My Days and Nights on the Battle-Field
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Title: My Days and Nights on the Battle-Field
Author: Charles Carleton Coffin
Release date: April 21, 2009 [eBook #28571]
Most recently updated: January 4, 2021
Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MY DAYS AND NIGHTS ON THE BATTLE-FIELD ***
Produced by D Alexander and the Online Distributed
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produced from scanned images of public domain material
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MY DAYS AND NIGHTS
ON THE
BATTLE-FIELD.
BY
CHARLES CARLETON COFFIN,
AUTHOR OF "STORY OF LIBERTY," "BOYS OF '76," "OUR NEW WAY
ROUND THE WORLD," "FOLLOWING THE FLAG,"
"WINNING HIS WAY," ETC.
BOSTON
DANA ESTES AND COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
_Copyright_, 1887,
BY ESTES AND LAURIAT
[Illustration: "The brigade goes down the road upon the run."]
CONTENTS.
INTRODUCTORY. PAGE
TO THE YOUTH OF THE UNITED STATES. 1
Chap. I. HOW THE REBELLION CAME ABOUT 3
II. THE GATHERING OF A GREAT ARMY 22
III. THE BATTLE OF BULL RUN 37
IV. THE CAPTURE OF FORT HENRY 65
V. THE CAPTURE OF FORT DONELSON 89
Thursday 98
Friday 104
Saturday 111
VI. THE SURRENDER 132
VII. THE ARMY AT PITTSBURG LANDING 153
VIII. THE BATTLE OF PITTSBURG LANDING
From Daybreak till Ten o'clock 171
From Ten o'clock till Four 197
Sunday Evening 205
Monday 210
IX. EVACUATION OF COLUMBUS 229
X. OPERATIONS AT NEW MADRID 237
XI. OPERATIONS AT ISLAND NUMBER TEN 247
XII. FROM FORT PILLOW TO MEMPHIS 281
XIII. THE NAVAL FIGHT AT MEMPHIS 291
LIST OF DIAGRAMS.
PAGE
Bull Run Battle-Ground 60
The Fight at Blackburn's Ford 62
The Country around Fort Henry and Fort Donelson 69
Fort Henry 81
Fort Donelson 95
The Attack on McClernand 114
The Second Engagement 123
The Charge of Lauman's Brigade 128
Pittsburg Landing and Vicinity 155
Disposition of Troops at the Beginning of the Battle 173
The Fight at the Ravine 208
A Rebel Torpedo 230
Island No. 10 239
A Mortar 248
The Naval Fight at Memphis 295
MILITARY TERMS.
_Abatis._--Trees cut down, their branches made sharp, and used to block
a road, or placed in front of fortifications.
_Advance._--Any portion of an army which is in front of the rest.
_Aides-de-camp._--Officers selected by general officers to assist them
in their military duties.
_Ambulances._--Carriages for the sick and wounded.
_Battery._--A battery consists of one or more pieces of artillery. A
full battery of field artillery consists of six cannon.
_Battalion._--A battalion consists of two or more companies, but less
than a regiment.
_Bombardment._--Throwing shot or shells into a fort or earthwork.
_Canister._--A tin cylinder filled with cast-iron shot. When the gun is
fired, the cylinder bursts and scatters the shot over a wide surface of
ground.
_Caisson._--An artillery carriage, containing ammunition for immediate
use.
_Casemate._--A covered chamber in fortifications, protected by earth
from shot and shells.
_Columbiad._--A cannon, invented by Colonel Bomford, of very large
calibre, used for throwing shot or shells. A ten-inch columbiad weighs
15,400 pounds, and is ten and a half feet long.
_Column._--A position in which troops may be placed. A column en route
is the order in which they march from one part of the country to
another. A column of attack is the order in which they go into battle.
_Countersign._--A particular word given out by the highest officer in
command, intrusted to guards, pickets, and sentinels, and to those who
may have occasion to pass them.
_Embrasure._--An opening cut in embankments for the muzzles of the
cannon.
_Enfilade._--To sweep the whole length of the inside of a fortification
or a line of troops.
_Field-Works._--An embankment of earth excavated from a ditch
surrounding a town or a fort.
_Flank._--The right or left side of a body of men, or place. When it is
said that the enemy by a flank march outflanked our right wing, it is
understood that he put himself on our right hand. When two armies stand
face to face the right flank of one is opposite the left flank of the
other.
_File._--Two soldiers,--a front rank and a rear rank man.
_Fuse._--A slow-burning composition in shells, set on fire by the flash
of the cannon. The length of the fuse is proportioned to the intended
range of the shells.
_Grape._--A large number of small balls tied up in a bag.
_Howitzer._--A cannon of large calibre and short range, commonly used
for throwing shells, grape, and canister.
_Limber._--The fore part of a field gun-carriage, to which the horses
are attached. It has two wheels, and carries ammunition the same as the
caisson.
_Pontoon._--A bridge of boats for crossing streams, which may be carried
in wagons.
_Parabola._--The curve described by a shell in the air.
_Range._--The distance to which shot, shells, or bullets may be fired.
_Reveille._--The first drum-beat in the morning.
_Rifle-Pits._--Excavations in the earth or other shelter for riflemen.
_Spherical Case._--A thin shell of cast-iron filled with bullets, with a
fuse, and a charge of powder sufficient to burst it. It contains about
ninety bullets.
_Wings._--The right and left divisions of a body of troops,
distinguished from the centre.
MY DAYS AND NIGHTS
ON THE BATTLE-FIELD.
INTRODUCTORY.
TO THE YOUTH OF THE UNITED STATES.
In my boyhood, my young friends, I loved to sit beside my grandfather
and listen to his stories of Bunker Hill and Saratoga,--how he and his
comrades stood upon those fields and fought for their country. I could
almost see the fight and hear the cannon's roar, the rattle of the
musketry, and the shouts of victory. They won their independence, and
established the best government the world ever saw. But there are men in
this country who hate that government, who have plotted against it, and
who have brought about the present Great Rebellion to destroy it. I have
witnessed some of the battles which have been fought during this war,
although I have not been a soldier, as my grandfather was, and I shall
try, in this volume, to picture those scenes, and give correct
descriptions of the ground, the marching of the troops, the positions
they occupied, and other things, that you may understand how your
father, or your brothers, or your friends, fought for the dear old flag.
CHAPTER I.
HOW THE REBELLION CAME ABOUT.
Many of you, my young readers, have seen the springs which form the
trickling rivulets upon the hillsides. How small they are. You can
almost drink them dry. But in the valley the silver threads become a
brook, which widens to a river rolling to the far-off ocean. So is it
with the ever-flowing stream of time. The things which were of small
account a hundred years ago are powerful forces to-day. Great events do
not usually result from one cause, but from many causes. To ascertain
how the rebellion came about, let us read history.
Nearly three hundred years ago, when Elizabeth was Queen of England, Sir
Walter Raleigh sailed across the Atlantic Ocean to explore the newly
discovered Continent of America. Sir Walter was a sailor, a soldier, and
one of the gentleman attendants of the Queen. He was so courteous and
gallant that he once threw his gold-laced scarlet cloak upon the ground
for a mat, that the Queen might not step her royal foot in the mud. At
that time America was an unexplored wilderness. The old navigators had
sailed along the coasts, but the smooth waters of the great lakes and
rivers had never been ruffled by the oars of European boatmen.
Sir Walter found a beautiful land, shaded by grand old forests; also
fertile fields, waving with corn and a broad-leaved plant with purple
flowers, which the Indians smoked in pipes of flint and vermilion stone
brought from the cliffs of the great Missouri River.
The sailors learned to smoke, and when Sir Walter returned to England
they puffed their pipes in the streets. The people were amazed, and
wondered if the sailors were on fire. So tobacco began to be used in
England. That was in 1584. We shall see that a little tobacco-smoke
whiffed nearly three hundred years ago has had an influence in bringing
about the rebellion.
Twenty years rolled by. London merchants dreamed of wealth in store for
them in Virginia. A company was formed to colonize the country. Many of
the merchants had spendthrift sons, who were also idle and given to bad
habits. These young fellows thought it degrading to work. In those
Western woods across the ocean, along the great rivers and upon the blue
mountains, they saw in imagination a wild, roving, reckless life. They
could hunt the wild beasts. They could live without the restraints of
society. They had heard wonderful stories of exhaustless mines of gold
and silver. There they could get rich, and that was the land for them.
A vessel with five hundred colonists was fitted out. There were only
sixteen men of the five hundred accustomed to work; the others called
themselves gentlemen and cavaliers. They settled at Jamestown. They
found no rich gold-mines, and wealth was not to be had on the fertile
plains without labor. Not knowing how to cultivate the soil, and hating
work, they had a hard time. They suffered for want of food. Many died
from starvation. Yet more of the same indolent class joined the
colony,--young men who had had rows with tutors at school, and who
had broken the heads of London watchmen in their midnight revels. A
historian of those times says that "they were fitter to breed a riot
than found a colony."
The merchants, finding that a different class of men was needed to save
the colony from ruin, sent over poor laboring men, who were apprenticed
to their sons. Thus the idle cavaliers were kept from starvation.
Instead of working themselves, they directed the poor, hard-working men,
and pocketed the profits.
Smoking began to be fashionable in England. Lawyers in big wigs,
ministers in black gowns, merchants seated in their counting-houses,
ladies in silks and satins, all took to this habit of the North American
Indians. Tobacco was in demand. Every ship from America was freighted
with it. The purple-flowered plant grew luxuriantly in the fields
of Virginia, and so through the labor of the poor men the indolent
cavaliers became rich.
As there were no women in the colony, some of the cavaliers sent over to
England and bought themselves wives, paying a hundred pounds of tobacco
for a wife. Others married Indian wives.
The jails of London were crowded with thieves and vagabonds. They
had committed crime and lost their freedom. To get rid of them, the
magistrates sent several ship-loads to Virginia, where they were sold to
the planters as servants and laborers. Thus it came to pass that there
were distinct classes in the colony,--men having rights and men without
rights,--men owning labor and men owing labor,--men with power and men
without power,--all of which had something to do in bringing about the
rebellion.
In August, 1620, a Dutch captain sailed up James River with twenty
negroes on board his ship, which he had stolen from Africa. The planters
purchased them, not as apprentices, but as slaves. The captain, having
made a profitable voyage, sailed for Africa to steal more. Thus
the African slave-trade in America began, which became the main
fountain-head and grand cause of the rebellion.
The Virginia planters wanted large plantations. Some of them had
influence with King James, and obtained grants of immense estates,
containing thousands of acres. All the while the common people of
England were learning to smoke, snuff, and chew tobacco, and across the
English Channel the Dutch burghers, housewives, and farmers were
learning to puff their pipes. A pound of tobacco was worth three
shillings. The planters grew richer, purchased more land and more
slaves, while the apprenticed men, who had no money and no means of
obtaining any, of course could not become land-owners. Thus the three
classes of men--planters, poor white men, and slaves--became perpetually
distinct.
By the charter which the company of London merchants had received from
the King, owners of land only were allowed to have a voice in the
management of public affairs. They only could hold office. A poor man
could not have anything to do with enacting or administering the laws.
In 1705, a historian, then writing, says:--
"There are men with great estates, who take care to supply
the poor with goods, and who are sure to keep them always in
debt, and consequently dependent. Out of this number are
chosen the Council, Assembly, Justices of the Peace, and
other officers, who conspire together to wield power."[1]
[Footnote 1: Quarry.]
Thus a few rich men managed all the affairs of the colony. They were
able to perpetuate their power, to hand these privileges to their sons,
through successive generations.
At the present time there are many men and women in Virginia who
consider themselves as belonging to the first families, because they are
descendants of those who settled the country. The great estates have
passed from the family name,--squandered by the dissolute and indolent
sons. They are poor, but very proud, and call themselves noble-born.
They look with contempt upon a man who works for a living. I saw a great
estate, which was once owned by one of these proud families, near the
Antietam battle-field, but spendthrift sons have squandered it, and
there is but little left. The land is worn out, but the owner of the
remaining acres,--poor, but priding himself upon his high birth, looking
with haughty contempt upon men who work,--in the summer of 1860, day
after day, was seen sitting upon his horse, with an umbrella over his
head to keep off the sun, _overseeing his two negro women, who were
hoeing corn_!
All of these springs which started in Virginia tinged, entered into, and
gave color to society throughout the South. There were great estates,
privileged classes, a few rich and many poor men. There were planters,
poor white men, and slaves.
In those old times pirates sailed the seas, plundering and destroying
ships. They swarmed around the West India Islands, and sold their spoils
to the people of Charleston, South Carolina. There, for several years,
the freebooters refitted their ships, and had a hearty welcome. But the
King's ships of war broke up the business, and commerce again had
peaceful possession of the ocean.
These things gave direction to the stream, influencing the development
and growth of the colonies, which became States in the Union, and which
seceded in 1861.
* * * * *
While the Dutch captain was bargaining off his negroes to the planters
in 1620 at Jamestown, another vessel was sailing from Plymouth harbor,
in England, for a voyage across the Atlantic. Years before, in the
little town of Scrooby, a man with a long white beard, by the name of
Clifton, had preached what he called a pure religious doctrine. Those
who went to hear him, and who believed what he preached, soon came to be
called Puritans. Most of them were poor, hard-working English farmers
and villagers. There was much discussion, controversy, bigotry, and
bitterness in religion at that time, and these poor men were driven from
county to county, till finally they were obliged to flee to Holland to
escape persecution and save their lives. King James himself was one of
their most bitter persecutors. He declared that he would "harry every
one of them out of England." After remaining in Holland several years,
they obtained permission of the King to sail for North America.
On a December morning the vessel, after five months' tossing upon the
ocean, lay at anchor in the harbor of Cape Cod. Those on board had no
charter of government. They were not men who had had midnight revels in
London, but men who had prayers in their families night and morning, and
who met for religious worship on the Sabbath. They respected law, loved
order, and knew that it would be necessary to have a form of government
in the colony. They assembled in the cabin of the ship, and, after
prayer, signed their names to an agreement to obey all the rules,
regulations, and laws which might be enacted by the majority. Then they
elected a governor, each man having a voice in the election. It was what
might be called the first town-meeting in America. Thus democratic
liberty and Christian worship, independent of forms established by kings
and bishops, had a beginning in this country.
The climate was cold, the seasons short, the soil sterile, and so the
settlers of Cape Cod were obliged to work hard to obtain a living. In
consequence, they and their descendants became active, industrious, and
energetic. Thus they laid the foundations for thrift and enterprise.
They did not look upon labor as degrading, but as ennobling. They passed
laws, that men able to work should not be idle. They were not rich
enough to own great estates, but each man had his own little farm. There
was, therefore, no landed aristocracy, such as was growing into power in
Virginia. They were not able to own labor to any great extent. There
were a few apprenticed men, and some negro slaves, but the social and
political influences were all different from those in the Southern
colonies. The time came when apprenticed men were released from service,
and the slaves set free.
These hard-working men did not wish to have their children grow up
in ignorance. In order, therefore, that every child might become an
intelligent citizen and member of society, they established common
schools and founded colleges. In 1640, just twenty years after the
landing at Plymouth, they had a printing-press at Cambridge.
The cavaliers of Virginia, instead of establishing schools, sent their
sons to England to be educated, leaving the children of the poor men to
grow up in ignorance. They did not want them to obtain an education. In
1670, fifty years after the Dutch captain had bartered off his negroes
for tobacco,--fifty years from the election of the first governor by the
people in the cabin of the Mayflower,--the King appointed Commissioners
of Education, who addressed letters to the governors of the colonies
upon the subject. The Governor of Connecticut replied, that one fourth
of the entire income of the colony was laid out in maintaining public
schools. Governor Berkeley, of Virginia, who owned a great plantation
and many slaves, and who wanted to keep the government in the hands of
the few privileged families, answered,--
"I thank God there are no free schools nor printing in this
colony, and I hope we shall not have them these hundred
years."
All the Northern colonies established common schools, and liberally
supported them, that every child might obtain an education. The Southern
colonies, even when they became States, gave but little attention to
education, and consequently the children became more ignorant than their
fathers. Thus it has come to pass, that in the Northern States nearly
all can read and write, while in the Southern States there are hundreds
of thousands who do not know the alphabet.
In 1850 the State of Maine had 518,000 inhabitants; of these 2,134 could
not read nor write, while the State of North Carolina, with a white
population of 553,000, _had eighty thousand native whites, over twenty
years of age, who had never attended school_!
The six New England States, with a population of 2,705,000, had in 1850
but eight thousand unable to read and write, while Virginia, North
Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia, and Alabama--five States, with a
population of 2,670,000 whites--_had two hundred and sixty-two thousand,
over twenty years of age, unable to read a word_! In the Northern States
educational facilities are rapidly increasing, while in the South they
are fast diminishing. In 1857 there were 96,000 school-children in
Vermont, and all but six thousand attended school. South Carolina the
same year had 114,000 school-children; of these _ninety-five thousand_
had no school privileges. Virginia had 414,000 school-children; _three
hundred and seventy-two thousand_ of them had no means of learning the
alphabet!
In Missouri, in some of the counties, the school lands given by Congress
have been sold, and the money distributed among the people, instead
of being invested for the benefit of schools. With each generation
ignorance has increased in the Southern States. It has been the design
of the slaveholders to keep the poor white men in ignorance. There,
neighbors are miles apart. There are vast tracts of land where the
solitude is unbroken by the sounds of labor. Schools and newspapers
cannot flourish. Information is given by word of mouth. Men are
influenced to political action by the arguments and stories of
stump-speakers, and not by reading newspapers. They vote as they are
told, or as they are influenced by the stories they hear. So, when the
leading conspirators were ready to bring about the rebellion, being in
possession of the State governments, holding official positions, by
misrepresentation, cunning, and wickedness, they were able to delude the
ignorant poor men, and induce them to vote to secede from the Union.
Two thousand years ago the natives of India manufactured cloth from the
fibres of the cotton-plant, which grew wild in the woods. The old
historian, Herodotus, says that the trees bore fleeces as white as snow.
A planter of South Carolina obtained some of the seeds, and began to
cultivate the plant. In 1748 ten bags of cotton were shipped to
Liverpool, but cotton-spinning had not then begun in England. In 1784
the custom-house officers at Liverpool seized eight bags which a planter
had sent over, on the ground that it was not possible to raise so much
in America. The manufacture of cotton goods was just then commencing in
England, and cotton was in demand. The plant grew luxuriantly in the
sunny fields of the South, but it was a day's work for a negro to
separate the seed from a pound, and the planters despaired of making it
a profitable crop.
A few years before the Liverpool custom-house officers seized the eight
bags, a boy named Eli Whitney was attending school in Westboro',
Massachusetts, who was destined to help the planters out of the
difficulty. He made water-wheels, which plashed in the roadside brooks,
and windmills, which whirled upon his father's barn. He made violins,
which were the wonder and admiration of all musicians. He set up a shop,
and made nails by machinery, and thus earned money through the
Revolutionary War. When not more than twelve years old, he stayed at
home from meeting one Sunday alone, and took his father's watch to
pieces, and put it together again so nicely that it went as well as
ever. It was not the proper business for Sunday, however.
When a young man, he went South to teach school. He happened to hear
General Greene, the brave and noble man who had been a match for Lord
Cornwallis, wish that there was a machine for cleaning cotton. He
thought the matter over, went to work, and in a short time had a machine
which, with some improvements, now does the work of a thousand negroes.
He built it in secret, but the planters, getting wind of it, broke open
his room, stole his invention, built machines of their own, and cheated
him out of his property.
About this time there was a poor cotton-spinner in England who thought
he could invent a machine for spinning. He sat up late nights, and
thought how to have the wheels, cranks, and belts arranged. At times
he was almost discouraged, but his patient, cheerful, loving wife
encouraged him, and he succeeded at last in making a machine which would
do the work of a thousand spinners. He named it Jenny, for his wife, who
had been so patient and cheerful, though she and the children, some of
the time while he was studying upon the invention, had little to eat.
The gin and the jenny made cotton cloth much cheaper than it had been.
Many manufactories were built in England and in the New England States.
More acres of cotton were planted in the South, and more negroes stolen
from Africa. In the North, along the mill-streams, there was the click
and clatter of machinery. A great many ships were needed to transport
the cotton from the agricultural South to the manufactories of the
commercial, industrious, trading North. The cotton crop of the South in
1784 was worth only a few hundred dollars, but the crop of 1860 was
worth hundreds of millions, so great had been the increase.
This great demand for cotton affected trade and commerce the world over.
The planters had princely incomes from the labor of their slaves. Some
of them received $50,000 to $100,000 a year. They said that cotton was
king, and ruled the world. They thought that the whole human race was
dependent upon them, and that by withholding their cotton a single year
they could compel the whole world to acknowledge their power. They were
few in number,--about three hundred thousand in thirty millions of
people. They used every means possible to extend and perpetuate their
power. They saw that the Northern States were beehives of industry, and
that the boys swarming from the Northern school-houses were becoming
mechanics, farmers, teachers, engaging in all employments, and that
knowledge as a power was getting the better of wealth.
The men of the North were settling the new States of the West, and
political power in Congress was slipping from the hands of the South. To
retain that power they must bring additional Slave States into the
Union. They therefore demanded the right to take their slaves into new
Territories. The Northern school-boys who had grown to be men, who had
gone into the far West to build them homes, could not consent to see
their children deprived of that which had made them men. They saw that
if slavery came in, schools must go out. They saw that where slavery
existed there were three distinct classes in society,--the few rich,
unscrupulous, hard-hearted slaveholders, the many poor, ignorant,
debased white men, and the slaves. They saw that free labor and slave
labor could not exist together. They therefore rightfully resisted the
extension of slavery into the Territories. But the slaveholders carried
the day. The North was outvoted and obliged to yield.
The descendants of the first families of Virginia raised slaves for a
living. It was degrading to labor, but a very honorable way of getting a
living to raise pigs, mules, and negroes,--to sell them to the more
southern States,--to sell their own sons and daughters! Their fathers
purchased wives: why should they not sell their own children?
It was very profitable to raise negroes for the market, and the
ministers of the South, in their pulpits on the Sabbath, said it was a
Christian occupation. They expounded the Bible, and showed the
benevolent designs of God in establishing slavery. It was right. It had
the sanction of the Almighty. It was a Divine missionary institution.
Their political success, their great power, their wealth,--which they
received through the unpaid labor of their slaves, and from selling
their own sons and daughters,--developed their bad traits of character.
They became proud, insolent, domineering, and ambitious. They demanded
the right not only to extend slavery over all the Territories of the
United States, but also the right to take their slaves into the Free
States. They demanded that no one should speak or write against slavery.
They secured the passage of a law by Congress enabling them to catch
their runaway slaves. They demanded that the Constitution should be
changed to favor the growth and extension of slavery. For many years
they plotted against the government,--threatening to destroy it if they
could not have what they demanded. They looked with utter contempt upon
the hard-working men of the North. They determined to rule or ruin.
Every Northern man living at the South was looked upon with suspicion.
Some were tarred and feathered, others hung, and many were killed in
cold blood! No Northern man could open his lips on that subject in the
South. Men of the North could not travel there. The noble astronomer,
Mitchell, the brave general who has laid down his life for his country,
was surrounded by an ignorant, excited mob in Alabama, who were ready to
hang him because he told them he was in favor of the Union. But Southern
orators and political speakers were invited North, and listened to with
respect by the thinking, reasoning people,--the pupils of the common
schools.
Climate, trade, commerce, common schools, and industry have made the
North different from the South; but there was nothing in these to bring
on the war.
When the slaveholders saw that they had lost their power in Congress to
pass laws for the extension of slavery, they determined to secede from
the Union. When the North elected a President who declared himself
opposed to the extension of slavery, they began the war. They stole
forts, arsenals, money, steamboats,--everything they could lay their
hands on belonging to government and individuals,--seceded from the
Union, formed a confederacy, raised an army, and fired the first gun.
They planned a great empire, which should extend south to the Isthmus of
Darien and west to the Pacific Ocean, and made slavery its cornerstone.
They talked of conquering the North. They declared that the time would
come when they would muster their slaves on Bunker Hill, when the
laboring men of the North, "with hat in hand, should stand meekly before
them, their masters."[2]
[Footnote 2: Richmond Enquirer.]
They besieged Fort Sumter, fired upon the ships sent to its relief,
bombarded the fort and captured it. To save their country, their
government, all that was dear to them, to protect their insulted,
time-honored flag, the men of the North took up arms.
CHAPTER II.
THE GATHERING OF A GREAT ARMY.
The Rebels began the war by firing upon Fort Sumter. You remember how
stupefying the news of its surrender. You could not at first believe
that they would fire upon the Stars and Stripes,--the flag respected and
honored everywhere on earth. When there was no longer a doubt that they
had begun hostilities, you could not have felt worse if you had heard
of the death of a very dear friend. But as you thought it over and
reflected upon the wickedness of the act, so deliberate and terrible,
you felt that you would like to see the traitors hung; not that it would
be a pleasure to see men die a felon's death, but because you loved your
country and its flag, with its heaven-born hues, its azure field of
stars! Not that the flag is anything in itself to be protected, honored,
and revered, but because it is the emblem of constitutional liberty and
freedom, the ensign of the best, freest, noblest government ever
established. It had cost suffering and blood. Kings, aristocrats,
despots, and tyrants, in the Old World and in the New hated it, but
millions of men in other lands, suffering, abused, robbed of their
rights, beheld it as their banner of hope. When you thought how it had
been struck down by traitors, when you heard that the President had
called for seventy five thousand troops, you hurrahed with all your
might, and wished that you were old enough and big enough to go and
fight the Rebels.
The drums beat in the street. You saw the soldiers hasten to take
their places in the gathering ranks. You marched beside them and kept
step with the music. The sunlight gleamed from their bayonets. Their
standards waved in the breeze, while the drum, the fife, the bugle, and
the trumpet thrilled you as never before. You marched proudly and
defiantly. You felt that you could annihilate the stoutest Rebel. You
followed the soldiers to the railroad depot and hurrahed till the train
which bore them away was out of sight.
Let us follow them to Washington, and see the gathering of a great army.
The Rebels have threatened to capture that city and make it their seat
of government, and it must be saved.
We have been a quiet, peaceable nation, and have had no great standing
armies of a half-million men. We know but little about war. The Northern
States are unprepared for war. President Buchanan's Secretary of War,
Floyd, has proved himself a thief. He has stolen several hundred
thousands of muskets, thousands of pieces of artillery, sending them
from the Northern arsenals to the South. The slaveholders have been for
many years plotting the rebellion. They are armed, and we are not. Their
arsenals are well filled, while ours are empty, because President
Buchanan was a weak old man, and kept thieves and traitors in places of
trust and power.
At the call of the President every village sends its soldiers, every
town its company. When you listened to the soul-thrilling music of the
band, and watched the long, winding train as it vanished with the troops
in the distance, you had one little glimpse of the machinery of war, as
when riding past a great manufactory you see a single pulley, or a row
of spindles through a window. You do not see the thousands of wheels,
belts, shafts,--the hundred thousand spindles, the arms of iron, fingers
of brass, and springs of steel, and the mighty wheel which gives motion
to all,--and so you have not seen the great, complicated, far-reaching,
and powerful machinery of war.
But there is activity everywhere. Drums are beating, men assembling,
soldiers marching, and hastening on in regiments. They go into camp and
sleep on the ground, wrapped in their blankets. It is a new life. They
have no napkins, no table-cloths at breakfast, dinner, or supper, no
china plates or silver forks. Each soldier has his tin plate and cup,
and makes a hearty meal of beef and bread. It is hard-baked bread. They
call it _hard-tack_, because it might be tacked upon the roof of a house
instead of shingles. They also have Cincinnati _chicken_. At home they
called it pork; fowls are scarce and pork is plenty in camp, so they
make believe it is chicken!
There is drilling by squads, companies, battalions, and by regiments.
Some stand guard around the camp by day, and others go out on picket at
night, to watch for the enemy. It is military life. Everything is done
by orders. When you become a soldier, you cannot go and come as you
please. Privates, lieutenants, captains, colonels, generals, all are
subject to the orders of their superior officers. All must obey the
general in command. You march, drill, eat, sleep, go to bed, and get up
by order. At sunrise you hear the reveille, and at nine o'clock in the
evening the tattoo. Then the candle, which has been burning in your tent
with a bayonet for a candlestick, must be put out. In the dead of night,
while sleeping soundly and dreaming of home, you hear the drum-beat. It
is the long roll. There is a rattle of musketry. The pickets are at it.
Every man springs to his feet.
"Turn out! turn out!" shouts the colonel.
"Fall in! fall in!" cries the captain.
There is confusion throughout the camp,--a trampling of feet and loud,
hurried talking. In your haste you get your boots on wrong, and buckle
your cartridge-box on bottom up. You rush out in the darkness, not
minding your steps, and are caught by the tent-ropes. You tumble
headlong, upsetting to-morrow's breakfast of beans. You take your place
in the ranks, nervous, excited, and trembling at you know not what. The
regiment rushes toward the firing, which suddenly ceases. An officer
rides up in the darkness and says it is a false alarm! You march back to
camp, cool and collected now, grumbling at the stupidity of the picket,
who saw a bush, thought it was a Rebel, fired his gun, and alarmed the
whole camp.
In the autumn of 1861 the army of the Potomac, encamped around
Washington, numbered about two hundred thousand men. Before it marches
to the battle-field, let us see how it is organized, how it looks, how
it is fed; let us get an insight into its machinery.
Go up in the balloon which you see hanging in the air across the Potomac
from Georgetown, and look down upon this great army. All the country
round is dotted with white tents,--some in the open fields, and some
half hid by the forest-trees. Looking away to the northwest you see the
right wing. Arlington is the centre, and at Alexandria is the left wing.
You see men in ranks, in files, in long lines, in masses, moving to and
fro, marching and countermarching, learning how to fight a battle. There
are thousands of wagons and horses; there are from two to three hundred
pieces of artillery. How long the line, if all were on the march! Men
marching in files are about three feet apart. A wagon with four horses
occupies fifty feet. If this army was moving on a narrow country road,
four cavalrymen riding abreast, and men in files of four, with all the
artillery, ammunition-wagons, supply-trains, ambulances, and equipment,
it would reach from Boston to Hartford, or from New York city to Albany,
a hundred and fifty miles!
To move such a multitude, to bring order out of confusion, there must be
a system, a plan, and an organization. Regiments are therefore formed
into brigades, with usually about four regiments to a brigade. Three or
four brigades compose a division, and three or four divisions make an
army corps. A corps when full numbers from twenty-five to thirty
thousand men.
When an army moves, the general commanding it issues his orders to the
generals commanding the corps; they issue their orders to the division
commanders, the division commanders to the brigadiers, they to the
colonels, and the colonels to captains, and the captains to the
companies. As the great wheel in the factory turns all the machinery, so
one mind moves the whole army. The general-in-chief must designate the
road which each corps shall take, the time when they are to march, where
they are to march to, and sometimes the hour when they must arrive at an
appointed place. The corps commanders must direct which of their
divisions shall march first, what roads they shall take, and where they
shall encamp at night. The division commanders direct what brigades
shall march first. No corps, division, or brigade commander can take any
other road than that assigned him, without producing confusion and
delay.
The army must have its food regularly. Think how much food it takes to
supply the city of Boston, or Cincinnati every day. Yet here are as many
men as there are people in those cities. There are a great many more
horses in the army than in the stables of both of those cities. All must
be fed. There must be a constant supply of beef, pork, bread, beans,
vinegar, sugar, and coffee, oats, corn, and hay.
The army must also have its supplies of clothing, its boots, shoes, and
coats. It must have its ammunition, its millions of cartridges of
different kinds; for there are a great many kinds of guns in the
regiments,--Springfield and Enfield muskets, French, Belgian, Prussian,
and Austrian guns, requiring a great many different kinds of ammunition.
There are a great many different kinds of cannon. There must be no lack
of ammunition, no mistake in its distribution. So there is the
Quartermaster's Department, the Commissary, and the Ordnance Department.
The Quartermaster moves and clothes the army, the Commissary feeds it,
and the Ordnance officer supplies it with ammunition. The
general-in-chief has a Quartermaster-General, a chief Commissary and a
chief Ordnance officer, who issue their orders to the chief officers in
their departments attached to each corps. They issue their orders to
their subordinates in the divisions, and the division officers to those
in the brigades.
Then there is a Surgeon-General, who directs all the hospital
operations, who must see that the sick and wounded are all taken care
of. There are camp surgeons, division, brigade, and regimental surgeons.
There are hospital nurses, ambulance drivers, all subject to the orders
of the surgeon. No other officer can direct them. Each department is
complete in itself.
It has cost a great deal of thought, labor, and money to construct this
great machinery. In creating it there has been much thinking, energy,
determination, and labor; and there must be constant forethought in
anticipating future wants, necessities, and contingencies, when to move,
where, and how. The army does not exist of its own accord, but by
constant, unremitting effort.
The people of the country determined that the Constitution, the Union,
and the government bequeathed by their fathers should be preserved. They
authorized the President to raise a great army. Congress voted money and
men. The President, acting as the agent of the people, and as
Commander-in-Chief, appointed men to bring all the materials together
and organize the army. Look at what was wanted to build this mighty
machine and to keep it going.
First, the hundreds of thousands of men; the thousands of horses; the
thousands of barrels of beef, pork, and flour; thousands of hogsheads of
sugar, vinegar, rice, salt, bags of coffee, and immense stores of other
things. Thousands of tons of hay, bags of oats and corn. What numbers of
men and women have been at work to get each soldier ready for the field.
He has boots, clothes, and equipments. The tanner, currier, shoemaker,
the manufacturer, with his swift-flying shuttles, the operator tending
his looms and spinning-jennies, the tailor with his sewing-machines, the
gunsmith, the harness-maker, the blacksmith,--all trades and occupations
have been employed. There are saddles, bridles, knapsacks, canteens,
dippers, plates, knives, stoves, kettles, tents, blankets, medicines,
drums, swords, pistols, guns, cannon, powder, percussion-caps, bullets,
shot, shells, wagons,--everything.
Walk leisurely through the camps, and observe the little things and the
great things, see the men on the march. Then go into the Army and Navy
Departments in Washington, in those brick buildings west of the
President's house. In those rooms are surveys, maps, plans, papers,
charts of the ocean, of the sea-coast, currents, sand-bars, shoals, the
rising and falling of tides. In the Topographical Bureau you see maps of
all sections of the country. There is the Ordnance Bureau, with all
sorts of guns, rifles, muskets, carbines, pistols, swords, shells,
rifled shot, fuses which the inventors have brought in. There are a
great many bureaus, with immense piles of papers and volumes, containing
experiments upon the strength of iron, the trials of cannon, guns,
mortars, and powder. There have been experiments to determine how much
powder shall be used, whether it shall be as fine as mustard-seed or as
coarse as lumps of sugar, and the results are all noted here. All the
appliances of science, industry, and art are brought into use to make it
the best army the world ever saw.
It is the business of the government to bring the materials together,
and the business of the generals to organize it into brigades,
divisions, and corps,--to determine the number of cavalry and batteries
of artillery, to place weak materials in their proper places, and the
strongest where they will be most needed.
The general commanding must have a plan of operations. Napoleon said
that war is like a game of chess, and that a commander must make his
game. He must think it out beforehand, and in such a manner that the
enemy will be compelled to play it in his way and be defeated. The
general-in-chief must see the end from the beginning, just as Napoleon,
sticking his map of Europe full of pins, decided that he could defeat
the Austrians at Austerlitz, the Prussians at Jena. That is genius. The
general-in-chief makes his plan on the supposition that all his orders
will be obeyed promptly, that no one will shirk responsibility, that not
one of all the vast multitude will fail to do his duty.
The night before the battle of Waterloo, Napoleon sent an order to an
officer to take possession of a little hillock, on which stood a
farm-house overlooking the plain. The officer thought it would do just
as well if he let it go till morning, but in the morning the English had
possession of the spot, and in consequence of that officer's neglect
Napoleon probably lost the great battle, his army, and his empire. Great
events often hang on little things, and in military operations it is of
the utmost importance that they should be attended to.
From the beginning to the end, unless every man does his duty, from the
general in command to the private in the ranks, there is danger of
failure.
Thus the army is organized, and thus through organization it becomes a
disciplined body. Instead of being a confused mass of men, horses,
mules, cannon, caissons, wagons, and ambulances, it is a body which can
be divided, subdivided, separated by miles of country, hurried here and
there, hurled upon the enemy, and brought together again by the stroke
of a pen, by a word, or the click of the telegraph.
When a battle is to be fought, the general-in-chief must not only have
his plan how to get the great mass of men to the field, but he must have
a plan of movement on the field. Each corps must have its position
assigned. There must be a line of battle. It is not a continuous line of
men, but there are wide spaces, perhaps miles wide, between the corps,
divisions, and brigades. Hills, ravines, streams, swamps, houses,
villages, bushes, a fence, rocks, wheat-fields, sunlight and shade, all
must be taken into account. Batteries must be placed on hills, or in
commanding positions to sweep all the country round. Infantry must be
gathered in masses in the centre or on either wing, or deployed and
separated according to circumstances. They must be sheltered. They must
be thrown here or there, as they may be needed to hold or to crush the
enemy. They are to stand still and be ploughed through by shot and
shell, or rush into the thickest of the fight, just as they may be
ordered. They are not to question the order;--
"Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die."
There are sleepless nights in the tent of the general-in-chief. When all
others except the pickets are asleep, he is examining maps and plans,
calculating distances, estimating the strength of his army, and asking
himself whether it will do to attack the enemy, or whether he shall
stand on the defensive? can this brigade be relied upon for a desperate
charge? will that division hold the enemy in check? At such times, the
good name, the valor, the bravery of the troops and of the officers who
command them is reviewed. He weighs character. He knows who are reliable
and who inefficient. He studies, examines papers, consults reports,
makes calculations, sits abstractedly, walks nervously, and lies down to
dream it all over again and again.
The welfare of the country, thousands of lives, and perhaps the destiny
of the nation, is in his hands. How shall he arrange his corps? ought
the troops to be massed in the centre, or shall he concentrate them on
the wings? shall he feel of the enemy with a division or two, or rush
upon him like an avalanche? Can the enemy outflank him, or get upon his
rear? What if the Rebels should pounce upon his ammunition and
supply-trains? What is the position of the enemy? How large is his
force? How many batteries has he? How much cavalry? What do the scouts
report? Are the scouts to be believed? One says the enemy is retreating,
another that he is advancing. What are the probabilities? A thousand
questions arise which must be answered. The prospect of success must be
carefully calculated. Human life must be thrown remorselessly into the
scale. All the sorrows and the tears of wives, mothers, fathers,
brothers, and sisters far away, who will mourn for the dead, must be
forgotten. He must shut up all tender thoughts, and become an iron man.
Ah! it is not so fine a thing to be a general, perhaps, as you have
imagined!
It is an incomplete, imperfect, and unsatisfactory look which you have
taken of the machinery of a great army. But you can see that a very
small thing may upset the best-laid plan of any commander. The cowardice
of a regiment, the failure of an officer to do his duty, to be at a
place at an appointed moment, the miscarriage of orders, a hundred
things which you can think of, may turn a victory into a defeat. You can
see that a great battle must be a grand and terrible affair; but though
you may use all your powers of imagination in endeavoring to picture the
positions of the troops,--how they look, how they act, how they stand
amid the terrible storm, braying death, how they rush into the thickest
fire, how they fall like the sere leaves of autumn,--you will fail in
your conceptions of the conflict. You must see it, and be in it, to know
what it is.
CHAPTER III.
THE BATTLE OF BULL RUN.
The first great battle of the war was fought near Bull Run, in Virginia.
There had been skirmishing along the Potomac, in Western Virginia, and
Missouri; but upon the banks of this winding stream was fought a battle
which will be forever memorable. The Rebels call it the battle of
Manassas. It has been called also the battle of Stone Bridge and the
battle of Warrenton Road.
Bull Run is a lazy, sluggish stream, a branch of the Occoquan River,
which empties into the Potomac. It rises among the Bull Run Mountains,
and flows southeast through Fairfax County. Just beyond the stream, as
you go west from Washington, are the plains of Manassas,--level lands,
which years ago waved with corn and tobacco, but the fields long since
were worn out by the thriftless farming of the slaveholders, and now
they are overgrown with thickets of pine and oak.
Two railroads meet upon the plains, one running northwest through the
mountain gaps into the valley of the Shenandoah, and the other running
from Alexandria to Richmond, Culpepper, and the Southwest. The junction,
therefore, became an important place for Rebel military operations.
There, in June, 1861, General Beauregard mustered his army, which was to
defeat the Union army and capture Washington. The Richmond newspapers
said that this army would not only capture Washington, but would also
dictate terms of peace on the banks of the Hudson. Hot-headed men, who
seemed to have lost their reason through the influence of slavery and
secession, thought that the Southern troops were invincible. They were
confident that one Southerner could whip five Yankees. Ladies cheered
them, called them chivalrous sons of the South, and urged them on to the
field.
But General Beauregard, instead of advancing upon Washington, awaited an
attack from the Union army, making Bull Run his line of defence,
throwing up breastworks, cutting down trees, and sheltering his men
beneath the thick growth of the evergreen pines.
The army of the Union, called the Army of the Potomac, assembled at
Arlington Heights and Alexandria. General McDowell was placed in
command. Half of his soldiers were men who had enlisted for three
months, who had suddenly left their homes at the call of the President.
Their term of service had nearly expired. The three years' men had been
but a few days in camp. Military duties were new. They knew nothing of
discipline, but they confidently expected to defeat the enemy and move
on to Richmond. Few people thought of the possibility of defeat.
Let us walk up the valley of Bull Run and notice its fords, its wooded
banks, the scattered farm-houses, and fields of waving grain. Ten miles
from the Occoquan we come to the railroad bridge. A mile farther up is
McLean's Ford; another mile carries us to Blackburn's, and another mile
brings us to Mitchell's. Above these are Island Ford, Lewis Ford, and
Ball's Ford. Three miles above Mitchell's there is a stone bridge, where
the turnpike leading from Centreville to Warrenton crosses the stream.
Two miles farther up is a place called Sudley Springs,--a cluster of
houses, a little stone church, a blacksmith's shop. The stream there has
dwindled to a brook, and gurgles over a rocky bed.
Going back to the stone bridge, and standing upon its parapet, you may
look east to Centreville, about four miles distant, beautifully situated
on a high ridge of land, but a very old, dilapidated place when you get
to it. Going west from the bridge, you see upon your right hand a swell
of land, and another at your left hand, south of the turnpike. A brook
trickles by the roadside. Leaving the turnpike, and ascending the ridge
on the north side, you see that towards Sudley Springs there are other
swells of land, with wheat-fields, fences, scattered trees, and groves
of pines and oaks. Looking across to the hill south of the turnpike, a
half-mile distant, you see the house of Mr. Lewis, and west of it Mrs.
Henry's, on the highest knoll. Mrs. Henry is an old lady, so far
advanced in life that she is helpless. Going up the turnpike a mile from
the bridge, you come to the toll-gate, kept by Mr. Mathey. A cross-road
comes down from Sudley Springs, and leads south towards Manassas
Junction, six miles distant. Leave the turnpike once more, and go
northwest a half-mile, and you come to the farm of Mr. Dogan. There are
farm-sheds and haystacks near his house.
This ground, from Dogan's to the ridge east of the toll-gate, across the
turnpike and the trickling brook to Mr. Lewis's and Mrs. Henry's, is the
battle-field. You see it,--the ridges of land, the houses, haystacks,
fences, knolls, ravines, wheat-fields, turnpike, and groves of oak and
pine,--a territory about two miles square.
On Saturday, June 20th, General Johnston, with nearly all the Rebel army
of the Shenandoah, arrived at Manassas. Being General Beauregard's
superior officer, he took command of all the troops. He had about thirty
thousand men.
On Thursday, General Richardson's brigade of General McDowell's army had
a skirmish with General Longstreet's brigade at Blackburn's Ford, which
the Rebels call the battle of Bull Run, while that which was fought on
the 21st they call the battle of Manassas. General Beauregard expected
that the attack would be renewed along the fords, and posted his men
accordingly.
Going down to the railroad bridge, we see General Ewell's brigade of the
Rebel army on the western bank guarding the crossing. General Jones's
brigade is at McLean's Ford. At Blackburn's Ford is General
Longstreet's, and at Mitchell's Ford is General Bonham's. Near by
Bonham's is General Earley's, General Bartow's, and General Holmes's.
General Jackson's is in rear of General Bonham's. At Island Ford is
General Bee and Colonel Hampton's legion, also Stuart's cavalry. At
Ball's Ford is General Cocke's brigade. Above, at the Stone Bridge, is
the extreme left of the Rebel army, General Evans's brigade. General
Elzey's brigade of the Shenandoah army is on its way in the cars, and is
expected to reach the battle-field before the contest closes. General
Johnston has between fifty and sixty pieces of artillery and about one
thousand cavalry.
General McDowell had also about thirty thousand men and forty-nine
pieces of artillery. His army was in four divisions,--General Tyler's,
General Hunter's, General Heintzelman's, and General Miles's. One
brigade of General Tyler's and General Miles's division was left at
Centreville to make a feint of attacking the enemy at Blackburn's and
Mitchell's Fords, and to protect the rear of the army from an attack by
Generals Ewell and Jones. The other divisions of the army--five
brigades, numbering eighteen thousand men, with thirty-six
cannon--marched soon after midnight, to be ready to make the attack by
sunrise on Sunday morning.
General Tyler, with General Keyes's brigade, General Sherman's, and
General Schenck's, marched down the turnpike towards the Stone Bridge,
where General Evans was on the watch. General Tyler had twelve pieces of
artillery,--two batteries, commanded by Ayer and Carlisle.
It is sunrise as they approach the bridge,--a calm, peaceful Sabbath
morning. The troops leave the turnpike, march into a cornfield, and
ascend a hill overlooking the bridge. As you stand there amid the
tasselled stalks, you see the stream rippling beneath the stone arches,
and upon the other bank breastworks of earth and fallen trees. Half hid
beneath the oaks and pines are the Rebel regiments, their gun-barrels
and bayonets flashing in the morning light. Beyond the breastworks upon
the knolls are the farm-houses of Mr. Lewis and Mrs. Henry.
Captain Ayer, who has seen fighting in Mexico, brings his guns upon the
hill, wheels them into position, and sights them towards the
breastworks. There is a flash, a puff of smoke, a screaming in the air,
and then across the stream a handful of cloud bursts into view above the
Rebel lines. The shell has exploded. There is a sudden movement of the
Rebel troops. It is the first gun of the morning. And now, two miles
down the Run, by Mitchell's Ford, rolling, echoing, and reverberating
through the forests, are other thunderings. General Richardson has been
waiting impatiently to hear the signal gun. He is to make a feint of
attacking. His cannonade is to begin furiously. He has six guns, and all
of them are in position, throwing solid shot and shells into the wood
where Longstreet's men are lying.
All of Ayer's guns are in play, hurling rifled shot and shells, which
scream like an unseen demon as they fly over the cornfield, over the
meadow lands, to the woods and fields beyond the stream.
General Hunter and General Heintzelman, with their divisions, have left
the turnpike two miles from Centreville, at Cub Run bridge, a rickety,
wooden structure, which creaks and trembles as the heavy cannon rumble
over. They march into the northwest, along a narrow road,--a round-about
way to Sudley Springs. It is a long march. They started at two o'clock,
and have had no breakfast. They waited three hours at Cub Run, while
General Tyler's division was crossing, and they are therefore three
hours behind the appointed time. General McDowell calculated and
intended to have them at Sudley Springs by six o'clock, but now it is
nine. They stop a half-hour at the river-crossing to fill their canteens
from the gurgling stream.
Looking south from the little stone church, you see clouds of dust
floating over the forest-trees. The Rebels have discovered the movement,
and are marching in hot haste to resist the impending attack. General
Evans has left a portion of his command at Stone Bridge, and is
hastening with the remainder to the second ridge of land north of the
turnpike. He plants his artillery on the hill, and secretes his infantry
in a thicket of pines. General Bee is on the march, so is General Bartow
and General Jackson, all upon the double-quick. Rebel officers ride
furiously, and shout their orders. The artillerymen lash their horses to
a run. The infantry are also upon the run, sweating and panting in the
hot sunshine. The noise and confusion increase. The booming deepens
along the valley, for still farther down, by Blackburn's Ford, Hunt's
battery is pouring its fire upon Longstreet's, Jones's, and Ewell's men.
The Union troops at Sudley Springs move across the stream. General
Burnside's brigade is in advance. The Second Rhode Island infantry is
thrown out, deployed as skirmishers. The men are five paces apart. They
move slowly, cautiously, and nervously through the fields and thickets.
Suddenly, from bushes, trees, and fences there is a rattle of musketry.
General Evans's skirmishers are firing. There are jets of flame and
smoke, and a strange humming in the air. There is another rattle, a
roll, a volley. The cannon join. The first great battle has begun.
General Hunter hastens to the spot, and is wounded almost at the first
volley, and compelled to leave the field. The contest suddenly grows
fierce. The Rhode Island boys push on to closer quarters, and the Rebels
under General Evans give way from a thicket to a fence, from a fence to
a knoll.
General Bee arrives with his brigade to help General Evans. You see him
swing up into line west of Evans, towards the haystacks by Dogan's
house. He is in such a position that he can pour a fire upon the flank
of the Rhode Island boys, who are pushing Evans. It is a galling fire,
and the brave fellows are cut down by the raking shots from the
haystacks. They are almost overwhelmed. But help is at hand. The
Seventy-first New York, the Second New Hampshire, and the First Rhode
Island, all belonging to Burnside's brigade, move toward the haystacks.
They bring their guns to a level, and the rattle and roll begin. There
are jets of flame, long lines of light, white clouds, unfolding and
expanding, rolling over and over, and rising above the tree-tops. Wilder
the uproar. Men fall, tossing their arms; some leap into the air, some
plunge headlong, falling like logs of wood or lumps of lead. Some reel,
stagger, and tumble; others lie down gently as to a night's repose,
unheeding the din, commotion, and uproar. They are bleeding, torn, and
mangled. Legs, arms, bodies, are crushed. They see nothing. They cannot
tell what has happened. The air is full of fearful noises. An unseen
storm sweeps by. The trees are splintered, crushed, and broken as if
smitten by thunderbolts. Twigs and leaves fall to the ground. There is
smoke, dust, wild talking, shouting, hissings, howlings, explosions. It
is a new, strange, unanticipated experience to the soldiers of both
armies, far different from what they thought it would be.
Far away, church-bells are tolling the hour of Sabbath worship, and
children are singing sweet songs in many a Sunday school. Strange and
terrible the contrast! You cannot bear to look upon the dreadful scene.
How horrible those wounds! The ground is crimson with blood. You are
ready to turn away, and shut the scene forever from your sight. But the
battle must go on, and the war must go on till the wicked men who began
it are crushed, till the honor of the dear old flag is vindicated, till
the Union is restored, till the country is saved, till the slaveholder
is deprived of his power, and till freedom comes to the slave. It is
terrible to see, but you remember that the greatest blessing the world
ever received was purchased by blood,--the blood of the Son of God. It
is terrible to see, but there are worse things than war. It is worse to
have the rights of men trampled in the dust; worse to have your country
destroyed, to have justice, truth, and honor violated. You had better be
killed, torn to pieces by cannon-shot, than lose your manhood, or yield
that which makes you a man. It is better to die than give up that rich
inheritance bequeathed us by our fathers, and purchased by their blood.
The battle goes on. General Porter's brigade comes to the aid of
Burnside, moving towards Dogan's house. Jackson's Rebel brigade is there
to meet him. Arnold's battery is in play,--guns pouring a constant
stream of shot and shells upon the Rebel line. The Washington Artillery,
from New Orleans, is replying from the hill south of Dogan's. Other
Rebel batteries are cutting Burnside's brigade to pieces. The men are
all but ready to fall back before the terrible storm. Burnside sends to
Porter for help,--he asks for the brave old soldiers, the regulars, who
have been true to the flag of their country, while many of their former
officers have been false. They have been long in the service, and have
had many fierce contests with the Indians on the Western plains. They
are as true as steel. Captain Sykes commands them. He leads the way. You
see them, with steady ranks, in the edge of the woods east of Dogan's
house. They have been facing southwest, and now they turn to the
southeast. They pass through the grove of pines, and enter the open
field. They are cut through and through with solid shot, shells burst
around them, men drop from the ranks, but the battalion does not falter.
It sweeps on close up to the cloud of flame and smoke rolling from the
hill north of the turnpike. Their muskets come to a level. There is a
click, click, click, along the line. A broad sheet of flame, a white,
sulphurous cloud, a deep roll like the angry growl of thunder. There is
sudden staggering in the Rebel ranks. Men whirl round, and drop upon the
ground. The line wavers, and breaks. They run down the hill, across the
hollows, to another knoll. There they rally, and hold their ground a
while. Hampton's legion and Cocke's brigade come to their support.
Fugitives are brought back by the officers, who ride furiously over the
field. There is a lull, and then the strife goes on, a rattling fire of
musketry, and a continual booming of the cannonade.
General Heintzelman's division was in rear of General Hunter's on the
march. When the battle begun the troops were several miles from Sudley
Church. They were parched with thirst, and when they reached the stream
they, too, stopped and filled their canteens. Burnside's and Porter's
brigades were engaged two hours before Heintzelman's division reached
the field. Eight regiments had driven the Rebels from their first
position.
General Heintzelman marched upon the Rebels west of Dogan's house. The
Rebel batteries were on a knoll, a short distance from the toll-gate.
Griffin and Ricketts opened upon them with their rifled guns. Then came
a great puff of smoke. It was a Rebel caisson blown up by one of
Griffin's shells. It was a continuous, steady artillery fire. The
gunners of the Rebel batteries were swept away by the unerring aim of
Griffin's gunners. They changed position again and again, to avoid the
shot. Mingled with the constant crashing of the cannonade was an
irregular firing of muskets, like the pattering of rain-drops upon a
roof. At times there was a quicker rattle, and heavy rolls, like the
fall of a great building.
General Wilcox swung his brigade round upon Jackson's flank. The Rebel
general must retreat or be cut off, and he fell back to the toll-gate,
to the turnpike, across it, in confusion, to the ridge by Mrs. Henry's.
Evans's, Bee's, Bartow's, and Cocke's brigades, which have been trying
to hold their ground against Burnside and Porter's brigades, by this
movement are also forced back to Mr. Lewis's house. The Rebels do not
all go back. There are hundreds who rushed up in hot haste in the
morning lying bleeding, torn, mangled, upon the wooded slopes. Some are
prisoners.
I talked with a soldier of one of the Virginia regiments. We were near
the Stone Bridge. He was a tall, athletic young man, dressed in a gray
uniform trimmed with yellow braid.
"How many soldiers have you on the field?" I asked.
"Ninety thousand."
"Hardly that number, I guess."
"Yes, sir. We have got Beauregard's and Johnston's armies. Johnston came
yesterday and a whole lot more from Richmond. If you whip us to-day, you
will whip nigh to a hundred thousand."
"Who is in command?"
"Jeff Davis."
"I thought Beauregard was in command."
"Well, he was; but Jeff Davis is on the field now. I know it; for I saw
him just before I was captured. He was on a white horse."
While talking, a shell screamed over our heads and fell in the woods.
The Rebel batteries had opened again upon our position. Another came,
and we were compelled to leave the spot.
The prisoner may have been honest in his statements. It requires much
judgment to correctly estimate large armies. He was correct in saying
that Jeff Davis was there. He was on the ground, watching the progress
of the battle, but taking no part. He arrived in season to see the close
of the contest.
After Burnside and Porter had driven Evans, Bee, and Bartow across the
turnpike, General Sherman and General Keyes crossed Bull Run above the
Stone Bridge and moved straight down the stream. Schenck's brigade and
Ayer's and Carlisle's batteries were left to guard the rear.
Perhaps you had a brother or a father in the Second New Hampshire, or in
the Seventy-first New York, or in some other regiment; or perhaps when
the war is over you may wish to visit the spot and behold the ground
where the first great battle was fought. You will wish to see just where
they stood. Looking, then, along the line at one o'clock, you see
nearest the stream General Keyes's brigade, composed of the First,
Second, and Third Connecticut regiments and the Fourth Maine. Next is
Sherman's brigade, composed of the Sixty-ninth and Seventy-ninth New
York Militia, the Thirteenth New York Volunteers, and the Second
Wisconsin. Between these and the toll-gate you see first, as you go
west, Burnside's brigade, composed of the First and Second Rhode Island,
the Seventy-first New York Militia, and the Second New Hampshire, and
the Second Rhode Island battery; extending to the toll-house is Porter's
brigade. He has Sykes's battalion of regulars, and the Eighth and
Fourteenth regiments of New York Militia and Arnold's battery. Crossing
the road which comes down from Sudley Springs, you see General
Franklin's brigade, containing the Fifth Massachusetts Militia, the
First Minnesota Volunteers, and the Fourth Pennsylvania Militia. Next
you come to the men from Maine and Vermont, the Second, Fourth, and
Fifth Maine, and the Second Vermont, General Howard's brigade. Beyond,
upon the extreme right, is General Wilcox with the First Michigan and
the Eleventh New York. Griffin's and Rickett's batteries are near at
hand. There are twenty-four regiments and twenty-four pieces of
artillery. There are two companies of cavalry. If we step over to the
house of Mr. Lewis, we shall find General Johnston and General
Beauregard in anxious consultation. General Johnston has sent officers
in hot haste for reinforcements. Brigades are arriving out of
breath,--General Cocke's, Holmes's, Longstreet's, Earley's. Broken
regiments, fragments of companies, and stragglers are collected and
brought into line. General Bonham's brigade is sent for. All but General
Ewell's and General Jones's; they are left to prevent General Miles from
crossing at Blackburn's Ford and attacking the Rebel army in the rear.
General Johnston feels that it is a critical moment. He has been driven
nearly two miles. His flank has been turned. His loss has been very
great, and his troops are beginning to be disheartened. They have
changed their opinions of the Yankees.
General Johnston has Barley's brigade, composed of the Seventh and
Twenty-fourth Virginia, and the Seventh Louisiana; Jackson's brigade,
composed of the Second, Fourth, Fifth, Twenty-seventh, and Thirty-third
Virginia, and the Thirteenth Mississippi; Bee's and Bartow's brigades
united, composed of two companies of the Eleventh Mississippi, Second
Mississippi, First Alabama, Seventh and Eighth Georgia; Cocke's brigade,
the Eighteenth, Nineteenth, and Twenty-eighth Virginia, seven companies
of the Eighth, and three of the Forty-ninth Virginia; Evans's brigade,
composed of Hampton's legion, Fourth South Carolina, and Wheat's
Louisiana battalion; Holmes's brigade, composed of two regiments of
Virginia infantry, the First Arkansas, and the Second Tennessee. Two
regiments of Bonham's brigade, and Elzey's brigade were brought in
before the conflict was over. Putting the detached companies into
regiments, Johnston's whole force engaged in this last struggle is
thirty-five regiments of infantry, and about forty pieces of artillery,
all gathered upon the ridge by Mr. Lewis's and Mrs. Henry's.
There is marching to and fro of regiments. There is not much order.
Regiments are scattered. The lines are not even. This is the first
battle, and officers and men are inexperienced. There are a great many
stragglers on both sides; more, probably, from the Rebel ranks than from
McDowell's army, for thus far the battle has gone against them. You can
see them scattered over the fields, beyond Mr. Lewis's.
The fight goes on. The artillery crashes louder than before. There is a
continuous rattle of musketry. It is like the roaring of a hail-storm.
Sherman and Keyes move down to the foot of the hill, near Mr. Lewis's.
Burnside and Porter march across the turnpike. Franklin and Howard and
Wilcox, who have been pushing south, turn towards the southeast. There
are desperate hand-to-hand encounters. Cannon are taken and retaken.
Gunners on both sides are shot while loading their pieces. Hundreds
fall, and other hundreds leave the ranks. The woods toward Sudley
Springs are filled with wounded men and fugitives, weak, thirsty,
hungry, exhausted, worn down by the long morning march, want of sleep,
lack of food, and the excitement of the hour.
Across the plains, towards Manassas, are other crowds,--disappointed,
faint-hearted, defeated soldiers, fleeing for safety.
"We are defeated!"
"Our regiments are cut to pieces!"
"General Bartow is wounded and General Bee is killed!"
Thus they cry, as they hasten towards Manassas.[3] Officers and men in
the Rebel ranks feel that the battle is all but lost. Union officers and
men feel that it is almost won.
[Footnote 3: Rebel reports in Rebellion Record.]
The Rebel right wing, far out upon the turnpike, has been folded back
upon the centre; the centre has been driven in upon the left wing, and
the left wing has been pushed back beyond Mr. Lewis's house. Griffin's
and Rickett's batteries, which had been firing from the ridge west of
the toll-gate, were ordered forward to the knoll from which the Rebel
batteries had been driven.
"It is too far in advance," said General Griffin.
"The Fire Zouaves will support you," said General Barry.
"It is better to have them go in advance till we come into position;
then they can fall back," Griffin replied.
"No; you are to move first, those are the orders. The Zouaves are
already to follow on the double-quick."
"I will go; but, mark my words, they will not support me."
The battery galloped over the fields, descended the hill, crossed the
ravine, advancing to the brow of the hill near Mrs. Henry's, followed by
Rickett's battery, the Fire Zouaves, and the Fourteenth New York. In
front of them, about forty or fifty rods distant, were the Rebel
batteries, supported by infantry. Griffin and Ricketts came into
position, and opened a fire so terrible and destructive that the Rebel
batteries and infantry were driven beyond the crest of the hill.
The field was almost won. Read what General Johnston says: "The long
contest against fivefold odds, and heavy losses, especially of field
officers, had greatly discouraged the troops of General Bee and Colonel
Evans. The aspect of affairs was critical."
The correspondent of the Charleston Mercury writes: "When I entered on
the field at two o'clock, the fortunes of the day were dark. The
remnants of the regiments, so badly injured or wounded and worn, as they
staggered out gave gloomy pictures of the scene. We could not be routed,
perhaps, but it is doubtful whether we were destined to a victory."
The correspondent of the Richmond Despatch writes: "Fighting for hours
under a hot sun, without a drop of water near, the conduct of our men
could not be excelled; but human endurance has its bounds, _and all
seemed about to be lost_."
The battle surges around the house of Mrs. Henry. She is lying there
amidst its thunders. Rebel sharpshooters take possession of it, and pick
off Rickett's gunners. He turns his guns upon the house. Crash! crash!
crash! It is riddled with grape and canister. Sides, roof, doors, and
windows are pierced, broken, and splintered. The bed-clothes are cut
into rags, and the aged woman instantly killed. The Rebel regiments melt
away. The stream of fugitives toward Manassas grows more dense. Johnston
has had more men and more guns engaged than McDowell; but he has been
steadily driven. But Rebel reinforcements arrive from an unexpected
quarter,--General Smith's brigade, from the Shenandoah. It comes into
action in front of Wilcox. There are from two to three thousand men.
General Smith is wounded almost at the first fire, and Colonel Elzey
takes command. General Bonham sends two regiments, the Second and Eighth
South Carolina. They keep south of Mrs. Henry's, and march on till they
are in position to fire almost upon the backs of Griffin's and Rickett's
gunners. They march through a piece of woods, reach the top of the hill,
and come into line. Captain Imboden, of the Rebel battery, who is
replying to Griffin, sees them. Who are they? He thinks they are Yankees
flanking him. He wheels his guns, and is ready to cut them down with
grape and canister. Captain Griffin sees them, and wheels his guns.
Another instant, and he will sweep them away. He believes them to be
Rebels. His gunners load with grape and canister.
"Do not fire upon them; they are your supports!" shouts Major Barry,
riding up.
"No, sir; they are Rebels."
"They are your supports, just ordered up."
"As sure as the world, they are Rebels."
"You are mistaken, Captain; they are your supports."
The cannoneers stand ready to pull the lanyards, which will send a
tornado through those ranks.
"Don't fire!" shouts the Captain.
The guns are wheeled again towards Mrs. Henry's, and the supposed
supports are saved from destruction at the hand of Captain Griffin.
Captain Imboden, before ordering his men to fire upon the supposed
Yankees, gallops nearer to them, to see who they are. He sees them raise
their guns. There is a flash, a rattle and roll. Griffin's and Rickett's
men and their horses go down in an instant! They rush on with a yell.
There is sharp, hot, decisive work. Close musket-shots and
sabre-strokes. Men are trampled beneath the struggling horses.
There are shouts and hurrahs. The few soldiers remaining to support
Griffin and Rickett fire at the advancing Rebel brigade, but the contest
is unequal; they are not able to hold in check the three thousand fresh
troops. They fall back. The guns are in the hands of the Rebels. The day
is lost. At the very moment of victory the line is broken. In an instant
all is changed. A moment ago we were pressing on, but now we are falling
back. Quick almost as the lightning's flash is the turning of the tide.
All through a mistake! So great events sometimes hang on little things.
The unexpected volley, the sudden onset, the vigorous charge, the
falling back, produces confusion in the Union ranks. Officers and men,
generals and soldiers alike, are confounded. By a common impulse they
begin to fall back across the turnpike. Unaccountably to themselves, and
to the Rebel fugitives streaming towards Manassas, they lose strength
and heart. The falling back becomes a retreat, a sudden panic and a
rout. Regiments break and mix with others. Soldiers drop their guns and
cartridge-boxes, and rush towards the rear.
I had watched the tide of battle through the day. Everything was
favorable. The heat was intense, and I was thirsty. A soldier came past
with a back-load of canteens freshly filled.
[Illustration: BULL RUN BATTLE-GROUND, July 21, 1861.
1 Stone Bridge.
2 Sudley Springs.
3 Toll-gate kept by Mr. Mathey.
4 Mr. Dogan's house.
5 Mrs. Henry's.
6 Mr. Lewis's.
7 Wilcox's, Howard's, and Franklin's
brigades.
8 Porter's and Burnside's brigades.
9 Sherman's and Keyes's brigades.
10 Griffin's and Rickett's batteries.
11 Rebel reinforcements which fired upon
Griffin.
12 Position of Rebel army when the
Union line gave way.
13 Ridge where the battle began.]
"Where did you find the water?"
"Over there in the woods, in the rear of Schenck's brigade."
I passed the brigade. Ayers's and Carlisle's batteries were there. I
found the spring beyond a little hillock. While drinking, there was
sudden confusion in Schenck's brigade. There was loud talking, cannon
and musketry firing, and a sudden trampling of horses. A squadron of
Rebel cavalry swept past within a few rods of the spring, charging upon
Schenck's brigade. The panic tide had come rolling to the rear. Ayers
lashed his horses to a gallop, to reach Cub Run bridge. He succeeded in
crossing it. He came into position to open upon the Rebels and to check
their pursuit. The road was blocked with wagons. Frightened teamsters
cut their horses loose and rode away. Soldiers, officers, and civilians
fled towards Centreville, frightened at they knew not what. Blenker's
brigade was thrown forward from Centreville to the bridge, and the rout
was stopped. The Rebels were too much exhausted, too much amazed at the
sudden and unaccountable breaking and fleeing of McDowell's army, to
improve the advantage. They followed to Cub Run bridge, but a few cannon
and musket shots sent them back to the Stone Bridge.
But at Blackburn's Ford General Jones crossed the stream to attack the
retreating troops. General Davies, with four regiments and Hunt's
battery, occupied the crest of a hill looking down towards the ford. The
Rebels marched through the woods upon the bank of the stream, wound
along the hillside, filed through a farm-yard and halted in a hollow
within a quarter of a mile of General Davies's guns.
[Illustration: FIGHT AT BLACKBURN'S FORD, July 21, 1863.
1 Blackburn's Ford.
2 Mitchell's Ford.
3 Rebel troops.
4 Davies's brigade and batteries.
5 Richardson's brigade.]
"Lie down," said the General, and the four regiments dropped upon the
ground. The six cannon and the gunners alone were in sight.
"Wait till they come over the crest of the hill; wait till I give the
word," said the General to Captain Hunt.
The men stand motionless by their pieces. The long column of Rebels
moves on. There is an officer on his horse giving directions. The long
dark line throws its lengthening shadows upward in the declining
sunlight, toward the silent cannon.
"Now let them have it!" The guns are silent no longer. Six flashes of
light, and six sulphurous clouds are belched towards the moving mass.
Grape and canister sweep them down. The officer tumbles from his horse,
and the horse staggers to the earth. There are sudden gaps in the ranks.
They stop advancing. Officers run here and there. Another merciless
storm,--another,--another. Eighteen flashes a minute from those six
pieces! Like grass before the mower the Rebel line is cut down. The men
flee to the woods, utterly routed.
The attempt to cut off the retreat signally failed. It was the last
attempt of the Rebels to follow up their mysterious victory. The
rear-guard remained in Centreville till morning recovering five cannon
which had been abandoned at Cub Run, which the Rebels had not secured,
and then retired to Arlington.
So the battle was won and lost. So the hopes of the Union soldiers
changed to sudden, unaccountable fear, and so the fear of the Rebels
became unbounded exultation.
The sun had gone down behind the Blue Mountains, and the battle-clouds
hung thick and heavy along the winding stream where the conflict had
raged. It was a sad night to us who had gone out with such high hopes,
who had seen the victory so nearly won and so suddenly lost. Many of our
wounded were lying where they had fallen. It was a terrible night to
them. Their enemies, some of them, were hard-hearted and cruel. They
fired into the hospitals upon helpless men. They refused them water to
quench their burning thirst. They taunted them in their hour of triumph,
and heaped upon them bitterest curses. They were wild with the delirium
of success, and treated their prisoners with savage barbarity. Any one
who showed kindness to the prisoners or wounded was looked upon with
suspicion. Says an English officer in the Rebel service:--[4]
[Footnote 4: Estvan.]
"I made it my duty to seek out and attend upon the wounded,
and the more so when I found that the work of alleviating
their sufferings was performed with evident reluctance and
want of zeal by many of those whose duty it was to do it. I
looked upon the poor fellows only as suffering
fellow-mortals, brothers in need of help, and made no
distinction between friend and foe; nay, I must own that I
was prompted to give the preference to the latter, for the
reason that some of our men met with attention from their
relations and friends, who had flocked to the field in
numbers to see them. But in doing so I had to encounter
opposition, and was even pointed at by some with muttered
curses as a traitor to the cause of the Confederacy for
bestowing any attention on the d---- Yankees."
Notwithstanding the inhuman treatment they received at the hands of
their captors, there were men on that field who never quailed,--men with
patriotism so fervent, deep, and unquenchable, that they lay down
cheerfully to their death-sleep. This officer in the Rebel service went
out upon the field where the fight had been thickest. It was night.
Around him were the dying and the dead. There was a young Union officer,
with both feet crushed by a cannon-shot. There were tears upon his
cheeks.
"Courage, comrade!" said the officer, bending over him; "the day will
come when you will remember this battle as one of the things of the
past."
"Do not give me false hopes, sir. It is all up with me. I do not grieve
that I must die, for with these stumps I shall not live long."
He pointed to his mangled feet, and added: "_I weep for my poor,
distracted country. Had I a second life to live, I would willingly
sacrifice it for the cause of the Union!_"
His eyes closed. A smile lighted his countenance, as if, while on the
border of another world, he saw once more those who were dearest on
earth or in heaven. He raised himself convulsively, and cried, "Mother!
Father!"
He was dead.
He sleeps upon the spot where he fell. His name is unknown, but his
devotion to his country shall shine forevermore like a star in heaven!
When the Union line gave way, some of the soldiers were so stupefied by
the sudden change that they were unable to move, and were taken
prisoners. Among them was a Zouave, in red trousers. He was a tall,
noble fellow. Although a prisoner, he walked erect, unabashed by his
captivity. A Virginian taunted him, and called him by hard names.
"Sir," said the Zouave, "I have heard that yours was a nation of
gentlemen, but your insult comes from a coward and a knave. I am your
prisoner, but you have no right to fling your curses at me because I am
unfortunate. Of the two, I consider myself the gentleman."[5]
[Footnote 5: Charleston Mercury.]
The Virginian hung his head in silence, while other Rebel soldiers
assured the brave fellow that he should not again be insulted. So
bravery, true courage, and manliness will win respect even from enemies.
No accurate reports have been made of the number of men killed and
wounded in this battle; but each side lost probably from fifteen hundred
to two thousand men.
It was a battle which will always have a memorable place in the history
of this Rebellion, because having won a victory, the slaveholders
believed that they could conquer the North. They became more proud and
insolent. They manifested their terrible hate by their inhuman treatment
of the prisoners captured. They gave the dead indecent burial. The Rebel
soldiers dug up the bones of the dead Union men, and carved them into
ornaments, which they sent home to their wives and sweethearts. One girl
wrote to her lover to "be sure and bring her Old Lincoln's _skelp_"
(scalp), so that the women as well as the men became fierce in their
hatred. I have seen the letter, which was found upon a prisoner.
The North, although defeated, was not discouraged. There was no thought
of giving up the contest, but, as you remember, there was a great
uprising of the people, who determined that the war should go on till
the Rebellion was crushed.
CHAPTER IV.
THE CAPTURE OF FORT HENRY.
Tennessee joined the Southern Confederacy, but Kentucky resisted all the
coaxing, threatening, and planning of the leaders of the Rebellion. Some
Kentuckians talked of remaining neutral, of taking no part in the great
contest; but that was not possible. The Rebels invaded the State, by
sailing up the Mississippi and taking possession of Columbus,--a town
twenty miles below the mouth of the Ohio. They also advanced from
Nashville to Bowling Green. Then the State decided for the Union,--to
stand by the old flag till the Rebellion should be crushed.
The Rebels erected two forts on the northern line of Tennessee. Looking
at your map, you see that the Cumberland and Tennessee Rivers are near
together where they enter the State of Kentucky. They are not more than
twelve miles apart. The fort on the Tennessee River was named Fort
Henry, the one on the Cumberland, Fort Donelson. A good road was cut
through the woods between them, so that troops and supplies could be
readily removed from one to the other. Fort Henry was on the eastern
bank of the Tennessee, and Fort Donelson on the western bank of the
Cumberland. They were very important places to the Rebels, for at high
water in the winter the rivers are navigable for the largest
steamboats,--the Cumberland to Nashville and the Tennessee to Florence,
in Northern Alabama,--and it would be very easy to transport an army
from the Ohio River to the very heart of the Southern Confederacy. The
forts were built to prevent any such movement of the Union troops.
[Illustration: THE FORTS.]
The bluffs of the Mississippi River at Columbus are two hundred feet
high. There the Rebels erected strong batteries, planting heavy guns,
with which they could sweep the Mississippi far up stream, and pour
plunging shots with unobstructed aim upon any descending gunboat. They
called it a Gibraltar, because of its strength. They said it could not
be taken, and that the Mississippi was closed to navigation till the
independence of the Southern Confederacy was acknowledged.
Early in the war it was seen that a fleet of gunboats would be needed on
the Western rivers, and Captain Andrew H. Foote of the navy was placed
in charge of their construction. They were built at Cincinnati and St.
Louis, and taken to Cairo, where they received their armament, crews,
and outfit.
You have heard of Cairo. I do not mean the ancient city on the banks of
the Nile, but the modern town on the tongue of land at the mouth of the
Ohio. Charles Dickens has given a description of the place in one of his
delightful books,--Martin Chuzzlewit. It was a forest, with a few
log-huts, when Mark Tapley resided there, and all the people were
smitten with fever and ague. It is a town now, with several thousand
inhabitants. In the spring the town is sometimes overflowed, and the
people navigate the streets with boats and rafts. Pigs look out of the
chamber windows, and dogs, cats, and chickens live on the roofs of
houses at such times.
Let us take a look at the place as it appeared the first day of
February, 1862. Stand with me on the levee, and look up the broad
Ohio,--the "la belle rivière," as the French called it. There are from
fifty to a hundred steamboats lying along the bank, with volumes of
black smoke rolling up from their tall chimneys, and puffs of steam
vanishing in the air. Among them are the gunboats,--a cross between a
floating fort, a dredging-machine, and a mud-scow. The sailors, who have
been tossed upon the ocean in stately ships, call them mud-_turkles_.
There are thousands of soldiers on the steamboats and on the shore,
waiting for the sailing of the expedition which is to make an opening in
the line of Rebel defences. There are thousands of people busy as bees,
loading and unloading the steamboats, rolling barrels and boxes.
When Mark Tapley and Martin Chuzzlewit were here it was muddy, and it is
muddy now. There is fine, thin, sticky, slimy, splashy, thick, heavy,
dirty mud. Thousands of men and thousands of mules and horses are
treading it to mortar. It is mixed with slops from the houses and straw
from the stables. You are reminded of the Slough of Despond described by
Bunyan in the Pilgrim's Progress,--a place for all the filth, sin, and
slime of this world. Christian was mired there, and Pliable nearly lost
his life. If Bunyan had seen Cairo, he might have made the picture still
more graphic. There are old houses, shanties, sheds, stables, pig-sties,
wood-piles, carts, wagons, barrels, boxes, and all the old things you
can imagine. Pigs live in the streets, and there are irrepressible
conflicts between them and the hundreds of dogs. Water-carts, drays,
army-wagons, and artillery go hub deep in the mud. Horses tug and
strive, rear, kick, and flounder. Teamsters lose their footing. Soldiers
wade leg deep in the street. There are sidewalks, but they are slippery,
dangerous, and deceptive.
It is Sunday. A sweet day of rest in peaceful times, but in war there is
not much observance of the Sabbath. It is midwinter, but a south-wind
sweeps up the Mississippi, so mild and balmy that the blue-birds and
robins are out. The steamboats are crowded with troops, who are waiting
for orders to sail, they know not where. Groups stand upon the topmost
deck. Some lie at full length in the warm sunshine. The bands are
playing, the drums beating. Tug-boats are dancing, wheezing, and puffing
in the stream, flitting from gunboat to gunboat.
The shops are open, and the soldiers are purchasing
knickknacks,--tobacco, pipes, paper, and pens, to send letters to loved
ones far away. At a gingerbread stall, a half-dozen are taking a lunch.
The oyster-saloons are crowded. Boys are crying their newspapers. There
are laughable and solemn scenes. Yonder is the hospital. A file of
soldiers stand waiting in the street. A coffin is brought out. The fife
begins its mournful air, the drum its muffled beat. The procession moves
away, bearing the dead soldier to his silent home.
A few months ago he was a citizen, cultivating his farm upon the
prairies, ploughing, sowing, reaping. But now the great reaper, Death,
has gathered him in. He had no thought of being a soldier; but he was a
patriot, and when his country called him he sprang to her aid. He
yielded to disease, but not to the enemy. He was far from home and
friends, with none but strangers to minister to his wants, to comfort
him, to tell him of a better world than this. He gave his life to his
country.
Although there is the busy note of preparation for the sailing of the
fleet, there are some who remember that it is Sunday, and who find time
to worship. The church-bells toll the hour. You tuck your pants into
your boots, and pick your way along the slippery, slimy streets. There
are a few ladies who brave the mud, wearing boots suited to the walking.
Boots which have not been blacked for a fortnight are just as shiny as
those cleaned but an hour ago. At the door of the church you do as
everybody else does,--take a chip and scrape off the mud.
Half of the congregation are from the army and navy. Commodore Foote is
there, a devout worshipper. Before coming to church he visited each
gunboat of his fleet, called the crews together, read to them his
general orders, that no unnecessary work should be done on the Sabbath,
and enjoining upon the commanders the duty of having worship, and of
maintaining a high moral character before the men.
Let us on Monday accept the kind invitation of Commodore Foote, and go
on board the Benton, his flag-ship, and make an inspection of the
strange-looking craft. It is unlike anything you ever saw at Boston or
New York. It is like a great box on a raft. The sides are inclined, made
of stout oak timbers and plated with iron. You enter through a porthole,
where you may lay your hand upon the iron lips of a great gun, which
throws a ball nine inches in diameter. There are fourteen guns, with
stout oaken carriages. The men are moving about, exercising the
guns,--going through the motions of loading and firing. How clean the
floor! It is as white as soap and sand can make it. You must not spit
tobacco-juice here, if you do, the courteous officer will say you are
violating the rules. In the centre of the boat, down beneath the
gun-deck in the hull, are the engines and the boilers, partly protected
from any shot which may happen to come in at a porthole, or which may
tear through the sides,--through the iron and the oak. Near the centre
is the wheel. The top of the box, or the _casemate_, as it is called, is
of oak timbers, and forms the upper deck. The pilot-house is on this
upper deck, forward of the centre. In shape it is like a tunnel turned
down. It is plated with thick iron. There, in the hour of battle, the
pilot will be, peeping out through narrow holes, his hands grasping the
wheel and steering the vessel.
Its guns, which the sailors call its battery, are very powerful. There
are two nine-inch guns, and also two sixty-four-pounders, rifled, at the
bow. There are two forty-two-pounders at the stern, and those upon the
side are thirty-twos and twenty-fours. There are rooms for the officers,
but the men sleep in hammocks. They take their meals sitting on the
gun-carriages, or cross-legged, like Turks, on the floor.
Captain Foote is the Commodore of the fleet. He points out to you the
_Sacred Place_ of the ship,--a secluded corner, where any one of the
crew who loves to read his Bible and hold secret devotion may do so, and
not be disturbed. He has given a library of good books to the crew, and
he has persuaded them that it will be better for them to give up their
allowance of grog than to drink it. He walks among the men, and has a
kind word for all, and they look upon him as their father. They have
confidence in him. How lustily they cheer him! Will they not fight
bravely under such a commander?
* * * * *
On Monday afternoon, February 2d, the gunboats Cincinnati, Essex, St.
Louis, Carondelet, Lexington, Tyler, and Conestoga sailed from Cairo,
accompanied by several river steamboats with ten regiments of troops.
They went up the Ohio to Paducah, and entered the Tennessee River at
dark. The next morning, about daylight, they anchored a few miles below
Fort Henry. Commodore Foote made the Cincinnati his flag-ship.
A party of scouts went on shore and called at a farm-house. "You never
will take Fort Henry," said the woman living there.
"O yes, we shall; we have a fleet of iron-clad gunboats," said one of
the scouts.
"Your gunboats will be blown sky-high before they get up to the fort."
"Ah! how so?"
The woman saw that she was letting out a secret, and became silent. The
scouts mistrusted that she knew something which might be desirable for
them to know, and informed her that, unless she told all she knew, she
must go with them a prisoner. She was frightened, and informed them that
the river was full of torpedoes, which would blow up the gunboats.
The scouts reported to Commodore Foote. The river was searched with
grappling-irons, and six infernal machines were fished up; but they were
imperfectly constructed, and not one of them would explode.
Looking up the river from the deck of one of Commodore Foote's gunboats
you see Panther Island, which is a mile from the fort. It is a long,
narrow sand-bank, covered with a thicket of willows. There is the fort
on the eastern bank. You see an irregular pile of earth, about fifteen
feet above the river, with sand-bag embrasures, which at first sight you
think are blocks of stone, but they are grain-sacks filled with sand.
You count the guns, seventeen in all. One ten-inch columbiad, one
sixty-pounder, twelve thirty-two-pounders, one twenty-four-pounder, and
two twelve-pounders. They are nearly all pivoted, so that they may be
pointed down the river against the boats or inland upon the troops. The
river is nearly a half-mile wide, and on the opposite bank is another
fort, not yet completed. All around Fort Henry you see rifle-pits and
breastworks, enclosing twenty or thirty acres. Above and below the fort
are creeks. The tall trees are cut down to obstruct the way, or to form
an _abatis_, as it is called. It will not be an easy matter to take the
fort from the land side. Inside these intrenchments is the Rebel
camp,--log-huts and tents, with accommodations for several thousand men.
Commodore Foote has planned how to take the fort. He is confident that
he can shell the Rebels out just as you can pound rats from a barrel or
a box, and if General Grant will get in rear and watch his opportunity,
they will all be caught.
General Grant lands two brigades of troops on the west side of the
river, and three brigades on the east side, about four miles below the
fort. Those on the west side are to look after any Rebels which may be
in or around the unfinished fort, while those upon the east side, under
General McClernand, work their way through the woods to gain the rear of
the fort. This is the order to General McClernand:--
"It will be the special duty of this command to prevent all
reinforcements of Fort Henry or escape from it. Also to be
held in readiness to charge and take Fort Henry by storm,
promptly on receipt of orders."
General Grant and Commodore Foote agreed that the gunboats should
commence the attack at twelve o'clock.
"I shall take the fort in about an hour," said the Commodore. "I shall
commence firing when I reach the head of Panther Island, and it will
take me about an hour to reach the fort, for I shall steam up slowly. I
am afraid, General, that the roads are so bad the troops will not get
round in season to capture the enemy. I shall take the fort before you
get into position."
General Grant thought otherwise; but the roads were very muddy, and when
the engagement commenced the troops were far from where they ought to
have been.
Commodore Foote had prepared his instructions to the officers and crews
of the gunboats several days before. They were brief and plain.
"The four iron-clad boats--the Essex, Carondelet, St. Louis, and
Cincinnati--will keep in line. The Conestoga, Lexington, and Tyler
will follow the iron-clads, and throw shells over those in advance."
To the commanders he said:--
"_Do just as I do!_"
Addressing the crews, he said:--
"Fire slowly, and with deliberate aim. There are three reasons why you
should not fire rapidly. With rapid firing there is always a waste of
ammunition. Your range is imperfect, and your shots go wide of the mark,
and that encourages the enemy; and it is desirable not to heat the guns.
If you fire slowly and deliberately, you will keep cool yourselves, and
make every shot tell."
With such instructions, with all things ready,--decks cleared for
action, guns run out, shot and shell brought up from the magazines and
piled on deck,--confident of success, and determined to take the fort or
go to the bottom, he waited the appointed hour.
The gunboats steam up slowly against the current, that the troops may
have time to get into position in rear of the Rebel intrenchments. They
take the channel on the west side of the island. The Essex is on the
right of the battle line, nearest the island. Her Commander is William
D. Porter, who comes from good stock. It was his father who commanded
the Essex in the war with Great Britain in 1813, and who fought most
gallantly a superior force,--two British ships, the Phebe and
Cherub,--in the harbor of Valparaiso.
Next the Essex is the Carondelet, then the Cincinnati,--the flag-ship,
with the brave Commodore on board,--and nearest the western shore the
St. Louis. These are all iron-plated at the bows. Astern is the
Lexington, the Conestoga, and the Tyler.
[Illustration: FORT HENRY.
1 Essex.
2 Carondelet.
3 Cincinnati.
4 St. Louis.
5 Lexington.
6 Conestoga.
7 Tyler.
8 & 9 Rebel intrenchment.]
The boats reach the head of the island, and the fort is in full view. It
is thirty-four minutes past twelve o'clock. There is a flash, and a
great creamy cloud of smoke at the bow of the Cincinnati. An eight-inch
shell screams through the air. The gunners watch its course. Their
practised eyes follow its almost viewless flight. Your watch ticks
fifteen seconds before you hear from it. You see a puff of smoke, a
cloud of sand thrown up in the fort, and then hear the explosion. The
commanders of the other boats remember the instructions,--"Do just as I
do!"--and from each vessel a shell is thrown. All fall within the fort,
or in the encampment beyond, which is in sight. You can see the tents,
the log-huts, the tall flagstaff. The fort accepts the challenge, and
instantly the twelve guns which are in position to sweep the river open
upon the advancing boats. The shot and shell plough furrows in the
stream, and throw columns of water high in air.
Another round from the fleet. Another from the fort. The air is calm,
and the thunder of the cannonade rolls along the valley, reverberating
from hill to hill. Louder and deeper and heavier is the booming, till it
becomes almost an unbroken peal.
There is a commotion in the Rebel encampment. Men run to and fro. They
curl down behind the stumps and the fallen trees, to avoid the shot.
Their huts are blown to pieces by the shells. You see the logs tossed
like straws into the air. Their tents are torn into paper-rags. The
hissing shells sink deep into the earth, and then there are sudden
upheavals of sand, with smoke and flames, as if volcanoes were bursting
forth. The parapet is cut through. Sand-bags are knocked about. The air
is full of strange, hideous, mysterious, terrifying noises.
There are seven or eight thousand Rebel soldiers in the rifle-pits
and behind the breastworks of the encampment in line of battle. They
are terror-stricken. Officers and men alike lose all self-control.
They run to escape the fearful storm. They leave arms, ammunition,
tents, blankets, trunks, clothes, books, letters, papers,
pictures,--everything. They pour out of the intrenchments into the road
leading to Dover, a motley rabble. A small steamboat lies in the creek
above the fort. Some rush on board and steam up river with the utmost
speed. Others, in their haste and fear, plunge into the creek and sink
to rise no more. All fly except a brave little band in the fort.
The gunboats move straight on, slowly and steadily. Their fire is
regular and deliberate. Every shot goes into the fort. The gunners are
blinded and smothered by clouds of sand. The gun-carriages are crushed,
splintered, and overturned. Men are cut to pieces. Something unseen
tears them like a thunderbolt. The fort is full of explosions. The heavy
rifled gun bursts, crushing and killing those who serve it. The
flagstaff is splintered and torn, as by intensest lightning.
Yet the fort replies. The gunners have the range of the boats, and
nearly every shot strikes the iron plating. They are like the strokes of
sledge-hammers, indenting the sheets, starting the fastenings, breaking
the tough bolts. The Cincinnati receives thirty-one shots, the Essex
fifteen, the St. Louis seven, and the Carondelet six.
Though struck so often, they move on. The distance lessens. Another gun
is knocked from its carriage in the fort,--another,--another. There are
signs that the contest is about over, that the Rebels are ready to
surrender. But a shot strikes the Essex between the iron plates. It
tears through the oaken timbers and into one of the steam-boilers. There
is a great puff of steam. It pours from the portholes, and the boat is
enveloped in a cloud. She drops out of the line of battle. Her engines
stop and she floats with the stream. Twenty-eight of her crew are
scalded, among them her brave commander.
The Rebels take courage. They spring to their guns, and fire rapidly and
wildly, hoping and expecting to disable the rest of the fleet. But the
Commodore does not falter; he keeps straight on as if nothing had
happened. An eighty-pound shell from the Cincinnati dismounts a gun,
killing or wounding every gunner. The boats are so near that every shot
is sure to do its work. The fire of the boats increases while the fire
of the fort diminishes. Coolness, determination, energy, perseverance,
and power win the day. The Rebel flag comes down, and the white flag
goes up. They surrender. Cheers ring through the fleet. A boat puts out
from the St. Louis. An officer jumps ashore, climbs the torn embankment,
stands upon the parapet and waves the Stars and Stripes. "Hurrah!
hurrah! hurrah!" You hear it echoing from shore to shore.
General Lloyd Tilghman commanded in the fort. He went on board the
flag-ship.
"What terms do you grant me?" he asked.
"Your surrender must be unconditional, sir. I can grant you no other
terms."
"Well, sir, if I must surrender, it gives me pleasure to surrender to so
brave an officer as you."
"You do perfectly right to surrender, sir; but I should not have done it
on any condition."
"Why so? I do not understand you."
"Because I was fully determined to capture the fort or go to the
bottom."
"I thought I had you, Commodore, but you were too much for me."
"How could you fight against the old flag, General?"
"Well, it did come hard at first; but if the North had only let us
alone, there would have been no trouble. They would not abide by the
Constitution."
"You are mistaken, General, and the whole South is mistaken. The North
have always been willing that the South should have all her rights,
under the Constitution. The South began the war, and she will be
responsible for the blood which has been shed to-day."
Thus, in an hour and twelve minutes, the fort which the Rebels
confidently expected would prevent the gunboats from ascending the river
was forced to surrender, and there was unobstructed water communication
to the very heart of the Southern Confederacy. Their line of defence was
broken.
There was but little loss of life in this engagement,--twenty to thirty
killed and wounded on each side. If the Rebel army had not fled almost
at the first fire, there would have been terrible slaughter. When
Commodore Foote was informed that there were several thousand troops in
the fortifications, said he, "I am sorry for it, because if they stand
their ground there will be great destruction of life from the heavy
shells; for I shall take the fort or sink with the ships."
If the troops under General Grant had been in position to have
intercepted the Rebel force, the whole panic-stricken crowd would have
been captured, but being delayed by the mud, the fleet-footed Rebels
were far on their way towards Fort Donelson when General Grant reached
the rear of the intrenchments. In their haste and terror the Rebels
abandoned nine pieces of field artillery on the road, and a large supply
of ammunition.
The battle was fought on Thursday. On Friday Commodore Foote returned to
Cairo, to send his despatches to Washington, also to repair his gunboats
and to see that the poor scalded men on the Essex were well taken care
of.
I was writing, at Cairo, the account of the battle. It was past midnight
when the Commodore came to my room. He sat down, and told me what I have
written of his plan of the battle, and his talk with General Tilghman.
He could not sit still. He was weary and exhausted with his labors. "I
am afraid, Commodore, that you have overworked. You must have rest and
sleep," I remarked.
"Yes, I have been obliged to work pretty hard, and need rest, but I
never slept better in my life than night before last, and I never prayed
more fervently than on yesterday morning before going into the battle;
but I couldn't sleep last night for thinking of those poor fellows on
board the Essex," was the reply.
On Sunday morning he was at church as usual. The minister was late. The
people thought there would be no meeting, and were about to leave the
house. Commodore Foote went to one of the Elders of the church, and
urged him to conduct the worship. The Elder declined. But the Commodore
never let slip an opportunity for doing good. He was always ready to
serve his country and his God. He went into the pulpit, read a chapter,
offered a prayer, and preached a short sermon from the words,--"Let not
your hearts be troubled. Ye believe in God; believe also in me." It was
an exhortation for all men to believe on the Lord Jesus Christ as the
Saviour of the world. Some who heard him, as they went home from church,
said that they also believed in Commodore Foote!
To him belongs the credit not only of taking Fort Henry, but of planning
the expedition. When the true history of this Rebellion is written, you
will see how important a thing it was, how great its results, and you
will admire more and more the sterling patriotism and unswerving
Christian principles of a man who struck this first great blow, and did
so much towards crushing the Rebellion.
CHAPTER V.
THE CAPTURE OF FORT DONELSON.
General Grant's plan for taking Fort Donelson was, to move the first and
second divisions of his army across the country, and attack the fort in
the rear, while another division, accompanied by the gunboats, should go
up the Cumberland and attack the fort from that direction. Commodore
Foote informed the General that it was necessary to repair the gunboats
which had been injured before commencing operations; but General Grant
determined to make no delay on that account. Without fully perfecting
his arrangements, or calculating the time needed for the steamboats to
go from Fort Henry down to the Ohio and up the Cumberland, he ordered
the two divisions to march. General Lewis Wallace was left at Fort Henry
with a brigade, while six regiments of his division, the third, were
embarked on the steamboats, which sailed down the Tennessee in fine
style, turning back other boats, and all proceeded up the Cumberland.
There are steep hills, sandy plains, deep ravines, trickling brooks, and
grand old forest-trees between Fort Henry and Fort Donelson. The road
winds along the hillsides, over the plains, and descends into the
ravines. There are but few farm-houses, for the soil is unproductive and
the forests remain almost as they have been for hundreds of years. The
few farmers who reside there live mainly on hog and hominy. They
cultivate a few acres of corn, but keep a great many pigs, which live in
the woods and fatten upon acorns and hickory-nuts.
The regiments which marched to Fort Donelson bivouacked the first night
beside a stream of water about four miles from Fort Henry. They had no
tents. They had been in barracks at Cairo through December and January,
but now they must lie upon the ground, wrapped in their blankets. The
nights were cold, and the ground was frozen. They cut down the tall
trees and kindled great fires, which roared and crackled in the frosty
air. They scraped the dead leaves into heaps and made them beds. They
saw the pigs in the woods. Crack! crack! went their rifles, and they had
roast sparerib and pork-steaks,--delicious eating to hungry men. The
forest was all aglow with the hundreds of fires. The men told stories,
toasted their toes, looked into the glowing coals, thought perhaps of
home, of the dear ones there, then wrapped their blankets about them and
went to sleep. Out towards Fort Donelson the pickets stood at their
posts and looked into the darkness, watching for the enemy through the
long winter night. But no Rebels appeared. They had been badly
frightened at Fort Henry. They had recovered from their terror, however,
and had determined to make a brave stand at Fort Donelson. They had been
reinforced by a large body of troops from General Albert Sidney
Johnston's army at Bowling Green, in Kentucky, and from General Lee's
army in Virginia.
General Grant's two divisions, which marched across the country,
numbered about fifteen thousand. There were four brigades in the first
division,--Colonel Oglesby's, Colonel W. H. L. Wallace's, Colonel
McArthur's, and Colonel Morrison's. Colonel Oglesby had the Eighth,
Eighteenth, Twenty-ninth, Thirtieth, and Thirty-first Illinois
regiments. Colonel Wallace's was composed of the Eleventh, Twentieth,
Forty-fifth, and Forty-eighth Illinois regiments. In Colonel McArthur's
were the Second, Ninth, Twelfth, and Forty-first Illinois, and in
Colonel Morrison's the Seventeenth and Forty-ninth Illinois regiments.
Schwartz's, Taylor's, Dresser's, and McAllister's batteries accompanied
this division.
There were three brigades in the second division. The first, under the
command of Colonel Cook, was composed of the Seventh Illinois, Twelfth
Iowa, Thirteenth Missouri, and Fifty-second Indiana.
Colonel Lauman commanded the second brigade, composed of the Second,
Seventh, Fourteenth, and Twenty-eighth Iowa regiments, the Fifty-second
Indiana, and Colonel Birges's regiment of sharpshooters.
The third brigade, commanded by Colonel Morgan L. Smith, was composed of
the Eighth Missouri and Eleventh Indiana.
Major Cavender's regiment of Missouri artillery was attached to this
division, composed of three full batteries,--Captain Richardson's,
Captain Stone's, and Captain Walker's.
The Fourth Illinois cavalry and three or four companies of cavalry were
distributed among the brigades.
Colonel Birges's sharpshooters were picked men, who had killed many
bears, deer, and wolves in the Western woods. They could take unerring
aim, and bring down a squirrel from the top of the highest trees. They
wore gray uniforms of felt, with close-fitting skull-caps, and
buffalo-skin knapsacks, and a powder-horn. They were swift runners. Each
man carried a whistle. They had signal-calls for advancing, or
retreating, or moving to the right or the left. They glided through the
forests like fleet-footed deer, or crept as stealthily as an Indian
along the ravines and through the thickets. They were tough, hearty,
daring, courageous men. They thought it no great hardship to march all
day, and lie down beside a log at night without supper. They wanted no
better fun than to creep through the underbrush and pick off the Rebels,
whirling in an instant upon their backs after firing a shot, to reload
their rifles. Although attached to Lauman's brigade, they were expected
in battle to go where they could do the most service.
As you go up the Cumberland River, and approach the town of Dover, you
see a high hill on the west bank. It is crowned with an embankment of
earth, which runs all round the top with many angles. At the foot of the
hill are two other embankments, fifteen or twenty feet above the water.
There are seventeen heavy guns in these works. Two of them throw long
bolts of iron, weighing one hundred and twenty-eight pounds, but most of
the guns are thirty-two-pounders.
If you go into the batteries and into the fort, and run your eye along
the guns, you will see that all of them can be aimed at a gunboat in the
river. They all point straight down stream, and a concentrated fire can
be poured upon a single boat. The river makes a bend as it approaches
the batteries, so that the boats will be exposed on their bows and
sides.
A mile above the fort you see the little village of Dover. Beyond the
village a creek comes in. It is high water, and the creek is too deep to
be forded.
On the south side of the hill, beyond the fort, between the fort and the
village, are log-huts, where the Rebel troops have been encamped through
the winter. A stream of clear running water comes down from the hills
west of the village, where you may fill your canteen.
Going up the hill into the fort, and out to its northwest angle, you see
that the fortifications which the Rebels have thrown up consist of three
distinct parts,--the fort and the water-batteries, a line of breastworks
west of the village, called field-works, and a line of rifle-pits
outside of the field-works. You begin at the northwest angle of the
fort, face to the southwest, and walk along the field-work which is on
the top of a sharp ridge. The embankment is about four feet high. There
are a great many angles, with embrasures for cannon. You look west from
these embrasures, and see that the ground is much broken. There are
hills and hollows, thick brush and tall trees. In some places the trees
have been cut down to form an _abatis_, an obstruction, the limbs lopped
off and interlocked.
[Illustration: FORT DONELSON.
1 The Fort.
2 Field-works.
3 8 Rifle-pits.
4 Town of Dover.
5 Log-huts.
6 Water-batteries.
7 General McClernand's division.
8 General Lewis Wallace's division.
9 General Smith's division.
10 General Grant's Head-quarters.
11 Gunboats.
12 Light Creek.]
As you walk on, you come to the Fort Henry and Dover road. Crossing
that, instead of walking southwest, you make a gradual turn towards the
southeast, and come to another road, which leads from Dover southwest
towards Clarksville and Nashville. Crossing that, you come to the creek
which empties into the Cumberland just above the town. The distance from
the creek back to the fort, along the line of breastworks, is nearly two
miles. Going back once more to the northwest angle of the fort, you see
that the slope of the hill is very steep outside the works. You go down
the slope, planting your feet into the earth to keep from tumbling
headlong. When you reach the bottom of the ravine you do not find a
level piece of ground, but ascend another ridge. It is not as high as
the ridge along which you have travelled to take a view of the works.
The slope of this outer ridge runs down to a meadow. The Rebels have cut
down the tall trees, and made a line of rifle-pits. The logs are piled
one above another, as the backwoodsman builds a log-fence. There is a
space five or six inches wide between the upper log and the one below
it. They have dug a trench behind, and the dirt is thrown outside.
The Rebel riflemen can lie in the trench, and fire through the space
between the logs upon the Union troops if they attempt to advance upon
the works. You look down this outer slope. It is twenty rods to the
bottom, and it is covered with fallen trees. You think it almost
impossible to climb over such a hedge and such obstructions. You see a
cleared field at the base of the hill, and a farm-house beyond the
field, on the Fort Henry road, which is General Grant's head-quarters.
The whole country is broken into hills, knolls, and ridges. It reminds
you of the waves you have seen on the ocean or on the lakes in a storm.
General Floyd, who was Secretary of War under Buchanan, and who stole
all the public property he could lay his hands on while in office,
commanded the Rebel forces. He arrived on the 13th. General Pillow and
Brigadier-General Johnson were placed in command of the troops on the
Rebel left wing west of the town. General Buckner commanded those in the
vicinity of the fort. General Floyd had the Third, Tenth, Eighteenth,
Twenty-sixth, Thirtieth, Thirty-second, Forty-first, Forty-second,
Forty-Eighth, Forty-ninth, Fiftieth, Fifty-first, and Fifty-third
regiments of Tennessee troops, the Second and Eighth Kentucky, the
First, Third, Fourth, Fourteenth, Twentieth, and Twenty-sixth
Mississippi regiments, the Seventh Texas, Fifteenth and Twenty-seventh
Alabama, the Thirty-sixth, Fiftieth, Fifty-first, and Fifty-sixth
Virginia, also two battalions of Tennessee infantry, and a brigade of
cavalry. He had Murray's, Porter's, Graves's, Maney's, Jackson's, Guy's,
Ross's, and Green's batteries, in all about twenty-three thousand men,
with forty-eight pieces of field artillery, and seventeen heavy guns in
the fort and water-batteries.
General Grant knew but little of the ground, or the fortifications, or
of the Rebel forces, but he pushed boldly on.
On the morning of the 12th the troops left their bivouac, where they had
enjoyed their roast spareribs and steaks, and marched towards the fort.
The cavalry swept the country, riding through the side roads and
foot-paths, reconnoitring the ground, and searching for Rebel pickets.
Soon after noon they came in sight of the Rebel encampments. The ground
was thoroughly examined. No Rebels were found outside the works, but
upon the hills within the intrenchments dark masses of men could be
seen, some busily at work with axes and shovels. Regiments were taking
positions for the expected attack; but it was already evening, and the
advancing army rested for the night.
THURSDAY.
The night had been cold, but on the morning of the 13th there were
breezes from the southwest, so mild and warm that the spring birds came.
The soldiers thought that the winter was over. The sky was cloudless.
All the signs promised a pleasant day. The troops were early
awake,--replenishing the fading fires, and cooking breakfasts. With the
dawn the sharpshooters and pickets began their work. There was a
rattling musket-fire in the ravines.
Before the sun rose the Rebel batteries began throwing shells across the
ravines and hills, aiming at the camp-fires of Colonel Oglesby's
brigade. Instantly the camp was astir. The men fell into line with a
hurrah, the cannoneers sprang to their guns, all waiting for the orders.
The clear, running brook which empties into the Cumberland between Dover
and Fort Donelson winds through a wide valley. It divides the Rebel
field-works into two parts,--those west of the town and those west of
the fort. The road from Fort Henry to Dover crosses the valley in a
southeast direction. As you go towards the town, you see at your left
hand, on the hill, through the branches of the trees, the Rebel
breastworks, and you are almost within musket-shot.
General McClernand moved his division down the Dover road, while General
Smith remained opposite the northwest angle of the fort. Oglesby's
brigade had the advance, followed by nearly all of the division. The
batteries moved along the road, but the troops marched through the woods
west of the road. The artillery came into position on the hills about a
half-mile from the breastworks, and opened fire,--Taylor, Schwartz, and
Dresser west of the town, and Cavender, with his heavy guns, west of the
fort.
The Rebel batteries began a furious fire. Their shells were excellently
aimed. One struck almost at the feet of Major Cavender as he was
sighting a gun, but it did not disturb him. He took deliberate aim, and
sent shell after shell whizzing into the fort. Another shot fell just in
rear of his battery. A third burst overhead. Another struck one of
Captain Richardson's men in the breast, whirling him into the air,
killing him instantly.
Major Cavender moved his pieces, and then returned the fire with greater
zeal. Through the forenoon the forests echoed the terrific cannonade,
mingled with the sharp crack of the riflemen, close under the
breastworks.
At noon the infantry fight began. West of the town, in addition to the
line of rifle-pits and breastworks, the Rebels had thrown up a small
redoubt, behind which their batteries were securely posted. General
McClernand decided to attack it. He ordered Colonel Wallace to direct
the assault. The Forty-eighth, Seventeenth, and Forty-ninth Illinois
regiments were detached from the main force, and placed under the
command of Colonel Hayne, of the Forty-eighth, for a storming party.
McAllister's battery was wheeled into position to cover the attack.
They form in line at the base of the hill. The shells from the Rebel
batteries crash among the trees. The Rebel riflemen keep up a rattling
fire from the thickets. The troops are fresh from the prairies. This is
their first battle, but at the word of command they advance across the
intervening hollows and ascend the height, facing the sheets of flame
which burst from the Rebel works. They fire as they advance. It is not a
rush and a hurrah, but a steady movement. Men begin to drop from the
line, but there is no wavering. They who never before heard the sounds
of battle stand like veterans. The Rebel line in front of them extends
farther than their own. The Forty-fifth Illinois goes to the support of
Wallace. The Rebels throw forward reinforcements. There is a continuous
roll of musketry, and quick discharges of cannon. The attacking force
advances nearer and still nearer, close up to the works. Their gallantry
does not fail them; their courage does not falter; but they find an
impassable obstruction,--fallen trees, piles of brush, and rows of sharp
stakes. Taylor's battery gallops up the road, and opens a rapid fire,
but the Rebel sharpshooters pick off his gunners. It is madness to
remain, and the force retires beyond the reach of the Rebel musketry;
but they are not disheartened. They have hardly begun to fight.
Colonel Birges's sharpshooters are sent for. They move down through the
bushes, and creep up in front of the Rebel lines. There are jets of
flame and wreaths of blue smoke from their rifles. The Rebel pickets are
driven back. The sharpshooters work their way still nearer to the
trenches. The bushes blaze. There are mysterious puffs of smoke from the
hollows, from stumps, and from the roots of trees. The Rebel gunners are
compelled to let their guns remain silent, and the infantry dare not
show their heads above the breastworks. They lie close. A Rebel soldier
raises his slouched hat on his ramrod. Birges's men see it, just over
the parapet. Whiz! The hat disappears. The Rebels chuckle that they have
outwitted the Yankee.
"Why don't you come out of your old fort?" shouts a sharpshooter, lying
close behind a tree.
"Why don't you come in?" is the answer from the breastworks.
"O, you are cowards!" says the voice at the stump.
"When are you going to take the fort?" is the response from the
breastwork.
The cannonade lasted till night. Nothing had been gained, but much had
been lost, by the Union army. There were scores of men lying in the
thickets, where they had fallen. There were hundreds in the hospitals.
The gunboats and the expected reinforcements had not arrived. The Rebels
outnumbered General Grant's force by several thousand, but fortunately
they did not know it. General Grant's provisions were almost gone. There
was no meat, nothing but hard bread. The south-wind of the morning had
changed to the east. It was mild then, but piercing now. The sky, so
golden at the dawn, was dark and lowering, with clouds rolling up from
the east. The rain began to fall. The roads were miry, the dead leaves
slippery. The men had thrown aside their overcoats and blankets. They
had no shelter, no protection. They were weary and exhausted with the
contest. They were cold, wet, and hungry. The rain increased. The wind
blew more furiously. It wailed through the forest. The rain changed to
hail. The men lay down upon frozen beds, and were covered with icy
sheets. It grew colder. The hail became snow. The wind increased to a
gale, and whirled the snow into drifts. The soldiers curled down behind
the stumps and fallen trees. They built great fires. They walked, ran,
thumped their feet upon the frozen ground, beat their fingers till the
blood seemed starting from beneath the nails. The thermometer sank
almost to zero. It was a night of horror, not only outside, but inside
the Rebel lines. The Southern soldiers were kept in the intrenchments,
in the rifle-pits, and ditches, to be in readiness to repel an assault.
They could not keep up great, roaring fires, for fear of inviting a
night attack. Through the long hours the soldiers of both armies kept
their positions, exposed to the fury of the winter storm, not only the
severest storm of the season, but the wildest and coldest that had been
known for many years in that section of the country.
FRIDAY.
Friday morning dawned, and with the first rays of light the rifles
cracked in the frosty air. The sharpshooters, though they had passed a
sleepless night, were in their places behind rocks and stumps and trees.
Neither army was ready to recommence the struggle. General Grant was out
of provisions. The transports, with supplies and reinforcements, had not
arrived. Only one gunboat, the Carondelet, had come.
It was a critical hour. What if the Rebels, with their superior force,
should march out from their intrenchments and make an attack? How long
could the half-frozen, exhausted, hungry men maintain their ground?
Where were the gunboats? Where the transports? Where the reinforcements?
There were no dark columns of smoke rising above the forest-trees,
indicating the approach of the belated fleet.
General Grant grew anxious. Orders were despatched to General Wallace at
Fort Henry to hasten over with his troops. There was no thought of
giving up the enterprise.
"We came here to take the fort, and we intend to do it," said Colonel
Oglesby.
A courier came dashing through the woods. He had been on the watch three
miles down the river, looking for the gunboats. He had descried a dense
cloud of black smoke in the distance, and started with the welcome
intelligence. They were coming. The Carondelet, which had been lying
quietly in the stream below the fort, steamed up against the current,
and tossed a shell towards the Rebels. The deep boom of the columbiad
echoed over the hills of Tennessee. The troops answered with a cheer
from the depths of the forest. They could see the trailing black banners
of smoke from the steamer. They became light-hearted. The wounded lying
in the hospitals, stiff, sore, mangled, their wounds undressed, chilled,
frozen, covered with ice and snow, forgot their sufferings. So the fire
of patriotism burned within their hearts, which could not be quenched by
sufferings worse than death itself.
The provisions, troops, and artillery were landed at a farm, three miles
below the fort. A road was cut through the woods, and communication
opened with the army.
A division was organized under General Lewis Wallace. Colonel Cruft
commanded the first brigade, composed of the Thirty-first and
Forty-fourth Indiana, the Seventeenth and Twenty-fifth Kentucky
regiments.
The second brigade was composed of the Forty-sixth, Fifty-seventh, and
Fifty-eighth Illinois regiments. It had no brigade commander, and was
united to the third brigade, commanded by Colonel Thayer. The third
brigade was composed of the First Nebraska, the Sixteenth, Fifty-eighth,
and Sixty-eighth Ohio regiments. Several other regiments arrived while
the fight was going on, but they were held in reserve, and had but
little if any part in the action.
Wallace's division was placed between General Smith's and General
McClernand's, near General Grant's head-quarters, on the road leading
from Fort Henry to Dover. It took all day to get the troops into
position and distribute food and ammunition, and there was no fighting
except by the skirmishers and sharpshooters.
At three o'clock in the afternoon the gunboats steamed slowly up stream
to attack the water-batteries. Commodore Foote repeated the instructions
to the commanders and crews that he made before the attack at Fort
Henry,--to fire slow, take deliberate aim, and keep cool.
The Pittsburg, St. Louis, Louisville, and Carondelet, iron-plated boats,
had the advance, followed by the three wooden boats,--the Tyler,
Lexington, and Conestoga. A bend in the river exposed the sides of the
gunboats to a raking fire from the batteries, while Commodore Foote
could only use the bow guns in reply. The fort on the hill was so high
above the boats that the muzzles of the guns could not be elevated far
enough to hit it. Commodore Foote directed the boats to engage the
water-batteries, and pay no attention to the guns of the fort till the
batteries were silenced; then he would steam past them and pour
broadsides into the fort.
As soon as the gunboats rounded the point of land a mile and a half
below the fort, the Rebels opened fire, and the boats replied. There was
excellent gunnery. The shots from the fort and batteries fell upon the
bows of the boats, or raked their sides; while the shells from the boats
fell plump into the batteries, cutting the embankments, or sinking deep
in the side of the hill and bursting with tremendous explosions,
throwing the earth upon the gunners in the trenches. Steadily onward
moved the boats, pouring all their shells into the lower works. It was a
continuous storm,--an unbroken roll of thunder. There were constant
explosions in the Rebel trenches. The air was filled with pieces of iron
from the exploding shells and lumps of frozen earth thrown up by the
solid shot. The Rebels fled in confusion from the four-gun battery,
running up the hill to the intrenchments above.
The fight had lasted an hour, and the boats were within five hundred
feet of the batteries; fifteen minutes more and the Commodore would be
abreast of them, and would rake them from bottom to top with his
tremendous broadsides. But he had reached the bend of the river; the
eight-gun battery could cut him through crosswise, while the guns on the
top of the hill could pour plunging shots upon his decks. The Rebels saw
their advantage, and worked their guns with all their might. The boats
were so near that every Rebel shot reached its mark. A solid shot cut
the rudder-chains of the Carondelet and she became unmanageable. The
thirty-two-pound balls went through the oak sides of the boats as you
can throw peas through wet paper. Another shot splintered the helm of
the Pittsburg, and that boat also became unmanageable. A third shot
crashed through the pilot-house of the St. Louis, killing the pilot
instantly. The Commodore stood by his side, and was sprinkled with the
blood of the brave, unfortunate man. The shot broke the wheel and
knocked down a timber which wounded the Commodore in the foot. He sprang
to the deck, limped to another steering apparatus, and endeavored with
his own hands to keep the vessel head to the stream; but that apparatus
also had been shot away. Sixty-one shots had struck the St. Louis; some
had passed through from stem to stern. The Louisville had received
thirty-five shots. Twenty-six had crashed into and through the
Carondelet. One of her guns had burst, killing and wounding six of the
crew. The Pittsburg had been struck twenty-one times. All but the
Louisville, of the iron-plated boats, were unmanageable. At the very
last moment--when the difficulties had been almost overcome--the
Commodore was obliged to hoist the signal for retiring. Ten minutes
more,--five hundred feet more,--and the Rebel trenches would have been
swept from right to left, their entire length. When the boats began to
drift down the stream they were running from the trenches, deserting
their guns, to escape the fearful storm of grape and canister which they
knew would soon sweep over them. Fifty-four were killed and wounded in
this attack.
At night Commodore Foote sat in the cabin of the St. Louis and wrote a
letter to a friend. His wound was painful, but he thought not of his own
sufferings. He frequently asked how the wounded men were getting along,
and directed the surgeons to do everything possible for their comfort.
This is what he wrote to his friend:--
"While I hope ever to rely on Him who controls all things,
and to say from my heart, 'Not unto us, but unto thee, O
Lord, belongs the glory,' yet I feel bad at the result of our
attack on Fort Donelson. To see brave officers and men, who
say they will go where I lead them, fall by my side, it makes
me sad to lead them to almost certain death."
So passed Friday. The gunboats were disabled. No impression had been
made on the fort. General Grant determined to place his army in position
on the hills surrounding the fort, throw up intrenchments, and wait till
the gunboats could be repaired. Then there would be a combined attack,
by water and by land, which he hoped would reduce the place.
On Friday evening there was a council of war at General Floyd's
head-quarters in the town. General Buckner, General Johnson, General
Pillow, Colonel Baldwin, Colonel Wharton, and other commanders of
brigades were present. General Floyd said that he was satisfied that
General Grant would not renew the attack till the gunboats were
repaired, and till he had received reinforcements. He thought that the
whole available force of Union troops would be hurried up by steamboat
from St. Louis, Cincinnati, and Cairo; and that when they arrived a
division would be marched up the river towards Clarksville, above Dover,
and that they in the fort would be starved out and forced to surrender
without a battle. It was very good and correct reasoning on the part of
General Floyd, who did not care to be taken prisoner after he had stolen
so much public property. It was just what General Grant intended to do.
He knew that by such a course the fort would be obliged to surrender,
and he would save the lives of his men.
General Floyd proposed to attack General Grant at daylight on Saturday
morning, by throwing one half of the Rebel army, under Pillow and
Johnson, upon McClernand's division. By making the attack then in
overwhelming force, he felt pretty sure he could drive McClernand back
upon General Wallace. General Buckner, with the other half of the army,
was to push out from the northwest angle of the fort at the same time,
attack General Wallace, and force him back upon General McClernand,
which would throw the Union troops into confusion. By adopting this plan
he hoped to win a victory, or if not that, he could open a way of escape
to the whole army. The plan was agreed to by the other officers, and
preparations were made for the attack. The soldiers received extra
rations and a large quantity of ammunition. The caissons of the
artillery were filled up, and the regiments placed in position to move
early in the morning.
SATURDAY.
General B. R. Johnson led the Rebel column, and Colonel Baldwin's
brigade the advance. It was composed of the First and Fourteenth
Mississippi and the Twenty-sixth Tennessee regiments. The next brigade
was Colonel Wharton's. It was composed of the Fiftieth and Fifty-first
Virginia. McCousland's brigade was composed of the Thirty-sixth and
Fifty-sixth Virginia; Davidson's brigade was composed of the Seventh
Texas, Eighth Kentucky, and Third Mississippi; Colonel Drake's brigade
was composed of the Fourth and Twentieth Mississippi, Garven's battalion
of riflemen, Fifteenth Arkansas, and a Tennessee regiment. Hieman's
brigade was composed of the Tenth, Thirtieth, and Forty-eighth
Tennessee, and the Twenty-seventh Alabama. There were about thirty
pieces of artillery, and twelve thousand men in this column.
McArthur's brigade of McClernand's division was on the extreme right,
and a short distance in rear of Oglesby. The Rebels moved down the Union
Ferry road, which leads southwest towards Clarksville, which brought
them nearly south of Oglesby and McArthur. Oglesby's regiments stood,
the Eighth Illinois on the right, then the Twenty-ninth, Thirtieth, and
Thirty-first, counting towards the left. Schwartz's battery was on the
right and Dresser's on the left. Wallace's brigade was formed with the
Thirty-first Illinois on the right, close to Oglesby's left flank
regiment, then the Twentieth, Forty-eighth, Forty-fifth, Forty-ninth,
and Seventeenth Illinois. McAllister's battery was between the Eleventh
and Twentieth, and Taylor's between the Seventeenth and Forty-ninth.
Colonel Dickey's cavalry was in rear, his horses picketed in the woods
and eating corn. North of the Fort Henry road was Colonel Cruft's
brigade of General Lewis Wallace's division, the Twenty-fifth Kentucky
having the right, then the Thirty-first Indiana, the Seventeenth
Kentucky, the Forty-fourth Indiana, with Wood's battery.
These are all the regiments which took part in the terrible fight of
Saturday forenoon. They were unprepared for the assault. The soldiers
had not risen from their snowy beds. The reveille was just sounding when
the sharp crack of the rifles was heard in the thickets on the extreme
right. Then the artillery opened. Schwartz's, Dresser's, McAllister's,
and Taylor's men sprang from their blankets to their guns. It was hardly
light enough to see the enemy. They could only distinguish the flashes
of the guns and the wreaths of smoke through the branches of the trees;
but they aimed at the flashes, and sent their shells upon the advancing
columns.
The Rebel batteries replied, and the wild uproar of the terrible day
began.
Instead of moving west, directly upon the front of Oglesby, McArthur,
and Wallace, the Rebel column under Pillow marched down the Union Ferry
road south a half-mile, then turned abruptly towards the northwest. You
see by the accompanying diagram how the troops stood at the beginning of
the battle. There is McArthur's brigade with Schwartz's battery,
Oglesby's brigade with Dresser's battery, Wallace's brigade with
McAllister's and Taylor's batteries,--all facing the town. Across the
brook, upon the north side of the ravine, is Cruft's brigade. You see
Pillow's brigades wheeling upon McArthur and Oglesby, and across the
Fort Henry road, coming down from the breastworks, are General Buckner's
brigades.
[Illustration: THE ATTACK ON McCLERNAND.
1 McArthur's brigade.
2 Oglesby's brigade.
3 W. H. L. Wallace's brigade.
4 Cruft's brigade.
5 Pillow's divisions.
6 Buckner's divisions.]
Schwartz, Dresser, and McAllister wheel their guns towards Pillow's
column. The Rebels open with a volley of musketry. The fire is aimed at
the Eighth and Twenty-ninth Illinois regiments, which, you remember, are
on the right of Oglesby's brigade. The men are cold. They have sprung
from their icy beds to take their places in the ranks. They have a scant
supply of ammunition, and are unprepared for the assault, but they are
not the men to run at the first fire. The Rebel musketry begins to thin
their ranks, but they do not flinch. They send their volleys into the
face of the enemy.
Another Rebel brigade arrives, and fires upon the Thirtieth and
Thirty-first Illinois,--the two regiments on the left of Oglesby's
brigade. Colonel John A. Logan commands the Thirty-first. He told the
Southern conspirators in Congress, when they were about to secede from
the Union, that the men of the Northwest would hew their way to the Gulf
of Mexico with their swords, if they attempted to close the Mississippi.
He is not disposed to yield his ground. He encourages his men, and they
remain immovable before the Rebel brigades. Instead of falling back, he
swings his regiment towards the Rebels, and stands confronting them.
But while this is going on, the Rebel cavalry have moved round to the
rear of McArthur. They dash down a ravine, through the bushes, over the
fallen trees, and charge up the hill upon the Ninth and Eighteenth
regiments of McArthur's brigade. They are sent back in confusion, but
the onset has been so fierce and the charge so far in the rear, that
McArthur is compelled to fall back and form a new line. The Rebels have
begun to open the door which General Grant had closed against them. The
brigades in front of Oglesby are pouring murderous volleys upon the
Eighth and Twenty-ninth. The falling back of McArthur to meet the attack
on his rear has enabled the enemy to come up behind these regiments, and
they are also compelled to fall back.
The Rebels in front are elated. They move nearer, working their way
along a ravine, sheltered by a ridge of land. They load their muskets,
rush up to the crest of the hill, deliver their fire, and step back to
reload; but as often as they appear, McAllister and Dresser and Taylor
give them grape and canister.
The Eleventh and Twentieth Illinois, on the right of Wallace's brigade,
join in the conflict, supporting the brave Logan. Colonel Wallace swings
the Forty-eighth, Forty-fifth, and half of the Forty-ninth round towards
Pillow's brigades, leaving the other half of the Forty-ninth and the
Seventeenth to hold the line towards the Fort Henry road. If you study
the diagram carefully, you will see that this manoeuvre was a change
of front. At the beginning the line of battle faced northeast, but now
it faces south.
There is a ridge between Wallace's brigade and the Rebels. As often as
the Rebels advance to the ridge, Taylor and McAllister with the infantry
drive them back. It is an obstinate and bloody contest. The snow becomes
crimson. There are pools of clotted blood where the brave men lie down
upon the ground. There are bayonet-charges, fierce hand-to-hand
contests. The Rebels rush upon McAllister's guns, but are turned back.
The lines surge to and fro like the waves of the sea. The dying and the
dead are trampled beneath the feet of the contending hosts.
Wallace hears a sharp fire in his rear. The Rebels have pushed out once
more towards the west and are coming in again upon the right flank of
the new battle line. McClernand sees that he is contending against
overwhelming numbers, and he sends a messenger in haste to General Lewis
Wallace, who sends Cruft's brigade to his assistance. The brigade goes
down the road upon the run. The soldiers shout and hurrah. They pass in
rear of Taylor's battery, and push on to the right to help Oglesby and
McArthur.
The Rebels have driven those brigades. The men are hastening to the rear
with doleful stories. Some of them rush through Cruft's brigade. Cruft
meets the advancing Rebels face to face. The din of battle has lulled
for a moment, but now it rolls again louder than before. The Rebels dash
on, but it is like the dashing of the waves against a rock. Cruft's men
are unmoved, though the Rebels advance till they are within twenty feet
of the line. There are deafening volleys. The smoke from the opposing
lines becomes a single cloud. The Rebels are held in check on the right
by their firmness and endurance.
But just at this moment General Buckner's brigades come out of their
intrenchments. They pass in front of their rifle-pits at the base of the
hill, and march rapidly down to the Dover road. Colonel Wallace sees
them. In a few minutes they will pour their volleys into the backs of
his men. You remember that the Seventeenth and part of the Forty-ninth
Illinois regiments were left standing near the road. You hear from their
muskets now. They stand their ground and meet the onset manfully. Two
guns of Taylor's battery, which have been thundering towards the south,
wheel round to the northeast and sweep the Rebels with grape and
canister.
Three fourths of the Rebel army is pressing upon McClernand's one
division. His troops are disappearing. Hundreds are killed and wounded.
Men who carry the wounded to rear do not return. The Rebels see their
advantage, and charge upon Schwartz's and McAllister's batteries, but
are repulsed. Reinforced by new regiments, they rush on again. They
shoot the gunners and the horses and seize the cannon. The struggle is
fierce, but unequal. Oglesby's men are overpowered, the line gives way.
The Rebels push on with a yell, and seize several of Schwartz's and
McAllister's guns. The gunners fight determinedly for a moment, but they
are few against many, and are shot or taken prisoners. A Mississippi
regiment attempts to capture Taylor's guns, but he sweeps it back with
grape and canister.
Up to this moment Wallace has not yielded an inch. Two of Oglesby's
regiments next to his brigade still hold their ground, but all who
stood beyond are in full retreat. The Rebels have picked off a score
of brave officers in Oglesby's command,--Colonels Logan, Lawler, and
Ransom are wounded. Lieutenant-Colonel White of the Thirty-first,
Lieutenant-Colonel Smith of the Forty-eighth, Lieutenant-Colonel Irvin
of the Twentieth, and Major Post of the Eighth are killed. The men of
Oglesby's brigade, although they have lost so many of their leaders, are
not panic-stricken. They are overpowered for the moment. Some of the
regiments are out of ammunition. They know that reinforcements are at
hand, and they fall back in order.
To understand Wallace's position at this stage of the battle, imagine
that you stand with your face towards the south fighting a powerful
antagonist, that a second equally powerful is coming up on your right
hand, and that a third is giving heavy blows upon your left shoulder,
almost in your back. Pillow, with one half of his brigades, is in front,
Johnson, with the other half of Pillow's command, is coming up on the
right, and Buckner, with all of his brigades, is moving down upon the
left.
Wallace sees that he must retreat. The Eleventh and
Thirty-first--Ransom's and Logan's regiments--are still fighting on
Wallace's right. There is great slaughter in their ranks, but they do
not flee. They change front and march a few rods to the rear, come into
line and fire a volley at the advancing Rebels. Forest's cavalry dashes
upon them and cuts off a few prisoners, but the line is only bruised,
not broken. Thus loading and firing, contesting all the ground, the
troops descend the hill, cross the clear running brook, and march up the
hill upon the other side.
But there are some frightened men, who fling away their guns and rush
wildly to the rear. An officer dashes down the road, crying: "We are cut
to pieces! The day is lost!"
"Shut up your head, you scoundrel!" shouts General Wallace.
It has had an effect upon his troops. They are nervous, and look round,
expecting to see the enemy in overwhelming numbers. General Wallace sees
that there has been disaster. He does not wait for orders to march.
"Third brigade, by the right flank, double-quick, Forward, March!"
Colonel Thayer commanding the brigade repeats the order. The men break
into a run towards the front along the road. General Wallace gallops in
advance, and meets Colonel Wallace conducting his brigade to the rear.
"We are out of ammunition. The enemy are following. If you will put your
troops into line till we can fill our cartridge-boxes, we will stop
them." He says it so coolly and deliberately that it astonishes General
Wallace. It reassures him. He feels that it is a critical moment, but
with men retiring so deliberately, there is no reason to be discouraged.
He leads Thayer's brigade up to the crest of the hill, just where the
road begins to descend into the ravine, through which gurgles the clear
running brook.
"Bring up Company A, Chicago Light Artillery!" he shouts to an aid. A
few moments, and Captain Wood, who commands the battery, leads it along
the road. The horses are upon the gallop. The teamsters lash them with
their whips. They leap over logs, stones, stumps, and through the
bushes. They halt at the crest of the hill.
"Put your guns here, two pieces in the road, and two on each side, and
load with grape and canister."
The men spring to their pieces. They throw off their coats, and work in
their shirt-sleeves. They ram home the cartridges and stand beside their
pieces, waiting for the enemy.
The battery faces southeast. On the right of the battery, next to it, is
the First Nebraska, and beyond it the Fifty-eighth Illinois. On the left
of the battery is Captain Davison's company of the Thirty-second
Illinois, and beyond it the Fifty-eighth Ohio. A few rods in rear is the
Seventy-sixth Ohio and the Forty-sixth and Fifty-seventh Illinois.
McArthur, Oglesby, Wallace, and Cruft have all fallen back, and their
regiments are reforming in the woods west of Thayer's position, and
filling their cartridge-boxes.
The Rebels halt a little while upon the ground from which they have
driven McClernand, rifling the pockets of the dead and robbing the
wounded. General Pillow feels very well. He writes a despatch, which is
telegraphed to Nashville,--
"On the honor of a soldier, the day is ours!"
Buckner unites his brigades to Pillow's, and they prepare for a second
advance. It gives General Wallace time to perfect his line. Willard's
battery, which was left at Fort Henry, has just arrived. It gallops into
position in the woods west of Thayer's brigade. Dresser and Taylor also
come into position. They are ready.
The Rebels descend the hill on the east side of the brook, and move up
the road. They are flushed with success, and are confident of defeating
General Grant. General Floyd has changed his mind; instead of escaping,
as he can do by the road leading to Nashville, he thinks he will put the
army of General Grant to rout.
[Illustration:
1 Thayer's brigade with Wood's battery.
2 McClernand's brigades.
3 Cruft's brigade.
4 Rebels.]
The advancing columns step across the brook, and begin to ascend the
hill. The artillery opens its fire. The Rebel batteries reply. The
infantry rolls its volleys. The hill and the hollow are enveloped in
clouds of smoke. Wood's, Dresser's, Willard's, and Taylor's batteries
open,--twenty-four guns send their grape and canister, shrapnel and
shells, into the gray ranks which are vainly endeavoring to reach the
top of the hill. The Rebels concentrate their fire upon Wood's battery
and the First Nebraska, but those hardy pioneers from beyond the
Missouri, some of them Rocky Mountain hunters, cannot be driven. The
Rebels fire too high. The air is filled with the screaming of their
bullets, and a wild storm sweeps over the heads of the men from
Nebraska, who lose but ten men killed and wounded in this terrible
contest. The Nebraska men are old hunters, and do not fire at random,
but take deliberate aim.
The Rebels march half-way up the hill, and then fall back to the brook.
They have lost courage. Their officers rally the wavering lines. Again
they advance, but are forced back by the musketry and the grape and
canister.
They break in confusion, and vain are all the attempts of the officers
to rally them. General Floyd's plan, which worked so successfully in the
morning, has failed at noon. General Pillow's telegram was sent too soon
by a half-hour. The Rebels retire to the hill, and help themselves to
the overcoats, blankets, beef, bread, and other things in McClernand's
camp.
General Grant determined to assault the enemy's works. He thought that
the rifle-pits at the northwest angle of the fort could be carried; that
then he could plant his batteries so near that, under their fire, he
could get into the fort. General Smith's division had not been engaged
in the battles of the morning. His troops had heard the roar of the
conflict and the cheers of their comrades when the Rebels were beaten
back.
They were ready for action. They were nerved up to attempt great deeds
for their country. The Rebels had been repulsed, and now they could
defeat them.
General Grant directed General Wallace to move forward from his
position, across the brook, drive the Rebels back, and then assault
their works. A large body of Rebels still held the ground, from which
McClernand had been driven.
General Wallace placed Colonel Morgan L. Smith's brigade in front. There
was contention between the Eighth Missouri and Eleventh Indiana, for
each wanted the honor of leading the assault. The Eleventh yielded to
the Eighth, with the understanding that in the next assault it should
have the advance. Thus with generous rivalry and unbounded enthusiasm
they prepared to advance.
The Eleventh followed the Eighth. Colonel Cruft's brigade, with two Ohio
regiments under Colonel Ross, completed the column. Colonel Cruft formed
in line of battle to the right of Colonel Smith. They crossed the brook.
It was a dark and bloody ravine. The Rebel dead and wounded were lying
there, thick almost as the withered forest-leaves. The snow was crimson.
The brook was no longer a clear running stream, but red with blood.
General Wallace was aware of the desperate character of the enterprise.
He told his men what they were to do,--to drive the enemy, and storm the
breastworks.
"Hurrah! that's just what we want to do. Forward! Forward! We are
ready!" were their answers. They could see the Rebel lines on the hill.
The Rebels knew that they were to be attacked, and were ready to receive
them.
Colonel Smith moved up the road. His point of attack was clear, but
Cruft's was through brush and over stony ground. A line of skirmishers
sprang out from the Eighth Missouri. They ran up the hill, and came face
to face with the Rebel skirmishers.
They fought from tree to tree, firing, picking off an opponent, then
falling upon the ground to reload.
The regiments followed. They were half-way up the hill, when a line of
fire began to run round the crest.
"Down! down!" shouted Colonel Smith. The regiments fell flat, and the
storm swept harmlessly over their heads. The Rebels cheered. They
thought they had annihilated Colonel Smith's command. Up they rose, and
rushed upon the enemy, pouring in their volleys, falling when the fight
was hottest, rising as soon as the Rebels had fired. Thus they closed
upon the enemy, and pushed him back over all the ground he had won in
the morning, driving him into his works.
General Wallace was preparing to assault the works, when an officer
dashed down the line with cheering news of success upon the left.
Returning now to General Smith's division, we see him preparing to storm
the works near the northwest angle of the fort. Colonel Cook's brigade
is directed to make a feint of attacking the fort. Major Cavender brings
his heavy guns into position, and opens a furious cannonade, under cover
of which Colonel Lauman is to advance upon the rifle-pits on the outer
ridge. If he can get possession of those, Cavender can plant his guns
there and rake the inner trenches.
Colonel Hanson's brigade,--the Second Kentucky, Twentieth Mississippi,
and Thirtieth Tennessee, are in the rifle-pits. There are six pieces of
artillery and another brigade behind the inner intrenchments, all ready
to pour their fire upon the advancing columns. Colonel Hanson's men lie
secure behind the trunks of the great forest oaks, their rifles thrust
through between the logs. It is fifteen or twenty rods to the bottom of
the slope, and there you find the fallen trees, with their branches
interlocked, and sharp stakes driven into the ground. Beyond is the
meadow where Lauman forms his brigade. The Rebels have a clear sweep of
all the ground.
General Smith leads Lauman's men to the meadow, while Colonel Cook moves
up on the left and commences the attack. The soldiers hear, far down on
the right, Wallace's brigades driving the enemy from the hill.
[Illustration: THE CHARGE OF LAUMAN'S BRIGADE.
1 Lauman's brigade.
2 Cook's brigade.
3 Cavender's batteries, with infantry.
4 Rebel rifle-pits.
5 Rebel inner works.]
It is almost sunset. The rays of light fall aslant the meadow, upon the
backs of Lauman's men, and into the faces of the Rebels. The advancing
brigade is in solid column of regiments, the Second Iowa in front, then
the Twenty-fifth Indiana, the Seventh and Fourteenth Iowa,--four firm,
unwavering lines, which throw their shadows forward as they advance.
Birges's sharpshooters, with their unerring rifles, are flung out on
each flank.
The brigade halts upon the meadow. General Smith rides along the line,
and informs them that they are to take the rifle-pits with the bayonet
alone. He sits firmly on his horse, and his long gray hair, falling
almost to his shoulders, waves in the evening breeze. He is an iron man,
and he leads iron men. The Rebel cannon cut them through with solid
shot, shells burst above and around them, with loud explosions and
terrifying shrieks from the flying fragments, men drop from the ranks,
or are whirled into the air torn and mangled. There are sudden gaps, but
not a man flinches. They look not towards the rear, but towards the
front. There are the fallen trees, the hill, the line of two thousand
muskets poised between the logs, the cannon thundering from the height
beyond. There is no whispering in those solid ranks, no loud talking,
nothing but the "Steady! steady!" of the officers. Their hearts beat
great throbs. Their nerves are steel, their muscles iron. They grasp
their muskets with the grip of tigers. Before them rides their General,
his cap upon his sword, his long hair streaming like a banner in the
wind. The color-bearer, waving the stars and stripes, marches by his
side.
They move across the meadow. All around them is the deafening roar of
the conflict. Cavender is behind them, Cook is upon their left, the
enemy is in front, and Wallace away upon their right. They reach the
fallen trees at the foot of the hill. The pile of logs above them bursts
into flame. A deadly storm, more terrible than the fiercest winter
blast, sweeps down the slope into their faces. There are lightning
flashes and thunderbolts from the hill above. Men drop from their
places, to lie forever still among the tangled branches. But their
surviving comrades do not falter. On,--on,--creeping, crawling, climbing
over the obstructions, unterrified, undaunted, with all the energy of
life centred in one effort; like a tornado they sweep up the
slope,--into the line of fire, into the hissing storm, up to the logs,
into the cloud, leaping like tigers, thrusting the bayonet home upon the
foe. The Rebels reel, stagger, tumble, run!
"HURRA----H!"
It is a wild, prolonged, triumphant shout, like the blast of a trumpet.
They plant their banners on the works, and fire their volleys into the
retreating foe. Stone's battery gallops over the meadow, over the logs,
up the hill, the horses leaping and plunging as if they, too, knew that
victory was hanging in the scale. The gunners spring from their seats,
wheel their pieces and throw their shells, an enfilading fire, into the
upper works.
"Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!" rings through the forest, down the line to
Wallace's men.
"We have carried the works!" "We are inside!" shouts an officer bearing
the welcome news.
The men toss their caps in the air. They shake hands, they shout, and
break into singing. They forget all their hardships and sufferings, the
hungry days, the horrible nights, the wounded and the dead. The success
is worth all the sacrifice.
CHAPTER VI.
THE SURRENDER.
All through the night the brave men held the ground they had so nobly
won. They rested on snowy beds. They had no supper. They could kindle no
fires to warm the wintry air. The cannon above them hurled down shells,
and sent volleys of grape, which screamed above and around them like the
voices of demons in the darkness. The branches of the trees were torn
from their trunks by the solid shot, and the trunks were splintered from
top to bottom, but they did not falter or retire from that slope where
the snow was crimsoned with the life-blood of hundreds of their
comrades. Nearly four hundred had fallen in that attack. The hill had
cost a great deal of blood, but it was worth all it cost, and they would
not give it up. So they braved the leaden rain and iron hail through the
weary hours of that winter night. They only waited for daybreak to storm
the inner works and take the fort. Their ardor and enthusiasm was
unbounded.
As the morning approached they heard a bugle-call. They looked across
the narrow ravine, and saw, in the dim light of the dawn, a man waving a
white flag upon the intrenchments. It was a sign for a parley. He jumped
down from the embankment, and descended the hill.
"Halt! Who comes there?" shouted the picket.
"Flag of truce with a letter for General Grant."
An officer took the letter, and hastened down the slope, across the
meadow, up to the house on the Dover road, where General Grant had his
head-quarters.
During the night there had been a council of war at General Floyd's
head-quarters. Nearly all the Rebel officers commanding brigades and
regiments were there. They were down-hearted. They had fought bravely,
won a victory, as they thought, but had lost it. A Rebel officer who was
there told me what they said. General Floyd and General Pillow blamed
General Buckner for not advancing earlier in the morning, and for making
what they thought a feeble attack. They could have escaped after they
drove McClernand across the brook, but now they were hemmed in. The
prospect was gloomy. The troops were exhausted by the long conflict, by
constant watching, and by the cold. What bitter nights those were to the
men who came from Texas, Alabama, and Mississippi, where the roses bloom
and the blue-birds sing through all the winter months.
What should be done? Should they make another attack, and cut their way
out, or should they surrender?
"I cannot hold my position a half-hour. The Yankees can turn my flank or
advance directly upon the breastworks," said General Buckner.
"If you had advanced at the time agreed upon, and made a more vigorous
attack, we should have routed the enemy," said General Floyd.
"I advanced as soon as I could, and my troops fought as bravely as
others," was the response from General Buckner,--a middle-aged,
medium-sized man. His hair is iron gray. He has thin whiskers and a
moustache, and wears a gray kersey overcoat, with a great cape, and gold
lace on the sleeves, and a black hat with a nodding black plume.
"Well, here we are, and it is useless to renew the attack with any hope
of success. The men are exhausted," said General Floyd,--a stout, heavy
man, with thick lips, a large nose, evil eyes, and coarse features.
"We can cut our way out," said Major Brown, commanding the Twentieth
Mississippi,--a tall, black-haired, impetuous, fiery man.
"Some of us might escape in that way, but the attempt would be attended
with great slaughter," responded General Floyd.
"My troops are so worn out and cut to pieces and demoralized, that I
can't make another fight," said Buckner.
"My troops will fight till they die," answered Major Brown, setting his
teeth together.
"It will cost the command three quarters of its present number to cut
its way through, and it is wrong to sacrifice three quarters of a
command to save the other quarter," Buckner continued.
"No officer has a right to cause such a sacrifice," said Major Gilmer,
of General Pillow's staff.
"But we can hold out another day, and by that time we can get steamboats
here to take us across the river," said General Pillow.
"No, I can't hold my position a half-hour, and the Yankees will renew
the attack at daybreak," Buckner replied.
"Then we have got to surrender, for aught I see," said an officer.
"I won't surrender the command, neither will I be taken prisoner," said
Floyd. He doubtless remembered how he had stolen public property, while
in office under Buchanan, and would rather die than to fall into the
hands of those whom he knew would be likely to bring him to an account
for his villany.
"I don't intend to be taken prisoner," said Pillow.
"What will you do, gentlemen?" Buckner asked.
"I mean to escape, and take my Virginia brigade with me, if I can. I
shall turn over the command to General Pillow. I have a right to escape
if I can, but I haven't any right to order the entire army to make a
hopeless fight," said Floyd.
"If you surrender it to me, I shall turn it over to General Buckner,"
said General Pillow, who was also disposed to shirk responsibility and
desert the men whom he had induced to vote to secede from the Union and
take up arms against their country.
"If the command comes into my hands, I shall deem it my duty to
surrender it. I shall not call upon the troops to make a useless
sacrifice of life, and I will not desert the men who have fought so
nobly," Buckner replied, with a bitterness which made Floyd and Pillow
wince.
It was past midnight. The council broke up. The brigade and regimental
officers were astonished at the result. Some of them broke out into
horrid cursing and swearing at Floyd and Pillow.
"It is mean!" "It is cowardly!" "Floyd always was a rascal."
"We are betrayed!" "There is treachery!" said they.
"It is a mean trick for an officer to desert his men. If my troops are
to be surrendered, I shall stick by them," said Major Brown.
"I denounce Pillow as a coward, and if I ever meet him, I'll shoot him
as quick as I would a dog," said Major McLain, red with rage.
Floyd gave out that he was going to join Colonel Forrest, who commanded
the cavalry, and thus cut his way out; but there were two or three small
steamboats at the Dover landing. He and General Pillow jumped on board
one of them, and then secretly marched a portion of the Virginia brigade
on board. Other soldiers saw what was going on, that they were being
deserted. They became frantic with terror and rage. They rushed on
board, crowding every part of the boat.
"Cut loose!" shouted Floyd to the captain. The boats swung into the
stream and moved up the river, leaving thousands of infuriated soldiers
on the landing. So the man who had stolen the public property, and who
did all he could to bring on the war, who induced thousands of poor,
ignorant men to take up arms, deserted his post, stole away in the
darkness, and left them to their fate.
General Buckner immediately wrote a letter to General Grant, asking for
an armistice till twelve o'clock, and the appointment of commissioners
to agree upon terms by which the fort and the prisoners should be
surrendered.
"No terms, other than unconditional and immediate surrender can be
accepted. I propose to move immediately upon your works," was General
Grant's reply.
General Buckner replied, that he thought it very _unchivalrous_, but
accepted the terms. He meant that he did not think it very honorable in
General Grant to require an unconditional surrender. He professed to
have a high sense of all that was noble, generous, honorable, and
high-minded. But a few days before he had so forgotten those qualities
of character, that he took some cattle from Rev. Mr. Wiggin of
Rochester, Kentucky, one of his old acquaintances, and paid him with a
check of three hundred dollars on the Southern Bank at Russelville. When
Rev. Mr. Wiggin called at the bank and presented the check, the cashier
told him that General Buckner never had had any money on deposit there,
and the bank did not owe him a dollar! He cheated and swindled the
minister, and committed the crime of forgery, which would have sent him
to the state-prison in time of peace.
The morning dawned,--Sunday morning, calm, clear, and beautiful. The
horrible nights were over and the freezing days gone by. The air was
mild, and there was a gentle breeze from the south, which brought the
blue-birds. They did not mind the soldiers or the cannon, but chirped
and sang in the woods as merrily as ever.
I saw the white flag flying on the breastworks. The soldiers and sailors
saw it, and cheered. General Grant had moved his head-quarters to the
steamboat Uncle Sam, and, as I happened to be on board that boat, I saw
a great deal that took place.
The gunboats, and all the steamboats, fifty or more, began to move up
the river. Dense clouds of smoke rolled up from the tall chimneys. The
great wheels plashed the sparkling stream. Flags were flying on all the
staffs. The army began its march into the fort. The bands played. How
grand the crash of the drums and the trumpets! The soldiers marched
proudly. The columns were winding along the hills,--the artillery, the
infantry, the cavalry, with all their banners waving, and the bright
sunshine gleaming and glistening on their bayonets! They entered the
fort, and planted their standards on the embankments. The gunboats and
the field artillery fired a grand salute. From the steamboats, from the
hillside, from the fort, and the forest there were answering shouts. The
wounded in the hospitals forgot, for the moment, that they were torn and
mangled, raised themselves on their beds of straw, and mingled their
feeble cheers in the universal rejoicing!
Thirteen thousand men, sixty-seven pieces of artillery, and fifteen
thousand small arms were surrendered. A motley, care-worn, haggard,
anxious crowd stood at the landing. I sprang ashore, and walked through
the ranks. Some were standing, some lying down, taking no notice of what
was going on around them. They were prisoners of war. When they joined
the army, they probably did not dream that they would be taken
prisoners. They were to be victorious, and capture the Yankees. They
were poor, ignorant men. Not half of them knew how to read or write.
They had been deluded by their leaders,--the slaveholders. They had
fought bravely, but they had been defeated, and their generals had
deserted them. No wonder they were down-hearted.
Their clothes were of all colors. Some wore gray, some blue, some
butternut-colored clothes,--a dirty brown. They were very ragged. Some
had old quilts for blankets, others faded pieces of carpeting, others
strips of new carpeting, which they had taken from the stores. Some had
caps, others old slouched felt hats, and others nothing but straw hats
upon their heads.
"We fought well, but you outnumbered us," said one.
"We should have beaten you as it was, if it hadn't been for your
gunboats," said another.
"How happened it that General Floyd and General Pillow escaped, and left
you?" I asked.
"They are traitors. I would shoot the scoundrels, if I could get a
chance," said a fellow in a snuff-colored coat, clenching his fist.
"I am glad the fighting is over. I don't want to see another such day as
yesterday," said a Tennesseean, who was lying on the ground.
"What will General Grant do with us? Will he put us in prison?" asked
one.
"That will depend upon how you behave. If you had not taken up arms
against your country, you would not have been in trouble now."
"We couldn't help it, sir. I was forced into the army, and I am glad I
am a prisoner. I sha'n't have to fight any more," said a blue-eyed young
man, not more than eighteen years old.
There were some who were very sullen and sour, and there were others who
did not care what became of them.
I went up the hill into the town. Nearly every house was filled with the
dying and the dead. The shells from the gunboats had crashed through
some of the buildings. The soldiers had cut down the orchards and the
shade-trees, and burned the fences. All was desolation. There were sad
groups around the camp-fires, with despair upon their countenances. O
how many of them thought of their friends far away, and wished they
could see them again!
The ground was strewed with their guns, cartridge-boxes, belts, and
knapsacks. There were bags of corn, barrels of sugar, hogsheads of
molasses, tierces of bacon, broken open and trodden into the mud.
I went into the fort, and saw where the great shells from the gunboats
had cut through the embankments. There were piles of cartridges beside
the cannon. The dead were lying there, torn, mangled, rent. Near the
intrenchments, where the fight had been fiercest, there were pools of
blood. The Rebel soldiers were breaking the frozen earth, digging
burial-trenches, and bringing in their fallen comrades and laying them
side by side, to their last, long, silent sleep. I looked down the slope
where Lauman's men swept over the fallen trees in their terrible charge;
then I walked down to the meadow, and looked up the height, and wondered
how men could climb over the trees, the stumps, the rocks, and ascend it
through such a storm. The dead were lying where they fell, heroes every
one of them! It was sad to think that so many noble men had fallen, but
it was a pleasure to know that they had not faltered. They had done
their duty. If you ever visit that battle-field, and stand upon that
slope, you will feel your heart swell with gratitude and joy, to think
how cheerfully they gave their lives to save their country, that you and
all who come after you may enjoy peace and prosperity forever.
How bravely they fought! There, upon the cold ground, lay a soldier of
the Ninth Illinois. Early in the action of Saturday he was shot through
the arm. He went to the hospital and had it bandaged, and returned to
his place in the regiment. A second shot passed through his thigh,
tearing the flesh to shreds.
"We will carry you to the hospital," said two of his comrades.
"No, you stay and fight. I can get along alone." He took off his
bayonet, used his gun for a crutch, and reached the hospital. The
surgeon dressed the wound. He heard the roar of battle. His soul was on
fire to be there. He hobbled once more to the field, and went into the
thickest of the fight, lying down, because he could not stand. He fought
as a skirmisher. When the Rebels advanced, he could not retire with the
troops, but continued to fight. After the battle he was found dead upon
the field, six bullets having passed through his body.
One bright-eyed little fellow, of the Second Iowa, had his foot crushed
by a cannon-shot. Two of his comrades carried him to the rear. An
officer saw that, unless the blood was stopped, he never would reach the
hospital. He told the men to tie a handkerchief around his leg, and put
snow on the wound.
"O, never mind the foot, Captain," said the brave fellow. "We drove the
Rebels out, and have got their trench; that's the most I care for!" The
soldiers did as they were directed, and his life was saved.
There in the trenches was a Rebel soldier with a rifle-shot through his
head. He was an excellent marksman, and had killed or wounded several
Union officers. One of Colonel Birges's sharpshooters, an old hunter,
who had killed many bears and wolves, crept up towards the breastworks
to try his hand upon the Rebel. They fired at each other again and
again, but both were shrewd and careful. The Rebel raised his hat above
the breastwork,--whi----z! The sharpshooter out in the bushes had put a
bullet through it. "Ha! ha! ha!" laughed the Rebel, sending his own
bullet into the little puff of smoke down in the ravine. The Rocky
Mountain hunter was as still as a mouse. He knew that the Rebel had
outwitted him, and expected the return shot. It was aimed a little too
high, and he was safe.
"You cheated me that time, but I will be even with you yet," said the
sharpshooter, whirling upon his back, and loading his rifle and whirling
back again. He rested his rifle upon the ground, aimed it, and lay with
his eye along the barrel, his finger on the trigger. Five minutes
passed. "I reckon that that last shot fixed him," said the Rebel. "He
hasn't moved this five minutes."
He raised his head, peeped over the embankment, and fell back lifeless.
The unerring rifle-bullet had passed through his head.
If you could go over the battle-ground with one of those sharpshooters,
he would show you a little clump of bushes, and some stumps, where three
or four of them lay on Saturday, in front of one of the Rebel batteries,
and picked off the gunners. Two or three times the artillerymen tried to
drive them out with shells; but they lay close upon the ground, and the
shells did not touch them. The artillerymen were obliged to cease
firing, and retreat out of reach of the deadly bullets.
Some of the Rebel officers took their surrender very much to heart. They
were proud, insolent, and defiant. Their surrender was unconditional,
and they thought it very hard to give up their swords and pistols. One
of them fired a pistol at Major Mudd, of the Second Illinois, wounding
him in the back. I was very well acquainted with the Major. He lived in
St. Louis, and had been from the beginning an ardent friend of the
Union. He had hunted the guerillas in Missouri, and had fought bravely
at Wilson's Creek. It is quite likely he was shot by an old enemy.
General Grant at once issued orders that all the Rebel officers should
be disarmed. General Buckner, in insolent tones, said to General Grant
that it was barbarous, inhuman, brutal, unchivalrous, and at variance
with the rules of civilized warfare! General Grant replied:--
"You have dared to come here to complain of my acts, without the
right to make an objection. You do not appear to remember that your
surrender was unconditional. Yet, if we compare the acts of the
different armies in this war, how will yours bear inspection? You have
cowardly shot my officers in cold blood. As I rode over the field, I
saw the dead of my army brutally insulted by your men, their clothing
stripped off of them, and their bodies exposed, without the slightest
regard for common decency. Humanity has seldom marked your course
whenever our men have been unfortunate enough to fall into your hands.
At Belmont your authorities disregarded all the usages of civilized
warfare. My officers were crowded into cotton-pens with my brave
soldiers, and then thrust into prison, while your officers were
permitted to enjoy their parole, and live at the hotel in Cairo. Your
men are given the same fare as my own, and your wounded receive our
best attention. These are incontrovertible facts. I have simply taken
the precaution to disarm your officers and men, because necessity
compelled me to protect my own from assassination."
General Buckner had no reply to make. He hung his head in shame at the
rebuke.
Major Mudd, though severely wounded, recovered, but lost his life in
another battle. One day, while riding with him in Missouri, he told me a
very good story. He said he was once riding in the cars, and that a very
inquisitive man sat by his side. A few rods from every road-crossing the
railroad company had put up boards with the letters W. R. upon them.
"What be them for?" asked the man.
"Those are directions to the engineer to blow the whistle and ring the
bell, that people who may be on the carriage-road may look out and not
get run over by the train," the Major answered.
"O yes, I see."
The man sat in silence awhile, with his lips working as if he was trying
to spell.
"Well, Major," he said at last, "it may be as you say. I know that
w-r-i-n-g spells ring, but for the life of me I don't see how you can
get an R into whistle!"
The fall of Fort Donelson was a severe blow to the Rebels. It had a
great effect. It was the first great victory of the Union troops. It
opened all the northwest corner of the Confederacy. It compelled General
Johnston to retreat from Bowling Green, and also compelled the
evacuation of Columbus and all Central Tennessee. Nashville, the capital
of that State, fell into the hands of the Union troops.
On Sunday morning the Rebels at Nashville were in good spirits. General
Pillow had telegraphed on Saturday noon, as you remember, "On the honor
of a soldier, the day is ours." The citizens shouted over it.
One sober citizen said: "I never liked Pillow, but I forgive him now. He
is the man for the occasion."
Another, who had been Governor of the State,--a wicked, profane
man,--said: "It is first-rate news. Pillow is giving the Yankees hell,
and rubbing it in!"[6] It is a vile sentence, and I would not quote it,
were it not that you might have a true picture from Rebel sources.
[Footnote 6: Mobile Tribune.]
The newspapers put out bulletins:--
"ENEMY RETREATING! GLORIOUS RESULT!! OUR BOYS FOLLOWING AND
PEPPERING THEIR REAR!! A COMPLETE VICTORY!"
The bell-ringers rang jubilant peals, and the citizens shook hands over
the good news as they went to church. Services had hardly commenced,
when a horseman dashed through the streets, covered with mud, and almost
breathless from hard riding, shouting, "Fort Donelson has surrendered,
and the Yankees are coming!"
The people poured out from the churches and their houses into the
street. Such hurrying to and fro was never seen. Men, women, and
children ran here and there, not knowing what to do, imagining that the
Yankees would murder them. They began to pack their goods. Carts,
wagons, carriages, drays, wheelbarrows,--all were loaded. Strong men
were pale with fear, women wrung their hands, and children cried.
Before noon Generals Floyd and Pillow arrived on steamboats. The people
crowded round the renegade officers, and called for a speech. General
Floyd went out upon the balcony of the hotel, and said:--
"Fellow-Citizens: This is not the time for speaking, but for action. It
is a time when every man should enlist for the war. Not a day is to be
lost. We had only ten thousand effective men, who fought four days and
nights against forty thousand of the enemy. But nature could hold out no
longer. The men required rest, and having lost one third of my gallant
force I was compelled to retire. We have left a thousand of the enemy
dead on the field. General Johnston has not slept a wink for three
nights; he is all worn out, but he is acting wisely. He is going to
entice the Yankees into the mountain gaps, away from the rivers and the
gunboats, and then drive them back, and carry the war into the enemy's
country."[7]
[Footnote 7: Lynchburg Republican.]
General Johnston's army, retreating from Bowling Green, began to pass
through the city. The soldiers did not stop, but passed on towards the
South. The people had thought that General Johnston would defend the
place, the capital of the State; but when they saw that the troops were
retreating, they recklessly abandoned their homes. It was a wild night
in Nashville. The Rebels had two gunboats nearly completed, which were
set on fire. The Rebel storehouses were thrown open to the poor people,
who rushed pell-mell to help themselves to pork, flour, molasses, and
sugar. A great deal was destroyed. After Johnston's army had crossed the
river, the beautiful and costly wire suspension bridge which spanned it
was cut down. It cost two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, and
belonged to the daughters of the Rebel General Zollicoffer, who was
killed at the battle of Mill Springs in Kentucky. The Rebel officers
undertook to carry off the immense supplies of food which had been
accumulated; but in the panic, barrels of meat and flour, sacks of
coffee, hogsheads of sugar were rolled into the streets and trampled
into the mire. Millions of dollars' worth were lost to the Confederacy.
The farmers in the country feared that they would lose their slaves, and
from all the section round they hurried the poor creatures towards the
South, hoping to find a place where they would be secure.
Throughout the South there was gloom and despondency. But all over the
North there was great rejoicing. Everybody praised the brave soldiers
who had fought so nobly. There were public meetings, speeches,
processions, illuminations and bonfires, and devout thanksgivings to
God.
The deeds of the brave men of the West were praised in poetry and song.
Some stanzas were published in the Atlantic Monthly in Boston, which are
so beautiful that I think you will thank me for quoting them.
"O gales that dash the Atlantic's swell
Along our rocky shores,
Whose thunders diapason well
New England's glad hurrahs,
"Bear to the prairies of the West
The echoes of our joy,
The prayer that springs in every breast,--
'God bless thee, Illinois!'
"O awful hours, when grape and shell
Tore through the unflinching line!
'Stand firm! remove the men who fell!
Close up, and wait the sign.'
"It came at last, 'Now, lads, the steel!'
The rushing hosts deploy;
'Charge, boys!'--the broken traitors reel,--
Huzza for Illinois!
"In vain thy rampart, Donelson,
The living torrent bars,
It leaps the wall, the fort is won,
Up go the Stripes and Stars.
"Thy proudest mother's eyelids fill,
As dares her gallant boy,
And Plymouth Rock and Bunker Hill
Yearn to thee, Illinois."
CHAPTER VII.
THE ARMY AT PITTSBURG LANDING.
On the 6th and 7th of April, 1862, one of the greatest battles of the
war was fought near Pittsburg Landing in Tennessee, on the west bank of
the Tennessee River, about twelve miles from the northeast corner of the
State of Mississippi. The Rebels call it the battle of Shiloh, because
it was fought near Shiloh Church. I did not see the terrible contest,
but I reached the place soon after the fight, in season to see the guns,
cannon, wagons, knapsacks, cartridge-boxes, which were scattered over
the ground, and the newly-made graves where the dead had just been
buried. I was in camp upon the field several weeks, and saw the woods,
the plains, hills, ravines. Officers and men who were in the fight
pointed out the places where they stood, showed me where the Rebels
advanced, where their batteries were, how they advanced and retreated,
how the tide of victory ebbed and flowed. Having been so early on the
ground, and having listened to the stories of a great many persons, I
shall try to give you a correct account. It will be a difficult task,
however, for the stories are conflicting. No two persons see a battle
alike; each has his own stand-point. He sees what takes place around
him. No other one will tell a story like his. Men have different
temperaments. One is excited, and another is cool and collected. Men
live fast in battle. Every nerve is excited, every sense intensified,
and it is only by taking the accounts of different observers that an
accurate view can be obtained.
After the capture of Fort Donelson, you remember that General Johnston
retreated through Nashville towards the South. A few days later the
Rebels evacuated Columbus on the Mississippi. They were obliged to
concentrate their forces. They saw that Memphis would be the next point
of attack, and they must defend it. All of their energies were aroused.
The defeat of the Union army at Bull Run, you remember, caused a great
uprising of the North, and so the fall of Donelson stirred the people of
the South.
If you look at the map of Tennessee, you will notice, about twenty miles
from Pittsburg Landing, the town of Corinth. It is at the junction of
the Memphis and Charleston and the Mobile and Ohio Railroads, which made
it an important place to the Rebels.
"Corinth must be defended," said the Memphis newspapers.
[Illustration: PITTSBURG LANDING AND VICINITY.]
Governor Harris of Tennessee issued a proclamation calling upon the
people to enlist.
"As Governor of your State, and Commander-in-Chief of its
army, I call upon every able-bodied man of the State, without
regard to age, to enlist in its service. I command him who
can obtain a weapon to march with our armies. I ask him who
can repair or forge an arm to make it ready at once for the
soldier."
General Beauregard was sent in great haste to the West by Jeff Davis,
who hoped that the fame and glory which he had won by attacking Fort
Sumter and at Bull Run would rouse the people of the Southwest and save
the failing fortunes of the Confederacy.
To Corinth came the flower of the Southern army. All other points were
weakened to save Corinth. From Pensacola came General Bragg and ten
thousand Alabamians, who had watched for many months the little frowning
fortress on Santa Rosa Island. The troops which had been at Mobile to
resist the landing of General Butler from Ship Island were hastened
north upon the trains of the Mobile and Ohio road. General Beauregard
called upon the Governors of Tennessee, Mississippi, Alabama, and
Louisiana for additional troops.
General Polk, who had been a bishop before the war, sent down two
divisions from Columbus on the Mississippi. General Johnston with his
retreating army hastened on, and thus all the Rebel troops in the
Southwestern States were mustered at Corinth.
The call to take up arms was responded to everywhere; old men and boys
came trooping into the place. They came from Texas, Arkansas, and
Missouri. Beauregard labored with unremitting energy to create an army
which would be powerful enough to drive back the Union troops, recover
Tennessee, and invade Kentucky.
General Grant, after the capture of Donelson, moved his army, on
steamboats, down the Cumberland and up the Tennessee, to Pittsburg
Landing. He made his head-quarters at Savannah, a small town ten miles
below Pittsburg Landing, on the east side of the river.
General Buell, who had followed General Johnston through Nashville with
the army of the Ohio, was slowly making his way across the country to
join General Grant. The Rebel generals had the railroads, by which they
could rapidly concentrate their troops, and they determined to attack
General Grant at Pittsburg, with their superior force, before General
Buell could join him. Beauregard had his pickets within four miles of
General Grant's force, and he could move his entire army within striking
distance before General Grant would know of his danger. He calculated
that he could annihilate General Grant, drive him into the river, or
force him to surrender, capture all of his cannon, wagons, ammunition,
provisions, steamboats,--everything,--by a sudden stroke. If he
succeeded, he could then move against General Buell, destroy his army,
and not only recover all that had been lost, but he would also redeem
Kentucky and invade Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois.
All but one division of General Grant's army was at Pittsburg. Two miles
above the Landing the river begins to make its great eastern bend. Lick
Creek comes in from the west, at the bend. Three miles below Pittsburg
is Snake Creek, which also comes in from the west. Five miles further
down is Crump's Landing. General Lewis Wallace's division was near
Crump's, but the other divisions were between the two creeks. The banks
of the river are seventy-five feet high, and the country is a succession
of wooded hills, with numerous ravines. There are a few clearings and
farm-houses, but it is nearly all forest,--tall oak-trees, with here and
there thickets of underbrush. The farmers cultivate a little corn,
cotton, and tobacco. The country has been settled many years, but is
almost as wild as when the Indians possessed the land.
Pittsburg is the nearest point to Corinth on the river. The road from
the Landing winds up the bank, passes along the edge of a deep ravine,
and leads southwest. As you go up the road, you come to a log-cabin
about a mile from the river. There is a peach-orchard near by. There the
roads fork. The left-hand road takes you to Hamburg, the middle one is
the Ridge road to Corinth, and the third is the road to Shiloh Church,
called also the Lower Corinth road. There are other openings in the
woods,--old cotton-fields. Three miles out from the river you come to
Shiloh Church. A clear brook, which is fed by springs, gurgles ov
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