadied while he slept.
The distant booming of the guns still came. He had expected it. That was Grant. He had wrapped the coil of steel around Vicksburg and he would never relax. Dick felt that there was no hope for the town, unless Johnston outside could gather a powerful army and fight Grant on even terms. But he considered it impossible, and there, too, was the great artery of the river along which flowed men and supplies of every kind for the Union.
The Southern twilight turned swiftly into night and, coming from his lair, Dick walked boldly toward the town. He had eaten nothing since morning, but he had not noticed it, until this moment, when he began to feel a little faintness. He resolved that Vicksburg should supply him. It was curious how much help he expected of Vicksburg, a hostile town.
He saw lights soon both to right and to left and he strengthened his soul. He knew that he must be calm, but alert and quick with the right answer. With his singular capacity for meeting a crisis he advanced into the thick of danger with a smiling face, even as his great ancestor, Paul Cotter, had often done.
His calm was of short duration. There was a rushing sound, something struck violently, and a tremendous explosion followed. Fire flashed before Dick’s eyes, pieces of red hot metal whistled past his head, earth spattered him and he was thrown to the ground.
He sprang up again, understanding all instantly. A shell from his own army had burst near him, and he had been thrown down by the concussion. But he had not been hurt, and in a few seconds his pulse beat steadily.
He heard a shout of laughter as he stood, brushing the fresh dirt from his clothing. He glanced up in some anger, but he saw at once that the arrival of the shell had been most fortunate for his plan. To come near annihilation by a Federal gun certainly invested him with a Confederate character.
It was a group of young soldiers who were laughing and their amusement was entirely good-natured. They would have laughed the same way had the harmless adventure befallen one of their own number. Dick judged that they were from the Southwest.
“Close call,” he said, smiling that attractive smile, which was visible even in the twilight.
“It was a friendly shell,” said one of the youths, “and it concluded not to come too close to you. These Yankee shells are so loving that sometimes they spray themselves in little pieces all over a fellow, like a shower of rice over a bride at a wedding.”
“How long do you think the Yankees will keep it up?” asked Dick, putting indignation in his tone. “Haven’t they any respect for the night?”
“Not a bit. That fellow Grant is a pounder. They say he’ll blow away the whole plateau of Vicksburg if we don’t drive him off.”
“Well, we’ll do it. You wait till old Joe Johnston comes up. Then we’ll shut him between the jaws of a vise and squeeze the life out of him.”
“Hope so. Where’ve you been?”
“Down below the town. I’m coming back with messages.”
“So long. Good luck. Keep straight ahead, and you’ll find all the generals you want.”
The lights increased and he went into a small tavern, where he bought food and a cup of coffee, paying in gold. The tavern keeper asked no questions, but his eyes gleamed at sight of the yellow coin.
“Mighty little of this comes my way now,” he said frankly, “and our own money is worth less and less every day. If things keep on the way they’re headed it’ll take a bale of it as big as a bale of cotton to pay for one good, square meal.”
Dick laughed.
“Not so bad as that,” he said. “You wait until we’ve given Grant a big thrashing and have cleared their boats out of the river. Then you’ll see our money becoming real.”