After making the entire circuit of the square, the condemned was conducted to the open space at the eastern side, where a rude stake had been driven in the ground.  To this he boldly walked, calmly kneeling in front, allowing himself to be bandaged and pinioned thereto.  The guards had formed in double ranks, fifteen paces in front, his faithful son standing some distance to his right, calm, unmoved, and defiant, even in the face of all the terrors going on before him.  The officer in charge gives the command, “ready,” thirty hammers spring back; “aim,” the pieces rise to the shoulders; then, and then only, the tension broke, and the unfortunate man, instead of the officer, cried out in a loud, metallic voice, “fire.”  The report of the thirty rifles rang out On the stillness of the morning; the man at the stake gives a convulsive shudder, his head tails listlessly on his breast, blood gushes out in streams, and in a moment all is still.  The deserter has escaped.

The authorities at Washington had grown tired of Burnside’s failure to either crush Longstreet or drive him out of East Tennessee, and had sent General Foster to relieve him, the latter General bringing with him the standing orders, “Crush or drive out Longstreet.”  How well General Foster succeeded will be related further on.  In obedience to the department’s special orders, General Longstreet had, several days previous, sent Wheeler’s Cavalry back to General Johnston, now commanding Bragg’s Army.  Our troops had heard the confirmation of the report of General Bragg’s desperate battle at Missionary Ridge—­his disastrous defeat his withdrawal to Dalton, and his subsequent relinquishment of command of the Army of Tennessee.  This had no effect upon our troops, no more so than the news of the fall of Vicksburg just after Lee’s bloody repulse at Gettysburg.  The soldiers of the eastern Army had unbounded confidence in themselves and their commander, and felt that so long as they stood together they were invincible.

The enemy had fortified a position at Bean’s Station, in a narrow valley between the Holston River and the Clinch Mountains, the valley being about two miles in breadth.  This force Longstreet determined to capture, and his plans were admirably adapted to bring about the result.  To the right of the enemy was the river; to their left, a rugged mountain spur; passable at only a few points.  Part of our cavalry was to pass down the western side of the mountain, close the gaps in rear, the infantry to engage the enemy in front until the other portion of the cavalry could move down the east bank of the river, cross over, and get in the enemy’s rear, thus cutting off all retreat.  This part of the Valley of the Holston had been pretty well ravaged to supply the Federal Army, and our troops, with never more than a day’s rations on hand at a time, had to be put on short rations, until our subsistence trains could gather in a supply and the neighborhood mills could grind a few days’ rations ahead.  Old soldiers know what “short rations” mean—­next to no rations at all.