It was an unnerving spectacle, yet we never for a moment doubted that, acting on the intelligence supplied by our succession of couriers, our entire force was moving rapidly to the point of contact.  The battle of Spring Hill was obviously decreed.  Obviously, too, our brigade of observation would be among the last to have a hand in it.  The thought annoyed us, made us restless and resentful.  Our mounted men rode forward and back behind the line, nervous and distressed; the men in the ranks sought relief in frequent changes of posture, in shifting their weight from one leg to the other, in needless inspection of their weapons and in that unfailing resource of the discontented soldier, audible damning of those in the saddles of authority.  But never for more than a moment at a time did any one remove his eyes from that fascinating and portentous pageant.

Toward evening we were recalled, to learn that of our five divisions of infantry, with their batteries, numbering twenty-three thousand men, only one—­Stanley’s, four thousand weak—­had been sent to Spring Hill to meet that formidable movement of Hood’s three veteran corps!  Why Stanley was not immediately effaced is still a matter of controversy.  Hood, who was early on the ground, declared that he gave the needful orders and tried vainly to enforce them; Cheatham, in command of his leading corps, that he did not.  Doubtless the dispute is still being carried on between these chieftains from their beds of asphodel and moly in Elysium.  So much is certain:  Stanley drove away Forrest and successfully held the junction of the roads against Cleburne’s division, the only infantry that attacked him.

That night the entire Confederate army lay within a half mile of our road, while we all sneaked by, infantry, artillery, and trains.  The enemy’s camp-fires shone redly—­miles of them—­seemingly only a stone’s throw from our hurrying column.  His men were plainly visible about them, cooking their suppers—­a sight so incredible that many of our own, thinking them friends, strayed over to them and did not return.  At intervals of a few hundred yards we passed dim figures on horseback by the roadside, enjoining silence.  Needless precaution; we could not have spoken if we had tried, for our hearts were in our throats.  But fools are God’s peculiar care, arid one of his protective methods is the stupidity of other fools.  By daybreak our last man and last wagon had passed the fateful spot unchallenged, and our first were entering Franklin, ten miles away.  Despite spirited cavalry attacks on trains and rear-guard, all were in Franklin by noon and such of the men as could be kept awake were throwing up a slight line of defense, inclosing the town.