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

in the East, although it did not

seem possible that the result here could be similar.

 

"I don't think they'll keep on retreating forever, Ohio," he said. "All

our supplies are coming from Nashville, and we are getting farther away

from our base every day."

 

But Ohio laughed.

 

"Our chief task is to catch Bragg," he said. "They said he was going

to occupy Chattanooga and wait for us. He's been in Chattanooga, but he

didn't wait for us there. He's left it already and gone on, anxious to

reach the Gulf before winter, I suppose."

 

The Union army in its turn entered Chattanooga, a little town of which

Dick had seldom heard before, although he greatly admired its situation.

The country about it was bold and romantic. It stood in a sharp curve

of the great river, the Tennessee. Not far away was the lofty uplift of

Lookout Mountain, a half-mile high, and there were long ridges between

which creeks or little rivers flowed down to the Tennessee.

 

One of these streams was the Chickamauga, which in the language of the

Cherokee Indians who had once owned this region means "the river of

death." Why they called it so no one knew, but the name was soon to have

a terrible fitness. Chattanooga itself meant in the Cherokee tongue "the

hawk's nest," and anybody could see the aptness of the term.

 

While Lookout Mountain was the loftiest summit, some of the other ridges

rose almost as high, through the gaps of which the Northern army must

pass if it continued the pursuit of Bragg.

 

September had now come and the winds were growing crisper in the high

country. The feel of autumn was in the air, and the coolness made the

marching brisker. The division to which Dick belonged was advancing

slowly. He often saw Thomas, and his admiration for the grave, silent

man grew. It was said that Thomas was slow, but that he never made

mistakes. Now the rumor was spreading that he had warned Rosecrans to be

cautious, that Bragg had a powerful army and when he reached favorable

positions, would certainly turn and fight.

 

Not many were impressed by these reports. They merely said it was "Pap"

Thomas' way of looking at the dark side of things first. Hadn't they

driven Bragg through the Cumberland Mountains and out of Chattanooga,

and now they would soon be on his heels deep down in Georgia. But Dick,

noticing Colonel Winchester's serious face, surmised that he at least

shared the opinion of his chief. And when the lad looked up at the great

coils and ridges he felt that, in truth, they might go too far. If the

Northern men were veterans, so were the Southern, and neither had taken

much change of the other at Shiloh, Perryville and Stone River.

 

The Winchester regiment was thrown forward as the vanguard of the

infantry, and the face of the colonel grew more serious than ever, when

the best scouts rode in with reports that the Southern retreat was now

very slow. There was news, too, that Slade had a new band much larger

than before, and they formed a rear guard of skirmishers which made

every moment of a Northern scout's life a moment of danger. The

Winchester regiment itself was often fired upon from ambush, and there

were vacant places in the ranks.

 

Dick did not know whether it was his own intuition or the influence that

flowed from the opinions of Thomas and Winchester, but much of his high

exultation was abated. He regarded the lofty ridges and the deep gaps

with apprehension. It was a difficult country and the Southern leaders

must know that the Northern army was extended over a long line, with

Thomas holding the left.

 

His premonitions had ample cause. Bragg as he fell back slowly had

gathered new forces. Rosecrans did not yet know it, but the army before

him was the most powerful that the South ever assembled in the West.

Polk and Cleburne and Breckinridge and Forrest and Fighting Joe Wheeler

and a whole long roll of famous Southern generals were there. Nor had

the vigilant eyes of the Confederacy in the East failed to note the

situation.

 

Just as the armies were coming into touch a division of the Army of

Northern Virginia was passing by train over the mountains. It was led

by a thick-bearded, powerful man, no less a general than the renowned

Longstreet, sent to help Bragg. The veterans of the Army of Northern

Virginia would swell Bragg's ranks, and the great army, turning a

sanguine face northward, was eager for Rosecrans to come on. The

Southern force would number more than ninety thousand men, more numerous

than ever before or afterward in the West.

 

It was now late in September, the eve of the eighteenth, and Dick

and his comrades lay near the little creek with the rhythmical name,

Chickamauga. It was the very night that a portion of the Army of

Northern Virginia had arrived in Bragg's camp. The preceding days had

been full of detached fighting, and the night had come heavy with omens

and presages. The least intelligent knew now that Bragg had stopped, but

they did not know that Longstreet was to be with him.

 

Dick and his comrades sat by a smothered fire, and the vast tangle of

mountains and passes, of valleys and streams looked sinister to them.

There had been skirmishing throughout the day, and as the darkness

closed down they still heard occasional rifle shots on the slopes and

ridges.

 

"Don't these mountains make you think of your native Vermont, George?"

asked Dick.

 

"In a way, yes," replied Warner, "but my hills are not bristling with

steel as these are."

 

"No, you New Englanders are fortunate. The war will never be carried on

on your soil. You shed your blood, but, after all, the states that are

trodden under foot by the armies suffer most."

 

"There are lights winking on the mountains again," said Pennington.

 

"Let 'em wink," said Dick. "Their signals can't amount to much now. We

know that Bragg is before us, and a great battle can't be delayed long.

Fellows, I'm not so sure about the result."

 

"Come! Come, Dick!" said Warner. "It's not often you're downhearted.

What's struck you?"

 

"Nothing, George, but, between you and me and the gate post, I wish that

our old 'Pap' Thomas commanded all the army, instead of the left merely.

I've learned a few things to-day. The enemy is spreading out, trying to

enfold us on both wings."

 

"What of it?"

 

"It means that they are sanguine of victory, and they want to stand

between us and Chattanooga, so they can cut off our retreat, after we're

beaten, as they think we surely will be. But their main force is not

far from us now, so a scout told me. It's massed heavily along the right

bank of the Chickamauga."

 

"And if there's a battle to-morrow we're likely to receive the first

attack?"

 

"Could it come any better than at the place where Thomas stands?"

 

They sat long by the fire and Dick could not rest. Shiloh, his capture,

and his knowledge of the secret Southern advance, of which he could give

no warning, came back to him with uncommon vividness. He knew that

no such surprise could occur here, but they seemed to be lost in the

wilderness. The mountains and forests oppressed him.

 

"Well, Dick," said Warner, "we're posted strongly. We've rows of

sentinels as thick as hedges, and I've the colonel's permission to go to

sleep. I'll be slumbering in ten minutes, and I'd advise you to do the

same."

 

He lay on a blanket and soon slept. Pennington followed him to

slumberland, but Dick lingered. He saw lights still flashing on the

mountains, and he heard now and then reports from the rifles of the

skirmishers, who yet sought each other despite the darkness. But he

yielded at last and he, too, slept until the dawn, which should bring

nearly two hundred thousand men face to face in mortal combat.

 

Dick was awake early. The September morning came, crisp and clear, the

sun showing red gleams over the mountains. He heard already the sound of

distant rifle shots in front, and, through his glasses, he saw far away

faint puffs of smoke. But it was a familiar sound in this mighty war,

and he found himself singularly calm. He never knew how he was going to

feel on the eve of battle. Sometimes the constriction at his heart was

painful, and sometimes its beat was smooth and regular.

 

All the officers of the Winchester regiment were dismounted owing to the

rough nature of the country in which they were stationed. They held the

most uneven part of the center, where thickets and ravines were many.

Hot food and coffee were served to them, and new warmth and courage

flowed through their bodies.

 

The distant fire increased, and, standing on a hillock, Dick looked

long through his glasses. A faint haze which had hung in the south was

clearing away. The rays of the sun were intensely bright. The brown

of autumn glowed like gold, and the red splashes here and there burned

scarlet. He saw pink dots appearing on a long line and he knew that the

skirmishers were active and wary.

 

"There can be no doubt of the advance!" he said to Warner. "A strong

body of our cavalry disclosed their forward movement, and there are

the skirmishers signaling that Bragg is near. Wonderful fellows, those

sharpshooters! They're the eyes of the army. We stand in mass and fight

together, but every one of them individually takes his life in his own

hands. The firing is coming nearer. I think we'll be attacked first."

 

After a little pause Warner said:

 

"I'm sorry our line is extended so much. What if they should cut through

and get behind us?"

 

"They'll never do it while General Thomas is here. I believe they called

him 'Old Slow Top' at West Point, but if he's slow in advance he's still

slower in retreat. I'd rather have him commanding us just now than any

other general in the world."

 

"I think you're right, and here he comes! Listen to the cheering!"

 

General Thomas rode slowly along his line, inspecting the position

of every regiment and making some changes. He showed no trace of

excitement. The face was calm and the heavy jaw was set firmly. If Grant

was a bulldog Thomas was another. The men knew him. They had seen him

stand like a rock before, and the thrill of confidence and courage which

help so much to win ran through them all.

 

Dick saw the general speak to Colonel Winchester and then ride on and

out of sight. All the men in the regiment were lying down, but the

officers walked back and forth in front of the line. It was the especial

pride of the younger ones to appear unconcerned, and some were able to

make a brave pretense.

 

But all the while the battle was rolling nearer. It was no longer an

affair of scouting parties. The skirmishers were driven in on either

side and the mighty Southern advance was coming forward in full battle

array. Shells began to shriek and fall among the Northern masses, and

the fire of cannon and rifles mingled in a sinister crash. But the Union

regiments, although not yet replying, remained steady, although the

shower of steel that was beginning to beat upon them found many a mark.

Vast columns of smoke pierced by fire rose in front.

 

It seemed to Dick's vivid fancy that the earth was shaking with the

tread of the advancing brigades and the thunder of their artillery.

But he was still able to preserve his air of indifference, although his

heart was now beating hard and fast. Now and then when the smoke eddied

or the banks of it broke apart he raised his glasses and with their

powerful vision saw the long and deep Southern columns advancing, the

field batteries in the intervals pouring a storm of death.

 

It was a sinister and terrible sight. The South presented here an army

outnumbering its force at Shiloh two to one, and they were veterans

now, led by veteran commanders. Moreover, they had Longstreet and his

matchless fighters from Lee's army to bear them up.

 

"What do you see, Dick?" asked Pennington, his voice distinctly audible

through the steady roar.

 

"Johnnies! Johnnies! Johnnies! Thousands and thousands of them and then

many thousands more. They're going to strike full upon us here!"

 

"Let 'em come. We're taking root, growing deep into the ground and old

'Pap' Thomas has grown deepest of us all! It'll be impossible to move

us!"

 

"I hope so. There go our own cannon, too, and it's a welcome sound!

I can see the gaps smashed in their ranks by our fire, and ah, I see,

too--"

 

He stopped short in amazed surprise, and Pennington in wonder asked:

 

"What is it you see, Dick?"

 

"There's a heavy cavalry force