The Rock of Chickamauga by Joseph A. Altsheler (top 5 books to read TXT) 📕

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