Like
destroying angels, seconded by Rosecrans, Thomas, and McPherson,
these great captains drew out of the smoke of battle, gigantic
figures towering above all their rivals.
Maxime Valois bitterly deplored the uselessness of the war in the
trans-Mississippi section of the Confederacy. It is too late for
any Western divisions to affect the downward course of the sacred
cause for which countless thousands have already died.
The Potomac armies of the Union, torn with the dissensions of
warring generals, wait for the days of the inscrutable Grant and
fiery Philip Sheridan. In the West, the eagle eye of Rosecrans
has caught the weakness of the unguarded roads to the heart of the
Confederacy.
Stone River and Murfreesboro' tell of the wintry struggle to the
death for the open doors of Chattanooga. Though another shall wear
the laurels of victory, it is the proud boast of Rosecrans alone
to have divined the open joint in the enemy's harness. He points
the way to the sea for the irresistible Sherman. While the fearless
gray ranks thin day by day, in march and camp, Valois thinks often
of his distant home. Straggling letters from Philip Hardin tell
him of the vain efforts of the cowed secessionists of the Pacific
Coast.
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