Free Battle of Lookout Mountain by Gilbert L. Morris

go tell General Rosecrans all about it,” Jay Walters said. He plopped down on the ground, his back against a tree, breathing hard. “As for me, I’m willing to wait a spell.”
    “Be cold rations tonight, boys,” Royal announced.
    Before a battle, the Union troops always stashed three days’ supply of rations in their knapsacks. Sometimes the Confederate spies knew exactly when they were going into battle by this sign.
    Now the men scattered and ate, and soon a full moon began to rise like a silver pock-marked disk. Drake got out his fiddle and began to play “Lorena.”
    After he had played a few more tunes, Walter Beddows suggested, “How about a hymn or two? I always did love the old hymns.”
    “Don’t know any,” Drake said rather shortly.
    He did in fact know more than one hymn, but he stubbornly refused to admit it. Since hearing that sermon on the Prodigal Son back in Pineville, he’d had a nagging inside. He could not forget the minister’s eyes locking onto his. Now as he toyed with the fiddle and then played a short Scottish melody, he thought again of the man’s words as he’d passed out the church door—
God is waiting for you…. Don’t pass Him by
.
    Drake was troubled by thoughts that he had never had before. In the army it was inevitable that men would talk about death. He himself never alluded to it, but as the familiar sounds of the camp rose about him—a mumbling around other campfires, a cavalry troop passing in the rear, a sharp command from an officer—he suddenly thought,
What if I did die tomorrow in the battle?
Quickly he put the thought away and began to play something cheerful.
    Across the campfire from him, Jay Walters talked with Sgt. Ira Pickens, a tall, lean young man with brown eyes and bushy black hair. He was afriend of Leah’s, having become acquainted with her when she accompanied her father on one of his trips.
    “Looks like we’re gonna see some action tomorrow, Jay,” Ira said.
    “I reckon so.” Jay was flanked on the other side by Walter Beddows. The two stuck close together, and usually Royal was not far off.
    Ira looked over to where the new recruits were whispering among themselves, and he grinned. “Reckon those fellows are anxious to see the elephant”—the term the soldiers used when referring to seeing action. “Me, I’m not so anxious,” he said. “From what I hear, there’s about as many of them as there is of us. And when them Southern fellas get stirred up, they’re just like a swarm of hornets, and they never know when to quit.”
    “I hope we give a good account of ourselves,” Jay said. “It’s been a long war, and we seen lots of fellas go down.”
    “I reckon there’ll be some more of us go down tomorrow,” Beddows said.
    He made the comment without a sign of fear, but his remark touched Drake. He turned to Rosie and said very quietly, “Those fellas are always talking about gettin’ killed. I wish they wouldn’t do that.”
    “It could happen.”
    Then Drake grinned at him. “Course,
you
talk about dying all the time. Ever since I’ve known you, you’ve talked about your funeral and what sermon you wanted—and look at you! Why, you’re strong as any man in the company.”
    “Aw, that’s just the way it seems. I’m not a well man,” Rosie lamented. He glanced at Drake. “You’re not really worried, are you?”
    “Me?” Drake shook his head sternly. “No, I’m not. But it seems like they are.”
    The fire crackled and sent sparks rising high toward the dark sky. Rosie watched them and then murmured, “Maybe they seen enough to know there’s something to be scared of.” He put his knapsack down for a pillow. “Probably won’t sleep a wink tonight. My insomnia is giving me trouble again.”
    Then he promptly went to sleep, leaving Drake to stare into the fire and think of the coming battle.
    The next day began, it appeared to Drake, as one solid, unbroken crash of thunder. At early dawn he woke up with a