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Huntingdon was reading a newspaper; his wife was crooning softly as she rocked the baby to sleep; and the little boy was endeavoring to show his Aunt Dosia the outlines of Kennesaw Mountain through the purple haze that hung like a wonderfully fashioned curtain in the sky and almost obliterated the horizon.
A black cloud seemed to pass before my eyes the water, the trees, the sky, all vanished in a profound darkness. I heard the roaring of a great cataract, felt the earth sinking from beneath my feet. Then I heard and felt no more. At the battle of Kennesaw Mountain in the previous June I had been badly wounded in the head, and for three months was incapacitated for service.
Could Hooker, supported by Hascall's division of our corps, have reached Zion's Church before Hood, or at the same time with him, it seems almost certain that the position gained would have compelled Johnston to abandon Kennesaw and Marietta at once, and fall back to the line of the Nickajack if not beyond the Chattahoochee. In that case the battle of Kennesaw would not have been fought.
Hiram was in rugged Health, having defended the flag by Proxy during the recent outcropping of Acrimony between the devotees of Cold Bread and the slaves of Hot Biscuit. The Substitute had been perforated beyond repair at the Battle of Kennesaw Mountain, proving that Hiram made no mistake in remaining behind to tend Store.
Beautiful pictures in gilt frames, and a library of valuable books, all shot and torn by musket and cannon balls. Such is war. The battles of the Kennesaw line were fought for weeks. Cannonading and musketry firing was one continual thing. It seemed that shooting was the order of the day, and pickets on both sides kept up a continual firing, that sounded like ten thousand wood-choppers.
Soon their companies were forming, and they were calling the roll everywhere. Everything had begun to stir. Artillery men were hitching up their horses. Men were dashing about in every direction. I saw their army form and move off. I got back into our lines, and reported to General Polk. He was killed that very day on the Kennesaw line. General Stephens was killed the very next day.
Sherman's new positions placed McPherson's army on Proctor's Creek, a branch of the Allatoona in front of Ackworth on the railroad, Thomas's army between Mt. A more open belt of country lay along the western side of the line from Kennesaw to Lost Mountain, and Sherman hurried the readjustment of his forces in the hope of a decisive engagement with Johnston by the 9th of June or soon afterward.
Turn where he might, go where he would, it pursued him night and day. One mild afternoon in the early spring, Mr. Philip Woodward, ex-deputy marshal, leaned against the railing of Broad Street bridge in the city of Atlanta, and looked northward to where Kennesaw Mountain rises like a huge blue billow out of the horizon and lends picturesqueness to the view. Mr. Woodward was in excellent humour.
He was of the type of Sidney Johnston, who fell at Shiloh, and of McPherson, who fell at Kennesaw all Californians; all Americans, true soldiers, who had a sword for the foe in fair fight in the open field, and a shield for woman, and for the noncombatant, the aged, the defenseless.
Lumsden told him that he'd like to find out what the enemy had over there. Col. Alexander told Lumsden, "Well, open on them and I'll order the rifle battery further up little Kennesaw to your right to support you." Lumsden gave him time to get up to the rifle battery, and then came his command: "Cannoneers to your posts!" Each gunner was told where to aim, and the estimated distance. Then: "Load!
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