He could never hate the Southerners, because they saw one way and he another.
It was a passing emotion.

It was too fine a morning for youth to grieve.
At the distance the plumes of smoke made by the shells became decorative rather than deadly.

From a crest he saw upon the plateau of Vicksburg and even discerned the dim outline of houses.

Looking the other way, he saw the smoke of the iron-clads down the river, and he also caught glimpses of the Mississippi, gold in the morning sun over its vast breadth.
Then he entered the thickets, and, bearing in mind the kindly warning of the old colonel, proceeded slowly and with extreme caution.

The Southerners knew every inch of the ground here and he knew none.