It
did not look a very formidable obstacle to the march of an army of more
than forty thousand men. In a more tranquil temper than his failure at
Spring Hill had put him into Hood would probably have passed around our
left and turned us out with ease--which would justly have entitled him to
the Humane Society's great gold medal. Apparently that was not his day for
saving life.
About the middle of the afternoon our field-glasses picked up the
Confederate head-of-column emerging from the range of hills previously
mentioned, where it is cut by the Columbia road. But--ominous
circumstance!--it did not come on. It turned to its left, at a right
angle, moving along the base of the hills, parallel to our line. Other
heads-of-column came through other gaps and over the crests farther along,
impudently deploying on the level ground with a spectacular display of
flags and glitter of arms. I do not remember that they were molested, even
by the guns of General Wagner, who had been foolishly posted with two
small brigades across the turnpike, a half-mile in our front, where he was
needless for apprisal and powerless for resistance. My recollection is
that our fellows down there in their shallow trenches noted these
portentous dispositions without the least manifestation of incivility. As
a matter of fact, many of them were permitted by their compassionate
officers to sleep. And truly it was good weather for that: sleep was in
the very atmosphere. The sun burned crimson in a gray-blue sky through a
delicate Indian-summer haze, as beautiful as a day-dream in paradise.
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