The Rock of Chickamauga - Joseph A. Altsheler (macos ebook reader .txt) 📗

an infantry regiment once more. Only the officers

rode.

 

At dawn they were with Grant approaching a ridge called Champion Hill.

CHAPTER VIII. CHAMPION HILL

 

Dick on that momentous morning did not appreciate the full magnitude of

the event about to occur, nor did he until long afterward. He knew

it was of high importance, and yet it might have ranked as one of the

decisive battles of history. There were no such numbers as at Shiloh and

Chancellorsville, but the results were infinitely greater.

 

Nor was it likely that such thoughts would float through the head of a

lad who had ridden far, and who at dawn was looking for an enemy.

 

The scouts had already brought word that the Southerners were in strong

force, and that they occupied Champion Hill, the crest of which was

bare, but with sides dark with forests and thickets. They were riding at

present through forests themselves, and they felt that their ignorance

of the country might take them at any moment into an ambush.

 

"We know what army we're going against, don't we?" asked Pennington.

 

"Why, Pemberton's, of course," replied Dick.

 

"I'm glad of that. I'd rather fight him than Joe Johnston."

 

"They've been trying to unite, but we hear they haven't succeeded."

 

Pemberton, in truth, had been suffering from the most painful doubt.

Having failed to do what Johnston had expected of him, he had got

himself into a more dangerous position than ever. Then, after listening

to a divided council of his generals, he had undertaken a movement which

brought him within striking distance of Grant, while Johnston was yet

too far away to help him.

 

Dick did not know how much fortune was favoring the daring that morning,

but he and his comrades were sanguine. They felt all the time the

strong hand over them. Like the soldiers, they had acquired the utmost

confidence in Grant. He might make mistakes, but he would not doubt and

hesitate and draw back. Where he led the enemy could not win anything

without having to fight hard for it.

 

The early summer dawn had deepened, bright and hot, and the sun was now

clear of the trees, turning the green of the forests to gold. Coffee and

warm food were served to them during a momentary stop among the trees,

and then the Winchester regiment moved forward again toward Champion

Hill.

 

Rifle shots were now heard ahead of them. They were scattered, but the

lads knew that the hostile skirmishers had come in contact. Presently

the reports increased and through the woods they saw puffs of smoke.

Trumpets to right and left were calling up the brigades.

 

"Open up for the guns!" cried an aide, and a battery lumbered through,

the men swearing at their panting horses. But the Southern cannon were

already at work. From the bare crest of Champion Hill they were sending

shells which crashed in the ranks of the advancing foe. Two or three

of the Winchesters were hit, and a wounded horse, losing its rider, ran

screaming through the wood.

 

The forest and thickets now grew so dense that the officers dismounted,

giving their horses to an orderly, and led on foot. The country before

them was most difficult. Besides the trees and brush it was seared with

ravines. A swarm of skirmishers in front whom they could not see now

poured bullets among them, and the shells, curving over the heads of

the ambushed sharpshooters, fell in the Union ranks. On either flank the

battle opened and swelled rapidly.

 

"We may have got Pemberton trapped," said Pennington, "but he's got so

many bristles that we can't reach in a hand and pull out our captive. My

God, Dick, are you killed?"

 

He was pulling Dick to his feet and examining him anxiously.

 

"I'm all right," said Dick in a moment. "It was the wind of a big round

shot that knocked me down. Just now I'm thanking God it was the wind and

not the shot."

 

"I wish we could get through these thickets!" exclaimed Warner. "Our

comrades must be engaged much more heavily than we are. What an uproar!"

 

The combat swelled to great proportions. The Southern army, being

compelled to fight, fought now with all its might. The crest of the long

hill blazed with fire. The men in gray used every advantage of position.

Cannon and rifles raked the woods and thickets, and at many points the

Union attack was driven back. The sun rose slowly and they still held

the hill, fighting with all the fire and valor characteristic of the

South. They were cheered at times by the expectation of victory, but the

stubborn Grant brought up his remaining forces and continually pressed

the battle.

 

The Winchester regiment crossed a ravine and knelt among the thickets.

Its losses had not yet been heavy, as most of the cannon fire was

passing over their heads. Grape and canister were whistling among the

woods, and Dick was devoutly grateful that these deadly missiles were

going so high. Yet if they did not hurt they made one shiver, and it

was not worth while to recall that when he heard the sound the shot had

passed already. One shivered anyhow.

 

As well as Dick could judge from the volume of sound the battle seemed

to be concentrated directly upon the hill. He knew that Grant expected

to make a general attack in full force, and he surmised that one of the

commanders under him was not pushing forward with the expected zeal. His

surmise was correct. A general with fifteen thousand men was standing

almost passive in front of a much smaller force, but other generals were

showing great fire and energy.

 

The Winchester regiment contained many excellent riflemen and they were

so close now that they could use the weapons for which the Kentuckians

were famous. Firing deliberately, they began to cut gaps in the first

ranks of the defenders on the slope. Then they rose and with other

regiments pushed forward again.

 

But they came to a road in the side of the hill defended powerfully by

infantry and artillery, and a heavy fire, killing and wounding many, was

poured upon them. They sought to cross the road and attack the defenders

with the bayonet, but they were driven back and their losses were so

heavy that they were compelled to take cover in the nearest thickets.

 

The men, gasping with heat and exhaustion, threw themselves down, a

sleet of shells and bullets passing over their heads. Dick had a sense

of failure, but it lasted only a moment or two. From both left and right

came the fierce crash of battle, and he knew that, if they had been

driven back before the road, their comrades were maintaining the combat

elsewhere.

 

"It's merely a delay. We pause to make a stronger attack," said Colonel

Winchester, as if he were apologizing to himself. "Are you all right,

Dick?"

 

"Unhurt, sir, and so are Warner and Pennington, who are lying here

beside me."

 

"Unhurt, but uneasy," said Warner. "I don't like the way twigs and

leaves are raining down on me. It shows that if they were to depress

their fire they would be shearing limbs off of us instead of boughs off

the trees."

 

The sun was high and brilliant now, but it could not dispel the clouds

of smoke gathering in the thickets. It floated everywhere, and Dick felt

it stinging his mouth and throat. Murmurs began to run along the lines.

They did not like being held there. They wanted to charge again. They

were still confident of victory.

 

Dick was sent toward another part of the army for orders, and he saw

that all along the hill the battle was raging fiercely. But Grant could

not yet hear the roar of guns which should indicate the advance of

McClernand and his fifteen thousand. The silent leader was filled with

anger, but he reserved the expression of it for a later time.

 

Dick saw the fiery and impetuous Logan, noticeable for his long

coal-black hair, lead a headlong and successful charge, which carried

the Union troops higher up the hill. But another general was driven

back, losing cannon, although he retook them in a second and desperate

charge. Still no news from McClernand and his fifteen thousand! There

was silence where his guns ought to have been thundering, and Grant

burned with silent anger.

 

It was noon, and a half-hour past. The Union plans, made with so much

care and judgment, and the movements begun with so much skill and

daring seemed to be going awry. Yet Grant with the tenacity, rather

than lightning intuition, that made him a great general, held on. His

lieutenants clung to their ground and prepared anew for attack.

 

Dick hurried back to his own regiment, which was still lying in the

thickets, bearing an order for its advance in full strength. Colonel

Winchester, who was standing erect, walking among his men and

encouraging them, received it with joy. Word was speedily passed to all

that the time to win or lose had come. Above the cannon and rifles the

music of the calling trumpets sounded. The fire of both sides suddenly

doubled and tripled in volume.

 

"Now, boys," shouted Colonel Winchester, waving his sword, "up the hill

and beat 'em!"

 

Uttering a deep-throated roar the Winchesters rushed forward, firing

as they charged. Dick was carried on the top wave of enthusiasm. He

discharged his pistol into the bank of fire and smoke in front of them

and shouted incessantly. He heard the bullets and every form of missile

from the cannon whining all about them. Leaves and twigs fell upon him.

Many men went down under the deadly fire, but the rush of the regiment

was not checked for an instant.

 

They passed out of the thicket, swept across the road, and drove the

defenders up the hill. Along the whole line the Union army, fired with

the prospect of success, rushed to the attack. Grant threw every man

possible into the charge.

 

The Southern army was borne back by the weight of its enemy. All of the

front lines were driven in and the divisions were cut apart. There

was lack of coordination among the generals, who were often unable to

communicate with one another, and Pemberton gave the order to retreat.

The battle was lost to the South, and with it the chance to crush Grant

between two forces.

 

The Union army uttered a great shout of victory, and Grant urged forward

the pursuit. Bowen, one of the South's bravest generals, was the last to

give way. The Winchester regiment was a part of the force that followed

him, both fighting hard. Dick found himself with his comrades, wading

a creek, and they plunged into the woods and thickets which blazed with

the fire of South and North. A Confederate general was killed here, but

the brave Bowen still kept his division in order, and made the pursuit

pay a heavy cost for all its gain.

 

Dick saw besides the Confederate column many irregulars in the woods,

skilled sharpshooters, who began to sting them on the flank and bring

down many a good soldier. He caught a glimpse of a man who was urging

on the riflemen and who seemed to be their leader. He recognized Slade,

and, without a moment's hesitation, fired at him with his pistol. But

the man was unhurt and Slade's return bullet clipped a lock of Dick's

hair.

 

Then they lost each other in the smoke and turmoil of the battle, and,

despite the energy of the pursuit by the Union leaders, they could not

break up the command of Bowen. The valiant Southerner not only made good

his retreat, but broke down behind him the bridge over a deep river,

thus saving for a time the fragments of Pemberton's army.

 

The Winchester regiment marched back to the battlefield, and Dick saw

that the victory had been overwhelming. Nearly a third of the Southern

army had been lost and thirty cannon were the trophies of Grant. Yet the

fighting had been desperate. The dead and wounded were so numerous that

the veteran soldiers who had been at Shiloh and Stone River called it

"The Hill of