Bragg's Headquarters

Dr. Otto Eisenschiml is equally distinguished as a chemist and as a historian. Perhaps his best known works are Why Was Lincoln Murdered? and In the Shadow of Lincoln's Death. His probing, yet methodical , approach to a historical problem is clearly evident in "Bragg's Headquarters." Bragg's Headquarters OTTO EISENSCHIML ìf rr had not been for old Robert Brannon, the little hill on the outskirts of Chattanooga called Orchard Knob would never have meant much to me. It was Brannon who gave it life, and I always honor his memory by visiting Orchard Knob when I happen to be in that vicinity. Brannon had been a private in an Ohio Regiment, and I am sure the Union army never had a more enthusiastic soldier. Chickamauga had been one of his battles, and in later years he helped lay out the National Military Park. When I met him the first time he was in his eighties, too old for arduous duties, but mentally as alert as ever. He was living out his last years as custodian of Orchard Knob National Monument, so designated because of the role it had played in the battle of Missionary Ridge. Orchard Knob is a little hillock, which stands about halfway between the 1863 city limits and Missionary Ridge. In November of that year the 28th Alabama was part of the force occupying it as an outpost. When the Union troops stormed forward, about 150 of the Alabamians were forced to surrender, but not before they had inflicted heavy losses on their opponents. I have always harbored a soft spot in my heart for this handful of boys in gray. When they saw that human tidal wave rolling their way, how they must have been torn between duty, which bade them stay, and the impulse to run. They stayed. And if you ever go to see Orchard Knob, stop for a moment and lift your hat to the brave 28th Alabama. Bob Brannon was proud of his little domain, but even he could not make much of its history, and begged to let him show me over Chickamauga . So we set out to see the battlefield through the eyes of one who had been around when the bullets whistled and the now silent guns were spewing forth their devil's brew of smoke, fire and grapeshot. Reliving the famous battle with Bob was no picnic. He went through 65 66OTTO EISENSCHIML all the movements of his regiment, which certainly must have had a hectic time. The two of us marched, double-quicked, rested — not often — attacked, retreated, but hardly ever ceased fighting. Bob did not spare himself, nor me. At one time we crawled for a quarter of a mile on our stomachs to execute a flank attack. When we came to a little clearing, he yelled, "At 'em, boys!" Then he jumped to his feet, I following, and we ran forward. Suddenly I felt his hand on my shoulder and was jerked to a halt. "You fool," he shouted, "can't you see them batteries? Down on your bellyl" Bob threw himself on the ground, and I collapsed alongside of him. He opened his mouth and held his ears, I likewise. The batteries had opened up on us with all they had, and the noise was terrible. But it did not last long. Bob's mouth soon closed, and he got up. "Quick," he commanded, "we can't let this poor fellow lie here." He picked up one end of a rotting log, I the other, and together we dragged the wounded man down into a ravine, where we considered him comparatively safe. At the end of the day I was completely done, but Bob only laughed happily. He had at last found someone, he said, to whom he could show Chickamauga as it should be shown. "What do we do next?" my comrade-in-arms asked me next morning. This time I offered him a plan of which he disapproved. I wanted to go to Lafayette, Georgia, and find where General Braxton Bragg's headquarters had been prior to the battle. "What in all that's holy you want to find that...