The Rock of Chickamauga by Joseph A. Altsheler (best love novels of all time txt) 📖
- Author: Joseph A. Altsheler
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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
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