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It's early evening on Easter Sunday, April 1865 in Columbus, Georgia.

As the sun sets, a shoemaker in a grubby apron runs through the now quiet streets, past large

red brick textile mills.

There's an urgent look on his face.

He sees a band of cavalry soldiers standing by their horses ahead and yells,

The Yankees are coming. The Yankees are coming.

As the man races past, a soldier with a thick beard down to his chest turns to look across the Chattahoochy River.

That bearded soldier is Dr. John Pemberton.

He's a 34-year-old pharmacist by trade and this is the

mounted militia he's assembled to protect Columbus. As he and his ragtag band of

middle-aged men look across the river, they see an army approaching.

Hundreds of soldiers dressed in blue.

They're headed for the bridge, the bridge that will take them across the river and into Columbus.

Pemberton turns to his men. They know these are the same troops that burned Atlanta

to the ground last November. They are determined to save Columbus

from a similar fate. Pemberton puffs his chest out and addresses his amateur army.

Get on your horses. Tonight we fight for Columbus, for the Confederacy, for our freedom.

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