The Sword of Antietam: A Story of the Nation's Crisis Part 37

Slow and deep and sung by many thousand men rose the rolling chorus:

"The army is gathering from near and from far; The trumpet is sounding the call for the war; Old Rosey's our leader, he's gallant and strong; We'll gird on our armor and be marching along."

"Now," cried Warner, "all together." And the thundering chorus rose:

"Marching, we are marching along, Gird on the armor and be marching along; Old Rosey's our leader, he's gallant and strong; For G.o.d and our country we are marching along."

As the mighty chorus, sung by fifty thousand men, rose and throbbed through the cold and rain, d.i.c.k felt his own heart throbbing in unison.

Rosecrans might or might not be a great general, but he certainly was not permitting the enemy to rest easy in winter quarters at Murfreesborough. d.i.c.k had no doubt that they were about to meet the foe of Perryville face to face again.

The enemies were largely the same as those of other battles in the west.

The Northern army advanced in three divisions toward Murfreesborough.

McCook, whose division contained the Winchester regiment, was in the center, General Thomas led the right wing on the Franklin road, and General Crittenden led the left wing. Bragg who was before them had nearly the same generals as at Shiloh, Hardee, Breckinridge, and the others.

d.i.c.k knew that the advance of the Northern army would be seen at once.

This was the country of the enemy. The forces of the Union held only the ground on which they were camped. Thousands of hostile eyes were watching Rosecrans, and, even if Bragg himself were lax, any movement by the army from Nashville would be reported at once to the army in Murfreesborough. But they had a vigilant foe, they knew, and they expected to encounter his pickets soon.

"They're probably watching us now through the fog and rain," said Colonel Winchester to d.i.c.k as they left the last house of Nashville behind. "They know every inch of these hills and valleys."

It was not a great distance to Murfreesborough, but they found the marching slow. The feet of the horses sank deep in the mud and the cannon and wagons were almost mired. But despite mud and rain and cold, the army pressed bravely on. They were the same lads and their like who had marched forward so hopefully to Donelson and Shiloh. Through the rain and the soughing of wheels in the mud rolled their battle songs, sung with all the spirit and fire of youth.

Colonel Winchester and all the officers helped with the cannon and wagons and soon they were covered with mud. The Winchester regiment was in the lead, and Sergeant Whitley suddenly pointing with a thick forefinger, said:

"There are the Johnnies! Their pickets are waiting for us!"

d.i.c.k saw through the mist and rain a considerable body of men down the road, most of them on horseback. He knew at once that they were Southern pickets, and the eager lads around him, seeing them, knew it, too.

Not waiting for command they set up a shout and charged down the road.

Rifles instantly flashed through the rain and a sharp fire met them. Men fell, but others pressed on with all the more zeal, seeing just beyond the Southern pickets the roofs of a little town. Cannon shot also whizzed among them, indicating that the Southern pickets were in strong force.

But the Northern troops, full of vigor and zeal, swept back the pickets and charged directly upon a larger force in the town beyond. A short and fierce battle for the possession of the village ensued, but this was only a Southern outpost, and it was not strong enough to withstand the rush of the Ohio men and Winchester's regiment. Fighting at every step they retreated through the village and into the forest beyond, leaving one of their cannon in the hands of the Union troops.

"An omen of victory," exclaimed d.i.c.k, when he saw the captured cannon.

"Careful, d.i.c.k! Careful!" said Warner. "Remember that you're not strong on omens. You're always seeing sure signs of success just before we go into a big battle."

"If d.i.c.k sees visions, and they're visions of the right kind, then he's right," said Pennington. "I'd a good deal rather go into battle with d.i.c.k by my side singing a song of victory, than croaking of defeat."

"That's good as a general proposition," said Warner, "but I was merely cautioning him not to be too enthusiastic. What kind of a country, d.i.c.k, is this into which we are going?"

"Hilly, lots of forests, particularly of cedar, and brooks, creeks and rivers. Murfreesborough itself is right on Lytle's Creek. Bragg will meet us at the line of Stone River."

"Maybe they'll retreat and go eastward to Chattanooga," said Pennington.

"I think we'd better dismiss that 'maybe,'" said d.i.c.k. "You haven't heard of the rebels running away from battles, have you?"

"What I've generally seen, in the beginning at least," said Warner, "is the rebels running toward us, jumping out of the woods and yelling like Indians. I have seldom found it a pleasant sight. I'm glad, too, d.i.c.k, that Stonewall Jackson isn't here. Do you see that big cedar forest over there on the hillside? Suppose he should come rushing out of it with twenty or twenty-five thousand men."

"Stop," said Pennington. "You give me the shivers, talking about Stonewall Jackson swooping down on us with an army corps, when happily he's four or five hundred miles away. I'm seeing enough unfriendly faces as it is. Look how the people in this village are glaring at us.

Fellows, I've decided after due consideration that they don't love us here in Tennessee. If you were to ask me I'd say that blue was not their favorite color."

"At any rate we don't stay long. Good-bye, friends, good-bye," said Warner, waving his hand toward two or three men who stood in the door of an old blacksmith shop.

"You laugh, young feller," said a gnarled and knotted old man past eighty, "an' mebbe it's as well for you to laugh while you have the time to do it in. Mebbe you'll never come back from Stone River, an' if you do, an' if you win everywhere, remember that we, too, will yet win everywhere."

"What do you mean by that?"

"All the Yankees, whether they win or not, will have to go back north, except them that are dead, an' we'll be here right on top of the lan', livin' on it, an' runnin' it, same as we've always done."

"I hadn't thought of that," said Warner soberly.

"There's a power of things the young don't think of," said the ancient man. "Mebbe the South can be whipped, but she can't be moved. She'll always be here. People hev made a war. I don't know who started it. I reckon there's been some powerful mean an' hot talk on both sides. I knowed great men that seed this very thing comin' long ago an' tried to stop it. I went over in Kentucky more than once an' heard Henry Clay speak. I don't believe there was ever another such a talker as he was.

He had sense an' knowledge as well as voice. He done his best to smooth over this quarrel between North and South that others was eggin' on all the time, but he couldn't, and I reckon when Henry Clay, the greatest man G.o.d ever made, failed, it wasn't worth while for anybody else to try. Ride on, young fellers, an' get yourselves killed. You ain't twenty, an' I'm over eighty, but I guess I'll be lookin' at the green trees when you're under the ground. Ride on in the rain an' the cold, an' I'll go inside the shop an' warm myself by the forge fire."

The three boys rode on in sober silence. The words of the ancient philosopher were soaking in with the rain.

"Suppose we don't come back from Stone River," said Pennington.

"We take our chances, of course," said d.i.c.k.

"And suppose what he said about the South should prove true," said Warner, thoughtfully. "One part of it, at least, is bound to come true.

That phrase of his sticks in my mind: 'Mebbe the South can be whipped, but she can't be moved.' The Southern states, as he says, will be here just the same after the war is over, no matter who wins."

But such thoughts as these could not endure long in minds so young. They pa.s.sed through the village and soon were in the forests of red cedar.

The rain ceased, but in its place came a thick and heavy fog. The mud grew deeper than ever. Progress became very slow. It was difficult in the great foggy veil for the regiments to keep in touch with one another, and occasional shots in front warned them that the enemy was active and watchful. The division barely crept along.

d.i.c.k and his comrades were mounted again, and they kept close to Colonel Winchester, who, however, had few orders to send. The command of the corps rested with General McCook, and it behooved him as any private could see, to exercise the utmost caution. They were strangers in the land and the Confederates were not.

d.i.c.k had thought that morning that they would get into touch with heavy forces of the enemy before night, but the fog and the mud rendered their advance so slow that at sunset they went into camp in a vast forest of red cedar, still a good distance from Stone River. The fog had lifted somewhat, but the night was heavy, damp and dark. There was an abundance of fallen wood, and the veterans soon built long rows of fires which contributed wonderfully to their cheerfulness.

"There's nothing like a fine fire on a cold, dark night," said Sergeant Whitley, holding his hands over the flames. "Out on the plains when there was only a hundred or so of us, an' nothin' on any side five hundred miles away 'xcept hostile Indians, an' a blizzard whistlin' an'

roarin', with the mercury thirty degrees below zero, it was glorious to have a big fire lighted in a hollow or a dip an' bend over the coals, until the warmth went right through you."

"It was the power of contrast," said Warner sagely. "The real comfort from the fire was fifty per cent and the howling of the icy gale, in which you might have frozen to death, but didn't, was fifty per cent more. That's why I'm feeling so good now, although I'd say that those red cedars and their dark background are none too cheerful."

"I've got two good blankets," said Pennington, who was returning from a trip further down the line, "and I'm going to sleep. Haven't you fellows learned that all your foolish talking before a battle never changes the result? I can tell you this. Our three divisions that are marching toward Murfreesborough are in touch. We've put out swarms of scouts and they all tell us so. They know exactly where the enemy is, too, and he's too far away to surprise us to-night. So it's sleep, my boys, sleep.

Sleep will recover for you so much strength that it will be much harder for you to get killed on the morrow."

d.i.c.k had dried himself very thoroughly before one of the fires, and wrapping himself in his two blankets he slept soundly and heavily. There was fog again the next morning, but they reached a little village called Triune and all through the day they heard the sounds of scattered firing. One of the scouts told Colonel Winchester that the whole Southern army would be concentrated the next day on the line of Stone River, but that it would be inferior to the Union army in numbers by ten thousand men. Bragg's force, however, had the advantage of experience, being composed almost wholly of veterans.

It was on the afternoon of this day that d.i.c.k came into personal contact with General Thomas again. He had been sent through the cedar forest with dispatches to him from General McCook, and after the general had read them he glanced at the messenger.

"You reached General Buell safely with my letter, Lieutenant Mason," he said, "and I'm very glad to see you here with us again."

"Thank you, sir," said d.i.c.k, feeling an immense pride because this man, whom he admired so much, remembered him.

"It was a difficult duty and you did it well. I found that you got through safely. I made inquiries about you and I traced you as far as Shiloh, but I could get no further."

"I was at Shiloh," said d.i.c.k proudly. "I was captured just before it began, but I escaped while it was at its height and fought until the close."