A Bird's-eye view of Rosecrans's retreat.
The
Atlanta Confederacy has the following interesting paragraph relating to the
battle of Chickamauga:
‘
An amusing circumstance — also equally historical — occurred on Monday morning, after the
battle of Chickamauga, which we have not seen in print.
Forrest led the cavalry advance, and with his command pushed boldly forward to the top of
Missionary Ridge, driving the rear of the enemy before him, and receiving a few random shots as they scampered down the other side of the hill.
Upon reaching the summit, at a point not far from the present headquarters of
Gen. Bragg, the party came to halt, and while taking a "horoscope" of things about them, discovered four Yankees concealed high up among the benches of a pine tree near them.
Twenty guns were instantly levelled. "Don't shoot," screamed the blue birds, "we'll come down," and trembling in every limb, they clambered from their perch and rolled on the ground in front of
Forrest.
A brief investigation ascertained that they were sharpshooters, who had not had time to escape before the rapid advance and retreat.
The pine tree was one of the most conspicuous upon that lofty chain of hills, and without a branch from the bottom to a height of sixty or seventy feet. The
Yankees had bored holes in its sides, and placed a stairway of pegs along its trunk.
Forrest immediately mounted these, and with the eagerness and agility of a boy bounded to the green boughs far above, whence the view upon either slope of the ridge fell off in panoramic luxuriance.
Gods, what a sigh was there!
Moses, when he stood upon
Mount Nebo and gazed into the promised land, beheld no fairer vision than swam before the delighted eyes of
Forrest.
The day was bright and clear.
The clouds of smoke which floated, like a swarm of crows, over the battle-field, was far in rear.
The woods below were yet uncruded with the deep layer of dust which settled upon them later in the day.--The sky was still penetrable; and as the keen gray eye of the enthusiast surveyed the scene, new beauties mantled and remantled themselves, one by one, until the heart swelled with the pride and glory of a conqueror who beholds the spoils of victory almost in his grasp.
This valley was one moving sea of panic-stricken Yankees, hurrying towards
Chattanooga.
The debris of the battle, ambulances, trains of ordnance, artillery, and herds of cattle, were huddled together in a confused mass.
Officers were hurrying hither and thither.
The graves were thick with retiring blue-coats — far beyond the bright waters of the
Tennessee river, spanned by a wide pontoon, were being rapidly crossed, whilst the hills on the other side were thickly veiled in dust.
There were no fortifications erected or being erected.
All was haste and fear.
Forrest called from his elevated position to an officer: "Write back to
Gen. Bragg and tell him he has it all his own way. The whole country is covered with Yankees.
Tell him they are crossing the river, and he has only to press forward and finish this thing.
Every hour he loses is the loss of a thousand men." Such were the words of
Forrest, and they were duly dispatched.
Again and again did he send back the same message before the morning was over: "Come on; for God's sake, come on." The field was ours; the fruit had but to be gathered.
’
