there, withdrew without making any resistance. This very considerate action on the part of the cavalry was another of those lucky fatalities that so notably contributed to the escape of our army when such special fatalities were a vital necessity for its escape. After posting Ruger there to hold the cross roads Schofield returned to Spring Hill, where he arrived about midnight at the same time with the advance of Cox's division coming from Duck river. With this division he then hurried through to Franklin, picking up Ruger as he passed along, and thus saddling Stanley with all the risk of saving the artillery and the trains.

If they had been lost Stanley would have been the scapegoat, but with the same skill with which that afternoon he had bluffed off ten-twelfths of Hood's army with a single division, Stanley that night saved the artillery and the trains. At 3 o'clock in the morning, when only a part of the trains had pulled out, the long column on the pike was brought to a standstill by an attack some place in front. The situation was so critical that General Wood, who was then with Stanley, believing it would be impossible to save both troops and trains, advised that the trains be abandoned. But Stanley persevered until the attack was beaten off and the column again in motion. The two trains of cars had to be abandoned because a bridge had been destroyed north of the station, and about forty wagons were lost in the attacks made by Forrest between Thompson's Station and Franklin. Everything else was saved.

And, by the way, Stanley was one of the many good soldiers who were overslaughed by the big promotion obtained by Schofield. Stanley outranked Schofield, both as a captain in the regular army and as a major-general of volunteers, but by assignment of the President, gained by his extraordinary ability in the arts of diplomacy instead of by fighting ability displayed on the battle field, Schofield was a department commander while Stanley was a corps commander, and it thus happened that Stanley was serving under his junior in rank.

Wagner's division was the last to leave Spring Hill. When night came Bradley's brigade began to intrench the line it was on, and kept at this work until nearly midnight when the men were called under arms, and spent all the remainder of that anxious, weary night on their feet. While standing in column we could hear to our left the rumble of the wheels while the artillery and the wagons were pulling out, and much of the time could be heard the dull tread of many feet and the clicking of accoutrements that told of the march of a column of troops along the pike, but there was no other sound—not even the shout of a teamster to his mules or the crack of a whip. All the surroundings were so impressive as to subdue the most boisterously profane men. In expressing their dissatisfaction with the situation they were always careful to mutter their curses in a tone so low as to be inaudible a short distance away, for, looking to our right, we could see the glow on the sky made by the bivouac fires of the enemy, and in some places could see the fires with a few men about them cooking something to eat, or otherwise engaged, while most of their men were lying on the ground asleep. Every minute of those anxious hours we were looking for them to awake to the opportunity that was slipping through their fingers and grab hold of it by advancing and opening fire on the congested mass of troops and trains that choked the pike. Occasionally our column would move on a short distance. Any orders that may have been given were spoken in a low tone at the head of the column. You would be apprised that the column was moving by the silent disappearance in the darkness of your file leader. You would hurry after him, and taking, perhaps, not more than a dozen steps, would be brought to a sudden halt by running against him, immediately followed by the man in your rear bumping up against yourself. Then would follow an indefinite wait until the column would again move on a short distance. The wearing suspense of the long waiting, while standing on our feet; the exasperating halts following those false starts, when everybody was almost frantic with impatience to go on; the excessive physical fatigue, combined with the intense mental strain when already haggard from much loss of sleep during the three days and nights preceding, make that night memorable as by far the most trying in nearly four years of soldiering. It afforded unspeakable relief when, just as daylight was beginning to dawn, our column finally got away in rapid motion for Franklin, the enemy dogging our heels with their close pursuit.

The location of Hood's headquarters was central as to the position of his troops until nightfall, and was, therefore, a proper one. But he was too far away to get any personal knowledge as to what was going on at Spring Hill, and he had to rely on the reports of his subordinates who were in contact with our troops. The character of those reports is unmistakably indicated by the second move that Hood made. His first move, as has been shown, was based on the correct theory that a part of Schofield's army was at Spring Hill and a part at Duck river, and it contemplated thrusting in Cheatham's corps between those two parts. His second move, made after the fighting was all over, and he had received the reports of that fighting, was based on the theory that all of Schofield's army had reached Spring Hill, for, abandoning all purpose of cutting off any part south of Spring Hill, it contemplated seizing the pike north of Spring Hill and cutting off Schofield's retreat to Franklin.

Between sunset and dark, as stated by General Stewart, which would be about 5 o'clock at that season of the year, he received orders to cross Rutherford's creek with his corps, to pass to the right of Cheatham's corps, and to extend his right across the Franklin pike. After about five hours Stewart finally went into bivouac with his right more than a mile away from the Franklin pike. His explanations for his failure were the lack of a competent guide, the darkness of the night, and the fatigue of his men. To accomplish Hood's orders required a march of a little less than four miles by Stewart's head of column—about three miles by a direct country road leading into the Mount Carmel road, and the remaining distance across the country lying between the Mount Carmel road and the Franklin pike. It would seem that a guide might have been found among the cavalry who had explored the country that afternoon in developing the position of our line between the Mount Carmel road and the railway station, west of the Franklin pike; or there were men in some of the Tennessee regiments whose homes were in that vicinity, who were thoroughly familiar with the ground. That no great difficulties were involved in the march is proved by the fact that Johnson's division made a similar march in about two hours, later in the night, to get into position on Bate's left. The night was as dark, the men were as tired, the distance was as great, and the way was as difficult for Johnson as for Stewart. In view of these plain facts it is a fair inference that Stewart made a very lukewarm effort to accomplish Hood's orders; that it was possible for him, by a display of no more energy than Johnson displayed, to have extended his right across the Franklin pike as early as 8 o'clock, and then when Schofield started north with Ruger's division about 9 o'clock, he would have found the way effectually barred.

The prime cause of Hood's failure was apparently the lack of confidence in his generalship on the part of so many of his subordinates. They had been dissatisfied with his appointment to the command of the army, and their dissatisfaction had been greatly increased by the failure of his attacks on Sherman's lines in front of Atlanta. With the poor opinion they held of Hood's ability it was