"General Beauregard orders that you cease fighting and rest your men
to-night."
Bragg turned his rugged dark face on the messenger with a scowl.
"You have promulgated this order to the army?"
"I have, sir--"
"If you had not, I would not obey it--"
He paused and threw one hand high above his head.
"Our victory has been thrown to the winds!"
The sudden and inexplicable abandonment of this complete and
overwhelming success was one of the most remarkable events in the
history of modern warfare.
The men bivouacked on the field.
The blunder was fatal and irretrievable. Even while the order was being
given to cease firing the advance guard of Buell's army was already
approaching the other bank of the river. Twenty-five thousand fresh men
under cover of the darkness began to pour their long lines into position
to save Grant's shattered ranks.
As night fell another misfortune was on the way to obscure the star of
Beauregard. His soldiers, elated with their wonderful victory, broke
into disorderly plundering of the captured Federal camps. Except for a
few thousand sternly disciplined troops under Bragg's command the whole
Southern army suddenly degenerated into a mob of roving plunderers, mad
with folly. In the rich stores of the Federal army thousands of gallons
of wines and liquors were found.
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