He pointed through the woods toward the left where another battle was swelling with a mighty uproar. Bragg having driven in the Union right was now seeking to shatter the Union left, but at this point there was a Northern commander, Hazen, who was no less indomitable than Sheridan. Sheltering themselves along the railway embankment his men, always encouraged by their commander, and his officers, resisted every effort to drive them back. Noon came and found them still holding tenaciously to their positions. For a while now the whole battle sank through sheer exhaustion on both sides. Each commander reformed his line, disentangled his guns, brought forward fresh ammunition and prepared for the great combat which he knew was coming. Bragg, as he noticed the advance of the short winter day, resolved upon the utmost effort to crush his enemy. Victory had seemed wholly in his grasp in the morning, but he had been checked at the last moment. He would make good the defeat in the afternoon.
The armies had disentangled themselves from the woods and bushes. They were now in the open and face to face on a long line. The Winchester regiment had risen to its feet again, and stood directly behind and almost mingled with the Kentucky regiment that had saved it.
“They’re coming!” exclaimed Warner in quick, excited tones. “Look, there on the flank!”
It was the division of Cleburne, in the hottest of the battle all through the morning advancing to a fresh attack upon the Union lines, but it was received with such a powerful fire that it was driven back in disorder into some woods.
Dick, however, did not have a chance to see this as the Southerners, reinforced by fresh troops from Breckinridge’s division, were charging in the center with great violence. So terrible was the fire that received them that some of the regiments lost half their numbers in five minutes. Yet the remainder, upheld by their cannon, returned a fire almost as deadly. Rosecrans, absolutely fearless, stood in the very front where the danger was greatest. A cannon ball blew off the head of his chief of staff who stood by his side. “Many a brave fellow must fall!” cried Rosecrans, a devoted Catholic. “Cross yourselves, and fire low and fast!”
Many a brave fellow did fall, but his men fired low and fast, and, while the Southern troops charged again and again to the very mouths of the cannon they were unable to break down the last desperate stand of the Northern army. They had driven it back, but they had not driven it back far enough. Then the sun set as it had set so often before on an undecisive battle, terrible in its long list of the slain, but leaving everything to be fought over again.
“They didn’t beat us,” said Dick as the firing ceased.
“No,” said Colonel Winchester, “nor have we won a victory, but we’re saved. Thank God for the night!”
“They’ll attack again to-morrow, sir,” said Sergeant Whitley.
“Undoubtedly so,” said Colonel Winchester, who felt at this moment not as if he were speaking as colonel to sergeant, but as man to man, “and I hope that our artillery will be ready again. It is what has saved us. We have always been superior in that arm.”
The colonel had spoken the truth, and the fact was also recognized by Rosecrans, Thomas and the other generals. While they rectified their lines in the darkness, the great batteries were posted in good positions, and fresh gunners took the place of those who had been killed. Both Rosecrans and Thomas were made of stern stuff. Afraid of no enemy, and, despite their great losses of the day and the fact that they had been driven back, they would be ready to fight on the morrow. Sheridan, Crittenden, McCook, Van Cleve and the others were equally ready.
Food was brought from the rear and the exhausted combatants sank down to rest. Dick was in such an apathy from sheer overtasking of the body and spirit that he did not think of anything. He lay like an animal that has escaped from a long chase. Silence had settled down with the darkness and the Confederate army had become invisible.