“You're something of a sleeper. Rip Van Winkle is nowhere. Reveille has sounded, the regiments are ready to move as soon as we get a cup of coffee, and you've been sleeping through it all, as sweetly as if you were in your little bed at home. It's a mighty fine thing to have a clear conscience.”
And the pleasant-faced soldier gave Ralph a gentle push as he gathered himself up, and made a jump for one of the fires that were burning in different spots, kindled by the hungry men to boil their coffee, or cook a bit, before they took up the march again. The other followed closely at his heels, and sitting on a fallen log they were soon busy “fortifying their inner man,” amid much laughing and chaffing going on around them.
That is a marked trait of the American soldier, be he from North or South. No amount of hardship, no deprivations, can destroy that love of fun which is inborn. He is always ready to see the comic side of all situations, as he merrily laughs at danger, and jokes almost in the very presence of death.
That day General Pemberton was overtaken at the Big Black. Here he had stationed his main body on high land, but on the east of the stream the ground was low and wet, and on this spot the remainder of his command was held.
“We have got to dislodge Pemberton from his position,” Ralph heard a comrade say. “He has a splendid view of all we are doing, and can make a stanch resistance. But we'll soon set him running again, and he'll have to find a better lookout than the one he now occupies.”
“See!” shouted Ralph. “General Lawler is leading the attack on their right flank. They give way—they fall back! The General is in his shirt sleeves, and looks as if he were in earnest!”
“Shouldn't wonder if he was. He's a hard one to tackle, and won't stand on ceremony. He don't go into battle in a full dress suit. Just look over there. Pemberton is retreating, skedaddling. His men have set fire to that bridge, and how is he going to cover the retreat of his rear guard down there in the bayou?”
“He's not trying to save them at all, but is looking after No. One. By George, he's off, and has left those poor fellows to be captured, or shot down, he don't care which.”
It was true. He ran away in mad haste, making no effort to cover their retreat, but abandoned the panic-stricken men in the lowland to their fate. Wild with terror, with no leader to direct, many of them flung themselves into the river, only to sink beneath the waters, and those who were left were taken prisoners by the Federals.