The Rock of Chickamauga: A Story of the Western Crisis

by Joseph A. Altsheler

  CHAPTER XIII. THE RIVER OF DEATH

  Dick knew that he had saved young Woodville's life, but his consciencewas quite dear. If he had the same chance he would do it over again, buthe was sorry they had not caught Slade. He felt no hostility toward theregular soldiers of the Confederacy, but he knew there were guerillas ontheir side, as well as his own, who would stop at nothing. He rememberedSkelly, who, claiming to be a Union partisan, nevertheless robbed andeven killed those of either party whenever he felt it safe to do so.Slade was his Southern complement, and he would surely get together anew force as venomous as the old.

  But Colonel Winchester and the commander of the Ohio regiment were fullof pride in their exploit, as they had a right to be. They had destroyeda swarm of wasps which had been buzzing and stinging almost beyondendurance, and they were still prouder when they received the thanks ofGeneral Thomas.

  The corps moved forward the next day, and soon the whole army was unitedunder Rosecrans. It was a powerful force, about ninety thousand men, thestaunch fighters of the West, veterans of great battles and victories,and to the young officers it appeared invincible. Their feeling that itwas marching to another triumph was confirmed by the news that Bragg wasretreating.

  Yet the two armies were so close to each other that the Northernvanguard skirmished with the Southern rearguard as they passed throughthe mountains. At one point in a gap of the Cumberland Mountains theSoutherners made a sharp resistance, but they were quickly driven fromtheir position and the Union mass rolled slowly on. Exultation among thetroops increased.

  "We'll drive Bragg away down into the South against Grant," said Ohio toDick, "and we'll crush him between the two arms of the vise. That willfinish everything in the West."

  While Dick was exultant, too, he had certain reservations. He had seena like confidence carried to disaster in the East, although it did notseem possible that the result here could be similar.

  "I don't think they'll keep on retreating forever, Ohio," he said. "Allour supplies are coming from Nashville, and we are getting farther awayfrom our base every day."

  But Ohio laughed.

  "Our chief task is to catch Bragg," he said. "They said he was goingto occupy Chattanooga and wait for us. He's been in Chattanooga, but hedidn't wait for us there. He's left it already and gone on, anxious toreach the Gulf before winter, I suppose."

  The Union army in its turn entered Chattanooga, a little town of whichDick had seldom heard before, although he greatly admired its situation.The country about it was bold and romantic. It stood in a sharp curveof the great river, the Tennessee. Not far away was the lofty uplift ofLookout Mountain, a half-mile high, and there were long ridges betweenwhich creeks or little rivers flowed down to the Tennessee.

  One of these streams was the Chickamauga, which in the language of theCherokee Indians who had once owned this region means "the river ofdeath." Why they called it so no one knew, but the name was soon to havea terrible fitness. Chattanooga itself meant in the Cherokee tongue "thehawk's nest," and anybody could see the aptness of the term.

  While Lookout Mountain was the loftiest summit, some of the other ridgesrose almost as high, through the gaps of which the Northern army mustpass if it continued the pursuit of Bragg.

  September had now come and the winds were growing crisper in the highcountry. The feel of autumn was in the air, and the coolness made themarching brisker. The division to which Dick belonged was advancingslowly. He often saw Thomas, and his admiration for the grave, silentman grew. It was said that Thomas was slow, but that he never mademistakes. Now the rumor was spreading that he had warned Rosecrans to becautious, that Bragg had a powerful army and when he reached favorablepositions, would certainly turn and fight.

  Not many were impressed by these reports. They merely said it was "Pap"Thomas' way of looking at the dark side of things first. Hadn't theydriven Bragg through the Cumberland Mountains and out of Chattanooga,and now they would soon be on his heels deep down in Georgia. But Dick,noticing Colonel Winchester's serious face, surmised that he at leastshared the opinion of his chief. And when the lad looked up at the greatcoils and ridges he felt that, in truth, they might go too far. If theNorthern men were veterans, so were the Southern, and neither had takenmuch change of the other at Shiloh, Perryville and Stone River.

  The Winchester regiment was thrown forward as the vanguard of theinfantry, and the face of the colonel grew more serious than ever, whenthe best scouts rode in with reports that the Southern retreat was nowvery slow. There was news, too, that Slade had a new band much largerthan before, and they formed a rear guard of skirmishers which madeevery moment of a Northern scout's life a moment of danger. TheWinchester regiment itself was often fired upon from ambush, and therewere vacant places in the ranks.

  Dick did not know whether it was his own intuition or the influence thatflowed from the opinions of Thomas and Winchester, but much of his highexultation was abated. He regarded the lofty ridges and the deep gapswith apprehension. It was a difficult country and the Southern leadersmust know that the Northern army was extended over a long line, withThomas holding the left.

  His premonitions had ample cause. Bragg as he fell back slowly hadgathered new forces. Rosecrans did not yet know it, but the army beforehim was the most powerful that the South ever assembled in the West.Polk and Cleburne and Breckinridge and Forrest and Fighting Joe Wheelerand a whole long roll of famous Southern generals were there. Nor hadthe vigilant eyes of the Confederacy in the East failed to note thesituation.

  Just as the armies were coming into touch a division of the Army ofNorthern Virginia was passing by train over the mountains. It was ledby a thick-bearded, powerful man, no less a general than the renownedLongstreet, sent to help Bragg. The veterans of the Army of NorthernVirginia would swell Bragg's ranks, and the great army, turning asanguine face northward, was eager for Rosecrans to come on. TheSouthern force would number more than ninety thousand men, more numerousthan ever before or afterward in the West.

  It was now late in September, the eve of the eighteenth, and Dickand his comrades lay near the little creek with the rhythmical name,Chickamauga. It was the very night that a portion of the Army ofNorthern Virginia had arrived in Bragg's camp. The preceding days hadbeen full of detached fighting, and the night had come heavy with omensand presages. The least intelligent knew now that Bragg had stopped, butthey did not know that Longstreet was to be with him.

  Dick and his comrades sat by a smothered fire, and the vast tangle ofmountains and passes, of valleys and streams looked sinister to them.There had been skirmishing throughout the day, and as the darknessclosed down they still heard occasional rifle shots on the slopes andridges.

  "Don't these mountains make you think of your native Vermont, George?"asked Dick.

  "In a way, yes," replied Warner, "but my hills are not bristling withsteel as these are."

  "No, you New Englanders are fortunate. The war will never be carried onon your soil. You shed your blood, but, after all, the states that aretrodden under foot by the armies suffer most."

  "There are lights winking on the mountains again," said Pennington.

  "Let 'em wink," said Dick. "Their signals can't amount to much now. Weknow that Bragg is before us, and a great battle can't be delayed long.Fellows, I'm not so sure about the result."

  "Come! Come, Dick!" said Warner. "It's not often you're downhearted.What's struck you?"

  "Nothing, George, but, between you and me and the gate post, I wish thatour old 'Pap' Thomas commanded all the army, instead of the left merely.I've learned a few things to-day. The enemy is spreading out, trying toenfold us on both wings."

  "What of it?"

  "It means that they are sanguine of victory, and they want to standbetween us and Chattanooga, so they can cut off our retreat, after we'rebeaten, as they think we surely will be. But their main force is notfar from us now, so a scout told me. It's massed heavily along the rightbank of the Chickamauga."

  "And if there's a battle to-morro
w we're likely to receive the firstattack?"

  "Could it come any better than at the place where Thomas stands?"

  They sat long by the fire and Dick could not rest. Shiloh, his capture,and his knowledge of the secret Southern advance, of which he could giveno warning, came back to him with uncommon vividness. He knew thatno such surprise could occur here, but they seemed to be lost in thewilderness. The mountains and forests oppressed him.

  "Well, Dick," said Warner, "we're posted strongly. We've rows ofsentinels as thick as hedges, and I've the colonel's permission to go tosleep. I'll be slumbering in ten minutes, and I'd advise you to do thesame."

  He lay on a blanket and soon slept. Pennington followed him toslumberland, but Dick lingered. He saw lights still flashing on themountains, and he heard now and then reports from the rifles of theskirmishers, who yet sought each other despite the darkness. But heyielded at last and he, too, slept until the dawn, which should bringnearly two hundred thousand men face to face in mortal combat.

  Dick was awake early. The September morning came, crisp and clear, thesun showing red gleams over the mountains. He heard already the sound ofdistant rifle shots in front, and, through his glasses, he saw far awayfaint puffs of smoke. But it was a familiar sound in this mighty war,and he found himself singularly calm. He never knew how he was going tofeel on the eve of battle. Sometimes the constriction at his heart waspainful, and sometimes its beat was smooth and regular.

  All the officers of the Winchester regiment were dismounted owing to therough nature of the country in which they were stationed. They held themost uneven part of the center, where thickets and ravines were many.Hot food and coffee were served to them, and new warmth and courageflowed through their bodies.

  The distant fire increased, and, standing on a hillock, Dick lookedlong through his glasses. A faint haze which had hung in the south wasclearing away. The rays of the sun were intensely bright. The brownof autumn glowed like gold, and the red splashes here and there burnedscarlet. He saw pink dots appearing on a long line and he knew that theskirmishers were active and wary.

  "There can be no doubt of the advance!" he said to Warner. "A strongbody of our cavalry disclosed their forward movement, and there arethe skirmishers signaling that Bragg is near. Wonderful fellows, thosesharpshooters! They're the eyes of the army. We stand in mass and fighttogether, but every one of them individually takes his life in his ownhands. The firing is coming nearer. I think we'll be attacked first."

  After a little pause Warner said:

  "I'm sorry our line is extended so much. What if they should cut throughand get behind us?"

  "They'll never do it while General Thomas is here. I believe they calledhim 'Old Slow Top' at West Point, but if he's slow in advance he's stillslower in retreat. I'd rather have him commanding us just now than anyother general in the world."

  "I think you're right, and here he comes! Listen to the cheering!"

  General Thomas rode slowly along his line, inspecting the positionof every regiment and making some changes. He showed no trace ofexcitement. The face was calm and the heavy jaw was set firmly. If Grantwas a bulldog Thomas was another. The men knew him. They had seen himstand like a rock before, and the thrill of confidence and courage whichhelp so much to win ran through them all.

  Dick saw the general speak to Colonel Winchester and then ride on andout of sight. All the men in the regiment were lying down, but theofficers walked back and forth in front of the line. It was the especialpride of the younger ones to appear unconcerned, and some were able tomake a brave pretense.

  But all the while the battle was rolling nearer. It was no longer anaffair of scouting parties. The skirmishers were driven in on eitherside and the mighty Southern advance was coming forward in full battlearray. Shells began to shriek and fall among the Northern masses, andthe fire of cannon and rifles mingled in a sinister crash. But the Unionregiments, although not yet replying, remained steady, although theshower of steel that was beginning to beat upon them found many a mark.Vast columns of smoke pierced by fire rose in front.

  It seemed to Dick's vivid fancy that the earth was shaking with thetread of the advancing brigades and the thunder of their artillery.But he was still able to preserve his air of indifference, although hisheart was now beating hard and fast. Now and then when the smoke eddiedor the banks of it broke apart he raised his glasses and with theirpowerful vision saw the long and deep Southern columns advancing, thefield batteries in the intervals pouring a storm of death.

  It was a sinister and terrible sight. The South presented here an armyoutnumbering its force at Shiloh two to one, and they were veteransnow, led by veteran commanders. Moreover, they had Longstreet and hismatchless fighters from Lee's army to bear them up.

  "What do you see, Dick?" asked Pennington, his voice distinctly audiblethrough the steady roar.

  "Johnnies! Johnnies! Johnnies! Thousands and thousands of them and thenmany thousands more. They're going to strike full upon us here!"

  "Let 'em come. We're taking root, growing deep into the ground and old'Pap' Thomas has grown deepest of us all! It'll be impossible to moveus!"

  "I hope so. There go our own cannon, too, and it's a welcome sound!I can see the gaps smashed in their ranks by our fire, and ah, I see,too--"

  He stopped short in amazed surprise, and Pennington in wonder asked:

  "What is it you see, Dick?"

  "There's a heavy cavalry force on their flank, and I caught a glimpseof a man on a great horse leading it. I know him. He's Colonel GeorgeKenton, father of Harry Kenton, that cousin of mine, of whom I've spokento you so often."

  "And here he comes charging you! But it's happened hundreds and hundredsof 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 wassufficient now to watch the charging columns. All the artillery on bothsides was coming into action, and the ripping crash of so many cannonbecame so great that the officers could no longer hear one anotherunless they shouted. The gorges and hills caught up the sound and gaveit back in increased volume.

  Dick heard a new note in the thunder. It was made by the swift beatof hoofs, thousands of them, and the hair on his neck prickled at theroots. Forrest and the wild cavalry of the South were charging on theirflanks. He felt a sudden horror lest he be trampled under the hoofs ofhorses. By some curious twist of the mind his dread of such a fate wasfar more acute at that moment than his fear of shells and bullets.

  Colonel Winchester, shouting imperiously, ordered him and all theother young officers to step back now and lie down. Dick obeyed, and hecrouched by the side of Warner and Pennington. The great bank offire and smoke was rolling nearer and yet nearer, and the cannon werefighting one another with all the speed and power of the gunners. Off onthe flank the ominous tread of Southern horsemen was coming fast.

  Bullets began now to rain among them. The regiment would have been sweptaway bodily had the men not been lying down. But their time to wait andhold their fire was at an end. The colonel gave the word, and a sheet oflight leaped from the mouths of their rifles. A vast gap appeared in theSouthern line before them, but in a minute or two it closed up, andthe Southern masses came on again, as menacing as ever. Again Dick'sregiment poured its shattering fire upon the Southern columns and theirfront lines were blown away. Colonel Winchester at once wheeled his meninto a new position to meet the mass of Forrest's cavalry rushing downupon their flank. He was just in time to help other troops, not innumbers enough to withstand the shock.

  There were few moments in the lives of these lads as terrifying as thosewhen they turned to face the fierce Forrest, the uneducated mountaineerwho had intuitively mastered Napoleon's chief maxim of war, to pour thegreatest force upon the enemy's weakest point.

  The hurricane sweeping down upon them sent a chill to their hearts. Dicksaw a long line of f
oaming mouths, the lips drawn back from the cruelwhite teeth, and manes flying wildly. Above them rose the faces of theriders, their own eyes bloodshot, their sabers held aloft for the deadlysweep. And the thunder of galloping hoofs was more menacing than that ofthe cannon.

  Dick looked around him and saw faces turning pale. His own might bewhiter than any of theirs for all he knew, but he shouted with the otherofficers:

  "Steady! Steady! Now pour it into 'em!"

  It was well that most of the men in the regiment had becomesharpshooters, and that despite the thumping of their hearts, they wereable to stand firm. Their sleet of bullets emptied a hundred saddles,and slipping in the cartridges they fired again at close range. Thecavalry charge seemed to stop dead in its tracks, and in an instant ascene of terrible confusion occurred. Wounded horses screaming in painrushed wildly back upon their own comrades or through the ranks of thefoe. Injured men, shot from their saddles, were seeking to crawl out ofthe way. Whirling eddies of smoke alternately hid and disclosed enemies,and from both left and right came the continuous and deafening crash ofinfantry in battle.

  But Forrest's men paused only a moment or two. A great mass of themgalloped out of the smoke, over the bodies of their dead comrades anddirectly into the Winchester regiment, shouting and slashing with theirgreat sabers. It was well for the men that their leader had so wiselychosen ground rough and covered with bushes. Using every inch ofprotection, they fired at horses and riders and thrust at them withtheir bayonets.

  The battle became wild and confused, a turmoil of mingled horse andfoot, of firing and shouting and of glittering swords and bayonets. Aman 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 hishead had been.

  The swordsman was borne on by the impetus of his horse, and Dick caughtone horrified glimpse of his face. It was Colonel Kenton, but Dick knewthat he did not know, nor did he ever know. It was never in the lad'sheart to tell his uncle how near he had come unwittingly to shearing offthe head of his own nephew.

  The charge of the cavalrymen carried them clear through the Winchesterregiment, but a regiment coming up to the relief drove them back, andthe great mass turning aside a little attacked anew and elsewhere. Afew moments of rest were permitted Dick and his comrades, although themighty battle wheeled and thundered all about them.

  But their regiment was a melancholy sight. A third of its numbers werekilled or wounded. The ground was torn and trampled, as if it had beenswept by a hurricane of wind and red rain. Dick had one slight woundon 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 thearm and shook him roughly.

  "Stop it, Frank! Stop it!" he cried. "You're yourself, and you're allright!"

  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 theinfantry are coming, a million strong! I can hear their tread shakingthe earth!"

  The broken regiment reloaded, drew its lines together and faced theenemy anew. It seemed to their bloodshot eyes that the whole Southernarmy was bearing down upon them. The Southern generals, skillful anddaring, were resolved to break through the Northern left, and the attackattained all the violence of a convulsion.

  The great Southern line, blazing with fire and steel, advanced, neverstopping for a moment, while the fire of their cannon beat incessantlyupon the devoted brigades. It was well for the Northern army, well forthe Union that here was the Rock of Chickamauga. Amid all the terribleuproar and the yet more terrible danger, Thomas never lost his courageand presence of mind for a moment. Dick saw him more than once, and heknew how he doubly and triply earned the famous name which that day andthe next were to give him.

  But the weight was so tremendous that they began to give ground. Theywent back slowly, but they went back. Dick felt as if the whole weightwere pressing upon his own chest, and when he tried to shout no wordswould come.

  Back they went, inch by inch, leaving the ground covered with theirdead. Dick was conscious only of a vast roar and shouting and thecontinuous blaze of cannon and rifles in his very face. But heunderstood the immensity of the crisis. By a huge victory in the Westthe Confederacy would redress the loss of Gettysburg in the East. Andnow it seemed that they were gaining it. For the first and only time inthe war they had the larger numbers in a great battle, and the groundwas of their own choosing.

  Elated over success gained and greater success hoped, the Southernleaders poured their troops continually upon Thomas. If they could breakthat wing, cut it off in fact, and rush in at the gap, they would bebetween Rosecrans and Chattanooga and the Northern army would be doomed.They made gigantic efforts. The cavalry charged again and again. Hugemasses of infantry hurled themselves upon the brigades of Thomas, andevery gun that could be brought into action poured shot and shell intohis lines.

  Many of the young as well as the old officers in Thomas' corps felt theterrible nature of the crisis. Dick knew despite the hideous turmoilthat Thomas was the chief target of the Southern army. He divined thatthe fortunes of the Union were swinging in the balance there among thoseTennessee hills and valleys. If Thomas were shattered the turn of Grantfarther south would come next. Vicksburg would have been won in vain andthe Union would be broken in the West.

  Order and cohesion were lost among many of the regiments, but the menstood firm. The superb, democratic soldier fought for himself and he,too, understood the crisis. They re-formed without orders and foughtcontinuously against overwhelming might. Ground and guns were lost,but they made their enemy pay high for everything, and the slow retreatnever became a panic.

  "We're going back," shouted Warner in Dick's ear. "Yes, we're goingback, 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 theright idea. Had anyone but Thomas stood before them they would haveshattered the Union left long since, but his slow, calm mind rose to itsgreatest heights in the greatest danger. He understood everything andhe was resolved that his wing should not be broken. Wherever the lineseemed weakest he thrust in a veteran regiment, and he went quickly backand forth, observing with a measuring eye every shift and change of thebattle.

  The Winchester regiment in its new position was still among the gulliesand bushes, and they were thankful for such shelter. Although veteransnow, most were lads, and they did not scorn to take cover whenever theycould. For a little while they did not reply to the enemy's fire, butlay waiting and seeking to get back the breath which seemed to be drivenfrom their bodies by the very violence of the concussion. Shrapnel,grape and canister whistled incessantly over their heads, and on eitherflank the thunder of the battle swelled rapidly.

  The Southern attack was spreading along the whole front, and it was madewith unexampled vigor. It even excelled the fiery rush at Stone River,and the generals on both sides were largely the same that had fought theearlier great battle. Polk, the bishop-general, still led one wing forthe South, Buckner massed Kentuckians who faced Kentuckians on the otherside, and Longstreet and Hill were to play their great part for theSouth. Resolved to win a victory, the veteran generals spared nothing,and the little Chickamauga, so singularly named by the Indians "theriver of death," was running red.

  Dick crouched lower as the storm of shells swept over him. Despite allhis experience impulse made him bow his head while the whistling deathpassed by. He
felt a little shame that he, an officer, should seekprotection, but when he stole a look he saw that all the others, ColonelWinchester included, were doing the same. Sergeant Whitley had sunk downthe 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'sour business not to get killed when it's not needed, so we can saveourselves to be killed when it is needed."

  "I suppose you're right, Sergeant. At any rate I'm glad enough to keepunder cover, but do you see anything in those woods over there? We're onthe 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 thicket of scrub. But Dick meanwhilesaw increasing numbers of men there. They were beyond the line of battleand were not obscured by the clouds of smoke. As he stared he saw aweazened figure under an enormous, broad-brimmed hat, and, although hecould not discern the face at the distance, he knew that it was Slade,come with a new and perhaps larger body of riflemen to burn away theextreme left flank of the Union force.

  As the colonel and the sergeant crawled back Dick told them what he hadseen, and they recognized at once the imminence of the danger. ColonelWinchester looked at the great columns of fire and smoke in front ofhim. He did not know when the main attack would sweep down upon themagain, but he took his resolution at once.

  He ordered his men to wheel about, and, using Slade's own tactics, tocreep forward with their rifles. Most of his men were sharpshooters andhe felt that they would be a match for those whom the guerrilla led.Sergeant Whitley kept by his side, and out of a vast experience inborder warfare advised him.

  Dick, Warner and Pennington armed themselves with rifles of the fallen,and they felt fierce thrills of joy as they crept forward. Burning withthe battle fever, and enraged against this man Slade, Dick put all hissoul in the man-hunt. He merely hoped that Victor Woodville was notthere. He would fire willingly at any of the rest.

  Before they had gone far Slade and his riflemen began to fire. Bulletspattered all about them, clipping twigs and leaves and striking sparksfrom stones.

  Had the fire been unexpected it would have done deadly damage, but allof the Winchesters, as they liked to call themselves, had kept undercover, and were advancing Indian fashion. And now a consuming rageseized them all. They felt as if an advantage had been taken of them.While they were fighting a great battle in front a sly foe sought toambush them. They did not hate the Southern army which charged directlyupon them, but they did hate this band of sharpshooters which hadcome creeping through the woods to pick them off, and they hated themcollectively and individually.

  It was Dick's single and fierce desire at that moment to catch sightof Slade, whom he would shoot without hesitation if the chance came.He looked for him continually as he crept from bush to bush, and hewithheld his fire until fortune might bring into his view the flaps ofthat enormous hat. The whole vast battle of Chickamauga passed from hismind. He was concentrated, heart and soul, upon this affair of outpostsin the thickets.

  Men around him were firing, and the bullets in return were knocking upthe leaves about him, but Dick's finger did not yet press the trigger.The great hat was still hidden from view, but he heard Slade's whistlecalling to his men. Sergeant Whitley was by the lad's side, and heglanced at him now and then. The wise sergeant read the youth's face,and he knew that he was upon a quest, a deadly one.

  "Is it Slade you're looking for, Mr. Mason?" he asked.

  "Yes, I want him!"

  "Well, if we see him, and you miss him, I think I'll take a shot at himmyself."

  But Slade, crafty and cunning, kept himself well hidden. The two bandsfighting this Indian combat, while the great battle raged so near them,were now very near to each other, but as they had both thickets and arocky outcrop for refuge, they fought from hiding. Nevertheless manyfell. Dick, the ferocity of the man-hunt continuing to burn his brain,sought everywhere for Slade. Often he heard his silver whistle directinghis troop, but the man himself remained invisible. In his eagerness thelad rose too high, but the sergeant pulled him down in time, a bulletwhistling a second later through the air where his head had been.

  "Careful, Mr. Mason! Careful!" said Sergeant Whitley. "It won't do youmuch good for one of his men to get you while you are trying to gethim!"

  Dick became more cautious. At last he caught a glimpse of the great hatthat he could not mistake, and, aiming very carefully, he fired. Then heuttered an angry cry. He had missed, and when the sergeant was ready topull the trigger also Slade was gone.

  Now, the colonel called to his men, and rising they charged into thewood. It was evidently no part of Slade's plan to risk destruction as heblew a long high call on his whistle, and then he and all his men savethe dead melted away like shadows. The Winchesters stood among thetrees, gasping and staunching their wounds, but victorious.

  Now they had only a few moments for rest. Bugles called and they rushedback to their old position just as the Southern cavalry, sabers circlingaloft swept down upon them again. They went once more through thatterrible turmoil of fire and flashing steel, and a second time theWinchesters were victorious. But they could have stood no more, andThomas watching everything hurried to their relief a regiment, whichformed up before them to give them breathing time.

  The young soldiers threw themselves panting upon the ground, and wereassailed by a burning thirst. The canteens were soon emptied, and stilltheir lips and throats were parched. Exhausted by their tremendousexertions, many of them sank into a stupor, although the battle was atits zenith and the earth shook with the crash of the heavy batteries.

  "General Thomas has had news that we're driven in elsewhere," said Dick.

  "And we've yielded ground here, too," said Warner.

  "But so slowly that it's been only a glacial movement. We've made 'empay such a high price that I think old 'Pap' can boast he has held hisground."

  Dick did not know it then nor did the general himself, but 'Pap' Thomascould boast of far more than having held his ground. His long andstubborn resistance, his skill in moving his troops from point to pointat the right time, his coolness and judgment in weighing and measuringeverything right, in all the vast turmoil, confusion and uncertainty ofa great battle, had saved the Northern army from destruction.

  Now, as the Winchester men lay gasping behind the fresh regiment,Thomas, who continually passed along the line of battle, came amongthem. He was a soldier's soldier, a soldier's general, and he spokeencouraging words, most of which they could not hear amid the roar ofthe battle, but his calm face told their import, and fresh courage cameinto their hearts.

  The news spread gradually that Thomas only was holding fast, but now hismen instead of being discouraged were filled with pride. It was they andthey alone whom the Southerners could not overwhelm, and Thomas and hisgenerals inspired them with the belief that they were invincible. Chargeafter charge broke against them. More ground was yielded, but at thesame immense price, and the corps, sullen, indomitable, maintained itsorder, always presenting a front to the foe, blazing with death.

  Thomas stood all day, while the Southern masses, flushed by victoryeverywhere else, pressed harder. Terrible reports of defeat anddestruction came to him continually, but he did not flinch. He turnedthe same calm face to everything, and said to the generals that whateverhappened they would keep their own front unbroken.

  The day closed with the men of Thomas still grim and defiant. The deadlay in heaps along their front, but as the darkness settled down on theunfinished battle they meant to fight with equal valor and tenacity onthe morrow. The first day had favored the South, had favored it largely,but on the Union left hope still flamed high.

  Darkness swept over the sanguinary field. A cold wind of autumn blew offthe hills and mountains, and the men shivered as they lay on the ground,but Thom
as allowed no fires to be lighted. Food was brought in thedarkness, and those who could find them wrapped themselves in blankets.Between the two armies lay the hecatombs of dead and the thousands ofwounded.

  Dick, his comrades and the rest of the regiment sat together in alittle open space behind a thicket. It was to be their position forthe fighting next day. Thomas, passing by, had merely given them anapproving look, and then had gone on to re-form his lines elsewhere.Dick knew that all through the night he would be conferring with hiscommander, Rosecrans, McCook and the others, and he knew, too, thatmany of the Union soldiers would be at work, fortifying, throwing upearthworks, and cutting down trees for abattis. He heard already thering of the axes.

  But the Winchester men rested for the present. Nature had made their ownposition strong with a low hill, and a thicket in front. They lay uponthe ground, sheltering themselves from the cold wind, which cut throughbodies relaxed and almost bloodless after such vast physical exertionsand excitement so tremendous.