THE END OF THE BATTLE OF CHICKAMAUGA.
LIEUT. Bowersox, Si, Shorty and the recruits left the woods and entered
a large clearing, in the midst of which was a log cabin, with a few rude
outbuildings. Over it flew the yellow flag of the hospital service,
and beyond could be seen the parked trains and other evidences of the
line-of-battle.
The roar of the battle would have told them as much, for it was now
deafening. The earth seemed to throb and the trees shake with the
awful shocks. As they passed the hospital they saw a grewsome pile of
amputated legs and arms, while the ground around about was filled with
wounded, whose groans pierced through the roar of battle.
James Bradshaw and Simeon Wheelwright, the two tall, stalwart men who
had stood on the right and who had shown great coolness during the
fight, gave one look at the dismembered limbs, turned pale as death,
gasped, and fell in a faint.
"Forward! Can't stop to pay attention to them," commanded the
Lieutenant, in whom the battle-fever was burning.
Though still more than two miles from the low crest of Snodgrass Hill,
where Gen. Thomas, with the remainder of the Army of the Cumberland,
was standing savagely at bay against the fierce assaults of Bragg's and
Longstreet's overwhelming numbers, they were soon in the midst of the
wild ruck and confusion of the rear of a great battle. Miles of
wagons were being urged hither and yon, some times in accordance with
intelligent orders by officers, more often from the panicky fears of
wagon-masters and teamsters; riderless horses with saddles under their
bellies were galloping frantically around; squads of artillerymen in
search of ammunition were storming about, cursing cowardly teamsters,
whom they could not find; streams of wounded men were trying to make
their way to the hospitals; officers were yelling and swearing in their
attempts to rally shirks and cowards who had fled from the front;
men from regiments which had been broken and scattered by the fierce
assaults were trying to find their colors; Colonels whose regiments had
been ordered up from the rear were fiercely forcing their way forward,
with many dire objurgations on all who impeded their progress.
It was a scene to discourage any but the stoutest heart, yet it
only wrought up the boys to greater eagerness to get through to the
firing-line.
The smoke-crowned crest of Snodgrass Hill was seen but half a mile
away. They could make out the ragged, irregular line of blue constantly
vailing itself in sulphurous vapor as it poured murderous volleys into
the enemy. The shrill yell of the rebels as they renewed the charge, and
the deep-toned cheer of the Union soldiers as they repulsed it, reached
their ears in the momentary lulls of the firing.
So far, in spite of all deterrents, they had brought every man through
except the two who had fainted at the hospital. Everyone had shown true
metal. Little Abel Waite had particularly distinguished him self by
skillful dodging under wagons and past flanks, in order to keep up with
the swift pace of the longer-legged men.
They had as yet found no one in all the throng to give them the least
information as to their regiment, when Si spied a member of Co. Q
walking deliberately back, holding the wrist of his shattered left hand
in his right, with his fingers compressing the artery to restrain the
flow of blood.
"There's Silas Peckham," exclaimed Si, running up to him. "Badly hurt,
Sile?"
"No," answered Silas, more coolly than if he had stubbed his toe. "Left
hand's gone on a strike. That's all. Wisht I could find a doctor to fix
it up so I could git back to the boys. They're havin' an awful tussle up
there, an' need me bad. Better hurry up, Si. Don't waste no time on me.
I'll find a doctor soon an' be back with you."
"Where's the regiment, Sile?" asked the Lieutenant.
"Right up there to the left o' them tall hickories," answered Silas,
pointing with his bloody hand. "To the right o' that battery, you see
there. That's our bully old battery at work. Greatest battery in the
army. I've kept my eye on the place, because I want to git back as
soon's I kin find the Surgeon. Ain't much left o' the regiment, or
battery either, for that matter; but they're raisin' hell with the
Johnnies every time, and don't you forgit it. Capt. McGillicuddy's in
command."
"Capt. McGillicuddy?" said the Lieutenant. "Why, he's the junior Captain
in the regiment."
"He was yisterday mornin', but he's now senior to everybody that's
alive," answered Silas. "The Kunnel wuz killed yisterday forenoon. The
Lootenant-Kunnell held out about three hours an' then he got it for
keeps, an' the Major tuck command an' stuck out till nigh evenin', when
they knocked him.
"This mornin' the Captains 's bin going down so fast that I couldn't
keep track of 'em, till Capt. McGillicuddy was the only one left, an'
he's swearin' that the rebels never run no bullet that could hit him.
The Adjutant's acting Lootenant-Kunnel an' Major both to-wunst, and
shootin' a gun when he hain't nothin' else to do. But the boys that's
left 's stayers, I tell you. They've jest stuck their toenails into
that hilltop there, an' every time them howlin' rebels come yippin' an'
ki-yi-in' out o' the woods they send 'em back on the dead run. But they
want you up there bad. You've got more than's left in the regiment.
Hurry up. I'll be back with you jest as soon's I kin find a doctor to
cooper me up a little."
"Forward Quick time March!" shouted the Lieutenant. "Guide on those tall
hickories."
Onward they rushed full into the smoke that drifted backward down the
hill. As they gained the crest the air became clearer, and they saw the
sadly-shrunken remnant of their regiment strung in an irregular line
along the forward edge. Some were binding up wounds more or less severe,
some were searching the boxes of the dead and wounded for cartridges,
some were leaning on their hot guns, looking curiously into the woods at
the foot of the slope into which the rebels had fled.
Every face was blackened with powder almost beyond recognition. The
artillerymen to the left were feverishly swabbing out their guns and
trying to cool them off, and bringing up everything in the shape of
ammunition from the limbers in the rear.
Capt. McGillicuddy was leaning on his sword at the right of the line,
intently watching everything. He looked sharply around, when the men
raised a cheer on recognizing Si and the rest, and coming back shook
Lieut. Bowersox warmly by the hand, saying:
"Great God, Lieutenant, I've always been glad to see you, but I never
was so glad to see a man in my life as I am you this minute. How many
men did you bring?"
"I've got 128 with me," answered the Lieutenant. "What's the situation?"
"You have? Well, you've got more than we have left. You'll act as Major.
Poor Wilkinson just got his dose. You can see him lying down there in
the rear of the left. Put your men in anywhere. Mix them up with the
others.. It don't matter much about formation. The main thing's to stand
and shoot. The rebels have been charging us all after noon, but we have
whipped them back every time.
"You can see our work out there (pointing to the slope in front, which
was literally covered with dead and wounded). I've thought every time
that they couldn't stand another such a slaughter, but they've rallied
in those woods there and come out again with their infernal yell, just
as before. The last time it seemed to me that we just swept them off the
face of the earth, and I don't see how in God's name they can stand
any more of that sort of thing. It's worse killing than we gave them at
Stone River. It seems to me that hell has let out for noon, and sent
all its devils to reinforce them. But it will soon be night now, when
they'll have to stop. If they won't we'll have to depend on the bayonet,
for we haven't five rounds apiece left, and I can't get more anywhere."
Si and Shorty had been distributing the detachment along the line, and
had posted the Englishman and his squad of Irishmen, with themselves,
around the tattered colors, which were now in the hands of the last
survivor of the color guard, who was himself wounded.
Dusk was fast coming on, when the woods beyond the foot of the slope
began to darken again with masses of men arraying in column of assault.
"They're coming again," called out Capt. McGillicuddy. "Lieut. Bowersox,
look out there for the left. Men, if we haven't stopped them when we've
fired out last shot, we'll fix bayonets and charge them. We must keep
them off this hill or die right here."
He was answered with cheers. A demoniac yell from 10,000 fierce throats
rang through the woods, and the next instant thunder and flames burst
from the sweeping crescent of rebel cannon, and the ground in front of
the foot of the hill was hidden from view by the tide of men rushing
over it.
A fierce storm of cannon and musketry answered from the crest of the
hill. As they reloaded, Si and Shorty saw in quick glances that the
rebel line to the right and left seemed beaten to a standstill by the
terrific storm which fell upon them, but in their immediate front a body
of men, apparently a regiment, kept stubbornly forging forward. Upon
their flag, held gallantly aloft, could be made out the let ters "Miss."
By the time every shot in the cartridge-boxes had been fired at them
they had forced their way half-up the slope.
"Attention, 200th Indiana," shouted Capt. McGillicuddy. "Dress on the
colors. Fix bayonets."
"They'uns 's Injiannians," shouted the rebel Color-Sergeant, waving
his flag defiantly. "Come on, you Hoosiers. We'uns 's Mississippians.
Remember Buny Visty. Injiannians 's cowards."
"Shorty, le's have that 'ere flag," said Si.
"Le's," said Shorty, pushing around the ring that locked his bayonet on.
"Forward March Charge!" shouted Capt. McGillicuddy.
[Illustration: THEY HAD A DELIRIOUS REMEMBRANCE OF THE MAD WHIRL. 211]
Of the mad whirl of an eternity of events in the next few minutes
neither Si nor Shorty had anything but a delirious remembrance. They
could only recollect the fierce rush of the lightning-like play of
bayonet and gun-barrel in the storm-center around the rebel colors.
Each after an instant's savage fencing had sent his bayonet home in his
opponent's body. Si had sprung at and seized the rebel colors, only to
fall, as he grasped them, from a bullet out of the revolver of a rebel
Captain, whom Shorty instantly bayoneted, and fell himself from a blow
across the head with a musket-barrel.
The man who struck him was bayoneted by Abel Waite, who was dancing
around the edges of the melee like a malignant little fiend, prodding
wherever he could get a chance at a rebel body. The Irishmen, yelling
like demons, were using their guns like shilelahs, and crushing heads in
every direction, while Wat Burnham had thrown his musket aside, and was
rushing at everybody with his mighty fists.
At length the rebels fled, leaving the Indianians in possession of their
colors and the hillside.
"Some of you find Lieut. Bowersox, and bring him here," said Capt.
McGillicuddy, sitting up, and beginning to twist a handkerchief around
his thigh, to form a tourniquet. "Lieutenant, you all right?"
"Nothing more than a mere scratch on the side of my head," said the
Lieutenant, wiping away the blood.
"Well, Lieutenant, you'll have to take command of the regiment. I had a
personal altercation with that Mississippi Colonel lying over there,
and he put a bullet through my thigh. Get the men together, pick up our
wounded, and fall back to the top of the hill again."
"I'm afraid there's no use of picking up Corp'l Klegg and Shorty," said
the Lieutenant, with tears in his eyes. "They got the rebel flag, but
they're lying there stiff and cold."
"Well, bring them back, anyway, so we can lay them beside the other
gallant boys who have fallen to-day."