toward Chattanooga. Rosecrans himself withdrew, and, now wholly in
despair, telegraphed at four o'clock in the afternoon to Washington:
"My army has been whipped and routed."

But Thomas was neither routed nor whipped. Many of the brave generals
elsewhere refused to flee with the troops, but gathering as many soldiers
as possible joined Thomas. Among them was young Sheridan, destined to so
great a fame, who brought almost all his own division and stood beside
the Rock of Chickamauga, refusing to yield any further to the terrible
pressure.

The line of Thomas' army was now almost a semicircle. Polk was leading
violent attacks upon his left and center. Longstreet, used to victory,
was upon his right and behind him, and the veterans from the Army of
Northern Virginia had never fought better.

Dick saw the enemy all around him, and he began to lose hope. How could
they stand against such numbers? And if they tried to retreat there was
Longstreet to cut off the way. He bumped against Sergeant Whitley in the
smoke and gasped out:

"We're done for, Sergeant! We're done for!"

"No, we're not!" shouted the sergeant, firing into the advancing mass.
"We'll beat 'em back. They can't run over us!"

The sergeant, usually so cool, was a little mad. He was wounded in
the head, and the blood had run down over his face, dyeing it scarlet.
His brain was hot as with fire, and he hurled epithets at the enemy.
His life on the plains came back to him, and, for the time, he was like