They might attempt to cut their way out, but the loss of life would be enormous and the sacrifice would most likely be utterly useless.
Barker and Tatanka with the boys returned to town on a dark winding road.
Down the river they could again see the mortar shells draw their fiery curves and after the rise and fall of the fire trail, as Tatanka called it, came the deep booming of the explosion.
Like the officers, they also were thrown back into besieged and bombarded Vicksburg, after a few happy hours of jovial company.
“We should sleep in the woods to-night and not go back to town,” Tatanka suggested.
“White men can’t sleep in the woods without blankets,” the trapper replied. “We’ll go back to our caves. If we didn’t, the father and mother of the boys would be worried.”
“I think,” Tatanka pointed out, after he had watched a shell drop, “some day a big fire-ball will shoot through the roof of our cave and kill us all. We should live in the woods.”
“My friend, we can’t live in the woods.” Barker tried to instruct and calm his fears. “Shrapnel and rifle fire from the Union lines sweep the woods everywhere. We would have to dig a cave there.
“If the mortars or Parrott guns begin to drop shells near us, we will move to another place. Until they do, we are safe. Now, don’t be a squaw, Tatanka. Chippewas and hostile Sioux have fired at you many times. Those big shells hardly ever hit anybody; all they do is to bury and bust themselves in the clay.”
“All the same,” the Indian persisted, “I don’t like them. I can’t fight them back. I wish we were home in Minnesota. I would not be afraid of fighting Chippewas or bad Sioux. Are we going back soon?”