The sun pushed a red rim above the eastern horizon. The day’s work began. Fighting—and fighting—and fighting again on Kennesaw and over the rolling country from which Kennesaw arose! On the twentieth, Wheeler with a thousand horsemen crashed against and drove a force of blue cavalry. On the twenty-second, on the Powder Spring road, Hood struck Schofield and Hooker. The divisions of Hindman and Stevenson were engaged here, advancing with heroism under a plunging fire, musketry and artillery, and driving the blue from their first to their second line of entrenchments. The ground was fearfully difficult. The blue had everywhere epaulements from which they brought to bear upon the charging grey a terrible raking fire of grape and canister. Stevenson’s men fell thick and fast; when night laid her stilling hand upon the guns, he had lost in killed and wounded eight hundred and seventy men. On the twenty-fourth, the blue came in line of battle against Hardee, and were repulsed. On the twenty-fifth, they again struck Stevenson, and were repulsed. All day the twenty-sixth there was bitter skirmishing. On the twenty-seventh, upstormed the battle of Kennesaw Mountain.
It began in the early morning with all of Sherman’s guns. They shelled the crest and sides of Kennesaw; roaring, they poured fierce death into the air, hoping that he would find many victims. He found many, though not so many as the blue hoped. The atmosphere rocked and grew smoky; it was a fierce, prolonged cannonade. During the furious overture, behind the tall, fretted screen of smoke, the blues were forming in two lines of battle, long and thick.
The grey position was exceedingly strong. The grey said as much, contemning the shells that shrieked and dropped.
“We’re pretty well fixed! W.T. Sherman’ll find there ain’t no buried treasure on Kennesaw! General Joe’s going to win out on this campaign.”
“We’re going to have a battle here. But I don’t think it’s going to be the big battle. I think the big battle’s going to be at Atlanta.”
“Maybe so. Anyhow he’ll win out, and that’s all I’m caring about!—This place’s a regular sea-beach for shells.”
There were in the company a father and son—a tall, lean, lantern-jawed, silent man of sixty and a tall, lean, lantern-jawed, silent man of thirty-five. Except that they messed and foraged together they did not seem to have much to say to each other. They were near Edward where he stood behind the rifle-pit.
“I reckon,” said the elder, “that the cotton air blooming mighty pretty, ’long about now.”
“I reckon it air,” said the younger.
The cannonading did not cease, but now, while all the guns thundered, the blue pushed forward a thick line of skirmishers. Behind them showed, between the trees, wide and long and dark, two bands of infantry. The grey batteries that had been sparing ammunition now ceased to spare it. They opened full cry. Grey and blue, the noise was appalling.