ed there, they could either force their way across the state
and connect with their Atlantic seaboard fleets; or could cut the sole
and long line of railroad winding through the Confederate territory;
thus crippling the whole body by tapping its main vital artery, and
causing death by depletion. Rosecrans, with an army of between forty
and fifty thousand men, was lying in Nashville, watching and waiting
the moment for his telling blow.

This was the posture on Christmas, 1862. Three days after the enemy
struck--heavily and unexpectedly.

The first intimation General Bragg had of the movement was cavalry
skirmishes with his advance. These continued daily, increasing in
frequency and severity until the 30th of December, when the contending
armies were near enough for General Polk to have a heavy fight with the
Federal right.

Next day, the weather being bitter and the driving sleet filling the
atmosphere, the general battle was joined. McCowan and Cleburne, under
Hardee, charged the Federal's right through a deadly hail of artillery
and small arms, that darkened the air as thickly as the sleet--driving
him back at the bayonet's point and swinging his front round from his
center. The fierce valor of the southern troops and the brilliant dash
of their leaders was resistless; and evening fell upon a field, wet
with the blood of the South, but clearly a field of victory. Though the
Federals fought with desperation, they were so badly hurt that Bragg
believed they would fall back that night, in such confusion as to leave
them his easy prey.

Morning of the New Year dawned cold, dark and stormy; but the enemy was
still in sight, having only taken up a stronger position on a hill and
posted his artillery most advantageously. It began to look as if
General Bragg's telegram to Richmond of the victory he had gained,
might require a postscript; but all that long New Year's day he allowed
the enemy time to recuperate and strengthen his position.

It seemed as though another Shiloh was to be re-enacted; a victory
wrenched from heavy odds by valor and skill was to be nullified by
delay in crushing the enemy, while yet demoralized.

Next day came; and then Breckinridge was sent through a terrific storm
of balls and shell, that cut down his gallant boys like grass before
the scythe. On, into the Valley of the Shadow they strode; thinned,
reeling, broken under that terrible hail--but never blenching. And the
crest was won! but the