THE TAKING OF VICKSBURG


Dick was a fine swimmer, he had a good stout plank, and the waters of the
river were warm. He felt that the chief dangers were passed, and that
the muddy Mississippi would now bear him safely to the blockading fleet
below. He gave the plank another shove, sending it farther out into
the stream, and then raised himself up until his elbows rested upon it.
He could thus float gently with a little propulsion from his legs to the
place where he wanted to go.

He saw lights along the bluff and the bar below, and then, with a sudden
shoot of alarm he noticed a dim shadow move slowly from the shore.
It was a long boat, holding a dozen rowers, and several men armed with
rifles, and it was coming toward him. He did not know whether it was
merely an ordinary patrol, or whether they had seen the darker blot on
the stream that he and the plank made, but in any event the result would
be the same.

He slipped his arm off the plank and sank in the stream to the chin.
Then, propelling it gently and without any splashing of the water,
he continued to move down the stream. He was hopeful that the riflemen
would mistake him and his plank for one of those stumps or logs which the
Mississippi carries so often on its bosom.

The head of the boat turned from him a little, and he felt sure now that
he would drift away unnoticed, but one of the soldiers suddenly raised
his rifle and fired. Dick heard the bullet clip the water close beside
him, and he swam as hard as he could for a few moments. Then he