The great battle that did not come off.

“Don’t yo’uns crow too much over gittin’ Shelbyville,” the prisoners said to Si.  “Yo’uns couldn’t never ’ve got hit in the world if Jinerul Bragg hadn’t a’wanted yo’uns to.”

“O, come off,” said Shorty.  “You tried your best to keep us from gittin’ in.  You put up a very pretty little fight, but our cavalry jest rode over you.”

“Thar wuz nobody thar but Jo Wheeler and his critter company,” persisted the prisoners, “and they’d fout for anything.  They’d fout yo’uns for a chaw of terbacker, and then gin the chaw back.  Olé Bragg wuz jist a-foolin’ with yo’uns.  He wuz drawin’ yo’uns on.  He made up his mind that Shelbyville wuzn’t the best place for a fout, and he’d lay for yo’uns at Tullyhomy.  He’s got his whole army together down thar, and he’ll wollop yo’uns till your hides won’t hold shucks.  Olé Bragg’s smarter’n ary Yankee that ever lived, and he’s fixed up a dead-fall for yo’uns at Tullyhomy that’ll mash yo’uns flatter’n a pancack.”

“Let him go ahead with his mashin’ flat,” answered Shorty; “we’re some on the mash ourselves, as you fellers found out at Stone River.”

“We’uns ’d ‘a’ welted the life outen yo’uns at Stone River, if we’uns ’d had jest a few more men; ez hit wuz we’uns run yo’uns all over them ’ere old cotton-fields fur two days, tuk all yo’uns’s cannon, an’ more’n a million prisoners.  Fust night I done thought we’uns ’d tuk the whole Yankee army.  We’uns done got tired pickin’ up prisoners in them ceders an’ sink-holes, an’ concluded t’ leave the rest thar fur seed.  We’uns jest f’arly wore ourselves out lickin’ yo’uns, an’ then yo’uns got a whole passel ‘o fresh men, an’ we’uns jest pulled back t’ Shelbyville t’ rest, spit on we’uns’ hands an’ take a fresh holt.”

“How about the last day,” inquired Si, “over the river on the left, when we tore you all to flinders with artillery, and run you back over the hill and took your guns?”

“O, that wuz Breckinridge’s Division,” said the prisoners, negligently, as if dismissing a matter of little consequence.  “They’uns desarved all they’uns got.  They’uns wus sent for t’ come over and help we’uns lick yo’uns the fust two days, but they’uns wouldn’t come.  I’m jest glad they’uns kotched hit good an’ hard ez they’uns done got hit.  But we’uns ‘s now got heaps more men than we’uns had at Stone River, an’ they’re all together over thar by Tullyhomy.  Lordy, you jest orter seed ’em az I did.  I wuz on the top of a mounting on gyard, whar I could see for a hundred miles in every direction, an’ I seed men marchin’ toward Tullyhomy till my eyes ached a-lookin’ at ’em.  Yo’uns ’ll stir up a mouty sight wuss hornets’ nest at Tullyhomy than yo’uns did at Murfreesboro.

“Well, we’ll knock seven kinds o’ brimstone out o’ your hornets’ nest, big as it may be,” answered Shorty.  “The more o’ you there is the better, for we kin finish up the job then, and be done with it, instid o’ havin’ to run you down an’ knock you on the head one at a time.  We’ve more men, too, than we had at Stone River.  There was enough of us before, but Old Abe just gethered up the men in three or four new States, and sent ’em down to us to help make a clean, quick job of it.  All we want of you fellers is jest to stand up and give us a square fight.  We’re no grayhounds, to run you fellers down.  We came down here to fight, not to trot races with you.

“Well, yo’uns’ll git yer bellyful o’ foutin’ over by Tullyhomy,” shouted back the prisoners as they were marched away under guard.

“It certainly does look like we’re to have a bigger scrimmage than we had at Stone River,” said Si, as he and Shorty were once more alone.  “Our army is much larger, and it’s all been gathered right around here.  There’s bin great rivers of men pouring through all these gaps for days, and we’ve talked with fellers from every division and brigade in the army.  There’s entirely too many men around here for the country to hold.  Something’s got to bust soon, and when it does bust there’ll be an explosion like that you read about.”

“Well, let her bust,” answered Shorty.  “The sooner the better.  I want to see it right off.  It’s got to come before the war kin end, and for my part I don’t want to march a step further to find it.  They can’t nohow git up a worse time than we had at Stone River, and we managed to live through that; so that I guess we kin pull through another.  If we don’t, this ’s just as good a place to go to Heaven from as we kin find, and we’ll save a whole lot o’ worry by finishin’ up now.”

“Well,” said Si, “let’s git back to the regiment as soon’s possible.  THe battle may begin at any minute, and we musn’t be away.  We’d never forgive ourselves as long’s we’d live if we wasn’t with the boys when they line up under the colors for the great tussle.”

“Getting to the regiment” was tedious and hard.  Shorty was still very weak from his tobacco experiment, and Si had worked almost to exhaustion in helping his sore-footed squad along.  These were as eager to get back to the regiment in time for the fight, and Si had not the heart to leave any one of them behind.  The roads were filled with teams being pushed forward with ammunition and rations, and every road and path crowded with men hurrying to the “front.”  They were on the distant flank of their corps when they started out in the morning, and did not succeed in reaching the rear of their own division until nightfall.  Though worn out by the day’s painful tramping and winding around through the baffling paths between regiments, brigades and divisions, sometimes halting and some times moving off suddenly and unexpectedly, they nerved themselves for one more effort to reach the 200th Ind. before they lay down for the night.  But the night was far harder than the day.  The whole country was full of campfires, around which were men’ cooking their supper, standing in groups, pipe in mouth, anxiously discussing the coming momentous battle, and the part their regiments would likely play in it, or sitting writing what they felt might be their last letters home.  All were unutterably tired, and all earnestly thoughtful over the impending conflict.  None felt ordinarily jovial, communicative and sympathetic with foot-sore stragglers trying to find their regiments.  Even when they were, the movements and changes during the day had been so bewildering that their best-intentioned directions were more likely to be wrong than right.

“The 200th Ind.,” they would say; “yes, we saw the 200th Ind. about the middle of the afternoon, right over there on that hillside, where you see that old tree blazing up.  They were acting as if they were going into camp, and I expect that’s their campfires you see there.”

Si, Shorty and the rest would make their weary way to the point indicated, about a half-mile distant, only to find that their regiment had been sighted at another point a mile away in a different direction.

The morning of July 1, 1863, was almost ready to break when they at last came up with their regiment, and flung themselves down on the ground in absolute exhaustion.  Worn out as they were, their soldierly ears could not be deaf to the stirring reveille which quickly followed the early daybreak of that Summer morning, and summoned the regiment for the final, decisive move upon the rebel stronghold of Tullahoma.

Though every bone and muscle seemed to cry out against it, Si, Shorty and their companions rose up promptly and joined the regiment.

Everybody seemed sobered by the nearness of the terrible battle.  Nobody laughed, nobody swore, nobody joked, nobody played the usual light-hearted reveille tricks.  The Orderly-Sergeant did not call the roll with his usual glibness and rasp.  He seemed to linger a little over each name, as if thinking whether it would be answered to again, or he be there to call it.  The officers gave the commands quietly, even gently.  The men executed promptly, carefully, and silently, as one sees things done at a funeral or in church.  A hasty breakfast was eaten in silence; the men fell into ranks again, and there was a low buzz as the cartridge-boxes were carefully inspected and each man supplied with his full quota of ammunition.

The Colonel mounted his horse, and gave the order, “Forward march,” so quietly that only the leading company heard it.  It moved promptly, and the others followed.

The same strange soberness ruled the other regiments they passed on their way to take the advance.  There was for once no quip or jest from the men standing by the roadside, leaning thoughtfully on their muskets, and awaiting their turn to march.  They merely watched them file by, with steady, grave eyes and an occasional calm nod or quiet greeting to an acquaintance.

The hurrah, the swagger, the noisy effervescence of a few months ago had disappeared from men who had learned to know what battle was.

The dripping clouds cleared away as the 200th Ind. drew out into the muddy road, and let the sun suddenly beam forth in full Midsummer power.  In an instant everybody was reeking with perspiration, panting for breath, and scorching inwardly and outwardly.

It was too much for some who had bravely maintained their places thus far, and they had to sink by the roadside.

Every minute of the first hour it seemed to Si and Shorty that they could not go a rod farther, but at the end of every rod they made an effort to go an other, and succeeded.  The sun momentarily grew more burning, but also it seemed that every step brought them nearer the enemy, and the thought nerved them up to further exertion.  Occasional rippling shots from watching parties of the rebel cavalry helped stimulate them.

Noon passed.  They were so near the works of Tullahoma that the collision might come at any minute could not be postponed many minutes.  The regiments left the road and went into line-of-battle, stretching a long wave of blue through the deep green of the thick forests.  How far it reached no one could tell.  Occasional glimpses obtained through the openings in the woods showed miles of length.

Everything was deeply quiet, except occasional startling crashes from rebel outposts and the distant booming of cannon on the left.

The 200th Ind. was advancing through a heavy growth of jack-oaks.

Lines of rebel skirmishers had occasionally appeared in front of the regiment, fired a few shots, and then disappeared.  The ease with which they were driven gave the impression that they were trying to lead the regiment into ambush, and it moved slowly and very watchfully.

At last, as the hot sun was beginning to sink in the far west, the regiment came to the edge of the young jack-oaks, and saw before it a sight which thrilled every heart.

There, a little distance away, lay the formidable works guarding Tullahoma.  To the right and left, as far as the eye could reach, stretched a bristling line of abatis hundreds of yards wide and seemingly hopelessly impassable.  It was made of the young jack-oaks felled outwards and their limbs sharp ened till they were like thorns.

Frowning behind this fearsome barrier were high-rising forts mounted with cannon, and connected with long, sinuous breastworks.  A deep ditch filled with muddy water ran along the foot of the works.

Squads of rebels could be seen running back to the shelter of the fortifications.  Every man in the regiment gave a quick, involuntary gasp as he saw his work before him.

The whole of the long line was halted and carefully dressed by the officers, still speaking as softly and kindly as if arranging a funeral procession, and the men stepping into places promptly, and with a tender solemnity of manner.  There was none of the customary rude jostling and impatient sharpness.  It was: 

“You’ll have to give away to the left a little, John; I haven’t room.”

“Come out there, boys, on the right.  You’re too far back.”

“Jim, you’d better fall in behind.  I don’t believe you’re strong enough to keep up.”

Even the brash young “Second Lieutenant and Aid-de-Camp” seemed impressed with the intense gravity of the moment.  He came up to the Colonel, and seeing he was on foot, respectfully dismounted, saluted, and said, without a vestige of his usual pertness: 

“Colonel, the General presents his compliments, and says that the battery is badly stuck in the mud a little ways back.  As we shall need it very much, he directs that you send a company to bring it up at once.”

“Very good, sir,” said the Colonel, gravely returning his salute, and speaking as gently as at a tea-table.  “It shall be done.  Capt.  McGillicuddy, take your company back and bring up the battery.”

“Attention, Co.  Q,” suggested rather than commanded Capt.  McGillicuddy.  “Stack arms.  Corporal Klegg, you and your squad remain where you are.  You are too tired to do any good.  Right face; file left; forward march.”

The Colonel mounted his horse, rode down to the center of the regiment, and said, in a tone hardly raised above the conversational, but which made itself distinctly heard by every man: 

“Fix bayonets.”

There was an ominous crash of steel as the bright bayonets swept to their places.

“Men,” continued the Colonel as quietly as if talk ing to a Sunday school, “we’re going to take those works with the bayonet.  Keep perfectly quiet; reserve your breath for quick, hard work, and pay close attention to orders.  We’ll move in quick time to the edge of that slashing of timber; every man make his way through it as best he can, keeping as near his Captain as possible.  As soon as through it he will run with all his might for the works, fire his gun into the rebels as he jumps the works, and then rely on his bayonet.  No man must fire a shot until we are crossing the works, and then I want every shot to fetch a rebel.”

He waited a moment before giving the command to advance, for Co.  Q, which had snaked the battery out of the mudhole in a hurry, was coming on a dead run in order to be on time for the charge.  It snatched its guns from the stacks, and lined up like a long flash of blue light.

The artillerymen had lashed their jaded horses into a feverish run, swept out into an open space, flung their guns “into battery,” and opened with a vicious bang on the rebel works.

So far not a head appeared above the breastworks; not a shot from the embrasures in the forts.

“They’re just laying low,” whispered Si to Shorty, as they instinctively brought their shoulders together and summoned their energies for the swift advance.  “They’ll blaze out like the fires o’ hell just as we git tangled up in that infernal timber-slashin’.”

“Well,” muttered Shorty, “we’ll know mighty soon now.  In five minutes we’ll either be in Heaven or bayoneting the rebels in that fort.”

“Battalion, forward march!” commanded the Colonel.

The regiments to the right and left got the command at the same instant, and the long wave of blue rolled forward without a break or fault in its perfect alignment.

A hundred yards were quickly passed, and still the rebel works were as silent as a country churchyard.  The suspense was fearful.  Men bent their heads as if in momentary expectation of being struck by a fearful blast.

Another hundred yards.  Still no bullet from the rifle-pits, no canister from the forts.

Another hundred yards, and they had struck the entangling abatis, and were feverishly working their clothes loose from the sharp-pointed limbs.

“Capt.  McGillicuddy,” excitedly shouted Si, “there’s no men in them works.  Didn’t you see that flock o’ blackbirds just settle down on that fort?”

“That’s true,” said the Captain, after a quick glance.  “Colonel, they’ve evacuated.”

A little to the left of the company Si saw a path through the abatis made by the rebels taking short cuts in and out of the camp.  He and Shorty quickly broke their way to it, and ran in feverish haste to the works.  They found a puncheon laid to cross the ditch, ran over it, and mounted the rifle-pit.  There was not a man inside of the works.  The last of the garrison could be seen on the other side of Elk River, setting fire to the bridge by which they had just crossed.

Utterly exhausted by fatigue and the severe mental strain, Si and Shorty could do nothing more than give a delighted yell, fire their guns at the distant rebels, when they sank down in complete collapse.

Almost at the same time the same discovery had been made at other points in the long line moving to the assault; the inside of the works were quickly filled with a mob of rushing men, who seemed to lift the clouds with their triumphant yells.

The campaign for Tullahoma was at an end.  Bragg had declined battle, and put the whole of his army out of reach of pursuit behind the swollen waters of Elk River.

That night by its cheerful campfires the exultant Army of the Cumberland sang from one end of its long line to the other, with thousands of voices joining at once in the chorus, its song of praise to Gen. Rosecrans, which went to the air of “A Little More Cider.”

     Cheer up, cheer up, the night is past,
     The skies with light are glowing. 
     Our ships move proudly on, my boys,
     And favoring gales are blowing. 
     Her flag is at the peak, my boys,
     To meet the traitorous faction. 
     We’ll hasten to our several posts,
     And immediately prepare for action.

     Chorus.

     Old Rosey is our man. 
     Old Rosey is our man. 
     We’ll show our deeds where’er he leads,
     Old Rosey is our man.