Si Klegg, Book 6

by John McElroy

  CHAPTER XII. THE OPENING OF THE ATLANTA CAMPAIGN.

  WHAT an ineffably imposing spectacle of military power was presentedto the May sun, shining on the picturesque mountains and lovely valleysaround Chattanooga in the busy days of the Spring of 1864.

  Never before, in all his countless millions of journeys around theglobe, had he seen a human force of such tremendous aggressivepower concentrated on such a narrow space. He may have seen largerarmies--though not many--but he had never seen 100,000 such veteransas those--originally of as fine raw material as ever gathered under abanner, and trained to war by nearly three years of as arduous schoolingas men ever knew, which sifted out the weaklings, the incompetents, thefeeblewilled by the boisterous winnowing of bitter war.

  Thither had been gathered 35,000 of the Army of the Tennessee, who had"Fort Donelson," "Shiloh," "Corinth," "Chickasaw Bayou," "Big Black,""Jackson," and "Vicksburg" in letters of gold on their tatteredregimental banners, and whom Sherman proudly boasted were "the bestsoldiers on earth." The courtly, idolized McPherson was their leader,with such men as John A. Logan, T. E. G. Ransom, Frank P. Blair and P.J. Osterhaus as lieutenants and subordinates.

  There was the Army of the Cumberland, 60,000 strong, from which alldross had been burned by the fierce fires of Shiloh, Perryville, StoneRiver and Chickamauga; and the campaigns across two States. "The noblestRoman of them all," grand old "Pap" Thomas, was in command, with Howard,Stanley, Newton, Wood, Palmer, Davis, Joe Hooker, Williams and Geary ashis principal lieutenants.

  And thither came--15,000 strong--all of the Army of the Ohio who couldbe spared from garrisoning dearly-won Kentucky and East Tennessee. Theywere men who had become inured to hunting their enemies down in mountainfastnesses, and fighting them wherever they could be found. At theirhead was Gen. J. M. Schofield, whom the Nation had come to know from hisadministration of the troublous State of Missouri. Gens. Hovey, Hascalland Cox were division commanders.

  With what an air of conscious power; of evident mastery of all thatmight confront them; of calm, unflinching determination for theconflict, those men moved and acted. They felt themselves part ofa mighty machine, that had its work before it, and would move withresistless force to perform the appointed task.

  The men fell instinctively into their ranks in the companies. Without anapparent effort the companies became regiments, the regiments quietly,but with swift certainty, swung into their places in the brigade, andthe brigades massed up noiselessly into divisions and corps.

  And while the 100,000 veterans were drilling, organizing and manuveringthe railroad was straining every one of its iron and steel tendons tobring in food and ammunition to supply the mighty host, and provide astore from which it could draw when it went forth upon its great errand.There were 35,000 horses to be fed, in addition to the 100,000 veterans,and so the baled hay made heaps that rivalled in size the foothills ofthe mountains. The limitless cornfields of Ohio, Indiana, and Illinoisheaped up their golden harvests in other hillocks. Every mountain passwas filled with interminable droves of slow-footed cattle, bringingforward "army beef on the hoof." Boxes of ammunition and crackers, andbarrels of pork covered acres, and the railroad brought them in fasterthan the hundreds of regimental teams could haul them out.

  There is no place in the world where the assembling of such a mightyhost could be seen to such an advantage as at Chattanooga. The mountainsthat tower straight up into the clouds around the undulating plain onwhich the town stands form a glorious natural amphitheater about anarena for gigantic dramas.

  Naturally, the boys were big-eyed all the time with the sights thatfilled the landscape near and far. Wherever they looked they wereastonished, and when in a march they came out on a crest that commandeda wide view, they could not help halting, to drink all its wonders in.Even the experienced Si and Shorty were as full of amazement as they,and watched with fascination the spectacle of mighty preparation andconcentrated power.

  One day they got a pass and took the boys over to Lookout Mountain, fora comprehensive survey of the whole scene. They trudged over the steep,rough, winding road up the mountainside, and mads their way to PulpitRock, on the "nose" of the mountain, which commands a view that ishardly equalled in any country. From it they overlooked, as upon a map,the wide plain around Chattanooga, teeming with soldiers and horses,and piled-up war material, the towering line of Mission Ridge, thefort-crowned hills, the endless square miles of white camps.

  "'The King sat on the rocky brow That looks o'er sea-born Salamis,

  And ships by thousands lay below, And men and Nations, all were his,'

  murmured Monty Scruggs. "I didn't suppose there was as many soldiers inall the world before."

  "Si," said Shorty, "we thought old Rosecrans had heaped up the measurewhen we started out from Nashville for Stone River. But that was onlythe beginning for the gang he got together for the Tullyhomy campaign,and 'taint more than onct to what old Sherman's goin' to begin businesswith. I like it. I like to see any man start into a game with a fullhand and a big stack o' chips."

  "Well, from the talk that comes down from headquarters," said Si, "hemay need every man. We've never had enough men so far. The rebels havealways had more men than we did, and had the advantage of position.We only won by main strength and bull-headedness, and Rosecrans's goodmanagement. The rebels are straining every nerve to put up the fight o'their lives, and they say old Jo Johnston's got nearly as many men overthere at Buzzard Roost as we have, and works that beat them we hustledBragg out of around Tullyhomy."

  "Well, let's have it as soon as possible," said Shorty. "I'm anxious tosee if we can't make another Mission Ridge over there at Buzzard Roost,and run them fellers clean back to the Gulf of Mexico. But, greatJehosephat, won't there be a Spring freshet when all them men and horsesand cattle break camp and start out over the country."

  "Goodness, what kin I do to keep from gitting lost in all that crowd?"wailed Pete Skidmore, and the others looked as if his fears also strucktheir hearts.

  "Just stick closs to the 200th Injianny and to me, and you won't gitlost, Pete," said Shorty. "The 200th Injianny's your home, and all realnice boys stay around home."

  They made a little fire on the broad, flat surface of Pulpit Rock,boiled some coffee, and ate their dinner there, that they might watchthe wonderful panorama without interruption. As the afternoon,advanced, they saw an unusual commotion in the camps, and the sound ofenthusiastic cheering floated faintly up to their lofty perch.

  "I'll bet a big red apple orders to move has come," said Si. "Le's gitback to camp as quick as possible."

  They hurried down the mountain-side, and turned sharply to the rightinto the road to Rossville Gap.

  "Yes, the orders to move has come," said Shorty. "See them big fires,and the boys burnin' up things."

  In every camp the cheering men were making bonfires of the furnishingsof their Winter camps. Chairs, benches, tables, checker-boards,cupboards, what-nots, etc., which had cost them considerable pains toprocure, and upon which they had lavished no little mechanical skill,and sometimes artistic ornamentation, were ruthlessly thrown to feed thejoyful fires which blazed in each camp which had been lucky enough toreceive orders. The bands were playing, to emphasize and give utteranceto the rejoicings of the men.

  Shorty took little Pete by the hand to assist him in keeping up withthe rapid pace Si and he set up to get back to their own camp, andparticipate in its demonstrations.

  "Of course, our rijimint's goin' too--goin' to have the advance," Sisaid to Shorty, more than anything else to quiet a little disturbingfear that would creep in. "They wouldn't leave it behind to guard one o'these mud-piles they call forts, would they?"

  "They never have yit," answered Shorty, hopefully. "They say old Shermanis as smart as they make 'em. He knows a good rijimint when he sees it,and he's certain to want the 200th Injianny in the very foremost place.Hustle along, boys."

  As they neared their camp they were delighted to find it in a similaruproar to
the others, with the men cheering, the brigade band playing,and the men throwing everything they could find on the brightly blazingbonfires. Ordinarily, such a long march as they had made to the top ofthe Lookout Mountain and back again would have been very tiresome, butin the enthusiasm of the occasion they forgot their fatigue--almostforgot their hunger.

  "The orders are," the Orderly-Sergeant explained to Si, as they werecooking supper, "that we're to move out tomorrow morning in lightmarching order, three days' rations, 80 rounds of cartridges, onlyblankets, no tents, but one wagon to a regiment, and one mule to acompany to carry ammunition and rations. O, we're stripped down to theskin for a fight, I tell you. It's to be business from the first jump,and we'll be right in it. We're to have the advance, and clear awaythe rebel cavalry and pickets, to open up the road for the rest of thedivision. You'll find your rations and ammunition in front of my tent.Draw 'em and get everything ready, and go to sleep as soon as possible,for we'll skin out of here at the first peep of day. There's a wholepassel of sassy rebel cavalry out in front, that's been entirely toofamiliar and free, and we want to get a good whack at them before theyknow what's up."

  And the busy Orderly passed on to superintend other preparations in thecompany.

  After drawing and dividing the rations and cartridges. Si gave the boysthe necessary instruction about having their things ready so thatthey could get them in the dark the next morning, and ordered them todisregard the bonfires and mirth-making, and lie down to get all thesleep they could, in preparation for the hard work of the next day.Then, like the rest of the experienced men, who saw that the campaignwas at length really on, and this would be the last opportunity for anindefinite while to write, he sat down to write short letters to hismother and to Annabel.

  Influenced by the example, Shorty thought he ought to write to Maria.He had received a second letter from her the day that he had gone out tothe mill, and its words had filled his soul with a gladness that passedspeech. The dispassionate reader would not have seen anything in itto justify this. He would have found it very commonplace, and fullof errors of spelling and of grammar. But Shorty saw none of these.Shakspere could have written nothing so divinely perfect to him. He hadnot replied to it sooner, because he had been industriously thinking offitting things to say in reply. Now he must answer at once, or postponeit indefinitely, and that meant so much longer in hearing again fromher. He got out his stationery, his gold pen, his wooden inkstand,secured a piece of a cracker box for a desk, and seated himself farfrom Si as possible among the men who were writing by the light of thepitch-pine in the bonfires. Then he pulled from his breast the silkbandana, and carefully developed from its folds the pocket-book andMaria's last letter, which he spread out and re-read several times.

  Commonplace and formal as the letter was, there was an intangiblesomething in it that made him feel a little nearer the writer than everbefore. Therefor, he began his reply:

  Dere Miss Maria Klegg:

  "I talk mi pen in hand to inform you that our walkin'-papers has at lastcome, and we start termorrer mornin' for Buzzard Roost to settle jestwhose to rool that roost. Our ideas and Mister Jo Johnston's differon that subjeck. When we git through with him hele no more, though heprobably won't be so purty as he is now."

  LITTLE PETE'S AWFUL REBELS. 149]

  He stopped to rest after this prodigious literary effort, and wipe thebeaded sweat from his brow. He saw little Pete Skidmore looking at himwith troubled face.

  "What're you doin' up, Pete? Lay down and go to sleep."

  "Say, Corpril, the Orderly said we wuz goin' to fight a whole passel ofrebel cavalry, didn't he?"

  "Um-hum!" assented Shorty, cudgeling his brain as to what he should nextwrite.

  "Them's them awful kind o' rebels, ain't they--the John Morgankind--that ride big horses that snort fire, and they have long swords,with which they chop men's heads off?"

  "A lot o' yellin', gallopin' riff-raff," said Shorty, with the usualcontempt of an infantryman for cavalry. "Ain't worth the fodder theirbosses eat."

  "Ain't they terribler than any other kind o' rebels?" asked Pete,anxiously.

  "Naah," said Shorty, sharply. "Go to sleep, Pete, and don't bother mewith no more questions. I'm writin' a letter." He proceeded with hisliterary effort:

  "I was gladder than I kin tell you to git yore letter. You do write the best letters of any woman in the whole world."

  He looked up, and there was little Pete's face before him.

  "What do you do when one o' them wild rebels comes cavorting andtearing toward you, on a big hoss, with a long sword, and yelling like acatamount?" he asked.

  "Paste him with a bullet and settle him," said Shorty testily, for hewanted to go on with his letter.

  "But s'pose he comes on you when your gun ain't loaded, and his swordis, or you've missed him, as I did that hog?"

  "Put on your bayonet and prod his hoss in the breast, and then give him18 inches o' cold steel. That'll settle him. Go and lay down, Pete, Itell you. Don't disturb me. Don't you see I'm writing?"

  Shorty went on with his letter.

  "How I wish you wood rite offener. Ide like to get a letter from youevery--"

  "Say, Corpril," broke in little Pete, "they say that them rebel cavalrykin reach much further with their swords when they're up on a hossthan you kin with your gun and bayonit, especially when you're alittle feller like me, and they're quicker'n wildcats, and there's justmillions of 'em, and--"

  "Who says?" said Shorty savagely. "You little open-mouthed squab, areyou lettin' them lyin', gassin, galoots back there fill you up withroorbacks about them triflin', howlin', gallopin', rebel cavalry? Goback there, and tell 'em that if I ketch another man breathin' a wordto you about the rebel cavalry I'll come and mash his head as flat asa pancake. Don't you be scared about rebel cavalry. You're in much moredanger o' bein' struck by lightnin' than of bein' hit by a rebelon hossback. Go off and go to sleep, now, and don't ask me no morequestions."

  "Can't I ask you just one?" pleaded Pete.

  "Yes, just one."

  "If we form a holler square agin cavalry will I be in the holler, or upon the banks?"

  For the first time in his life, Shorty restrained the merciless jeerthat would come to his lips at any exhibition of weakness by thosearound him. The thought of Maria softened him and made him moresympathetic. He had promised her to be a second father to little Pete.He saw that the poor boy was being frightened as he had never beenbefore by the malicious fun of the veterans in pouring into his earsstories of the awful character of the rebel cavalry. Shorty suckedthe ink off his pen, put his hand soothingly on Pete, and said in apaternally comforting way:

  "My boy, don't let them blowhards back there stuff you with sichnonsense about the rebel cavalry. They won't git near enough you tohit you with a sword half a mile long. They're like yaller dogs--theirbark's the wust thing about 'em. I'll look out for you. You'll stayright by me, all the time, and you won't git hurt. You go back there tomy blankits and crawl into 'em and go to sleep. I'll be there as soon'sI finish this letter, Forgit all about the rebel cavalry, and go tosleep. Ter-morrer you'll see every mother's son o' them rebels breakin'their hoss' necks to git out o' range o' our Springfields."

  Then Shorty finished his letter:

  "Ime doin' my best to be a second father to little Pete. Heze as good a little soul as ever lived, but when I talk another boy to raise it'll be sumwhair else than in the army.

  "Yores, till deth."

  Just then the silver-voiced bugles in hundreds of camps onmountain-sides, in glens, in the valleys, and on the plains beganringing out sweetly mournful "Taps," and the echoes reverberated fromthe towering palisades of Lookout to the rocky cliffs of the PigeonMountains.

  It was the last general "Taps" that mighty army would hear for 100 daysof stormy battling.

  The cheering ceased, the bonfires burned out. Shorty put his letter inan envelope, directed it, and added it to the heap at the Chaplain'stent.<
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  Then he went back and arranged his things so that he could lay his handsunfailingly on them in the darkness of the morning, straightened littlePete out so that he would lie easier, and crawled in beside him.