“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.”
The man shook his head.
“Seein' will be believin',” he said, “an' as I ain't seein' I ain't believin'.”
Dick with a friendly good night went out. Grant, the persistent, was still at work. His cannon flared on the dark horizon and the shells crashed in Vicksburg. Scarcely any portion of the town was safe. Now and then a house was smashed in and often the shells found victims.
The town was full of terror and confusion. Many of the rich planters had come there with their families for refuge. Women and children hid from the terrible fire, and the civilians already had begun to burrow. Caves had been dug deep into the sides of the ravines and hundreds found in them a rude but safe shelter.