General Joseph E. Johnston had one of the most varied and eventful careers of any general officer in the Confederate service. General Robert E. Lee was born January 19th, 1807; General Johnston was born February 3d, of the same year, making a difference in their ages of fifteen days. They were both Virginians, and graduated from West Point in the same class.

General Johnston held the highest rank of any officer in the United States army, who resigned to take service with the Confederate government. Of the really great leaders of the men who wore the gray, he was perhaps criticized more than any other. Whatever were the charges against General Johnston, he was always able to defend himself with forceful ability, and with extreme plausibility to present both his theories and the conduct of his campaigns in a strong and vigorous way. Oftentimes, a student of the history of military operations will question, in his own mind, whether General Johnston was really a great soldier, or an unfortunate victim of jealousy, or a brilliant leader, against whom fate had a bitter and lasting grudge. Whatever critics may say, he maintained to a wonderful degree the confidence and esteem of his men, and his Atlanta campaign will attract attention through all ages and demand admiration for the man who successfully planned and carried it out. It unquestionably takes high place among the great campaigns which were conducted from 1861 to 1865. The seventy-four days that Johnston passed in the immediate presence of the opposing army were days of incessant fighting, great mortality and immeasurable toil; and of such a character as to hold to the highest tension the nerves and hearts of his followers. Probably no officer who followed the stars and bars ever had a more difficult task assigned him than that which was given to General Johnston in northern Georgia, in the spring and summer of 1864. General Bragg’s failures, whether justly or unjustly, had called forth the sharpest criticism, and while a great soldier, he did not retain in defeat the love and faith of the men he led. In these matters, General Johnston never failed.

General Johnston was placed in command of the Army of the Tennessee, by the authorities at Richmond, with the distinct understanding and positive order that he must advance and stay the tide of invasion which was slowly but surely moving southward and sapping the sinews and the life of the Confederacy. All knew that if the Army of the Tennessee should be destroyed, and the Federals should take possession of Alabama, Mississippi and Georgia, with the Mississippi River as a base, it would not be very long until whatever may have been General Lee’s resources, he would be taken in flank and rear and his armies annihilated.

General Johnston, while confessedly a man of genius, was also extremely tenacious of his rights, and resented what he considered a slight; and he did not hesitate in the most emphatic way to criticize that which his knowledge as a general condemned.

The Confederate government, on two occasions, at least, was forced over the judgment of its executives, by popular clamor, to give to General Johnston most important commands. Twice removed, he was subsequently reassigned to the positions from which he had been retired. In each case, and whenever removed failure followed, he calmly and with the most abundant reasons was enabled to tell those who deposed him, “I told you so.”

It may be that General Johnston frequently asked of the War Department what it was helpless to give. He was wise and experienced enough to see the overwhelming needs of the armies. He was sagacious enough to fully estimate the power and strength of the enemy. He loved the cause of the South so thoroughly that he hesitated to stake its destiny on one battle, the outcome of which was extremely doubtful. He refused to risk the life of his country on a single throw “of the wild, grim dice of the iron game.” Those in authority charge that he was over-cautious and afraid to take the chances that the surrounding exigencies and dangers demanded, and that he put his own judgment over and above the orders of his superiors. He never realized that they fully appreciated and understood the needs of the situation, and he never fully recognized that those above him had the right to demand that he should subordinate his judgment to the authority from which he derived his power. He felt that he had closer and more complete view of the entire field; that he knew better than those five hundred miles away of the desperate chances they called upon him to assume, and he believed that the South could not afford to take such forlorn risks when by the caprices of fate the life of the Confederacy was hanging by a most delicate thread.

General Johnston had personal reasons which caused him to distrust the fairness and justness of the War Department in the treatment of himself. The order in which the generals were named, whereby he was made the fourth in rank, was extremely distasteful to him, and he did not hesitate to say that he felt he had been wronged.

His conduct of the Army of Northern Virginia had given him much reputation, but in the momentous struggle around Richmond, the cruel destiny, which appeared to overshadow him, brought him a wound on the 31st of May, 1862, when, humanly speaking, victory was within his grasp.

He was succeeded on that day by General Robert E. Lee, and from that time, General Johnston’s connection with the Army of Northern Virginia ended. During the term of his service, he was wounded ten times. He was brave to a fault, but never to such an extent as unnecessarily to imperil the life of a commander.

Many opportunities came, but the fair-minded student must admit that, with the exception of Bull Run and Seven Pines, he never had an equal chance.

The correspondence between General Johnston and the authorities at Richmond shows that the government had good reasons to feel that General Johnston was not a very obedient commander. And while he may have known better than those who gave the orders, they considered it was his business to obey rather than to question or complain.

From May, 1861, to June, 1862, General Johnston was in active and constant service. He was often charged with over-caution, but his admirers say this resulted from his great loyalty to the South and his eager desire to see it win its independence.

After his wound, on the 31st of May on the James River, he was forced to remain inactive until the summer of 1863, when Vicksburg was in peril—again his country called, and he responded cheerfully and promptly.

His campaigns in Mississippi and his failure to relieve Vicksburg have been widely and sharply discussed. That the operations in behalf of Vicksburg and for the defense of Mississippi failed, could not, by those unbiased, be attributed solely to any fault on the part of General Johnston. He protested that disobedience of his orders, by inferiors, marred his plans, and on December 18th, 1863, he was directed to turn over the army of Mississippi to General Leonidas Polk. He was naturally not sorry to be relieved from a situation that had been associated with so many embarrassments, and in which there were so many unfortunate misunderstandings.

The Confederate government again called him a second time to take command of the Army of the Tennessee; but he was relieved on the 22nd day of July, 1863; and on the 3d of December, 1863, he was again instructed to lead the forces which were attempting to stem the advance of the invaders towards Atlanta, and the further progress of which, into the heart of Georgia, was regarded as an impending death blow to Confederate hopes.

General Johnston, with his knowledge of equipment, realized how inferior were those of his men to the armies that wore the blue, and most earnestly and insistently pleaded for better equipments and more troops. It must be said that he knew better than any living man the condition of the forces, which he was called to command. The failures of his predecessors only quickened his desire and hope, out of the wreck, to win victory, and it may be that a patriotic spirit, united with ambition, also pointed out to him in an attractive form the fact that he was to save Atlanta from the grasp of the Federal forces, and become the leader in the West that General Lee was in the East.

There must have been a feeling of intense satisfaction to General Johnston in the resolution of the Confederate government to appoint him anew to the second and most important command in the Confederate armies.

Those who put themselves in General Johnston’s place are bound to admit that he had some ground of justification for his feeling towards the Confederate authorities. We can look at these conditions more clearly after a lapse of nearly fifty years, and even the friends of the men who composed the War Department, and the friends of General Johnston, are forced to the conclusion that there were two sides to the controversy.

When, on December 27th, 1863, he assumed command of the Army of the Tennessee, General Johnston undertook a Herculean task. From all the reports of those connected with the department, it is shown that General Johnston made the best of the situation when matters were turned over to him. General Johnston had assumed a burden which would press hard upon his shoulders. Persistently and even fiercely, he called for more troops, more horses, more guns, more feed, more men in the infantry. It was his desire to be able to stop the invasion. He was not satisfied with the meagre resources of the government at Richmond, but asked more. When called to the command of the defeated army, it was with the understanding that he should make an offensive campaign. The authorities felt that a Fabian policy was the forerunner of ruin, and that Napoleonic methods, with even desperate odds and chances, was the only plan which suggested or held out the least show of victory. He had a right to expect such resources as would give him some sort of chance in the desperate battle which his country had called upon him to wage. He was facing an army twice as large as his own, probably the best equipped army that ever marched on the American continent, commanded by a general who, as even those who disliked him admitted, was a great soldier, who had behind him practically unlimited resources, against which General Johnston was to go with comparatively few and badly provided men, and he constantly and with increasing emphasis made demands on his government for more troops. The people at Richmond felt the crucial moment was at hand and the chances of battle must be risked even though the chances were very largely against the Confederate troops. They said, in substance, to the leader of the Army of the Tennessee:

So soon as the rains of the spring had ceased and the roads had dried, the Federal general set out with a force of eighty-five thousand men to force his way down through Georgia to Atlanta; he had already gone through Chattanooga, he was well on his way from Chattanooga to Atlanta, and between him and his destination only stood Johnston with as brave men as ever faced a foe; men who were ready and willing to die, if needs be, to save their country. The fierce campaigns of the winter which had been imposed upon the cavalry had weakened their force, many of them were dismounted, and many more of them were poorly mounted, and in that depleted condition were not equal to the tasks that this important march was now to lay upon them.

Forrest and Wheeler and their subordinates had done all that men could do. They had pushed their columns to the limits of endurance. Their presence now became necessary to protect the flanks of General Johnston’s army and stand off Federal raids. They were too busy at home to justify attacks upon the enemy’s rear.

In the first few days of May, General Sherman began to feel his way towards the Confederate position. The Army of the Tennessee had wintered at Dalton, a place that General Johnston could not see was of any strategic importance, but its surrender would mean another disappointment of the national hopes, and a further impairment of confidence in the Confederate forces to resist the apparently relentless destiny that was pursuing the decimated legions that had so long and fearlessly challenged a further advance into a state, the possession of which was vital to the nation’s life.

Among the forces composing the cavalry of General Johnston’s army was Grigsby’s Brigade, composed of the 9th Kentucky, led by Colonel W. C. P. Breckinridge, and Dortch’s and Kirkpatrick’s battalions. These soldiers were among the best that Kentucky furnished. They were largely young men from the Bluegrass, few of them exceeding twenty-five years in age. They had come out of Kentucky in July, 1862, and October, 1862; had now received more than a year’s seasoning, and were by their military experiences fitted for the hardest and fiercest conflicts. They had left Kentucky well mounted. Grigsby had been on the Ohio raid and escaped the catastrophe which met General Morgan’s command in July, 1863, at Buffington Island. A portion of his regiment and a part of the 10th Kentucky Cavalry alone came back from that fatal ride. The 9th Kentucky, under Colonel Breckinridge, had not gone upon the Ohio raid. Grigsby was one of the best of the Kentucky cavalry colonels. He was born in Virginia, September 11th, 1818. He was just forty-four years old when he entered the Confederate service; brave, determined, fearless, enterprising, he established a splendid reputation, and when the Army of the Tennessee was before Chattanooga, he was given command of a brigade by General Wheeler, including the 1st, 2nd and 9th Kentucky Cavalry and later Dortch’s and Kirkpatrick’s battalions. In the retreat from Missionary Ridge, General Bragg designated Grigsby and his Kentuckians to cover the rear, and they did it with preeminent valor and intrepidity.

Later on, General Wheeler became so much attached to General Grigsby that he made him chief of staff; and in Tennessee, Georgia and the Carolinas, during the darkest and closing scenes of the nation’s struggle, he won superb commendation and became one of General Wheeler’s most trusted and vigilant lieutenants.

The 9th Kentucky Cavalry was essentially a central Kentucky product. It was recruited partly during General Morgan’s raid of 1862, in Kentucky, and was completed during Bragg’s occupancy of the state, in the summer and fall of 1862. It was commanded by Colonel W. C. P. Breckinridge who, when a mere lad at college, won a reputation as one of the most eloquent of the young men Kentucky had ever known.

He had been practicing law four years when the war began. In July, 1862, he recruited a company that became part of the 2nd Kentucky Cavalry, under General John H. Morgan.

When the Confederates returned to Kentucky, under Bragg, Captain Breckinridge was enabled to recruit a battalion, and this was subsequently consolidated with Robert G. Stoner’s battalion and became the 9th Kentucky Cavalry Regiment, of which Breckinridge became colonel.

By December, 1862, he was in command of a brigade in General Morgan’s famous Kentucky raid, which covered the Christmas of 1862 and New Year of 1863. Saved from the wreck of the Ohio raid, his regiment was part of the brigade commanded by Colonel Grigsby in Kelly’s Division of Wheeler’s Cavalry Corps.

The Kentucky brigade was engaged in many brilliant operations in Tennessee and Georgia. Part of it rode with Wheeler in his raid through Tennessee, in Sherman’s rear. General Wheeler, in his reports, was generous in the praise of the distinguished young colonel, afterwards known as the “Silver-Tongued Orator of Kentucky,” and representative of the Henry Clay district for a number of years in the United States Congress.

Two of the services rendered by the Kentucky brigade are to be sketched in this book. First, the brilliant fight at Dug Creek Gap, at the opening of the Atlanta campaign, and, second, its work in capturing General Stoneman, some weeks later.

The Kentucky brigade, at the Dug Creek Gap, did much to give inspiration to the army under General Johnston, which, while generally retreating, was always cheerful and, even though constantly retiring, never lost its courage or its fortitude.

This brigade was not overly fond of discipline, against which there was always a silent protest; notwithstanding which they were always ready to grapple with any foe that fate brought across their path. They bore the hardships of every campaign without a murmur or complaint. In July, September, October, November and December, no raids, however trying, had been able to bring from these splendid cavalrymen a sigh of regret or a murmur at the arduous work that their country and general had assigned them. When General Johnston, with complete reliance upon their courage and fidelity in the face of the most imminent danger, designated them for a difficult and hazardous service, they accepted it with great joy, and marched out with defiant shouts and enthusiastic cheers to obey his commands and fulfill his expectations.

While General Johnston, through January, February and March of 1864, was appealing for more men, more guns and more equipments, Sherman had orders from General Grant to “move against Johnston’s army, break it up, and to get into the interior of the enemy’s country as far as he could, inflicting all the damages possible on their war resources.” General Johnston had directions to strike the Federal army in the flank, attack it in detail, or do anything that, by a bold and aggressive forward movement, would inspire the people of the Confederacy with yet more patience and more willingness to make still further sacrifices for Southern independence.

As to how many men Johnston and Sherman each had at this particular time, there has been much calculation and superabundance of figuring. General Johnston said that on the 30th of April, up to which time no serious losses had been inflicted upon his forces, he had forty-two thousand eight hundred and fifty-six men. Some Federal writers insist that the Confederates had eighty-four thousand.

By the 1st of May, 1864, the roads had dried sufficiently to warrant an earnest advance, and on the 5th of May, General Thomas, under direction of General Sherman, made a movement on Tunnel Hill. On May 7th, the Confederate forces were withdrawn, and then commenced the famous Dalton-Atlanta campaign.

Four miles southwest of Dalton, on the great road from Dalton to Lafayette, a little distance away from Mill Creek Gap and Snake Creek Gap, was Dug Creek Gap, a mere road cut out of the mountain side, and the steeps rising up beside the road provided splendid opportunities to resist those who might undertake to force a passage over the mountain by this narrow precipitous defile. It was not a place to deal much with artillery, but it was a spot where close range or hand-to-hand fighting alone was to settle the conflicts of the day. Oftentimes, the Confederate soldiers had marched through Dug Creek Gap, and in February, preceding Sherman’s advance in May, it had been seized by an Indiana regiment, which held it until the gallant Cleburne drove it away and repossessed it for the Confederacy.

Dug Creek Gap had not been fortified and when, on May 5th, General Sherman began his famous march, it was guarded by a small number of Arkansas troops under Colonel Williamson, numbering not more than two hundred and fifty. General Sherman was constantly and cautiously pushing his way southward. He had three armies, under three skillful and experienced generals: Thomas, with sixty thousand; McPherson, with twenty-four thousand five hundred; and Schofield, with fifteen thousand five hundred. These, like the waves of the sea, were slowly but surely spreading and reaching southward along the highway to Atlanta.

Starting at Bowling Green, not more than a year before, it had gradually advanced fifty miles into the heart of Georgia, all this while pushing the Confederates before its victorious marches and incessant attacks. It, as yet, had not reached its goal, and more than one hundred thousand men had, by wounds or death, paid the penalty of its fortitude and endurance. Composed largely of men from the West, who were made of stern stuff, the rebel yell had no terror for its legions. When the rebel yell was given, there was always a response, sharp, quick, defiant, which meant, “We are not afraid, and we are ready to grapple with you in deadliest combat.”

On the night of the 7th of May, Grigsby’s brigade, after having been driven through Mill Creek Gap, had gone into camp. The marching, fighting and riding of the day had wearied all its troopers, now so far removed from their Kentucky abodes. As they laid down upon the soil of Georgia, tired and weary, they had visions of their homes, and were reveling through dreamland, in joyous anticipations of some day joining those they loved in the far North. War’s sorrows, its deaths, its dangers, its sufferings were lost in the peace of sleep. These dreams were rudely awakened by the harsh, shrill tones of the bugle. Turning over on their hard beds on the ground, a number of them asleep on rails and brush, they essayed to believe that the call was only a fancy of weary brains and pulled their blankets more tightly about their heads. They tried to hope that the sound of the trumpet was only a delusion and not a real command to rise and ride. They rubbed their eyes and wondered why this untoward night summons.

War, relentless, cruel and pitiless, turned a deaf ear to nature’s pleadings for rest for her exhausted children. Hesitation was only for a moment. The worn animals were quickly saddled, the Kentucky troopers mounted, and out through the darkness of the night they trotted, not knowing whither they were bound. Their commanders had orders that they were to defend Dug Creek Gap, eight miles away, but they kept the secret of their destination hidden in their own hearts.

McPherson, young, brave, vigorous, was leading the Federals; he was hunting for Snake Creek Gap, some miles south and west of Dug Creek. A corps of the Army of the Cumberland were covering these movements and marching forward down the railroad. Hooker was ordered to seize Dug Creek Gap, and then push south, so as to protect McPherson, who, marching west, then south, then east, was to pass through Snake Creek Gap and strike the railroad in the rear of Johnston.

The position at Dug Creek once taken would necessitate an immediate retreat from Dalton, and with this Gap in the mountains held by the Federals, Gen. Johnston’s left flank would be severely exposed.

Before the break of day of the morning of the 8th, scouts of the 9th Kentucky Cavalry had told the story of McPherson’s flank movement and of Hooker’s advance on Dug Creek Gap. To the experienced eyes of the cavaliers of the Kentucky brigade, the large infantry forces being massed along the line left no doubt that serious work was ahead, and that Dug Creek Gap was an important point and the key to the present situation, and for its possession the Federals had begun a vigorous movement.

Across Dug Creek, at the foot of the mountain, the Kentucky cavalry had advanced north and picketed the road against the enemy. Eight hundred Kentucky cavalrymen and two hundred and fifty Arkansas infantry were to hold this now important position. It was a difficult and a dangerous task, but these men in gray felt they were able to answer the summons and hold the defile.

Later, when it was dark (full moon), Granbury’s Texan footmen would come up, but in May, in Georgia, it was a long while from two o’clock in the afternoon until the shades of night should cover the sides of the mountains, and the sun would hide its face behind the western slopes of the eminences through which nature had cut the gap for the passage of man. So strategic had this position become that it was now well settled in the minds of the Confederates that it was one of the doors into Dalton, and these thousand and fifty fighting men were to hold it against four and a half times their number, composing Geary’s division of Hooker’s corps.

The Federal forces seemed impressed with the idea that they would take the Confederates unawares. They had not calculated the sort of stuff that made the men who held the Gap. The Federal signal corps, at the dictation of an assistant adjutant general, flagged General Sherman, “The infantry has just formed and started to attack the Gap. The artillery is in position and I hope to be able to send you word within half an hour or an hour that the Ridge is taken.” General Geary admitted that he was assaulting with forty-five hundred men, four and a half to one, without counting his batteries.

The advance guard and picket line of the Kentuckians that had crossed the creek were slowly but surely driven in. They retired sullenly, and at each favorable opportunity stopped, turned and showed that they were not disposed to run away, and with fierce volleys disputed every inch of ground. The Federals had not supposed that any important force would be there to oppose their march, and when the thin line of skirmishers receded from the advancing wave of blue-coated marchers, they felt that the conflict was practically ended, and that Dug Creek was theirs. Crossing the creek and up the mountain side, the Confederate cavalry retreated, until at last they found their comrades and backers, the remainder of the brigade, awaiting the final grapple on the mountain crest. The gray line was thin, very thin, but what it lacked in numbers, it made up in grit, and now that the limit of retreat was reached, they set about the more serious business of teaching the enemy of what material the defenders were made.

The brave infantry from Arkansas and the chivalrous cavalry from Kentucky stood side by side, and no sooner had the head of the Federal column come within reach of the cavalry Enfields than a hot and incessant fire was poured in upon the advancing line. All through the day, these cavalrymen had been hard at work, but as the shadows of evening were falling, they were less prepared for the vigorous and lusty attack that was now to be made.

Up and up the mountain side came the men clad in blue; above them the weary Southrons, long without food, either for man or beast, were waiting their onslaught. The Confederates had largely the best of the position, and they improved it to the fullest. It soon dawned upon the Federals that, instead of having undertaken an easy task, they had assumed a most arduous work, and that their progress would be resisted with great skill, unyielding tenacity and dauntless persistence.

A sense of danger and strategic instinct had brought General Hardee and General Cleburne to aid, by their counsel and their presence, in the defense of this valuable position. Intently and eagerly they watched the Kentucky cavalry and Arkansas infantry face the superior forces, but it was not their presence that made the fighting spirit of these Confederates rise to the highest plane—it was the fact that they knew they were holding a stronghold of importance and that General Johnston, over at Dalton, was expecting and believing that they would beat back the foe.

Again and again the infantry assaulted the Confederate line, but each time they were driven off with loss. When probably the struggle was more than half over, the ammunition began to grow scarce in the cartridge boxes of the Confederates; in a spirit of more dare-deviltry than intention to do any great damage to their foe, some of the Kentuckians began to hurl stones down the mountain side into the midst of the Federals. It took a few minutes to catch the import of this new style of warfare, but as the great stones began to rush down steep declivities, gathering impelling forces from every foot of descent, tearing the tops of trees and breaking limbs and cutting down saplings, the men on the hill began to take in the effectiveness of these improvised engines of war. It is true, they had no catapults, like the Romans of old, with which to fling them far down the mountain, but they had strong arms, guided by brave and fearless hearts. They caught, with soldierly impulse and sagacity, the effectiveness of this new plan of defence, and stone after stone was seized and sent crashing below, until along the whole line went up the shout, “Throw down the rocks, throw down the rocks,” and a great hail of stones began to fly from the heights and sides of the eminence into and through the ranks of the ascending Federal legions.

General Geary, under whose immediate order the assault was made, in his report, said, “Hand to hand encounters took place, and stones as well as bullets became elements in the combat.”

For a little while, the Federals thought that these stones were cast down by accident, that some soldier by a misstep had turned them loose. But quicker and faster and fiercer fell the stone storm, and with terror they realized that their enemies above them were turning loose these strange emissaries of death, and their souls and hearts were shadowed with a touch of panic at this new method of defending the pass, adopted by their enterprising foes.

With diminishing ammunition, but yet without decreasing courage, the fierce and unequal contest was maintained. Those who had no cartridges threw down the stones. Those who had cartridges sent bullets below to stop the advance of the brave and adventurous assailants.

In a little while, the gloom of night began to brood over the baleful scenes around Dug Creek Gap. As darkness finally set in, the stone-throwing cavalry and infantry heard the rebel yell creeping up the southern mountain side. In their rear, closer and closer, the inspiring voices sounded. They wondered from whence the gladdening sound came, and who were these assailants, from whose vigorous lungs, were speeding messages of help and cheer, and bidding them still longer defy their foes. They heard the tramp of horses, the rush of horsemen, and the cry of battle. And, in a little while, up from the mountain on the southern slope emerged Granbury’s Texan Infantry. These men were born horsemen. They had all their lives ridden across the prairies of Texas, and they were at home in the saddle.

Under orders from General Cleburne and General Hardee, the infantry had been rushed forward to carry encouragement and bring succor to these valiant Kentuckians and Arkansans who, with such superb courage and unlimited patience, were defending the Gap with unfaltering vigor.

As the Texans at double-quick speeded to the scene of the conflict, at the foot of the slope they saw, in charge of the horse holders, the steeds of the cavalry, who had dismounted to go forward on the mountain height to battle. With a wild whoop, the astonished horse holders were commanded to turn their bridles loose, and upon the steeds, waiting now through the long day for their riders to come, at once sprung these sturdy, brave and resolute Texans. Mounted in the saddle once more, they felt war’s delirium and seemed to catch the spirit of the chainless winds that swept across the prairies of their state, and shouting and yelling they galloped forward at a breakneck speed to the succor of their hard-pressed comrades on the mountain top.

For a little while, the dismounted cavalry could not understand the changed situation. They looked upon the animals and knew they were theirs, but they had strange riders, the saddles were filled with soldiers they had never seen before, whose names they could not call, whose regiment they could not distinguish. But the Texans had come for war and, quickly dismounting, they turned over the steeds of the Kentucky men to their rightful but tired owners, and took position in the battle line in Dug Gap to defend its now renowned and blood-stained heights. They had come to succor and to relieve these Kentucky and Arkansas soldiers, who for twenty-four hours had known neither rest nor food. They had come to tell them to go down the mountain side, and in sleep recuperate their wasted and tired energies, while they watched and defended the place now made illustrious by their valor. Granbury’s Texan Brigade came ready to share all the danger of the place and hour, but the assaults were over and the victory had been won ere they had in such startling fashion appeared on the scene. In the darkness of the night, the men who so splendidly and so patiently had stood throughout the day against great odds, to save the destruction of the left flank of General Johnston’s army, marched down into the plain below. They had fought a great fight with the help of their Texas allies. They had set a splendid example of noblest endurance and heroic gallantry. They had given the first notice to General Sherman that the way he was to march would be a path of blood, and that if he won, it would be at a tremendous sacrifice of his best and bravest troops, and that in facing the oft-defeated, but not dejected, Army of the Tennessee, he was to encounter men worthy of any cause and whose defense of their homes and firesides would dot the mountains and valleys of northern Georgia with many thousands of Federal graves, and if he did reach Atlanta, it would only be when his losses would equal even those his soldiers had witnessed at Shiloh, Murfreesboro, Perryville, Chickamauga and other fields upon which already fearful sacrifices had been the price of victory. It was a success that declared that the Army of the Tennessee had lost none of its courage and that in the coming seventy days more than sixty thousand Union men, in death or with wounds, should fall by the way, on the road to Atlanta.

The Kentucky brigade and the two hundred and fifty Texans had set the standard. Their comrades would accept the measure. They had outlined the manner of conflict that Sherman’s army must expect. It was to be a series of battles where “Greek would meet Greek,” and there would not be a single mile of the entire distance to Atlanta traversed without the copious shedding of the blood of brave and true men.