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172 • part 4: the war in 1862 that of Perryville, I was never able to understand why Buell did not find out in some other way that a fight was in progress near his person that might defeat [his] own plans, and might have resulted in general disaster to his army.Believing always in the pure integrity, patriotism, and ability of Buell as a commander , I still have never been able to satisfy my own mind for the mistake he made on October 8,1862,which consisted chiefly in not watching his corps commanders through his staff, and thus preventing any partial engagement that might inure to the glory of one subordinate at the expense of the commander, of the army, and of the country. There is hardly a doubt that if McCook had been entirely successful in his fight he would have been appointed Buell’s successor without loss of time. Taking all things together, it may be said that Gilbert, who was not a general at all, commanded his corps quite as well as any corps commander who was a real major general and, in my opinion, was right in refusing to move without orders from Buell. 15 In the Ranks at Stones River Ebenezer Hannaford, Corporal, Sixth Ohio Volunteer Infantry christmas came to us in camp at last.Christmas day,but not the good old Christmas times—social, generous, “merry Christmas!” To us it was only December 25, 1862. We had been for some weeks quietly encamped near Nashville. Almost the entire Army of the Cumberland was in this vicinity, stretched away out on the various roads centering here from the southward, waiting and watching the Rebel Army of Tennessee, massed under Bragg at Murfreesboro, thirty miles distant.An army of repose,truly; but it was not the repose of stagnation or sloth, as the manifestations of life and lifelike energy everywhere bore abundant testimony . It was only an unwilling passivity, a period of needful rest and discipline , while the army could gather strength and its chief complete preparations for the work it was to do. For days past we had now been under marching orders . Even the hour and the order of march had once or twice been set—and still we were here. So that when the orderly sergeant, coming to our tent this Christmas night,just after tattoo,peered in at the aperture of the door held open 04.101-196_Cozz 12/2/03, 8:47 AM 172 with both hands, and pronounced, “Reveille in the morning at four o’clock; march at daylight,with three days’ rations!” we received the announcement with all the philosophical indifference that doubt could engender.But this time there was no need to doubt. Next morning, December 26, 1862, we moved forward toward Murfreesboro. The Army of the Cumberland had lately been divided into three corps,since numbered as the Fourteenth,Twentieth, and Twenty-first,commanded respectively by Major Generals [George H.] Thomas,[Alexander McD.] McCook,and [Thomas L.] Crittenden. The former two, constituting our Center and Right Wing, advanced upon the roads leading from Nashville to Franklin and Nolensville .The route of the latter,as the Left Wing,was by turnpike direct to Murfreesboro —having, of course, the other corps upon its right. Of this corps our division formed a part—the “Ironclad Division,” that had followed the iron [Major General William] Nelson through a long, laborious campaign of toil and danger. The day opened dark and gloomily. Certainly the elements at least were not propitious.The soft southerly breezes of the day before had roughened into rude, spiteful gusts, blowing from a dozen points of the compass all at once—chill, sweeping gusts,that came freighted with the breath of coming storms,and great heaving masses of clouds, which, drifting slowly along the upper deep, covered away out of sight every bit of blue sky beyond, and robbed even the daylight of all its life and power and beauty. Four short miles from the camp we were leaving, and seven from Nashville, is the State LunaticAsylum of Tennessee; but though we led off at a steady,swinging gait, we had not yet reached it when the storm came upon us. A steady, persistent , pouring rain, whose every component drop seemed to find a malicious delight in splashing in our faces and discovering every practicable breach in the rubber blankets under which those of us who were fortunate enough to possess them sought to find shelter...

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