The staccato notes of the snapping
Parrotts accentuate the battle's din.
Sherman, with cloudy brow, listens for some news of the imperilled
left wing. Is the iron army of the Tennessee to fail him now? Seven
miles of bayonets are in that great line, from left to right, headed
by McPherson, Schofield, and Thomas, the flower of the Union Army.
Looking forward to a battle outside Atlanta, a siege, or a flanking
bit of military chesswork, the great Union commander is dragged
now into a purely defensive battle. Where is McPherson?
Sherman has a quarter of an hour of horrible misgiving. He saw the
mad panic of the first Bull Run. He led the only compact body of
troops off that fatal field himself. It was his own brigade. In
his first-fought field, he showed the unshakable nerve of Macdonald
at Wagram. But he has also seen the fruits of the wild stampede
of McCook and Crittenden's divisions since at Chickamauga. It tore
the laurels from Rosecrans' brow. Is this to be a panic? Rosecrans'
defeat made Sherman the field-marshal of the West.
At Missionary Ridge, even the invincibles of the South fled their
lines in sudden impulse, giving up an almost impregnable position.
The haughty old artillerist, Braxton Bragg, was forced to officially
admit that stampede.
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