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

the wasps!" said Warner, bending a listening ear. "You can

always hear them as they begin to sting. I wonder if skirmishers ever

sleep?"

 

The shots were on the right, but they came from points far away. In

front of them the forest and hills were silent.

 

"It's just as General Thomas thought," said Dick. "The main volume of

their attack will be on our right and center. They know that Thomas

stands here and that he's a mighty rock, hard to move. They expect to

shatter all the rest of the line, and then whirl and annihilate us."

 

"Let 'em come!" exclaimed Warner, with heightening color. "Who's

afraid?"

 

The dawn was spreading. The heavy mists that hung over the Chickamauga

floated away. All the east was silver, and the darkness rolled back like

a blanket. The west became silver in its turn, and the sun burned red

fire in the east. The wind still blew fresh and cool off the mountains.

The faint sound of trumpets came from far points on the Southern line.

The crackling fire of the skirmishers increased.

 

"It's a wait for us," said Colonel Winchester, standing amid his

youthful staff. "I can see them advancing in great columns against our

right and center. Now their artillery opens!"

 

Dick put up his glasses and he, too, saw the mighty Southern army

advancing. Their guns were already clearing the way for the advance,

and the valleys echoed with the great concussion. Longstreet and Hill,

anxious to show what the veterans of the East could do, were pouring

them forward alive with all the fire and courage that had distinguished

them in the Army of Northern Virginia.

 

The battle swelled fast. It seemed to the waiting veterans of Thomas

that it had burst forth suddenly like a volcano. They saw the vast

clouds of smoke gather again off there where their comrades stood, and,

knowing the immense weight about to be hurled upon them, they feared for

those men who had fought so often by their side.

 

Yet Thomas had been confident that the first attack would be made upon

his own part of the line, that Bragg with an overwhelming force would

seek to roll up his left. Nor had he reckoned wrong. The lingering of

the bishop-general, Polk, over a late breakfast saved him from the first

shock, and upset the plans of the Southern commander, who had given him

strict orders to advance.

 

Dawn was long past, and to Bragg's great astonishment Polk had not

moved. It seems incredible that the fate of great events can turn upon

such trifles, and yet one wonders what would have happened had not Polk

eaten breakfast so late the morning of the second day of Chickamauga.

But when he did advance he attacked with the energy and vigor of

those great churchmen of the Middle Ages, who were at once princes and

warriors, leading their hosts to battle.

 

Portions of the men of Thomas were now coming into the combat, but the

Winchesters were not yet engaged. They were lying down just behind the

crest of their low hill and many murmurs were running through the ranks.

It was the hardest of all things to wait, while shells now and then

struck among them. They saw to their right the vast volume of fire and

smoke, while the roaring of the cannon and rifles was like the continued

sweep of a storm.

 

The youthful soldier may be nervous and excited, or he may be calm. This

was one of Dick's calm moments, and, while he watched and listened and

tried to measure all that he saw and heard, he noted that the crash of

the battle was moving slowly backward. He knew then that the Southern

advance was succeeding, succeeding so far at least. He was quite sure

now that the attack upon Thomas would be made soon and that it would

come with the greatest violence.

 

He rose and rejoined Colonel Winchester again, and the two looked with

awe at the gigantic combat, raging in a vast canopy of smoke, rent

continuously by flashes of fire. Dick observed that the colonel was

depressed and he knew the reason.

 

"Our men are being driven back," he said.

 

"So they are," said the colonel, "and I fear that there is confusion

among them, too."

 

"But we'll hold fast here as we did yesterday!"

 

"I hope so. Yes, I know so, Dick. I've seen General Thomas twice this

morning, and I know that this corps will never be routed. He's made up

his mind to hold on or die. He's the Rock of Chickamauga."

 

It was a name that Dick was to hear often afterward, and he repeated

under his breath: "The Rock of Chickamauga! The Rock of Chickamauga!" It

rolled resoundingly off the tongue, and he liked it.

 

Then came a beat of hoofs and a cavalry regiment galloped into open

ground beside them. It was Colonel Hertford's, numbering about three

hundred men, some of whom were wounded. Their leader was excited, and,

springing to the ground, he ran to Colonel Winchester. The two talked in

quick, short sentences.

 

"Colonel," exclaimed Hertford, "we've just had a sharp brush with that

demon, Forrest, and we've left some good men back there. But I've come

both to help and to warn you. We're being driven back everywhere else,

and now they're gathering an immense mass of troops for a gigantic

attack on Thomas!"

 

Dick heard and his breath came fast. Colonel Hertford would bring

no false news, and he could see with his own eyes that the storm was

curving toward them. The two men hurried to Thomas, but in a few minutes

returned. Colonel Hertford sprang into the saddle and formed his cavalry

on the flank as a screen against the dreaded sweep of Forrest.

 

There was a lull for a moment in the tremendous uproar, and, Colonel

Winchester walking back and forth before his men, spoke to them briefly.

He was erect, pale and handsome, and his words came without a quiver.

Dick had never admired him more.

 

"Men," he said, "you have never been beaten in battle, but your greatest

test is now at hand. Within a few minutes you will be attacked by a

force outnumbering you more than two to one. But these are the odds we

love. We would not have them less. I tell you, speaking as a man to men

who understand and fear not, that the fate of the day may rest with you.

Many gallant comrades of ours have gone already to the far shore, and

if we must go, too, to-day, let our journey be not less gallant than

theirs. We can die but once, and if we must die, let us die here where

we can serve our country most."

 

His manner was quiet, but his words were thrilling, and the men of the

regiment, springing to their feet, uttered a deep, full-throated cheer.

Then sinking down again at the motion of his hand, they turned their

faces to the enemy. The time had come.

 

The vast Southern front rushed from the wood, and the gray horsemen of

Forrest, careless of death, swept down. It was a terrifying sight,

that army coming on amid the thunder and lightning of battle, tens of

thousands of rifle muzzles, tens of thousands of fierce brown faces

showing through the smoke, and the tremendous battle yell of the South

swelling over everything.

 

Dick felt a quiver, and then his body stiffened, as if it were about to

receive a physical shock. The whole regiment fired as one man, and a gap

appeared in the charging Southern column. Hertford and his horse

charged upon the hostile cavalry, and all the brigades of Thomas met the

Southern attack with a fire so heavy and deadly that the army of Bragg

reeled back.

 

Then ensued the most tremendous scene through which Dick had yet passed.

The Southern army came again. Bragg, Breckinridge, Buckner, Longstreet,

Hill, Cleburne and the others urged on the attacks. They had been

victors everywhere else and they knew that they must drive back Thomas

or the triumph would not be complete. They struck and spared not, least

of all their own men. They poured them, Kentuckians, Tennesseeans,

Georgians, Mississippians and all the rest upon Thomas without regard to

life.

 

Kentuckians on the opposing sides met once again face to face. Dick did

not know it then, but a regiment drawn from neighboring counties charged

the Winchesters thrice and left their dead almost at his feet. He had

little time to notice or measure anything amid the awful din and the

continued shock of battle in which thousands of men were falling.

 

The clouds of smoke enveloped them at times, and at other times floated

away. New clumps of pines, set on fire by the shells, burned brightly

like torches, lighting the way to death. Smoke, thick with the odors of

burned gunpowder clogged eye, nose and throat. Dick and the lads around

him gasped for breath, but they fired so fast into the dense Southern

masses that their rifle barrels grew hot to the touch.

 

The South was making her supreme effort. Her western sons were

performing prodigies of valor, and Longstreet and the Virginians were

fighting with all the courage that had distinguished them in the East.

 

But however violent the charge, and however tremendous the fire of

cannon and rifles, the Rock of Chickamauga merely sank deeper in the

soil, and nothing could drive him from his base. The Union dead heaped

up, regiments were shattered by the Southern fire, but Thomas, calm,

and, inspiring courage as on the day before, passed here and there,

strengthening the weak points, and sending many great guns to the crest

of Missionary Ridge, whence they swept the front of the enemy with a

devastating fire.

 

The hail of death from the heights enabled the infantry and cavalry

below to gather breath and strength for the new attacks of the enemy.

They knew, too, that their cannon were now giving them more help than

before, and defiant cheers swept along the line in answer to the mighty

battle cry of the South. The Rock of Chickamauga had not moved a foot.

 

Dick caught gleams of the sun through the smoky canopy, but he did not

know how far the day had advanced. He seemed to have been in battle

many hours, but in such moments one had little knowledge of time. He was

aware that the battle had been lost in the center and on the right, but

he had sublime faith in Thomas. The left would stand, and while it stood

the South could win but a barren triumph.

 

The peril was imminent and deadly. A strong Southern force, having cut

through another portion of the line, was endeavoring to take Thomas

on the flank. Rosecrans, seeing the danger and almost in despair, sent

Thomas orders which his stern lieutenant fortunately could not obey. The

rock did not move.

 

Bragg, an able leader, increased the attack upon Thomas. His generals

gathered around him, and seconded his efforts. Their view was better

than that of the Union commanders, and they knew it was vital to them

to move the rock from their path. Brigades, already victorious on other

parts of the field, came up, and were hurled, shouting their triumphant

battle cry against Thomas, only to be hurled back again.

 

The resolution of the defenders increased with their success. A sort of

fever seized upon them all. Death had become a little thing, or it was

forgotten. The blood in their veins was fire, and, transported out of

themselves, they rained shells and bullets upon men whom in their calm

moments they did not hate at all.

 

Dick's regiment had suffered with the rest, but Pennington and Warner

and the colonel were alive, and he caught a few glimpses of Hertford

with his gallant horsemen beating back every attack upon their flank.

But nothing stood out with sharp precision. The whole was a huge turmoil

of fire, smoke, confusion and death. The weight upon them seemed at

last to become overwhelming. In spite of courage the most heroic, and

dreadful losses, the right of Thomas was driven back, his center was

compelled to wheel about, but his left where the Winchester regiment

stood with others held on. Thomas himself was there among them, still

cool and impassive in face of threatened ruin.

 

About twenty thousand men were around Thomas, and they alone stood

between the Union army and destruction. At all other points it had been

not only defeated, but routed. Vast masses of fugitives were fleeing

toward Chattanooga. Rosecrans himself withdrew, and, now wholly in

despair, telegraphed at four o'clock in the afternoon to Washington: "My

army has been whipped and routed."

 

But Thomas was neither routed nor whipped. Many of the brave generals

elsewhere refused to flee with the troops, but gathering as many

soldiers as possible joined Thomas. Among them was young Sheridan,

destined to so great a fame, who brought almost all