Dick awoke at sunrise of the last day of the year, and Warner and
Pennington were up a moment later. There was no fog. The sun hung a low,
red ball in the steel blue sky of winter. No fires had been lighted,
cold food being served.
He heard far off to right a steady tattoo like the rapid beat of many
small drums. A quiver ran through the lads who were now gathering in the
wood and at its edge. But Dick knew that the fire was distant. The other
wing had opened the battle, and it might be a long time before their own
division was drawn into the conflict.
He stood there as the sound grew louder, a continuous crash of rifles,
accompanied by the heavy boom of cannon, and far off he saw a great
cloud of smoke gathering over the forest. But no shouting reached his
ears, nor could he see the men in combat. Colonel Winchester, who was
standing beside him, shrugged his shoulders.
“They're engaged heavily, or they will be very soon,” he said.
“And it looks as if we'd have to wait,” said Dick.
“Things point that way. The general thinks so, too. It seems that Bragg
has moved his forces in the night, and that the portion of the enemy in
front of us is some distance off.”
Dick soon confided this news to Warner and Pennington, who looked
discontented.
“If we've got to fight, I'd rather do it now and get it over,” said
Pennington. “If I'm going to be killed the difference between morning
and afternoon won't matter, but if I'm not going to be killed it'll be
worth a lot to get this weight off my mind.”
“And if we're far away from the enemy it's easy enough for us to go up
close to him,” said Warner. “I take it that we're not here to keep out
of his way, and, if our brethren are pounding now, oughtn't we to go in
and help them pound? Remember how we divided our strength at Antietam.”
Dick shrugged his shoulders. His feelings were too bitter for him to
make a reply save to say: “I don't know anything about it.”
Meanwhile the distant combat roared and deepened. It was obvious that
a great battle was going on, but the division lay quiet obeying its
orders. The sun rose higher in the cold, steely blue heavens and then
Dick, who was watching a forest opposite them, uttered a loud cry. He
had seen many bayonets flashing among the leafless trees.
The cry was taken up by others who saw also, and suddenly a long
Southern line, less than half a mile away, emerged into the open and
advanced upon them in silence, but with resolution, a bristling and
terrific front of steel. After all their watching and waiting the
Northern division had been surprised. Many of the officers and soldiers,
too, were in tents that had been set against the cold and damp. The
horses that drew the artillery were being taken to water.
It was an awful moment and Dick's heart missed more than one beat, but
in that crisis the American, often impatient of discipline, showed his
power of initiative and his resolute courage. While that bristling
front of steel came on the soldiers formed themselves into line without
waiting for the commands of the officers. The artillerymen rushed to
their guns.
“Kneel, men! Kneel!” shouted Colonel Winchester to his own regiment. He
and all his officers were on foot, their horses having been left in the
rear the night before.
His men threw themselves down at his command, and, all along the
Northern line formed so hastily, the rifles began to crackle, sending
forth a sheet of fire and bullets.
The Northern cannon, handled as always with skill and courage, were
at work now, too, and their shells and shot lashed the Southern ranks
through and through. But Dick saw no pause in the advance of the men in
gray. They did not even falter. Without a particle of shelter they came
on through the rain of death, their ranks closing up over the slain,
their front line always presenting that bristling line of steel.
It seemed to Dick now that the points of the bayonets shone almost in
his face, gleaming through the smoke that hung between them and the foe,
a gap that continually grew narrower as the Southern line never ceased
to come.
“Stand firm, lads; steady for God's sake, steady!” shouted Colonel
Winchester, and then Dick heard no single voice, because the roar of the
battle broke over them like the sudden rush of a storm. He was conscious
only that the tips of the bayonets had reached them, and behind them he
saw the eyes in the brown faces gleaming.
Then he did not even see the brown faces, because there was such a storm
of fire and smoke pouring forth bullets like hail, and the tumult
of shouts and of the crash of cannon and rifles was so awful that it
blended into one general sound like the roaring of the infernal regions.
Dick felt himself borne back. It seemed to him that their line had
cracked like a bow bent too much. It was not anything that he saw but a
sense of the general result, and he was right. The Northern line which
had not found time to form properly, was hurled back. Neither cannon nor
rifles could stop the three Southern brigades which were charging them.
The South struck like a tornado, and despite a resistance made with all
the fury and rage of despair, the Northern division was driven from its
position, and its line broken in many places. A Northern general was
taken prisoner. The guns which could not be carried, because the horses
were gone, were taken by the triumphant Southerners, and over all the
roar and tumult of the frightful battle Dick heard that piercing and
triumphant rebel yell, poured forth by thousands of throats and swelling
over everything, in a fierce, dominant note.
Dick bumped against Warner as they were borne back in the smoke. He saw
the Vermonter's blackened lips move, and his own moved in the same way,
but neither heard what the other said. Nevertheless Dick read the words
in his comrade's eyes, and they said:
“Surprised again, Dick! Good God, surprised!”
Yet the young troops fought with a courage worthy of the toughest
veterans. They gave ground, because the rush against them was
overpowering, but they maintained a terrible fire which strewed the
earth in front of them with dead and wounded.
“Behind those trees! Behind those trees!” suddenly called Colonel
Winchester as they continued their sullen and fighting retreat, and he
and the remnants of his regiment darted into a little wood just in time.
There was a sudden rush of hoofbeats on their flank, and a cloud of
Southern cavalry swept down, shearing away the entire side of the
Northern division as if it had been cleft with the slash of a mighty
sword. Besides the fallen a thousand prisoners and seven cannon fell
into the hands of the cavalrymen, who rushed on in search of fresh
triumphs.
Dick shuddered with horror, but he saw that all his own immediate
friends were safe in the wood. A swarm of fugitives poured in after
them, and then came colonels and generals making desperate efforts to
reform their line of battle. But the Southern brigades gave them no
chance. Their leaders continually urged on the pursuit. The broken
regiments fell back still loading and firing, and they would soon be on
the banks of the creek again.
After a time that seemed almost infinite, Dick heard the roar of shells
over their heads. In their retreat the regiments had come upon another
Northern division which opposed a strong resistance to the Southern
advance. Winchester's men welcomed their friends joyfully. But the fresh
troops could not stop the advance. The fire of the Southern cannon and
rifles was so deadly that nearly all the Northern artillerymen were
killed around their guns.
The North again gave ground, seeking point after point for fresh
resistance. They rallied strongly around a building used as a hospital,
and filled it with riflemen. But they were driven from that, too,
although they inflicted terrible losses on their enemy.
“We've got to stop this backward slide somewhere,” gasped Pennington.
“Yes, but where?” cried Dick.
Whether Warner made any reply he did not know, because he lost him then
in the flame and the smoke. An instant or two later the charging swarms
of infantry and cavalry drove them into one of the woods of red cedars,
where they lay shattered and gasping. The smoke lifted a little, and
Dick saw the field which he already regarded as lost. Then there was a
renewed burst of firing and cheering, as a regiment of veteran regulars
galloped into the open space and drove off the Southern cavalry which
was just about to seize the ammunition wagons and more cannon.
Encouraged by the charge of the regulars, the men in the cedar wood
rose and began to reform for battle. Now chance, or rather watchfulness,
interposed to save Dick and his comrades from destruction. Rosecrans, at
another point, confident that McCook could hold out against all attacks,
listened with amazement to the roar of battle coming nearer and nearer.
His officers called his attention to the fact that save at the opening
there was no cannon fire. All that approaching crash was made by rifles.
They judged from it that their cannon had been taken, but they did not
know that the rush of the Southern troops had been so fast that their
own batteries were not able to keep up.
Rosecrans read the signs with them and his alarm was great and
justified. Then a dispatch came from McCook telling him that his right
wing was routed and he took an instant resolve.
Many regiments were marching to another point in the line, and the
commander at once changed their course. He meant to save his right wing,
but at the same moment a tremendous attack was begun upon the center of
his army. He struck his horse smartly and galloped straight toward the
rolling flame.
Dick and his friends, driven from the defense around the hospital, lost
touch with the rest of the troops. Colonel Winchester held together what
was left of his regiment, and presently they found themselves in the
woods with the troops of the young officer, Sheridan, who had saved the
battle of Perryville. Here they took their stand, and when Dick saw
the quick and warlike glance of Sheridan that embraced everything he
believed they were not going to retreat.
He heard cheers all around him, men shouting to one another to stand
firm. They refused to take alarm from the fugitives pouring back upon
them, and sent volley after volley into the advancing gray lines. The
artillery, too, handled with splendid skill and daring, poured a storm
along the whole gray front. The combat deepened to an almost incredible
degree. The cannon were compelled to cease firing because the men
were now face to face. Regiments lost half their numbers and more, but
Sheridan still held his ground and the South still attacked.
Dick began to shout with joy. He saw that the indomitable stand of
Sheridan was saving the whole Northern army from rout. The South must
continually turn aside troops to attack Sheridan, and they dared not
advance too far leaving him unbeaten in their rear. Rosecrans in the
center was urging his troops to a great resistance and the battle flamed
high there. It now thundered along the whole front. Nearly every man and
cannon were in action.
Dick was glad that chance had thrown his regiment with Sheridan, when he
saw the splendid resistance made by the young general. Sheridan massed
all his guns at the vital point and backed them up with riflemen.
Nothing broke through his line. Nothing was able to move him.
“He'll have to retreat later on,” Colonel Winchester shouted in Dick's
ear, “because our lines are giving way elsewhere, but his courage and
that of his men has saved us from an awful defeat.”
The battle in front of Sheridan increased in violence. The Confederates
were continually pouring fresh troops upon him, and it became apparent
that even he, with all his courage and quickness of eye at the vital
moment, could not withstand all day long the fierce attacks that were
being made upon him. The Southern fire from cannon and rifles grew more
terrible. Sheridan had three brigades and the commanders of all three of
them were killed. The Confederate attack had been repulsed three times,
but it was coming again, stronger and fiercer than ever.
Dick, aghast, gazed at Colonel Winchester and somehow through the
thunder of the battle he heard the colonel's reply:
“Yes, we'll have to give up this position, but we have saved so much
time that the army itself is saved. Rosecrans is forming a new line
behind us.”
Rosecrans, no genius, but a brave and resolute fighter, had indeed
brought up fresh troops and made a new line. Sheridan, having that
greatest of all gifts of the general, the eye to see amid the terrible
tumult of battle the time to do a thing, and the courage to do it then,
sounded the trumpet. Nearly all his wagons had been captured by the
Southern cavalry, and his ammunition was beginning to fail. Around him
lay two thousand of his best men, dead or wounded. Rosecrans and the
fresh troops were appearing just in time.
Yet the retreat of Sheridan was made with the greatest difficulty. A
part of his troops were cut off and captured. Others drove back the
Confederate flankers with a bayonet charge, and then the remnant
retreated, the new lines opening to let them through. Dick, as he passed
through the gap, saw that he was among countrymen. That is, a Kentucky
regiment, fighting for the Union was standing as a shield to let his
comrades and himself through, and the people of the state were related
so closely that in the flare of the battle he saw among these new men at
least a half dozen faces that he knew.
It was this Kentucky regiment, led by its colonel, Shepherd, that
now formed itself in the very apex of the battle. The remains of the
Winchester regiment, forming behind it, saw a terrible sight. Some of
the regiments crushed earlier in the action had entirely disbanded. The
woods and the bushes were filled with fugitives, soldiers seeking the
rear. Vast clouds of smoke drifted everywhere, the air was filled with
the odors of exploded gunpowder, cannon were piled in inextricable heaps
in the road, and horses, killed by shells or bullets, lay on the guns or
between the wheels.
Dick had never beheld a more terrible sight. Their army was defeated
so far, the dead and the wounded were heaped everywhere, terrified
fugitives were pouring to the rear, and the enemy, wild with triumph,
and shouting his terrible battle yell, was coming on with an onset that
seemed invincible.
Colonel Winchester darted among the fugitives and with stinging words
and the flat of his sword beat many of them back into line. Dick,
Warner, Pennington and other young officers did likewise. More Kentucky
troops bringing artillery came up and joined those who were standing so
sternly. It became obvious to all that they must hold the ground here or
the battle indeed was lost once and for all.
Thomas, the silent and resolute Virginian, had arrived also, and had
joined Rosecrans. Dick observed them both. Rosecrans, tremendously
excited, and reckless of death from the flying shells and bullets,
galloped from point to point, urging on his soldiers, telling them to
die rather than yield. Thomas, cool, and showing no trace of excitement
also directed the troops. Both by their courage and resolution inspired
the men. The beaten became the unbeaten. Dick felt rather than saw the
stiffening of the lines, and the return of a great courage.
The new line of battle was formed directly under the fire of a
victorious and charging enemy. Three batteries were gathered on a height
overlooking a railroad cut, where they could sweep the front of the foe.
Just as they were in battle order Dick saw the faces of the Southerners
coming through the woods, led by Hardee in person. Then he saw, too,
the value of presence of mind and of a courage that would not yield.
The three batteries planted by the Kentuckian, Rousseau, on the railway
embankment suddenly opened a terrible enfilading fire upon the Southern
advance. The Kentucky regiment standing so firmly in the breach also
opened with every rifle firing directly into the ranks of their brother
Kentuckians, who were advancing in the vanguard of the South. Here again
people of the same state and even of the same county fought one another.
The Confederates pursuing a defeated and apparently disorganized enemy
were astounded by such a sudden and fierce fire. One of their generals
was killed almost instantly, and a part of their line was hurled back
with great violence. Thomas pushed forward with a portion of the troops,
and after a desperate assault the Southern line reeled and then stopped
in the wood. Courage and presence of mind had saved a battle for the
time being, at least.
At that point the combat sank for a while, and Dick, unwounded but
exhausted, dropped upon the ground. Around him lay his friends, and
they, too, were unwounded. It was with a sort of grim humor that he
remembered a conversation they had held before the battle.
“Well, Frank,” he said, “you've escaped.”
“So far only,” said Warner. “The hurricane has softened down a lot here,
but not everywhere else. Listen!”
He pointed through the woods toward the left where another battle was
swelling with a mighty uproar. Bragg having driven in the Union right
was now seeking to shatter the Union left, but at this point there was
a Northern commander, Hazen, who was no less indomitable than Sheridan.
Sheltering themselves along the railway embankment his men, always
encouraged by their commander, and his officers, resisted every effort
to drive them back. Noon came and found them still holding tenaciously
to their positions. For a while now the whole battle sank through sheer
exhaustion on both sides. Each commander reformed his line, disentangled
his guns, brought forward fresh ammunition and prepared for the great
combat which he knew was coming. Bragg, as he noticed the advance of the
short winter day, resolved upon the utmost effort to crush his enemy.
Victory had seemed wholly in his grasp in the morning, but he had
been checked at the last moment. He would make good the defeat in the
afternoon.
The armies had disentangled themselves from the woods and bushes. They
were now in the open and face to face on a long line. The Winchester
regiment had risen to its feet again, and stood directly behind and
almost mingled with the Kentucky regiment that had saved it.
“They're coming!” exclaimed Warner in quick, excited tones. “Look, there
on the flank!”
It was the division of Cleburne, in the hottest of the battle all
through the morning advancing to a fresh attack upon the Union lines,
but it was received with such a powerful fire that it was driven back in
disorder into some woods.
Dick, however, did not have a chance to see this as the Southerners,
reinforced by fresh troops from Breckinridge's division, were charging
in the center with great violence. So terrible was the fire that
received them that some of the regiments lost half their numbers in
five minutes. Yet the remainder, upheld by their cannon, returned a
fire almost as deadly. Rosecrans, absolutely fearless, stood in the very
front where the danger was greatest. A cannon ball blew off the head
of his chief of staff who stood by his side. “Many a brave fellow must
fall!” cried Rosecrans, a devoted Catholic. “Cross yourselves, and fire
low and fast!”
Many a brave fellow did fall, but his men fired low and fast, and, while
the Southern troops charged again and again to the very mouths of the
cannon they were unable to break down the last desperate stand of the
Northern army. They had driven it back, but they had not driven it
back far enough. Then the sun set as it had set so often before on an
undecisive battle, terrible in its long list of the slain, but leaving
everything to be fought over again.
“They didn't beat us,” said Dick as the firing ceased.
“No,” said Colonel Winchester, “nor have we won a victory, but we're
saved. Thank God for the night!”
“They'll attack again to-morrow, sir,” said Sergeant Whitley.
“Undoubtedly so,” said Colonel Winchester, who felt at this moment not
as if he were speaking as colonel to sergeant, but as man to man, “and I
hope that our artillery will be ready again. It is what has saved us. We
have always been superior in that arm.”
The colonel had spoken the truth, and the fact was also recognized by
Rosecrans, Thomas and the other generals. While they rectified
their lines in the darkness, the great batteries were posted in good
positions, and fresh gunners took the place of those who had been
killed. Both Rosecrans and Thomas were made of stern stuff. Afraid of no
enemy, and, despite their great losses of the day and the fact that
they had been driven back, they would be ready to fight on the morrow.
Sheridan, Crittenden, McCook, Van Cleve and the others were equally
ready.
Food was brought from the rear and the exhausted combatants sank down to
rest. Dick was in such an apathy from sheer overtasking of the body and
spirit that he did not think of anything. He lay like an animal that has
escaped from a long chase. Silence had settled down with the darkness
and the Confederate army had become invisible.
Dick revived later. He talked more freely with those about him, and he
gathered from the gossip which travels fast, much of what had happened.
The Union army, so confident in the morning, was in a dangerous position
at night. Nearly thirty of its guns were taken. Three thousand unwounded
and many wounded men were prisoners in the hands of the South. Arms
and ammunition by the wholesale had been captured. The Southern cavalry
under Fighting Joe Wheeler had gone behind Rosecrans' whole army and
had cut his communications with his base at Nashville, at the same time
raiding his wagon trains. Another body of cavalry under Wharton had
taken all the wagons of McCook's corps, and still a third under Pegram
had captured many prisoners on the Nashville road in the rear of the
Northern army.
Dick became aware of a great, an intense anxiety among the leaders. The
army was isolated. The raiding Southern cavalry kept it from receiving
fresh supplies of either food or ammunition, unless it retreated.
“We're stripped of everything but our arms,” said Warner.
“Then we've really lost nothing,” said the valiant Pennington, “because
with our arms we'll recover everything.”
They had a commander of like spirit. At that moment Rosecrans, gathering
his generals in a tent pitched hastily for him, was saying to them,
“Gentlemen, we will conquer or die here.” Short and strong, but every
word meant. There was no need to say more. The generals animated by the
same spirit went forth to their commands, and first among them was the
grim and silent Thomas, who had the bulldog grip of Grant. Perhaps it
was this indomitable tenacity and resolution that made the Northern
generals so much more successful in the west than they were in the east
during the early years of the war.
But there was exultation in the Confederate camp. Bragg and Polk and
Hardee and Breckinridge and the others felt now that Rosecrans would
retreat in the night after losing so many men and one-third of his
artillery. Great then was their astonishment when the rising sun of New
Year's day showed him sitting there, grimly waiting, with his back to
Stone River, a formidable foe despite his losses. Above all the Southern
generals saw the heavily massed artillery, which they had such good
reason to fear.
Dick, who had slept soundly through the night, was up like all the
others at dawn and he beheld the Southern army before them, yet not
moving, as if uncertain what to do. He felt again that thrill of courage
and resolution, and, born of it, was the belief that despite the first
day's defeat the chances were yet even. These western youths were of a
tough and enduring stock, as he had seen at Shiloh and Perryville, and
the battle was not always to him who won the first day. A long time
passed and there was no firing.
“Not so eager to rush us as they were,” said Warner. “It's a
mathematical certainty that an army that's not running away is not
whipped, and that certainty is patent to our Southern friends also. But
to descend from mathematics to poetry, a great poet says that he who
runs away will live to fight another day. I will transpose and otherwise
change that, making it to read: He who does not run away may make the
other fellow unable to fight another day.”
“You talk too much like a schoolmaster, George,” said Pennington.
“The most important business of a school teacher is to teach the young
idea how to shoot, and lately I've had ample chances to give such
instruction.”
It was not that they were frivolous, but like most other lads in the
army, they had grown into the habit of teasing one another, which was
often a relief to teaser as well as teased.
“I think, sir,” said Dick to Colonel Winchester, “that some of our
troops are moving.”
He was looking through his glasses toward the left, where he saw a
strong Union force, with banners waving, advancing toward Bragg's right.
“Ah, that is well done!” exclaimed Colonel Winchester. “If our men
break through there we'll cut Bragg off from Murfreesborough and his
ammunition and supplies.”
They did not break through, but they maintained a long and vigorous
battle, while the centers and other wings of the two armies did not
stir. But it became evident to Dick later in the afternoon that a mighty
movement was about to begin. His glasses told him so, and the thrill of
expectation confirmed it.
Bragg was preparing to hurl his full strength upon Rosecrans.
Breckinridge, who would have been the President of the United States,
had not the Democrats divided, was to lead it. This division of five
brigades had formed under cover of a wood. On its flank was a battery
of ten guns and two thousand of the fierce riders of the South under
Wharton and Pegram. Dick felt instinctively that Colonel Kenton with his
regiment was there in the very thick of it.
Dick's regiment with Negley's strong Kentucky brigade, which had stopped
the panic and rout the day before, had now recrossed Stone River and
were posted strongly behind it. Ahead of them were two small brigades
with some cannon, and Rosecrans himself was with this force just as
Breckinridge's powerful division emerged into the open and began its
advance upon the Union lines.
“Now, lads, stand firm!” exclaimed Colonel Winchester. “This is the
crisis.”
The colonel had measured the situation with a cool eye and brain. He
knew that the regiments on the other side of the river were worn down
by the day's fighting and would not stand long. But he believed that the
Kentuckians around him, and the men from beyond the Ohio would not yield
an inch. They were largely Kentuckians also coming against them.
The rolling fire burst from the Southern front, and the cannon on their
flanks crashed heavily. Then their infantry came forward fast, and with
a wild shout and rush the two thousand cavalry on their flanks charged.
As Colonel Winchester had expected, the two weak brigades, although
Rosecrans in person was among them, gave way, retreated rapidly to the
little river and crossed it.
The Confederates came on in swift pursuit, but Negley's Kentuckians
and the other Union men, standing fast, received them with a tremendous
volley. It was at short range, and their bullets crashed through
the crowded Southern ranks. The Winchesters were on the flank of the
defenders, where they could get a better view, and although they also
were firing as fast as they could reload and pull the trigger, they saw
the great column pause and then reel.
Rosecrans, who had fallen back with the retreating brigades, instantly
noted the opportunity. Here, a general who received too little reward
from the nation, and to whom popular esteem did not pay enough tribute,
rushed two brigades across Stone River and hurled them with all their
weight upon the Southern flank. Sixty cannon posted on the hillocks just
behind the river poured an awful fire upon the Southern column. The fire
from front and flank was so tremendous that the Southerners, veterans as
they were, gave way. The men who had held victory in their hands felt it
slipping from their grasp.
“They waver! They retreat!” shouted Colonel Winchester. “Up, boys, and
at 'em!”
The whole Union force, led by its heroic generals, rushed forward,
crossed the river and joined in the charge. The two thousand Southern
cavalry were driven off by a fire that no horsemen could withstand. The
division of Breckinridge, although fighting with furious courage,
was gradually driven back, and the day closed with the Union army in
possession of most of the territory it had lost the day before.
As they lay that night in the damp woods, Dick and his comrades, all
of whom had been fortunate enough to escape this time without injury,
discussed the battle. For a while they claimed that it was a victory,
but they finally agreed that it was a draw. The losses were enormous.
Each side had lost about one third of its force.
Rosecrans, raging like a wounded lion, talked of attacking again, but
the rains had been so heavy, the roads were so soft and deep in mud that
the cannon and the wagons could not be pushed forward.
Bragg retreated four days later from Murfreesborough, and Dick and his
comrades therefore claimed a victory, but as the winter was now shutting
down cold and hard, Rosecrans remained on the line of Murfreesborough
and Nashville.
The Winchester regiment was sent back to Nashville to recuperate and
seek recruits for its ranks. Dick and Warner and Pennington felt that
their army had done well in the west, but their hopes for the Union were
clouded by the news from the east. Lee and Jackson had triumphed again.
Burnside, in midwinter, had hurled the gallant Army of the Potomac in
vain against the heights of Fredericksburg, and twelve thousand men had
fallen for nothing.
“We need a man, a man in the east, even more than in the west,” said
Warner.
“He'll come. I'm sure he'll come,” said Dick.
Appendix: Transcription notes:
This ebook was transcribed from a volume of the 16th printing
Despite the fact that this is a fictional work, I myself find it
inappropriate that our fictional hero, Dick Mason, is credited with
discovering the “lost” copy of Lee's General Order No. 191. In fact,
Sergeant Bloss and Corporal Mitchell, of the 27th Indiana Infantry,
found the envelope containing the order, along with the three cigars, in
a field of clover on the morning of 09/13/1862.
The following modifications were applied while transcribing the printed
book to ebook:
Chapter 2
Page 31, para 4, add missing close-quotes
Page 51, para 3, add missing comma
Page 51, para 6, fix typo (“Pennigton”)
Page 52, para 7, add missing open-quotes
Chapter 3
Page 68, para 4, changed “it” to “its”
Chapter 4
Page 83, para 3, added a missing comma (In these books, I am
often tempted to add/move/remove commas, but I generally avoid
doing so. In this case, an additional comma was sorely needed.)
Chapter 5
Page 105, para 3, add missing open-quotes
Page 107, para 2, add missing open-quotes
Page 118, para 5, changed “he know not” to “he knew not”
Chapter 6
Page 142, para 11, add missing open-quotes
Chapter 7
Page 157, para 2, add missing open-quotes
Chapter 9
Page 191, para 6, add missing comma
Page 196, para 2 and 3, fix closing quotation marks
Page 197, para 1, add missing close-quote
Chapter 10
Page 210, para 1, fix typo (“Pennigton”)
Chapter 13
Page 276, para 1, change “a” to “as”
Page 281, para 2, add missing close-quotes
Page 283, para 8, change “in” to “is”
Page 288, para 4, fix typo (“seeemd”)
Page 293, para 4, add missing close-quotes
Page 297, para 2, closing double-quote should be single-quote
Limitations imposed by converting to plain ASCII:
- The word “marquee” in chapter 3 was presented in the printed
book with an accented “e”
I did not change:
- Inconsistent spelling/presentation in the printed book:
“rearguard” and “rear guard”, “guerrilla” and “guerilla”,
“round-about” and “roundabout”, “to-morrow” and “tomorrow”
- “bowlder” in chapter 10
End of Project Gutenberg's The Sword of Antietam, by Joseph A. Altsheler