Hezekiah Butterworth.
This defeat brought Grant into the field again, though he was still on crutches. The Confederates held a strong position on Missionary Ridge and Lookout Mountain, and Grant prepared to attack. On November 24, 1863, Hooker's brigade moved forward to the northern face of Lookout Mountain, drove the enemy from their rifle pits and intrenchments, and then started after them up the slope. The mountain was enveloped in a dense fog, and into this Hooker's men disappeared. During the night the Confederates delivered a savage assault, but were beaten off. At dawn, when the Union troops scaled the palisades, they found the intrenchments at the top deserted, and unfurled the Stars and Stripes from the summit of Pulpit Rock. The Confederates were dislodged next day from Missionary Ridge and were soon in full retreat.
THE BATTLE OF LOOKOUT MOUNTAIN
[November 24, 1863]
"Give me but two brigades," said Hooker, frowning at fortified Lookout;
"And I'll engage to sweep yon mountain clear of that mocking rebel rout."
At early morning came an order, that set the General's face aglow:
"Now," said he to his staff, "draw out my soldiers! Grant says that I may go."
Hither and thither dashed each eager Colonel, to join his regiment,
While a low rumor of the daring purpose ran on from tent to tent.
For the long roll was sounding through the valley, and the keen trumpet's bray,
And the wild laughter of the swarthy veterans, who cried, "We fight to-day!"
The solid tramp of infantry, the rumble of the great jolting gun,
The sharp, clear order, and the fierce steeds neighing, "Why's not the fight begun?"
All these plain harbingers of sudden conflict broke on the startled ear;
And last arose a sound that made your blood leap, the ringing battle-cheer.
The lower works were carried at one onset; like a vast roaring sea
Of steel and fire, our soldiers from the trenches swept out the enemy;
And we could see the gray-coats swarming up from the mountain's leafy base,
To join their comrades in the higher fastness,—for life or death the race!
Then our long line went winding up the mountain, in a huge serpent-track,
And the slant sun upon it flashed and glimmered as on a dragon's back.
Higher and higher the column's head pushed onward, ere the rear moved a man;
And soon the skirmish-lines their straggling volleys and single shots began.
Then the bald head of Lookout flamed and bellowed, and all its batteries woke,
And down the mountain poured the bomb-shells, puffing into our eyes their smoke;
And balls and grape-shot rained upon our column, that bore the angry shower
As if it were no more than that soft dropping which scarcely stirs the flower.