He felt that Vicksburg
was no pleasant place to be in just now, and yet it must be full of
civilians, many of them women and children. He was sorry for them.
It was Dick's nature to see both sides of a quarrel. He could never
hate the Southerners, because they saw one way and he another.
It was a passing emotion. It was too fine a morning for youth to grieve.
At the distance the plumes of smoke made by the shells became decorative
rather than deadly. From a crest he saw upon the plateau of Vicksburg
and even discerned the dim outline of houses. Looking the other way,
he saw the smoke of the iron-clads down the river, and he also caught
glimpses of the Mississippi, gold in the morning sun over its vast
breadth.
Then he entered the thickets, and, bearing in mind the kindly warning
of the old colonel, proceeded slowly and with extreme caution. The
Southerners knew every inch of the ground here and he knew none. He
came to a ravine and to his dismay found that a considerable stream was
flowing through it toward the bayou. It was yellow water, and he thought
he might find a tree, fallen across the stream, which would serve him as
a foot log, but a hunt of a few minutes disclosed none, and, hesitating
no longer, he prepared to wade.
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