the ridge
swarmed with men, and to the rear of the gorge guns were massed in
emplacements to sweep every foot of the passage.

It seemed madness to even think of forcing such a pass. A thousand men
in the shelters of that fastness could beat back myriads, and it was
known that Joe Johnston had at least 50,000 behind the Ridge. Yet
Sherman was converging great rivers of men from the north, the northwest
and west down upon that narrow gap, as if he meant to move the eternal
rocks by a freshet of human force.

The rebels thrown out in advance of the gorge, on outlying hills, rocks
and cliffs, were swept backward and into the gap by the resistless
wave of blue rolling forward, fiery and thundering, gathering force and
vehemence as it converged into a shortening semi-circle about the rugged
stronghold.

The 200th Ind. moved forward and took its place in the line on a hill
commanding a view of the entrance to the gorge, and there waited its
orders for the general advance, which seemed imminent any instant.

For miles to the right and left the woods were crackling with musketry,
interspersed with the booming of fieldpieces.

The regiment had stacked arms and broken ranks.

For an hour or two the men had studied with intense eagerness the
bristling fortifications of the gap and the swarming foemen at the
foot of and on the summit of the high walls of rock. They had listened
anxiously to the firing to the right and left, and tried to make out
what success their comrades on other parts of the long crescent were
having. They had watched the faces of the officers to read there how the
battle was going.

But one after another found this tiresome after awhile and set himself
to his usual camp employments and diversions. Some got out needles and
thread, and began repairing their clothes. Some gathered in groups and
smoked and talked. Many produced the eternal cards, folded up a blanket
for a table, and resumed their endless sevenup and euchre or poker for
buttons and grains of corn. Jim Humphreys found his way into one of
these games, which was played behind a clump of bushes, and the buttons
represented dimes. He was accumulating fractional currency. Gid Mackall
embraced the opportunity to cook for himself a savory stew with some
onions distributed by the Sanitary Commission. Sandy Baker went over his
gun, saw that every screw was properly tight, and dropped the tiniest
amount of oil on the trigger and the hammer, to ease th