[From _The Life of Gen. Albert Sidney Johnston_ (New York, 1879)]
Saturday afternoon, April 5th, the sun, breaking through the mists
which drifted away, set in a cloudless sky. The night was clear, calm,
and beautiful. General Johnston, tired out with the vigils of the
night before, slept quietly in an ambulance-wagon, his staff
bivouacking by the camp-fires around him. Some of Hardee's troops
having wasted their rations, he and Bragg spent a large part of the
night getting up provisions for them. Before the faintest glimmer of
dawn, the wide forest was alive with preparations for the mighty
contest of the coming day. No bugle-note sounded, and no drum beat the
reveillé; but men took their hasty morning meal, and looked with sharp
attention to the arms that were to decide the fortunes of the fight.
The cool, gray dawn found them in motion. Morning opened with all the
delicate fragrance and beauty of the season, enhanced by the contrast
of the day before. The sky was serene, the air was bracing, the dew
lay heavy on the tender green of leaf and herb, and the freshness of
early spring was on all around. When the sun rose it was with
unclouded brilliancy; and, as it shed its glories over the coverts of
the oak-woods, the advancing host, stirred by the splendor of the
scene and the enthusiasm of the hour, passed the omen from lip to lip,
and welcomed its rising as another "sun of Austerlitz."
The native buoyance of General Johnston's self-repressed temper broke
its barriers at the prospect of that struggle which should settle for
all time by the arbitrament of arms the dispute as to his own military
ability and skill and the fate of the Confederate cause in the West.
He knew the hazard; but he knew, too, that he had done all that
foresight, fortitude, energy, and strategy, could accomplish to secure
a victory, and he welcomed with exultant joy the day that was about to
decide not only these great questions, but for him all questions,
solving the mysteries of life and death. Men who came within his
influence on the battle-field felt and confessed the inspiration of
his presence, his manner, and his words. As he gave his orders in
terse sentences, every word seemed to ring with a presage of victory.
Turning to his staff, as he mounted, he exclaimed, "Tonight we will
water our horses in the Tennessee River." It was thus that he formulated
his plan of battle. It must not stop short of entire victory.
As he rode forward he encountered Colonel Randal L. Gibson, who was
the intimate friend of his son. When Gibson ordered his brigade to
salute, General Johnston took him warmly by the hand and said:
"Randal, I never see you but I think of William. I hope you may get
through safely to-day, but we must win a victory." Gibson says he felt
greatly stirred by his words.
Sharp skirmishing had begun before he reached the front. Here he met
Colonel John S. Marmaduke, commanding the Third Arkansas Regiment.
This officer, in reply to General Johnston's questions, explained,
with some pride, that he held the _centre_ of the front line, the
other regiments forming on him. Marmaduke had been with General
Johnston in Utah, at Bowling Green, and in the retreat to Corinth, and
regarded him with the entire affection and veneration of a young
soldier for his master in the art of war. General Johnston put his
hand on Marmaduke's shoulder, and said to him with an earnestness that
went to his heart, "_My son_, we must this day conquer or perish!"
Marmaduke felt himself moved to a tenfold resolution.
General Johnston said to the ambitious Hindman, who had been in the
vanguard from the beginning: "You have _earned_ your spurs as
major-general. Let this day's work win them."
"Men of Arkansas!" he exclaimed to a regiment from that State, "they
say you boast of your prowess with the bowie-knife. To-day you wield a
nobler weapon--the bayonet. Employ it well." It was with such words,
as he rode from point to point, that he raised a spirit in that host
which swept away the serried lines of the conquerors of Donelson.