Chapter II: From Fort Donelson to Chickamauga

General Bragg upon reaching Shelbyville went regularly into camp, and remained there some three or four months drilling, recruiting, and strengthening his army. General Wheeler, with his corps, was on the front watching the movement of the Federal army at Murfreesboro, scouting all the approaches, with an occasional scrap with the enemy, sometimes approaching the dignity of a battle.

In January, 1863, Wheeler’s Corps was ordered to Fort Donelson with a view of capturing the garrison stationed there. General Forrest was ordered up from West Tennessee to coöperate with Wheeler. On reaching the place, Wheeler made his arrangements to attack, and did attack the fortifications; but General Forrest refusing to coöperate, he was repulsed and the expedition was a failure. Wheeler lost quite a number of men. Col. Frank McNairy, a well-known citizen of Nashville, was killed in leading a charge. The weather was extremely cold. The streams were full of ice and the dirt roads were frozen hard, making it a matter of difficulty to pass over. Men and horses suffered greatly, as much as at any time during the war. On going back to Shelbyville, the Fourth Tennessee was detached and sent by General Bragg to Woodbury to relieve a portion of General Morgan’s command under Captain Hutchison, who was killed in an engagement with the enemy the day before we reached there. He was a fine soldier, and his death was much regretted. His home was at Springfield, Tenn., where he is affectionately remembered. The Regiment was at Woodbury some weeks, during which time we had frequent battles with the enemy coming up from Murfreesboro, where the Federal army was still stationed. We lost quite a number of men, killed and wounded. In one of these engagements Colonel Smith received a saber cut, and would probably have been killed had not the bugler of the Regiment, J. A. Stewart, relieved the situation by a well-directed shot from his pistol. From Woodbury we were ordered over to Trousdale’s Ferry, on the Caney Fork River. We went from there on a scout toward Nashville, and, turning off the Lebanon Pike, went to a point on the Cumberland River a mile above Edgefield Junction, where we waited, in ambush, for a train on the Louisville and Nashville Railroad to come in sight. We had a piece of artillery with us, commanded by Lieutenant White; and when a long train made its appearance, he opened on it, and about the first shot went into the steam chest of the engine, bringing the train to a stop in full view of our position. The train was loaded with horses; and after demolishing it and everything in sight, we retired.

Some of the men asked to be permitted to go over and get some of the horses; but Colonel Smith would not allow it, as he had another trip in contemplation, to wit: to go over to the Nashville and Chattanooga Railroad. Near Smyrna we captured a long train of cars full of officers and soldiers without firing a gun. The men were allowed to help themselves bountifully to the rich booty; and being paroled, the prisoners were permitted to pursue their journey toward Nashville on foot. From there we returned to our post at Trousdale’s Ferry. In a short while thereafter Colonel Smith and Adjutant Minnis were captured by the enemy under the following circumstances: They had been across the river inspecting the picket posts on that side, and on their return to camp after dark they were captured by a scout of the enemy which had been piloted around the pickets by a Union man of that vicinity. As soon as it was ascertained, a squad from the picket post pursued them to the vicinity of Carthage, about seven miles. They came in view of the scouts with the prisoners, whom they managed to keep so exposed that the Confederates were afraid to fire at them for fear of killing Colonel Smith and Minnis. The writer was appointed to fill the place of Adjutant Minnis, and served in this capacity till the battle of Fayetteville, N. C., in February, 1865, when he was appointed Adjutant General of the brigade, and served and surrendered as such at Greensboro, N. C., April 26, 1865. We remained some days longer on the Caney Fork, till General Rosecrans commenced his movement against General Bragg, when we were ordered to Shelbyville. We reached there in time to resist the advance of the enemy, having some well-contested battles with them, in which a good many of our men were killed and wounded, and inflicting a like loss on the enemy. Here the greater part of Colonel Malone’s Battalion, of Alabama, was captured, and we saw no more of them during the war.

When Rosecrans began his movement on Shelbyville with a heavy column, he sent a like column down the Chattanooga Railway toward Tullahoma. In order to meet this movement, General Bragg fell back to Tullahoma, where the two columns of the enemy were expected to concentrate.

The Army of Tennessee remained at Tullahoma some three or four weeks, during which time they were kept busy drilling, collecting supplies, recruiting, etc. The conscript law of the Confederate government was in full force, and Bragg received from this source quite an accession to his army. Some of these made as good soldiers as we had, but as a general thing they were a very uncertain quantity and would not do to depend on. In a short time General Rosecrans’s army appeared before Tullahoma. It had been largely recruited and numbered double the strength of the Army of Tennessee. In one of the cavalry battles around Tullahoma that great soldier, Gen. James Starnes, had been killed. His death created quite a gloom, and, had he lived, he would certainly have won higher rank. Judge McLemore, of Franklin, succeeded to his command.

General Bragg began his retrograde movement toward Chattanooga in June (I think), very wisely concluding to draw the Federals farther from his base before risking another general engagement. General Wheeler covered his rear, which the enemy’s cavalry assailed very vigorously, using their batteries freely. This continued until we passed over Cumberland Mountain, both armies losing quite a number in killed and wounded, some prisoners being taken. After passing the mountain a lull in the operations of both armies ensued. The Confederate infantry had passed on to Chattanooga. Wheeler’s cavalry, reaching the Tennessee River, passed over the bridge at Bridgeport on the plank flooring that had been laid upon the girders. After reaching Shellmound, on the Nashville and Chattanooga Railroad, General Wheeler was ordered to go to Rome, Ga., with a view to recuperating his much-jaded cavalry horses. Here we remained for two months or more and had the only real rest that we got during our service in the army. Rome was then a pleasant little city of about five thousand inhabitants, surrounded by a rich and fertile country. Wheeler’s Cavalry Corps numbered about five thousand, rank and file. The quartermasters of the respective regiments would buy a field of corn, move to it, and remain until it was exhausted, and then move on to another purchase. The horses would be fed on the corn, stalks and all, using a plentiful supply of salt, besides grazing them on grass for an hour or two each day. It was wonderful how they improved, and by the time we left there they looked as if they had been prepared for a State Fair.

The soldiers, too, were supplied with an abundance of substantial and wholesome rations. The strictest discipline prevailed. Drills were the order of the day, with both officers and privates, at least two hours each morning and evening. Prayer meetings and services by the respective chaplains were held regularly, were well attended, and many conversions took place. Drs. Bunting and Hendricks, our brigade and regimental chaplains, were kept busy and active in their duties, and we know that many lasting and substantial conversions were made through their efforts. We also had an election for Tennessee State officers while there. The Tennessee troops voted for Judge Robert L. Caruthers for Governor and for their respective Congressmen in their districts. The State Department was at Chattanooga at that time, and we suppose that the returns of the election were made to them. We have never seen any published returns of the election, but suppose it held. We suppose it was the only election ever held that had no graft or liquor dispensed as an inducement--truly a prohibition affair.

By the time we were ordered to move, Wheeler’s Corps was in splendid condition, both men and horses. Rumors were pending of a great battle, and all were anxious to be off to the war again. Early in September, 1863, we were ordered to the front. At La Fayette, Ga., we met a portion of General Bragg’s infantry. He had remained quietly at Chattanooga until the enemy made their appearance in front of the city, when he retreated south; and, marching back to La Fayette, he surprised the enemy, when General Rosecrans hastened to get his scattered army together to give battle. General Thomas, with his large corps, had crossed the Tennessee River at Bridgeport, marching across Sand Mountain toward Rome, Ga., and was separated some distance from General Rosecrans. Our brigade was sent back to Tryon Factory with the infantry brigade of General Helm to meet a Federal command, which we did. After some sharp fighting they retreated with a view of joining the main column of Rosecrans. We continued on their trail, after several hard contests with them, notably at Bluebird Gap and other places, till General Thomas had taken position in McElmore’s Cove, when General Bragg made his dispositions to capture them. General Hindman’s Division was ordered to a gap in the mountain to prevent Thomas’s escape; but for some reason he did not reach it in time to prevent it, and Thomas hurried to join with General Rosecrans. This failure on the part of General Hindman to get to the designated point in time is said to have brought about an inquiry of court-martial. It was evident that but for this failure we would have captured General Thomas’s splendid corps. General Wheeler continued his skirmishing with the right wing of General Rosecrans’s army till we reached the field of Chickamauga on the evening of the 19th of December.

We relieved General Breckenridge’s Division at Glass Mill, on the Chickamauga, where they had had a considerable battle with the enemy under General Negley. Other parts of General Bragg’s line on his right had been hotly engaged during the day and late in the evening by the combined attack of Generals Cleburne and Cheatham. Some success had been obtained by them.

I here insert a paper prepared by me after a visit to the battle field of Chickamauga more than twenty years afterwards, and which I was invited to read before Donelson Bivouac and an assemblage of the Daughters of the Confederacy in their hall at Gallatin:

The battle of Chickamauga was fought on Saturday and Sunday,
September 19 and 20, 1863, the farthest extremity of the
field being about thirteen miles southwest of Chattanooga,
extending up to about seven miles of that city, which is
about the dividing line between the States of Georgia and
Tennessee. General Rosecrans was in command of the Federal
forces, and General Bragg was in command of the Confederates.

We are standing to-day on the exact spot in the old field
near Glass Mill where we dismounted to fight, and from which
we advanced to take part in that bloody and hard-fought
battle between American soldiers. We feel that we are
standing upon consecrated ground, baptized as it has been
by the best and purest blood that ever pulsated in human
veins. It was here, amid the smoke of battle, that the forms
of personal friends and comrades faded from our sight and
we beheld them no more. As we gaze up into the blue skies
that panoply these mountains and valleys, we seem to feel
that their spirits hover around here yet, and that we can
again commune with them. As imagination paints, we feel that
same inspiring emotion which nothing on earth can excite
save the busy preparation for battle. As we listen to its
roar--the boom of cannon, the crash of musketry, the shouts
of advancing columns--we experience the light, airy feeling,
twitching of the nerves, and restless expectation that an
impending conflict alone can produce, and feel that we
breathe an atmosphere high above this earth.

Rosecrans in advancing from Chattanooga had marched by his
right flank toward the Alabama line. He had supposed that
General Bragg was retreating; and when Bragg marched back,
taking position at La Fayette, Ga., he seemingly became
alarmed and, with a view of getting together his scattered
columns, marched back toward Chattanooga along the line of
Missionary Ridge, covered by the mountainous country and the
Chickamauga River south of his line of march. About ten days
before the battle Wharton’s Division of cavalry, to which he
belonged, was ordered up from Rome, Ga., where we had been
since our retreat from Middle Tennessee. This inactivity
had become tiresome, and the order to move was received with
delight. The air was pregnant with rumors. A great battle
was said to be imminent. The men moved with alacrity and
determination, for they felt that the opportunity was at
hand when they could regain lost territory and drive the
enemy beyond their homes. Some scouting and skirmishing
took place before the general engagement. We remember that
at Tryon Factory, Bluebird Gap, McLemore’s Cove, and other
places we had hard fighting, driving in their right flank.
General Forrest with his cavalry had opened the fight at
Reed’s Bridge, on the Chickamauga, on Friday, the 18th. On
Saturday, the 19th, most of the Confederate army had passed
to the north side of the river and confronted the enemy,
whose right wing rested at Lee & Gordon’s mill and extended
in a northern direction, covering the roads leading from La
Fayette to Chattanooga. Fighting took place during the day,
and late in the evening, by a united charge by Cleburne’s
and Cheatham’s Divisions, they drove the enemy and gained
some advantage, but with considerable loss. General
Longstreet arrived late that evening, and a portion of his
corps came upon the field that night--to wit, McLaws’s
and Hood’s small divisions, numbering not exceeding eight
thousand muskets. This was the only portion of his corps
that participated in the next day’s battle. On consultation
that night at Bragg’s headquarters, the Confederate army was
divided into two wings, General Polk to command the right
and General Longstreet the left. The order was for Polk to
commence the fight on the morrow at daylight, when it was
to be taken up successively along the line to the left. For
some cause the attack did not commence until late in the
day, which circumstance did and has since caused serious
comment regarding the result. We thought then and see now
that if the Confederates had had two more hours of daylight
General Thomas would have shared the fate of McCook and
Crittenden, commanding the other two corps of the enemy, and
would have been completely shattered and broken to pieces.
This failure of the brave old Bishop to come to time was
afterwards the subject of court-martial investigation,
though no one ever doubted his courage or loyalty to the
cause for which he afterwards gave his life; yet history
will hold him responsible for the great mistake, whether
caused by subordinates or not. It was midday, we suppose,
when General Wharton’s Division was dismounted in the old
field upon the bank of the Chickamauga at Glass’s Mill.
They formed the left of Bragg’s line of battle, with Hood’s
Division on our right at Lee & Gordon’s mill. We judged from
the firing that the line of battle was some five miles in
length, and that the battle was raging with desperate fury
at this time.

It was Sunday--a calm, clear September day in the mountains
of Georgia, amid scenery that Switzerland could not excel in
romantic grandeur. The rich green foliage of the mountains
served as a background, and from its sides and gorges arose
in dense volumes the sulphurous smoke of battle. The fiery
wave of battle boiled and surged in its maddening fury
during the evening and until nightfall. Commencing on the
right, the deafening thunder would roll along the line
toward the left, when it would be taken up and swept back
to where it started. The sound indicated with accuracy the
result in different parts of the field; for as a column
would advance to the charge you would first hear the rapid
and quick discharge of the batteries, indicating that their
position was threatened, then would come a crash of musketry
as if every tree in the forest had fallen, and high above
all this the shouts of the Confederates. For a moment a
deathlike silence would ensue just there, unmistakably
evidencing the fact that the battery had been taken or
driven from the field. This would hardly die away at a
given point before it would be repeated successively along
the line and echoed back again, swelling at times to such
a mighty chorus manufactured from the thunders of war that
it seemed that both heaven and earth would be torn asunder.
Truly

“Such a din was there,
As if men fought on earth below
And fiends in upper air.”

We feel our inability to give more than a faint conception
of the grandeur of the scene that met the eyes and fell
upon the ears of those who participated in the battle of
Chickamauga. They can never cease to remember it. The roar
of the four hundred cannon from Round Top and Cemetery
Hill, at Gettysburg, which preceded Pickett’s charge, has
never been equaled, though the casualties resulting from
this grand artillery duel were comparatively few; while
at Chickamauga all day long on Sunday there was a series
of infantry charges upon batteries in chosen position, in
which whole companies and regiments were swept away like the
morning mist before the rays of the sun.

While sitting upon our horses listening to all this, we
noticed a courier gallop up to General Wharton and deliver
a message. We were ordered to dismount, as heretofore
stated, and advance toward a battery that was shelling us
from an eminence across the Chickamauga and about one-half
mile distant. The order to advance was received with lusty
cheers, for the men were chafing to go forward. The brigade
was composed of the Eighth and Eleventh Texas, the First
Kentucky, and the Fourth Tennessee Regiments. Col. Thomas
Harrison, of the Eighth Texas, commanded the brigade as
senior officer, and Lieut. Col. Paul Anderson was in command
of the Fourth Tennessee, which was on the right of the
brigade. We moved in column down the road leading to the
river and, fording the stream near the mill, formed a line
of battle in regular infantry style in the edge of low,
level beech woods, and, placing our skirmishers a short
distance in front, advanced through the woods. The enemy
knew that we were coming and kept up an incessant shelling
of the woods, some of our men being injured by limbs of
trees torn off by the cannon balls. We had advanced but a
short distance when the skirmishers became hotly engaged,
which was the signal for a rapid advance, and we swept
through the woods, driving the enemy before us. They
rallied at a fence at the edge of the woodland, delivered an
effective volley, and fell back across a little field to a
new line behind a fence and on the edge of another woodland
along an eminence where their artillery was planted. As our
line emerged from the wood into the open space this battery,
shotted with grape, and the line behind the fence, armed
with seven-shooting Spencer rifles, opened on us, and a
perfect hailstorm of deadly missiles filled the air. Being
commanded to lie down, we did so for a few moments, and then
arose and charged across the field. Just here we sustained
our heaviest loss, and in a few moments the Fourth Tennessee
had forty men shot down as we arose from the ground. As we
rushed across the field the line sustaining the battery
broke; and as they ran off many were killed and wounded,
two or three hundred of them surrendering in a body. We were
struck here with the gallantry of a Federal officer. He was
on horseback and with drawn saber was attempting to hold
his men to their position. He was killed, and his body fell
into our hands. Papers upon his person indicated that he
was colonel of the First Ohio Regiment. We went half a mile
farther until we drove them beyond Crawfish Springs, the
field hospital of the Federal army. This explained, what we
could not understand at the time, why we were making a fight
so far from the line of our infantry. The Federals had been
driven from the line of the Chickamauga, and, this being
the only water accessible to them, they had made Crawfish
Springs their field hospital. We have learned since that we
were fighting the division of Gen. George Crook. Both sides
lost quite a number in killed and wounded. Where a stand
had been made they were thick upon the ground. The line of
attack for a mile was well defined; but, really, though we
gained the fight and drove them from the field, our loss in
killed and wounded was as great as theirs. The immense crowd
of men, tents, vehicles, etc., at Crawfish Springs caused us
to believe at first that we had captured the whole Federal
army. Dead men in rail pens for protection and wounded men
in large circus tents were scattered about over acres of
ground, with the accustomed retinue of hospital assistants
and not a few shirkers from the fight. This spring is one
of the largest and purest of clear water I have ever seen.
Its volume is large enough to supply a great city, and the
stream that flows from it is that of a small river. After
detailing a guard to hold the captives, the remainder of the
command were marched back to their horses. The road was full
of our ambulances, litters, etc., bearing off the dead and
wounded. Here was presented that other phase of grim-visaged
war, sickening to look upon: friends and comrades dead and
dying who a few hours before were full of life and soldierly
enthusiasm; men with their pale, ashy countenances turned
toward the sky. Such scenes dissipate the excitement that
the advance creates. A friend who was mortally wounded
recognized me as we passed. As he evidently wished to say
something to me, I stopped and took his cold, icy hand.
Fixing his glassy eyes upon me, he said in a faltering
voice: “Let my people at home know that I died like a true
soldier.” He died that night; and his body rests somewhere
upon the field his valor helped to win, though his name will
never appear in the “count of the battle.” His was the fate
of thousands of gallant spirits whose memory lives in the
hearts of a small circle of acquaintances, but whose heroism
has made their commanders great in song and story.

I have had a desire to visit these scenes ever since the war
closed. Soldiers are rushed upon battle fields and rushed
away, leaving a desire to visit them again. It was just
twenty-four years ago and the same hour of the day when
I last saw this field where Harrison’s Brigade made their
fight, yet many things are true to the impressions left;
and what a rush of buried memories are resurrected! The old
mill where we crossed the Chickamauga looks the same. The
woodman’s ax has leveled the dense beech grove on the north
side through which we moved to the attack. A few scattering
trees are still standing to indicate the character of timber
that once stood upon the ground. Now it is an inclosed
field, upon which is growing in rich luxuriance “the tall
yellow corn.” I tried to follow the line of our advance,
and suppose I did so from the fact that, the timber being
cleared away, the high ground upon which the enemy’s
battery was located is plainly to be seen. I fancied that
I found the little hillock on the far edge of the woodland
where we were ordered to lie down while the enemy’s shot
sprinkled us with gravel. I cut a cornstalk from the spot
where so many of our men were shot down, and have it yet
as a memento. The low log house on Snodgrass Hill is still
standing, and looks as it did then. It was here that we
captured so many cannons. This point in the field is upon
its southern extremity, situated between the road leading
from La Fayette and the one leading from Crawfish Springs
to Chattanooga. Just here the hardest fighting occurred. The
field is still an immense rugged and woody forest, and no
particular marks can be seen except now and then the tall
stump of a tree. All through the woods for miles the bodies
of the trees have been chopped by curio hunters. In a dense
jungle at the foot of Snodgrass Hill I noticed a number of
graves. The letters on the rotted boards indicated that they
were Alabamians. The Dyer, Vittitoe, Glenn, and Ross houses
have been preserved, and look as they did then. But after
traveling over the field for hours, I might say with truth
that there is nothing here to tell the stranger of the spot
where one of the bloodiest battles in the world’s history
was fought. Hundreds of brave men of both armies were buried
here in their blankets, and hardly a sign seems to mark
their resting place. But the name and fame of Chickamauga
will live in history as long as Lookout lifts its rocky
ribs to the skies or the river of death winds its way to the
sea. As I stood there musing I could not but ask myself the
questions: Where are the men who were actors in this bloody
drama a quarter of a century ago? Where is the spirit that
pervaded this immense host and drove them to deeds of blood
and slaughter? The glory, pomp, and circumstance of war have
departed, and to such as survived that field and the long
years that have passed since then it seems as a shadowy
dream, without the semblance of reality.

But to resume: On Sunday night we slept upon the field near
General Longstreet’s headquarters, at the foot of Snodgrass
Hill. At an early hour the Fourth Tennessee was ordered
to report to him for orders. We then anticipated a renewal
of the battle. He sent us forward toward Chattanooga to
report the whereabouts of the enemy. I remember that we
passed a little white house near the Chattanooga Road. As
we approached it, I noticed a hog running through the woods
with a soldier’s amputated leg in its mouth. This was one
of our field hospitals, the window of which was some three
or four feet from the ground. The surgeons within as they
amputated a limb would throw it out of the window. The pile
outside was so high that they would have to brush away the
topmost limbs. Just beyond here was an elevated plateau
where a hard struggle had taken place. As many as six
batteries of the enemy had been broken to pieces. Horses
were piled thick one upon the other, mangled and torn in
every conceivable shape. Behind these batteries was a long
line of Federals who had been killed where they lay. The
fence had caught fire, and many of the bodies were burned
into a dark crisp. Every tree and bush was marked by balls,
and in some places large trees were torn to pieces. To see
it, you would conclude that a small bird could not have
survived the storm of bullets that swept like a cyclone
through the forest.

I have seen paintings depicting the horrors of the battle
field which I supposed were overdrawn; but this idea
was dispelled at Chickamauga, and I appreciate now the
fact that the imagination cannot always do it justice.
All through the woods were telegraph wires thrown over
the top of the bushes, connecting every part of the
Federal line. These were incased in something resembling
a cotton rope. Our men utilized them for bridle reins.
Everywhere we found abandoned property and gathered up
many prisoners--indicating not only a defeat, but a rout
of the enemy. We sent back couriers all day long with
this information, but no pursuit was made. We went forward
on Missionary Ridge as far as Rossville and in sight of
Chattanooga, where great consternation existed among the
enemy. We were informed that some of them were escaping to
the north side of the Tennessee River. On Tuesday, the 22d,
with the remainder of General Wheeler’s Cavalry Corps, we
came through McFarland’s Gap and skirmished with the enemy
close up to the corporate limits of Chattanooga. We captured
their signal flag on the point of Lookout. Its operator
worked his machine until hands were laid upon him. We
skirmished all day, losing some men in killed and wounded.
In the evening we were withdrawn, and here ended the battle
of Chickamauga.

The humblest soldier believes we could easily have captured
the Federal army on Monday, the 21st of September. The
superior valor of the Confederate soldier was again
published to the world, but the full measure which soldierly
courage had won at fearful cost was permitted to slip away.
I fully concur in the comment made by a gallant Federal
officer, in speaking of Chickamauga the other day, that
“it was the bravest standing-up fight of the Civil War.”
It has never been depicted as have been the battle fields
of Virginia; but no field save Gettysburg, where the forces
engaged were larger, can show such a list of killed and
wounded as lay upon that field on Sunday night after the
battle. The best-authenticated reports from both sides place
the killed and wounded alone at 34,000. General Bragg had
about 55,000 men, and General Rosecrans had about 65,000
or 70,000. The great battle of Waterloo did not reach this
_per centum_ by one-half. The Confederates captured 8,000
or 10,000 (not including their wounded), 51 pieces of
artillery, 15,000 stands of arms, a large amount of
ordinance stores and camp equipage. The enemy were driven
from every portion of the field, leaving it in possession
of the Confederates. It was fought on ground of their
own choosing. In some parts they had erected breastwork
protection that had to be assailed by Confederates,
frequently in exposed fields; but they were driven from
every inch of the field, leaving their killed and wounded in
our possession. The Confederate loss in killed and wounded
amounted to 17,300, and the Federal loss in killed and
wounded 16,800--this for the reason that the Confederates,
being the attacking party, were, of course, the more exposed.

Northern writers and speakers sometimes claim that the
Confederate army was numerically larger at Chickamauga
than the Federal army. I suppose this arises from the
fact that they think General Longstreet was there with
his entire corps of more than 20,000, when, in fact, but
two reduced divisions of his corps were there to take part
in the battle--namely, Hood’s and McLaws’s Divisions--and
they participated only in the last day’s battle. These
two divisions did not exceed 8,000. Bragg retreated to
Chattanooga from Middle Tennessee a few months before with
about 35,000, and the only accessions he had to his army
were Quarles’s Brigade, from Mobile, numbering 3,000, Hood’s
and McLaws’s Divisions, and a few loose detachments he had
collected up from his department. His entire force could not
have numbered more than 55,000.

These writers grow very eloquent over Missionary Ridge and
draw gorgeous pictures of the “battle above the clouds.”
The two fields are contiguous, and the battles were fought
within a few weeks of each other. They do not admit of
a comparison. I would not rob the Federal soldier of a
single laurel, but what are the facts? After the battle of
Chickamauga, Longstreet had left, taking with him General
Bushrod Johnson’s Division of the Army of Tennessee, and
other troops had returned to their stations; and General
Bragg was holding Missionary Ridge with a force not
exceeding 25,000 men, who were clamoring for a change of
commanders. What could they now promise themselves with a
smaller army against a heavily reënforced enemy? All of the
renowned Federal leaders were at Missionary Ridge--Grant,
Sherman, Hooker, Sheridan, and others--with an army of over
100,000. With such numerical strength and the prestige of
such commanders it was possible, as it proved, to break
through our thin line at a given point and, taking it in
reverse, to drive the Confederates from their position.
But here was committed a graver error than Bragg had made
at Chickamauga, for the Confederate army should have been
captured. Instead of a vigorous onset and pursuit, but
a feeble one was made, and that was arrested by a single
division under Pat Cleburne at Ringgold Gap, a few miles
below there.

Chickamauga and Gettysburg were the two great battles of the
war, the one in the Middle West and the other in the East.
They were the pivotal fields upon which the cause of the
South turned. Two more hours of daylight at Chickamauga on
Sunday, and an assault by General Lee at Gettysburg with his
entire army, would have brought about a different result.
On these two occasions the Confederate had reached the
zenith of his strength and enthusiasm. After this he was too
intelligent not to know that he was wasting his weakening
strength beating against a mighty stone which gathered
force as it moved. He fought bravely and with some degree
of success until the last, but with the desperation of a
forlorn hope.

We cannot conclude without saying a word to the ladies who
have honored this occasion with their presence. In fact,
any meeting of Confederate soldiers would be incomplete
without your presence. I would not be extravagant in what
I say; but in truth the Southern woman has been the truest,
the best, and the most devoted friend the Confederate
soldier ever had. During the war she was his ministering
angel in the camp, on the march, and in the hospital. She
has been the light and sunshine of the desolated home that
the war left him. Her sweet words of cheer have smoothed
the rugged pathway of life and have guided his footsteps
toward prosperity again. Her devotion has never flagged
nor faltered for a moment; and to-day she is at work aiding
and assisting the old, disabled, and indigent soldier,
making happy his declining years. How can we forget you? We
should be untrue to every principle of gratitude to do so.
Before I die I want to see some lasting testimonial given
expressive of our appreciation. Were I permitted to name it,
it would be a shaft of the purest marble, the tall summit of
which would touch the skies, and I would plant it upon the
highest point of old Lookout, in full view of Chickamauga’s
ensanguined field, where so many of the sons of Tennessee
gave their lives for what is _just_ and _right_.