“But Grant will come again,” said Dick, speaking his opinion for the first time.
“No doubt of it,” said Colonel Woodville, “but likely he will come to the same fate.”
He spoke wholly without animosity. The battle now died fast. The men in gray had been invincible. Their cannon and rifles had made an impenetrable barrier of fire, and Grant, despite the valor of his troops, had been forced to draw off. Many thousands had fallen and the Southern generals were exultant. Johnston would come up, and Grant, having such heavy losses, would be unable to withstand the united Confederate armies.
But Grant, as Colonel Woodville foresaw, had no idea of retreating. Fresh troops were pouring down the great river for him, and while he would not again attempt to storm Vicksburg, the ring of steel around it would be made so broad and strong that Pemberton could not get out nor could Johnston get in.
When the last cannon shot echoed over the far hills Colonel Woodville turned away from the door of his hillside home.
“I must ask your shoulder again, young sir,” he said to Dick. “What I have seen rejoices me greatly, but I do not say it to taunt you. In war if one wins the other must lose, and bear in mind that you are the invader.”
“May I help you back to your bed, sir?” asked Dick.
“You may. You are a good young man. I'm glad I saved you from that scoundrel, Slade. As the score between us is even I wish that you were out of Vicksburg and with your own people.”
“I was thinking, too, sir, that I ought to go. I may take a quick departure.”
“Then if you do go I wish you a speedy and safe journey, but I tell you to beware of one, Slade, who has a malicious heart and a long memory.”