“Pray, sir, do not say my line of batteries. They are not mine.”
“I will say, then, your Excellency, General Pemberton’s.”
“You, sir, and not General Pemberton, are in command of the Department of the West.”
“So, when it is convenient, it is said. I have, then, sir, authority to concentrate batteries and a certain proportion of troops at the bend of the river?”
“We will take, sir, your ideas under consideration.”
The President moved to the steps, the others following. The line was still between Mr. Davis’s brows. All mounted, wheeled their horses, moved into the street. The aides came after, the escort closed in behind. With jingle and tramp and music, to salutes and cheering, the party bent on inspection of the Vicksburg defences moved toward its object.
The words upon the portico had not of course floated to the ears of the soldiers below. But the Confederate soldier was as far removed from an automaton as it is conceivable for a soldier to be. Indeed, his initiative in gathering knowledge of all things and moods governing the Board of War was at times as inconvenient as it was marked. His intuition worked by grapevine.
“What,” asked the soldier nearest Edward, “made the quarrel?”
“Old occasions, I believe. Now each is as poison to the other.”
The inspection of water batteries and field-works was over, the review of the afternoon over. Amid cheering crowds the President left Vicksburg for Grenada, with him General Johnston and General Pemberton. The regiment which had given Edward Cary hospitality made a night march.