His sleeping men were carefully waked. Not a single note from bugle or drum sounded. The wheels of the artillery and wagons were wrapped with cloth and every sound m.u.f.fled.

Through pitch darkness in dead silence the men were swung into marching lines. The moving columns could be felt but not seen. Each soldier followed blindly the man before. Somewhere in the black night there must be a leader--G.o.d knew--they didn't. They walked by faith. The wet grounds, soaked by recent rains, made their exit easier. The sound of horses' hoofs and tramping thousands could scarcely be heard.

The ranks were strung out in long, ragged lines, each man going as he pleased. Something blocked the way ahead and the columns b.u.t.ted into one another and pinched the heels of the men in front.

In their anger the fellows smarting with pain forgot the orders for silence. A storm of low muttering and growling rumbled through the darkness.

"What 'ell here!"

"What's the matter with you----"

"Keep off my heels!"

"What 'ell are ye runnin' over me for?"

"Hold up your d.a.m.ned gun----"

"Keep it out of my eye, won't you?"

"d.a.m.n your eye!"

They start again and run into a bog of mud knee deep cut into mush by the artillery and wagons which have pa.s.sed on.

The first men in line were in to their knees and stuck fast before they could stop the lines surging on in the dark. They collide with the bogged ones and fall over them. The ranks behind stumble in on top of the fallen before word can be pa.s.sed to halt.

The night reeks with oaths. The patient heavens reverberate with them.

The mud-soaked soldiers d.a.m.ned with equal unction all things visible and invisible on the earth, under it and above it. They cursed the United States of America and they d.a.m.ned the Confederate States with equal emphasis and wished them both at the bottom of the lowest depths of the deepest pit of perdition.

As one fellow blew the mud from his mouth and nose he bawled:

"I wish Sherman and Hood were both in h.e.l.l this minute!"

"Yes, and fightin' it out to suit themselves!" his comrade answered.

On through the black night the long blue lines crept under lowering skies toward their foe, the stern face of William Tec.u.mseh Sherman grimly set on his desperate purpose.

CHAPTER x.x.xIX

VICTORY

Betty had found the President at the War Telegraph office in the old Army and Navy building. He was seated at the desk by the window where in 1862 he had written his first draft of his Emanc.i.p.ation Proclamation on pieces of pasteboard.

"You have heard nothing yet from General Sherman?" she asked pathetically.

"Nothing, child."

"And no message of any kind from John Vaughan since he left!" she exclaimed hopelessly.

"But I'm sure, remember, sure to a moral certainty--that he reached Richmond safely and left there safely."

"How do you know?"

"Gilmore has just arrived with his reply from Jefferson Davis. It will be worth a half million votes for us. From his description of the 'reporter' with Benjamin I am sure it was our messenger."

"But you don't know--you don't know!" Betty sighed.

The President bent and touched her shoulder gently:

"Come, dear, it's not like you to despair----"

The girl smiled wanly.

"How long since any message arrived from General Sherman?"

"Three days, my child. I know the hole he went in at, but I can't tell where he's going to come out----"

"If he ever comes out," Betty broke in bitterly.

"Oh, he'll come out somewhere!" the President laughed. "It's a habit of his. I've watched him for months--sometimes I can't hear from him for a week--but he always bobs up again and comes out with a whoop, too----"

"But we've no news!" she interrupted.

"No news has always been good news from Sherman----"

He paused and looked at his watch:

"Wait here. I'll be back in a few moments. We're bound to hear something to-day. I've an engagement with my Committee of Undertakers. They are waiting for me to deliver my corpse to them--and they are very restless about it because I haven't given up sooner, I'm full of foolish hopes.

I'm going to adjourn them until we can get a message of some kind----"

He returned in half an hour and sat in silence for a long time listening to the steady, sharp click of the telegraph keys.

Betty was too blue to talk--too heartsick to move.

At last the tall figure rose and walked back among the operators. They knew that he was waiting for the magic call, "Atlanta, Georgia." It had been three years and more since that heading for a message had flashed over their wires. Every ear was keen to catch it.

The President bent over the table of Southern wires and silently watched:

"You can't strain a little message through for me, can you, my boy?"

The operator smiled:

"I wish I could, sir."

The President returned to the front room and shook his head to Betty: