The Rock of Chickamauga Part 18

The lad withdrew hastily, but driven by an overmastering curiosity, and knowing that he was doing no harm, he turned back and watched for a little s.p.a.ce beside a bush.

The flame of the candle wavered under the wind, and sometimes the light shone full upon the face of Thomas. It was the same face that d.i.c.k had first beheld when he carried the dispatches to him in Kentucky. He was calm, inscrutable at this, the most desperate crisis the Union cause ever knew in the west. d.i.c.k could not see that his hand trembled a particle as he wrote, although lieutenant and general alike knew that they would soon be attacked by a superior force, flushed with all the high enthusiasm of victory. And lieutenant and general alike also knew that their supreme commander, Rosecrans, was no genius like Lee or Jackson, who could set numbers at naught, and choose time and place to suit themselves. Only stubborn courage to fight and die could avail.

But d.i.c.k drew courage from the strong, thick figure sitting there so impa.s.sively and apparently impervious to alarm. When he quit writing and began to give verbal orders, he spoke in even tones, in which no one could detect a trace of excitement. When the name, "The Rock of Chickamauga," became general, d.i.c.k remembered that night and knew how well it was deserved.

Thomas gave his last order and his generals went to their commands. d.i.c.k slipped back to his regiment, and lay down, but again could not sleep.

He waited in painful anxiety for the day. He had never before been in such a highly nervous state, not at Shiloh, nor Stone River, nor anywhere else. In those battles the chances were with the Union, but here they were against it. He recognized that once more, save for Thomas, the North had been outgeneraled. The army of Rosecrans had marched from Chattanooga directly upon the positions chosen by Bragg, where he was awaiting them with superior numbers. And the Confederate government in the East had been quick enough to seize the opportunity and quick enough to send the stalwart fighter, Longstreet, and his corps to help close down the trap.

He wondered with many a painful throbbing of the heart what the dawn would bring, and, unable to keep still any longer, he rose and went to the brow of the low hill, behind which they lay. Colonel Winchester was there walking through the scrub and trying to pick out something in the opposing forest with his gla.s.ses. The cold wind still blew from the mountains, and there were three high but distant torches, where the clumps of pines still burned.

"Restless, d.i.c.k?" said the Colonel. "Well, so am I."

"We have cause to be so, sir."

"So we have, my lad. We thought the danger to the Union had pa.s.sed with Vicksburg and Gettysburg, but the day so soon to come may shatter all our hopes. They must have a hundred thousand men out there, and they've chosen time and place. What's more, they've succeeded so far. I don't hesitate to talk to you in this way, d.i.c.k, but you mustn't repeat what I say."

"I shouldn't dream of doing so, sir."

"I know you would not, but General Thomas apprehends a tremendous and terrible attack. Whatever happens, we have not long to wait for it. I think I feel the touch of the dawn in the wind."

"It's coming, sir. I can see a faint tinge of gray in that cleft between the hills toward the east."

"You have a good eye, d.i.c.k. I see it now, too. It's growing and turning to the color of silver. But I think we'll have time to get our breakfasts. General Thomas does not believe the first attack will be made upon our wing."

The wind was freshening, as if it brought the dawn upon its edge. The night had been uncommonly cold for the time of the year in that lat.i.tude, and there was no sun yet to give warmth. But the men of Thomas were being awakened, and, as no fires were allowed, cold food was served to them.

"What's happened, d.i.c.k, while I was asleep?" asked Pennington.

"Nothing. The two armies are ready, and I think to-day will decide it."

"I hope so. Two days are enough for any battle."

Pennington's tone was jocular, but his words were not. His face was grave as he regarded the opposing forest. He had the feeling of youth that others might be killed, but not he. Nevertheless he was already mourning many a good comrade who would be lost before the night came again.

"There are 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 d.i.c.k. "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!"

d.i.c.k put up his gla.s.ses 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 sh.e.l.ls 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 d.i.c.k'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. d.i.c.k 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, d.i.c.k. 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 d.i.c.k 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 ma.s.s of troops for a gigantic attack on Thomas!"

d.i.c.k 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. d.i.c.k 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 sh.o.r.e, 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 hors.e.m.e.n 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.

d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k had yet pa.s.sed. 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. d.i.c.k 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 sh.e.l.ls, burned brightly like torches, lighting the way to death. Smoke, thick with the odors of burned gunpowder clogged eye, nose and throat. d.i.c.k and the lads around him gasped for breath, but they fired so fast into the dense Southern ma.s.ses 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, pa.s.sed 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.

d.i.c.k 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 sh.e.l.ls and bullets upon men whom in their calm moments they did not hate at all.

d.i.c.k'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 hors.e.m.e.n 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 impa.s.sive 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 ma.s.ses 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 his own division and stood beside the Rock of Chickamauga, refusing to yield any further to the terrible pressure.

The line of Thomas' army was now almost a semicircle. Polk was leading violent attacks upon his left and center. Longstreet, used to victory, was upon his right and behind him, and the veterans from the Army of Northern Virginia had never fought better.

d.i.c.k saw the enemy all around him, and he began to lose hope. How could they stand against such numbers? And if they tried to retreat there was Longstreet to cut off the way. He b.u.mped against Sergeant Whitley in the smoke and gasped out: "We're done for, Sergeant! We're done for!"

"No, we're not!" shouted the sergeant, firing into the advancing ma.s.s. "We'll beat 'em back. They can't run over us!"

The sergeant, usually so cool, was a little mad. He was wounded in the head, and the blood had run down over his face, dyeing it scarlet. His brain was hot as with fire, and he hurled epithets at the enemy. His life on the plains came back to him, and, for the time, he was like a hurt Sioux chief who defies his foes. He called them names. He dared them to come on. He mocked them. He told them how they had attacked in vain all day long. He counted the number of their repulses and then exaggerated them. He reminded them it was yet a long time until dark, and asked them why they hesitated, why they did not come forward and meet the death that was ready for them.

d.i.c.k gazed at him in astonishment. He heard many of his words through the roar of the guns, and he saw his ensanguined face, through which his eyes burned like two red-hot coals. Was this the quiet and kindly Sergeant Whitley whom he had known so long? No, it was a raging tiger. Still waters run deep, and, enveloped, at last, with the fury of battle the sergeant welcomed wounds, death or anything else it might bring.

He shouted and fired his rifle again. Then he fell like a log. d.i.c.k rushed to him at once, but he saw that he had only fainted from loss of blood. He bound up the sergeant's head as best he could, and, easing him against a bank, returned to the battle front.

A shout suddenly arose. Officers had seen through their gla.s.ses a column of dust rising far behind them. It was so vast that it could only be made by a great body of marching troops. But who were the men that were making it? In all the frightful din and excitement of the battle the question ran through the army of Thomas. If fresh enemies were coming upon their rear they were lost! If friends there was yet hope!

But they could not watch the tower of dust long. The enemy in front gave them no chance. Polk was still beating upon them, and Longstreet, having seized a ridge, was pouring an increased fire from his advanced position.

"If that cloud of dust encloses gray uniforms we're lost!" shouted Warner in d.i.c.k's ear.

"But it mustn't enclose 'em," d.i.c.k shouted back. "Fate wouldn't play us such an awful trick! We can't lose, after having done and suffered so much!"

Fate would not say which. They could not send men to see, but as they fought they watched the cloud coming nearer and nearer, and d.i.c.k, whose lips had been moving for some time, realized suddenly that he was praying. "O G.o.d, save us! save us!" he was saying over and over. "Send the help to us who need it so sorely. Make us strong, O G.o.d, to meet our enemies!"

He and all his comrades wore masks of dust and burned gunpowder, often stained with scarlet. Their clothing was torn by bullets and reddened by dripping wounds. When they shouted to one another their voices came strained and husky from painful throats. Half the time they were blinded by the smoke and blaze of the firing. The crash did not seem so loud to them now, because they were partly deafened for the time by a cannonade of such violence and length.

d.i.c.k looked back once more at the great cloud of dust which was now much nearer, but there was nothing yet to indicate what it bore within, the bayonets of the North or those of the South. His anxiety became almost intolerable.

Thomas himself stood at that moment entirely alone in a clump of trees on the elevation called Horseshoe Ridge, watching the battle, seeing the enemy in overpowering numbers on both his flanks and even in his rear. Apparently everything was lost. Taciturn, he never described his feelings then, but in his soul he must have admired the magnificent courage with which his troops stood around him, and repelled the desperate a.s.saults of a foe resolved to win. Although his face grew grimmer and his teeth set hard, he, too, must have watched the approaching cloud of dust with the most terrible anxiety. If it bore enemies in its bosom, then in very truth everything would be lost.

Down a road some miles from the battlefield a force of eight thousand men had been left as a reserve for one of the armies. They had long heard the terrific cannonade which was sending shattering echoes through the mountains, and both their chief and his second in command were eager to rush to the t.i.tanic combat. They could not obtain orders from their commander, but, at last, they marched swiftly to the field, all the eight thousand on fire with zeal to do their part.

It was the eight thousand who were making the great cloud of dust, and, as they came nearer and nearer, the suspense of Thomas' shattered brigades grew more terrible. d.i.c.k, reckless of sh.e.l.l and bullets, tried to pierce the cloud with his eyes. He caught a glimpse of a flag and uttered a wild shout of joy. It was the stars and stripes. The eight thousand were eight thousand of the North! He danced up and down on the stump, and shouted at the top of his voice: "They're our own men! Help is here! Help is here!"

A vast shout of relief rose from Thomas' army as the eight thousand still coming swiftly joined them. Granger was their leader, but Steedman, his lieutenant, galloped at once to Thomas, who still stood in the clump of trees, and asked him what he wanted him to do. The general, calm and taciturn as ever, pointed toward a long hill that flamed with the enemy's guns, and said three words: "Take that ridge!"

Steedman galloped back and the eight thousand charged at once. The battle in front sank a little, as if the others wished to watch the new combat. d.i.c.k had been dragged down from the stump by Warner, but the two stood erect with Pennington, their eyes turned toward the ridge. Colonel Winchester was near them, his attention fixed upon the same place.

The eight thousand firing their rifles and supported by artillery charged at a great pace. The whole ridge blazed with fire, and the dead and wounded went down in sheaves. But d.i.c.k could not see that they faltered. Hoa.r.s.e shouts came again from his dry and blackened lips: "They will take it! they will take it! Look how they face the guns!" he was crying.

"So they will!" said Warner. "See what a splendid charge! Now they're hidden! What a column of smoke! It floats aside, and, look, our men are still going on! Nothing can stop them! They must have lost thousands, but they reach the slope, and as sure as there's a sun in the heavens they're going up it!"

That tremendous cheer burst again from the beleaguered Union army. Granger and Steedman, with their fresh troops, were rushing up the slopes of the formidable ridge, and though three thousand of the eight thousand fell, they took it, hurling back the advancing columns of the South, and securing the rear of Thomas.

Then the Winchester men and others about them went wild with joy. They leaped, they danced, they sang, until they were commanded to make ready for a new attack. Rosecrans in Chattanooga, with the most of his army there also in wild confusion, had sent word to Thomas to retire, to which Thomas had replied tersely: "It will ruin the army to withdraw it now; this position must be held till night."

And he made good his resolve. The Southern ma.s.ses attacked once more with frightful violence, and once more Thomas withstood them. The field was now darkening in the twilight, and, having saved the Union army from rout and wreck, Thomas, impervious to attack, fell back slowly to Chattanooga.

The greatest battle of the West, one of the most desperate ever fought, came to a close. Thirty-five thousand men, killed or wounded, had fallen upon the field. The South had won a great but barren victory. She had not been able to reap the fruits of so much skill and courage, because Thomas and his men, like the Spartans at Thermopylae, had stood in the way. Never had a man more thoroughly earned the t.i.tle of honor that he bore throughout the rest of his life, "The Rock of Chickamauga."

Chickamauga, though, was a sinister word to the North. Gettysburg and Vicksburg had stemmed the high tide of the Confederacy, and many had thought the end in sight. But the news from "The River of Death" told them that the road to crowning success was still long and terrible.

CHAPTER XV. BESIDE THE BROOK

When the slow retreat began d.i.c.k looked for the sergeant. But a stalwart figure, a red bandage around the head, rose up and confronted him. It was Sergeant Whitley himself, a little unsteady yet on his feet, but soon to be as good as ever.

"Thank you for looking for me, Mr. Mason," he said, "but I came to, some time ago. I guess the bullet found my skull too hard, 'cause it just ran 'roun' it, and came out on the other side. I won't even be scarred, as my hair covers up the place."

"Can you walk all right?" asked d.i.c.k, overjoyed to find the sergeant was not hurt badly.

"Of course I can, Mr. Mason, an' I'm proud to have been with General Thomas in such a battle. I didn't think human bein's could do what our men have done."

"Nor did I. It was impossible, but we've done it all the same."

Colonel Winchester rejoiced no less than the lads over the sergeant's escape. All the officers of the regiment liked him, and they had an infinite respect for his wisdom, particularly when danger was running high. They were glad for his own sake that he was alive, and they were glad to have him with them as they retreated into Chattanooga, because the night still had its perils.

The moon, though clouded, was out as they withdrew slowly. On their flanks there was still firing, as strong detachments skirmished with one another, but the Winchester men as yet paid little attention to it. They said grimly to one another that two days in the infernal regions were enough for one time. They looked back at the vast battlefield and the clumps of pines burning now like funeral torches, and shuddered.

The retreat of Thomas was harried incessantly. Longstreet and Forrest were eager to push the attack that night and the next day and make the victory complete. They and men of less rank dreamed of a triumph which should restore the fortunes of the Confederacy to the full, but Bragg was cautious. He did not wish to incur the uttermost risk, and the roll of his vast losses might well give him pause also.

Nevertheless Southern infantry and cavalry hung on the flanks and rear of the withdrawing Union force. The cloudy moon gave sufficient light for the sharpshooters, whose rifles flashed continuously. The lighter field guns moved from the forests and bushes, and the troops of Thomas were compelled to turn again and again to fight them off.

The Winchester regiment was on the extreme flank, where the men were exposed to the fiercest attacks, but fortunately the thickets and hills gave them much shelter. At times they lay down and returned the fire of the enemy until they beat him off. Then they would rise and march on again.

All the officers had lost their horses, and Colonel Winchester strode at the head of his men. Just behind were d.i.c.k, Pennington and some other members of his staff. The rest had fallen. Further back was Sergeant Whitley, his head in a red bandage, but all his faculties returned. In this dire emergency he was taking upon himself the duties of a commissioned officer, and there was none to disobey him. Once more was the wise veteran showing himself a very bulwark of strength.

Despite the coolness of the night, they had all suffered on the second day of the battle from a burning thirst. And now after their immense exertions it grew fiercer than ever. d.i.c.k's throat and mouth were parched, and he felt as if he were breathing fire. He felt that he must have water or die. All the men around him were panting, and he knew they were suffering the same torture.