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Hooker (search for this): chapter 1.24
mself as skilful as he was daring, indicated that the general in command at Chattanooga was fully master of the situation. The capture of Lookout mountain by General Hooker; the conflict above the clouds, where the lurid light that flamed from Union and rebel cannon mimicked, with wonderful effect, the thunders of Heaven's own ar a shapeless mass, possibly it might be sundered at its centre, and tumbled in fragments over the other side of Mission Ridge. Sherman was halted upon the left; Hooker was holding hard in Chattanooga Valley; the Fourth Corps, that rounded out our centre, grew impatient of restraint; the day was waning; but little time remained ts, and left of us, and front of us, you can see the bayonets glitter in the sun. You cannot persuade yourself that Bragg was wrong, a day or two ago, when, seeing Hooker moving in, he said, Now we shall have a Potomac review; that this is not the parade he prophesied; that it is of a truth the harvest of death to which they go dow
Mars (search for this): chapter 1.24
plateau can never be painted. As the blue coats surged over its edge, cheer on cheer rang like bells through the valley of the Chickamauga. Men flung themselves exhausted upon the ground. They laughed and wept, shook hands, embraced; turned round and did all four over again. It was as wild as a carnival. Granger was received with a shout. Soldiers, he said, you ought to be court-martialed, every man of you I ordered you to take the rifle-pits and you scaled the mountain! but it was not Mars' horrid front exactly with which he said it, for his cheeks were wet with tears as honest as the blood that reddened all the route. Wood uttered words that rang like Napoleon's, and Sheridan, the rowels at his horse's flanks, was ready for a dash down the Ridge with a view halloo, for a fox hunt. But you must not think this was all there was of the scene on the crest, for fight and frolic was strangely mingled. Not a rebel had dreamed a man of us all would live to reach the summit, and
Robert I. Breckinridge (search for this): chapter 1.24
to the east, like the clouds of a worn out storm. Bragg, ten minutes before, was putting men back in the rifle-pits. His gallant gray was straining a nerve for him now, and the man rode on horseback into Dixie's bosom, who arrayed in some prophet's discarded mantle, foretold on Monday that the Yankees would leave Chattanooga in five days. They left in three, and by way of Mission Ridge, straight over the mountains as their forefathers went! As Sheridan rode up to the guns, the heels of Breckinridge's horse glittered in the last rays of sunshine. The crest was hardly well off with the old love before it was on with the new. But the scene on the narrow plateau can never be painted. As the blue coats surged over its edge, cheer on cheer rang like bells through the valley of the Chickamauga. Men flung themselves exhausted upon the ground. They laughed and wept, shook hands, embraced; turned round and did all four over again. It was as wild as a carnival. Granger was received wi
Caesar (search for this): chapter 1.24
sand are not a rushing herd of human creatures; that along the Gothic roof of the Ridge a row of inverted Vs is slowly moving up in line, a mighty lettering on the hill's broad side. At the angles of those Vs is something that glitters like a wing. Your heart gives a great bound when you think what it is-the regimental flag-and glancing along the front count fifteen of those colors that were borne at Pea Ridge, waved at Shiloh, glorified at Stone River, riddled at Chickamauga. Nobler than Caesar's rent mantle are they all! And up move the banners, now fluttering like a wounded bird, now faltering, now sinking out of sight. Three times the flag of one regiment goes down. And you know why. Three dead color-sergeants lie just there, but the flag is immortal-thank God!-and up it comes again, and the Vs move on. At the left of Wood, three regiments of Baird-Turchin, the Russian thunderbolt, is there-hurl themselves against a bold point strong with rebel works; for a long quarter of an
Bridges (search for this): chapter 1.24
ight to see, For one who had no friend, no brother there ; but to all loyal hearts, alas! and thank God, those men were friend and brother, both in one. And over their heads, as they went, Forts Wood and Negley struck straight out like mighty pugilists right and left, raining their iron blows upon the Ridge from base to crest; Forts Palmer and King took up the quarrel, and Moccasin Point cracked its fiery whips and lashed the rebel left till the wolf cowered in its corner with a growl. Bridges' Battery, from Orchard Knob below, thrust its ponderous fists in the face of the enemy, and planted blows at will. Our artillery was doing splendid service. It laid its shot and shell wherever it pleased. Had giants carried them by hand they could hardly have been more accurate. All along the mountain's side, in the rebel rifle-pits, on the crest, they fairly dotted the Ridge. General Granger leaped down, sighted a gun, and in a moment, right in front, a great volume of smoke, like the
English (search for this): chapter 1.24
for me with the glow of battle forever: And louder than the bolts of heaven, Far flashed the red artillery. At this moment, General Granger's aides are dashing out with an order; they radiate over the field, to left, right, and front; Take the Ridge if you can --Take the Ridge if you can --and so it went along the line. But the advance had already set forth without it. Stout-hearted Wood, the iron-gray veteran, is rallying on his men; stormy Turchin is delivering brave words in bad English; Sheridan-little Phil --you may easily look down upon him without climbing a tree, and see one of the most gallant leaders of the age if you do — is riding to and fro along the first line of rifle-pits, as calmly as a chess-player. An aide rides up with the order. Avery, that flask, said the general. Quietly filling the pewter cup, Sheridan looks up at the battery that frowns above him, by Bragg's headquarters, shakes his cap amid that storm of every thing that kills, when you could har
Thomas (search for this): chapter 1.24
de they must give thanks without him if they can. At half-past 3, a group of generals, whose names will need no Old Mortality to chisel them anew, stood upon Orchard Knob. The hero of Vicksburg was there, calm, clear, persistent, far-seeing. Thomas, the sterling and steady; Meigs, Hunter, Granger, Reynolds. Clusters of humbler mortals were there, too, but it was any thing but a turbulent crowd; the voice naturally fell into a subdued tone, and even young faces took on the gravity of later years. Generals Grant, Thomas, and Granger conferred, an order was given, and in an instant the Knob was cleared like a ship's deck for action. At twenty minutes of four, Granger stood upon the parapet; the bugle swung idle at the bugler's side, the warbling fife and the grumbling drum unheard-there was to be louder talk-six guns, at intervals of two seconds, the signal to advance. Strong and steady his voice rang out: Number or e, fire! Number two, fire! Number three, fire! it seem — d to
B. F. Taylor (search for this): chapter 1.24
of Mission Ridge, in which that noble Fourth Corps marched and climbed for a long hour through a furnace of flame, and after struggling up an ascent so steep that to climb it unopposed would task the stoutest energies, swept their enemies from its summit, and over all that broad vista disclosed from its summit, saw only a flying and utterly routed foe. Many writers have attempted to describe, and with varying success, this brilliant feat of arms, but none have succeeded so admirably as Mr. B. F. Taylor, of the Chicago Journal, himself an eye-witness of it. We give a portion of his description, which is as truthful as it is glowing: The brief November afternoon was half gone; it was yet thundering on the left; along the centre all was still. At that very hour a fierce assault was made upon the enemy's left near Rossville, four miles down toward the old field of Chickamauga. They carried the Ridge; Mission Ridge seems everywhere — they strewed its summit with rebel dead; they held
Reynolds (search for this): chapter 1.24
who witnessed the immortal struggle; and fancy there is a parallel. I think, too, that the chair of every man of them will stand vacant against the wall to-morrow, and that around the fireside they must give thanks without him if they can. At half-past 3, a group of generals, whose names will need no Old Mortality to chisel them anew, stood upon Orchard Knob. The hero of Vicksburg was there, calm, clear, persistent, far-seeing. Thomas, the sterling and steady; Meigs, Hunter, Granger, Reynolds. Clusters of humbler mortals were there, too, but it was any thing but a turbulent crowd; the voice naturally fell into a subdued tone, and even young faces took on the gravity of later years. Generals Grant, Thomas, and Granger conferred, an order was given, and in an instant the Knob was cleared like a ship's deck for action. At twenty minutes of four, Granger stood upon the parapet; the bugle swung idle at the bugler's side, the warbling fife and the grumbling drum unheard-there was to
Sheridan (search for this): chapter 1.24
ouch it with your hand. The divisions of Wood and Sheridan are wading breast deep in the valley of death. onverged their fire down upon Baird, and Wood, and Sheridan. It was rifles and musketry; it was grape and can Turchin is delivering brave words in bad English; Sheridan-little Phil --you may easily look down upon him wisaid the general. Quietly filling the pewter cup, Sheridan looks up at the battery that frowns above him, bynstant the battery let fly its six guns, showering Sheridan with earth. Alluding to that compliment with any over the mountains as their forefathers went! As Sheridan rode up to the guns, the heels of Breckinridge's h Wood uttered words that rang like Napoleon's, and Sheridan, the rowels at his horse's flanks, was ready for alanders. Bayonets glinted and muskets rattled General Sheridan's horse was killed under him; Richard was not n murmurs, far down the valley of the Chickamauga; Sheridan was again in the saddle, and with his command spur
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