THE PRESENTATION.
The restful weeks following the great battle go slowly by. The ranks
of the regiment fill up from the return of the slightly wounded and
the detached. The white tents about Murfreesborough, placed in regular
rows, form a new city of vast extent. Camp duties, drills, inspection,
review, guard mounting and dress parade fill the busy hours. The
fighting giant is in training for the summer campaign of Tullahoma and
the advance into Georgia.
I recall the afternoon of a perfect day in the early spring time.
Parade over and dismissed, by some preconcerted signal, to me unknown,
the first sergeants do not march the men to quarters, but go to their
positions and company commanders take their places in line. “Attention!
Battalion!” shouts Major Stratton, assuming the command. I look on
somewhat amazed at this sudden devotion to a drill not down in the camp
orders.
The battalion forms square. I am invited to it, and with speech all too
complimentary and feeling reference to the great battle, its losses and
its gains, am presented with the beautiful weapons you here admire.
The surprise is only excelled by my delight with the gift. They shall
be worn with pride, they shall be used in honor.
I cherish them for the sake of the givers, and practice to know how and
to become worthy to use them. They stand me in good stead very often,
and familiarity with them does not breed contempt of their power.
Months go by. The Tullahoma campaign has been fought to a finish. On
ostensible recruiting service, but really for participation in the
momentous Brough-Vallandigham campaign in Ohio, the opportunity is
afforded me to go home for a brief season. I avail myself of it, and
take proudly home to show to friends the gift of comrades beloved.
The duty in the north performed, I turn south to rejoin the command.
The military situation is most interesting. Like the sharp end of
a lance, the western army has pierced into the very vitals of the
Confederacy. Rosecrans has won his objective, Chattanooga; paying
therefor the bloody penalty of Chickamauga, but is practically besieged
by an enemy whose camp fires light the many miles of horizon, from
where the crouching lion of lofty Lookout Mountain, with extended paws,
touches the Tennessee, around the semi-circle of frowning ridges to
where the strongly intrenched line again touches the deep flowing river
at Tunnel Hill. He is relieved from command by the powers that be, and
Thomas, the reliable, the Rock of Chickamauga, beloved of all men,
takes his place as chief. He declares his intention to hold his great
strategic position “until we starve,” and unless help comes, starvation
seems probable.
[Illustration: GENERAL GEORGE H. THOMAS
“The Rock of Chickamauga.”]
Hooker is on his way from the east with two corps of veterans of the
Potomac, and Sherman marches to us with the victorious columns, flushed
with the capture of Vicksburg, from the banks of the Mississippi.
The great Captain, with the fame of Fort Donelson and Shiloh, comes
also, to assume supreme command. Grant! Sherman! Thomas! Behold the
triumvirate! Truly, the great game of war is now to be played by
experts. I hasten to take place as one of the pawns.