Seventy thousand strong! Dick's heart beat high at the unuttered words.
Why should Grant fortify? It was for the enemy, not for him, to do such
a thing. Nor was it possible that Johnston even behind defenses could
resist the impact of the seventy thousand who had been passing from one
victory to another, and who were now in the very heart of the enemy's
country.
His heart continued to beat high and fast as he rode through the green
forest. Its strong, sweet odors gave a fillip to his blood, and he
pressed his horse to new speed. He rode without interruption night and
day, save a few hours now and then for sleep, and reached the army of
Buell which deep in mud was toiling slowly forward.
Buell was not as near to Shiloh as Dick had supposed, but his march had
suffered great hindrances. Halleck, in an office far away in St. Louis,
had undertaken to manage the campaign. His orders to Buell and his
command to Grant had been delayed. Buell, who had moved to the town of
Columbia, therefore had started late through no fault of his.
Duck River, which Buell was compelled to cross, was swollen like all the
other streams of the region, by the great rains and was forty feet deep.
The railway bridge across it had been wrecked by the retreating
Confederates and he was compelled to wait there two weeks until his
engineers could reconstruct it.
War plays singular chances. Halleck in St. Louis, secure in his plan of
campaign, had sent an order after Dick left Shiloh, for Buell to turn to
the north, leaving Grant to himself, and occupy a town that he named.
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