Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Documents and Narratives, Volume 11.
Frank Moore, Ed.

Morgan and Carlin handled their commands with consummate skill, and deserve to share with the brave fighter, Davis, a share of the honor of this most decisive and gallant charge. This is Davis' first fight as a corps commander, and as such he has proved himself equal to the task. It is a victory that will hand him and his corps down to posterity.

I have but briefly and inadequately sketched the general charge, and leave details to a more convenient moment when the corps halts, and I can make more complete memoranda.

During the fight, the Army of the Tennessee made strong diversions along their lines. The Seventeenth corps moved to the extreme right, and supported by the Sixteenth corps, made strong demonstrations on the enemy's left, in favor of the Fourteenth corps.

September 2--6 A. M.--The enemy have gone. The toils were drawing around them too closely, and no salvation remained save in precipitate retreat. In the gray of dawn this morning, their withdrawal was discovered. A detachment of the Army of the Tennessee started immediately in pursuit, passing through the dilapidated town of Jonesboroa. What a situation for a General who has vaunted his power to foil any further flanking movements. Two thirds of his army, shattered by battle, is falling back hastily to the south, while the remainder has not only been compelled to leave the defences of Atlanta without a direct blow, but is circuitously marching for dear life to form a junction with the humbled, ruined corps of Lee and Hardee, trembling at every gunshot. The enemy at this moment cannot tell, when a collision at any point occurs, whether we are striking at him with a squad of troopers or with our whole army.

Many stragglers are coming in, mainly from S. D. Lee's corps. They report with unanimity that Hardee retreated south last night as far as the McDonough road. Upon reaching that they marched east to the main road running south from Atlanta through McDonough. S. D. Lee's corps in advance, turned north, and at last accounts were marching in that direction, endeavoring to form a junction with a portion of the army left at Atlanta — which is presumed to be retreating, and is undoubtedly doing so, if Hood has any military sagacity.

10 A. M.--In Jonesboroa, and watching one of the most imposing sights of the war. Our army is marching through the village, in double columns, corps after corps, all with flags flying, and brass and field bands playing with unwonted nerve. The men cheer joyously. Their burdens of musket, knapsack, and intrenching tools are feathers, evidently. Everything is allegro with them this morning. The campaign for Atlanta is at an end, and they are headed southward for the new campaign. For the first time the whole South-west is open to them, bread and meat permitting.

The captured battle-flags are trailed overhead by the regiments who wrested them from the enemy over his trenches.

Jonesboroa contains about forty scattered houses. From several of them white flags are thrust out, and I observe that in all the jeers called out by these unnecessary symbols of submission, the name of Vallandigham is very pervasive. A few dirt-colored inhabitants remain, and have taken their station at front gates to gape at the solid columns of Yankees sweeping down the road. They say that for the last two days the village has been visited by a great many shells, and that the inhabitants took refuge in caves and cellars. They describe the retreat of the enemy, last night, as very confused and hasty. Darkness had barely fallen when it began, the wagons moving first, running hither and thither to escape the rain of shells from our batteries. The infantry passed through in heavy, straggling masses, having every appearance of being thoroughly whipped and disheartened. By three A. M. their rear guard evacuated Jonesboroa, and we find them flown — just as we anticipated. As we lay enveloping Jonesboroa last night, girdling their discomfited army, our six corps closed compactly on three sides of the opposing two corps, the thought came to many like an electric thrill: Shall we capture them? Those familiar with war and its chances, thrust the flattering thought aside resolutely, but it insisted on dancing back again seductively. I have heard several say querously, this morning, that we should have bagged the entire rebel command had such and such corps closed up and attacked while daylight lasted. Doubtful, very. But such is human nature. We have divided the rebel army, whipped it in detail, shattered it beyond speedy repair, and probably captured a great city, yet there are to be found those who have their regrets that something large has not been accomplished.

11 A. M.--Atlanta has fallen. A few moments since General Thomas received a despatch stating that the Twentieth corps occupies the city. The infinite labor and bloodshed of four long, wearisome, sleepless months has received a reward even richer than we hoped for. The siege of the Gate City is over. We were certain it must fall, but there is something intensely grateful in saying it has fallen. Cheering has broken out in the marching columns with redoubled violence — not a battle-cheer, but a round, rich, glorious volume, heroic in intonation, and containing, somehow, a music deeper and grander than the mellowest and most inspiring diapason of a dozen organs, such as they drown discord with in Boston.

Communication with the rear has hitherto been by the way of Sandtown on the Chattahoochee, and it now becomes a question of vast interest to correspondents to know the shortest safe route to the North, where we may spread before a gladdened nation the rich oil and wine that we hope to express from our ripening notebooks. By the road running directly north we are but twenty miles from Atlanta; by the route in use since the movement commenced we are more than double that distance. The first has