The Rock of Chickamauga by Joseph A. Altsheler (best love novels of all time txt) 📖
- Author: Joseph A. Altsheler
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of a man on a great horse leading it. I know him. He's Colonel George
Kenton, father of Harry Kenton, that cousin of mine, of whom I've spoken
to you so often."
"And here he comes charging you! But it's happened hundreds and hundreds
of times in this war that relatives have come face to face in battle,
and it'll happen hundreds of times more. Are they within rifle shot,
Dick?"
"Not yet, but they soon will be."
He slung the glasses back over his shoulder. The eye alone was
sufficient now to watch the charging columns. All the artillery on both
sides was coming into action, and the ripping crash of so many cannon
became so great that the officers could no longer hear one another
unless they shouted. The gorges and hills caught up the sound and gave
it back in increased volume.
Dick heard a new note in the thunder. It was made by the swift beat
of hoofs, thousands of them, and the hair on his neck prickled at the
roots. Forrest and the wild cavalry of the South were charging on their
flanks. He felt a sudden horror lest he be trampled under the hoofs of
horses. By some curious twist of the mind his dread of such a fate was
far more acute at that moment than his fear of shells and bullets.
Colonel Winchester, shouting imperiously, ordered him and all the
other young officers to step back now and lie down. Dick obeyed, and he
crouched by the side of Warner and Pennington. The great bank of
fire and smoke was rolling nearer and yet nearer, and the cannon were
fighting one another with all the speed and power of the gunners. Off on
the flank the ominous tread of Southern horsemen was coming fast.
Bullets began now to rain among them. The regiment would have been swept
away bodily had the men not been lying down. But their time to wait and
hold their fire was at an end. The colonel gave the word, and a sheet of
light leaped from the mouths of their rifles. A vast gap appeared in the
Southern line before them, but in a minute or two it closed up, and
the Southern masses came on again, as menacing as ever. Again Dick's
regiment poured its shattering fire upon the Southern columns and their
front lines were blown away. Colonel Winchester at once wheeled his men
into a new position to meet the mass of Forrest's cavalry rushing down
upon their flank. He was just in time to help other troops, not in
numbers enough to withstand the shock.
There were few moments in the lives of these lads as terrifying as those
when they turned to face the fierce Forrest, the uneducated mountaineer
who had intuitively mastered Napoleon's chief maxim of war, to pour the
greatest force upon the enemy's weakest point.
The hurricane sweeping down upon them sent a chill to their hearts. Dick
saw a long line of foaming mouths, the lips drawn back from the cruel
white teeth, and manes flying wildly. Above them rose the faces of the
riders, their own eyes bloodshot, their sabers held aloft for the deadly
sweep. And the thunder of galloping hoofs was more menacing than that of
the cannon.
Dick looked around him and saw faces turning pale. His own might be
whiter than any of theirs for all he knew, but he shouted with the other
officers:
"Steady! Steady! Now pour it into 'em!"
It was well that most of the men in the regiment had become
sharpshooters, and that despite the thumping of their hearts, they were
able to stand firm. Their sleet of bullets emptied a hundred saddles,
and slipping in the cartridges they fired again at close range. The
cavalry charge seemed to stop dead in its tracks, and in an instant a
scene of terrible confusion occurred. Wounded horses screaming in pain
rushed wildly back upon their own comrades or through the ranks of the
foe. Injured men, shot from their saddles, were seeking to crawl out of
the way. Whirling eddies of smoke alternately hid and disclosed enemies,
and from both left and right came the continuous and deafening crash of
infantry in battle.
But Forrest's men paused only a moment or two. A great mass of them
galloped out of the smoke, over the bodies of their dead comrades and
directly into the Winchester regiment, shouting and slashing with their
great sabers. It was well for the men that their leader had so wisely
chosen ground rough and covered with bushes. Using every inch of
protection, they fired at horses and riders and thrust at them with
their bayonets.
The battle became wild and confused, a turmoil of mingled horse and
foot, of firing and shouting and of glittering swords and bayonets. A
man on a huge horse made a great sweep at Dick's head with a red saber.
The boy dropped to his knees, and felt the broad blade whistle where his
head had been.
The swordsman was borne on by the impetus of his horse, and Dick caught
one horrified glimpse of his face. It was Colonel Kenton, but Dick knew
that he did not know, nor did he ever know. It was never in the lad's
heart to tell his uncle how near he had come unwittingly to shearing off
the head of his own nephew.
The charge of the cavalrymen carried them clear through the Winchester
regiment, but a regiment coming up to the relief drove them back, and
the great mass turning aside a little attacked anew and elsewhere. A
few moments of rest were permitted Dick and his comrades, although the
mighty battle wheeled and thundered all about them.
But their regiment was a melancholy sight. A third of its numbers were
killed or wounded. The ground was torn and trampled, as if it had been
swept by a hurricane of wind and red rain. Dick had one slight wound
on his shoulder and another on his arm, but he did not feel them.
Pennington and Warner both had scratches, but the colonel was unharmed.
"My God," exclaimed Warner, "how did we happen to survive it!"
"I live to boast that I've been ridden over by old Forrest himself,"
said Pennington.
"How do you know it was Forrest?"
"Because his horse was eight feet high and his sword was ten feet long.
He slashed at me with it a hundred times. I counted the strokes."
Then Pennington stopped and laughed hysterically, Dick seized him by the
arm and shook him roughly.
"Stop it, Frank! Stop it!" he cried. "You're yourself, and you're all
right!"
Pennington shook his body, brushed his hands over his eyes and said:
"Thanks, Dick, old man; you've brought me back to myself."
"Get ready!" exclaimed Warner. "The cavalry have sheered off, but the
infantry are coming, a million strong! I can hear their tread shaking
the earth!"
The broken regiment reloaded, drew its lines together and faced the
enemy anew. It seemed to their bloodshot eyes that the whole Southern
army was bearing down upon them. The Southern generals, skillful and
daring, were resolved to break through the Northern left, and the attack
attained all the violence of a convulsion.
The great Southern line, blazing with fire and steel, advanced, never
stopping for a moment, while the fire of their cannon beat incessantly
upon the devoted brigades. It was well for the Northern army, well for
the Union that here was the Rock of Chickamauga. Amid all the terrible
uproar and the yet more terrible danger, Thomas never lost his courage
and presence of mind for a moment. Dick saw him more than once, and he
knew how he doubly and triply earned the famous name which that day and
the next were to give him.
But the weight was so tremendous that they began to give ground. They
went back slowly, but they went back. Dick felt as if the whole weight
were pressing upon his own chest, and when he tried to shout no words
would come.
Back they went, inch by inch, leaving the ground covered with their
dead. Dick was conscious only of a vast roar and shouting and the
continuous blaze of cannon and rifles in his very face. But he
understood the immensity of the crisis. By a huge victory in the West
the Confederacy would redress the loss of Gettysburg in the East. And
now it seemed that they were gaining it. For the first and only time in
the war they had the larger numbers in a great battle, and the ground
was of their own choosing.
Elated over success gained and greater success hoped, the Southern
leaders poured their troops continually upon Thomas. If they could break
that wing, cut it off in fact, and rush in at the gap, they would be
between Rosecrans and Chattanooga and the Northern army would be doomed.
They made gigantic efforts. The cavalry charged again and again. Huge
masses of infantry hurled themselves upon the brigades of Thomas, and
every gun that could be brought into action poured shot and shell into
his lines.
Many of the young as well as the old officers in Thomas' corps felt the
terrible nature of the crisis. Dick knew despite the hideous turmoil
that Thomas was the chief target of the Southern army. He divined that
the fortunes of the Union were swinging in the balance there among those
Tennessee hills and valleys. If Thomas were shattered the turn of Grant
farther south would come next. Vicksburg would have been won in vain and
the Union would be broken in the West.
Order and cohesion were lost among many of the regiments, but the men
stood firm. The superb, democratic soldier fought for himself and he,
too, understood the crisis. They re-formed without orders and fought
continuously against overwhelming might. Ground and guns were lost,
but they made their enemy pay high for everything, and the slow retreat
never became a panic.
"We're going back," shouted Warner in Dick's ear. "Yes, we're going
back, but we'll come forward again. They'll never crush the old man."
Yet the pressure upon them never ceased. Bragg and his staff had the
right idea. Had anyone but Thomas stood before them they would have
shattered the Union left long since, but his slow, calm mind rose to its
greatest heights in the greatest danger. He understood everything and
he was resolved that his wing should not be broken. Wherever the line
seemed weakest he thrust in a veteran regiment, and he went quickly back
and forth, observing with a measuring eye every shift and change of the
battle.
The Winchester regiment in its new position was still among the gullies
and bushes, and they were thankful for such shelter. Although veterans
now, most were lads, and they did not scorn to take cover whenever they
could. For a little while they did not reply to the enemy's fire, but
lay waiting and seeking to get back the breath which seemed to be driven
from their bodies by the very violence of the concussion. Shrapnel,
grape and canister whistled incessantly over their heads, and on either
flank the thunder of the battle swelled rapidly.
The Southern attack was spreading along the whole front, and it was made
with unexampled vigor. It even excelled the fiery rush at Stone River,
and the generals on both sides were largely the same that had fought the
earlier great battle. Polk, the bishop-general, still led one wing for
the South, Buckner massed Kentuckians who faced Kentuckians on the other
side, and Longstreet and Hill were to play their great part for the
South. Resolved to win a victory, the veteran generals spared nothing,
and the little Chickamauga, so singularly named by the Indians "the
river of death," was running red.
Dick crouched lower as the storm of shells swept over him. Despite all
his experience impulse made him bow his head while the whistling death
passed by. He felt a little shame that he, an officer, should seek
protection, but when he stole a look he saw that all the others, Colonel
Winchester included, were doing the same. Sergeant Whitley had sunk down
the lowest of them all, and, catching Dick's glance, he said in clear,
low tones audible under the storm:
"Pardon me for saying it to you, an officer, Mr. Mason, but it's
our business not to get killed when it's not needed, so we can save
ourselves to be killed when it is needed."
"I suppose you're right, Sergeant. At any rate I'm glad enough to keep
under cover, but do you see anything in those woods over there? We're on
the extreme left flank here, and maybe they're trying to overlap us."
"I think I do. Men with rifles are in there. I'll speak to the colonel."
He crawled to Colonel Winchester, who was crouched a dozen feet away,
and pointed to the wood, or rather
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