The yell of the enemy was heard in the wood
below, and in a moment the declivity in front was covered with the heavy
lines of the assailants. Then the first of Hazen's regiments was brought
to its feet and poured its volley straight into the faces of the
oncoming foe. The next regiment, and the next, and then the last,
followed in quick succession. The echoes of the last volley had hardly
died away before the enemy, who came on so confident and so strong, had
disappeared, crushed and broken, into the forest, leaving the hillside
strewn with his dead and wounded.
So ended the fighting. Night came down and shrouded the fierce
combatants from each other's sight.
The dusky ranks take up the unfamiliar march with faces from the foe.
Their drums are silent, and their bugles voice-less as the spirit-horns
which marshal their heroic dead upon the farther shore. The shadowy
ranks pass on into the night. Bearing their close-furled banners and
their empty guns, they pass on into the sad and silent night of
Chickamauga to await the glorious sun of Mission Ridge.
ROBERT LEWIS KIMBERLY.
NOTE.--The writer is aware that this narrative of the battle of
Chickamauga differs so materially from the commonly-received
impressions of that event that it ought to be supported by more
than his own authority. The reader will observe that the main
narrative is made up of the experiences of one command, that to
which the writer belonged, and of which he can therefore speak
as of things which he saw.
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