He added a few dozen corpses to his disciplinary
"graveyards," "pour encourager les autres." Panic may attack even
the best army.
Is it panic now swelling on the breeze of this roaring fight? Fast
and far his hastily summoned messengers ride. To add a crowning
disaster to the confusion of the early morning death grapple, the
sun does not touch the meridian before a bleeding aide brings back
McPherson's riderless horse. Where is the general? Alas, where?
Dashing far ahead of his staff and orderlies, tearing from wood
to wood, to close in the fatal gap and reface his lines--a volley
from a squad of Hood's pickets drops the great corps commander,
McPherson, a mangled corpse, in the forest. No such individual loss
to either army has happened since Stonewall Jackson's untimely end
at Chancellorsville.
His rifled body is soon recovered. With super-human efforts it is
borne to the house in the clearing and laid at General Sherman's
feet.
Lightning flashes of wit traverse Sherman's brain. Every rebel
straggler is instantly searched as he is swept in. The invaluable
private papers of General McPherson, the secret orders, and campaign
plans are found in the haversack of one of the captured skirmishers.
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