egiment rallied and again
opened on the enemy, which lasted but a few minutes, when reinforcements
(a brigade from Sheridan's division), came rushing to our left. We
recrossed the field, driving the enemy beyond our first position in the
timber on the east side of the road, for hours without protection of any
kind, at very close range. We had contended for the position of that road,
and as the sun closed its gaze by passing behind the western hills we were
masters of the situation. Over half of the company had fallen in two or
three hours, desperate fighting, not as Greek meets Greek but as Americans
meet Americans. Go view the fields, ye good people of Morrow County! Stand
by that monument erected by the great State of Ohio to the memory of the
26th, 212 of whom fell in that bloody battle, three-fourths of them
undoubtedly on the Vineyard Farm, and then, but a few yards away, see the
one erected by the State of Georgia in memory of the 20th regiment
infantry, C. S. A., from that state, and read their inscription ("This
regiment went into battle with 23 officers; of this number 17 were killed
and wounded"), and then read Vanhorn's description. In speaking of that
part of the battlefield (the Vineyard Farm) he says: "Mapped upon field
and forest in glaring insolation by the bodies of the slain." Chaplain
Thomas B. Vanhorn was General Thomas' chosen historian. He superintended
the moving of the bodies of the slain from Chickamauga to the National
Cemetery at Chattanooga. As daylight faded and darkness began we closed
our lines to the right, sent one guard from each company fifty paces to
the front and supplied ourselves with a double quantity of cartridges. One
cavalryman came to each company, secured their canteens, went to Crawfish
Springs, over a mile away, and returned them to us filled with much-needed
water. Thus the good Samaritan act was performed by them.

Soon a temporary truce was formed, details made, and Johnnie and Yank were
soon mingled together, caring for the wounded as best they could. At about
2 or 3 a. m., Sunday morning, orders were quietly whispered along the line
to prepare to move, and very soon the line silently moved to the left a
distance of nearly two miles and was halted on the east slope of
Missionary Ridge, nearly a mile north of the Widow Glenn house, and we
were informed that we were to be the reserve. This position we held until
9 or 9:30 a. m., when we were moved to the front line, Wood's