He believed that with a sure, swift start undiscovered
by the Confederates he could by a single battle turn their lines at
Jonesboro, destroy the railroad and force General Hood to evacuate
Atlanta.
His sleeping men were carefully waked. Not a single note from bugle or
drum sounded. The wheels of the artillery and wagons were wrapped with
cloth and every sound muffled.
Through pitch darkness in dead silence the men were swung into marching
lines. The moving columns could be felt but not seen. Each soldier
followed blindly the man before. Somewhere in the black night there must
be a leader--God knew--they didn't. They walked by faith. The wet
grounds, soaked by recent rains, made their exit easier. The sound of
horses' hoofs and tramping thousands could scarcely be heard.
The ranks were strung out in long, ragged lines, each man going as he
pleased. Something blocked the way ahead and the columns butted into one
another and pinched the heels of the men in front.
In their anger the fellows smarting with pain forgot the orders for
silence. A storm of low muttering and growling rumbled through the
darkness.
"What 'ell here!"
"What's the matter with you----"
"Keep off my heels!"
"What 'ell are ye runnin' over me for?"
"Hold up your damned gun----"
"Keep it out of my eye, won't you?"
"Damn your eye!"
They start again and run into a bog of mud knee deep cut into mush by
the artillery and wagons which have passed on.
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