That night, as the boys lay in line of battle, they discussed the
doings of the day.
“Say, Will, how did you feel to be in battle today?”
“Well, Jim, the greatest strain was waiting in line of battle, either
for an advance or to receive the enemy’s charge when I could do
nothing, and hearing the booming of cannon and rattle of musketry in
other parts of the battle field, I felt as though my heart was in
my mouth, and there came a desire to run for a place of safety; but
after we got into action, amid the smoke, dirt, excitement and noise,
I forgot where my heart was and had no desire to run; fear had been
displaced by a savage instinct to inflict injury on the enemy.”
Many have tried to explain the feeling while on the battle field, and
it is probable that a battle affects men in different ways. However,
we think Will’s description of the feeling is about right.
Late Saturday night we bivouacked near the firing line without fire and
very little to eat. The ground was covered with snow and ice and the
weather very cold.
Captain Johnson, of Company F, had his feet frozen so badly he never
could wear his boots again, but, instead, wore a pair of large army
brogans.
Fatigue parties were detailed to search for and bring in the wounded;
this labor extending throughout the night, the surgeons never rested
and there was no distinction between the blue and the gray.
As the Union army on this dreary Saturday night rested in bivouac close
in front of the enemy’s works, the moans of the wounded could be heard,
and here and there flickering lights moved through the woods on errands
of mercy.
Mother Bickerdike, a nurse with the Union army, was out on the battle
field with her lantern, groping among the dead, stooping down and
turning their cold faces towards her, she scrutinized them earnestly,
uneasy lest some might be wounded and left to die uncared for. How
many poor fellows, sick and wounded, have been ministered to by her
loving hands, and the soldiers of the Army of the Tennessee, who loved
Mother Bickerdike, have said over and over again, “God bless Mother
Bickerdike.”
One incident has come down to us which shows how she loved her boys.
One morning, visiting one of the wards in a certain field hospital
at about 11 o’clock a. m., she found the poor fellows had had no
breakfast; the doctor in charge, had not been present to make out the
special diet list for each one, he having been out on a spree the night
before. The doctor came in just as Mother Bickerdike learned the facts
and she went for him.
“You miserable scoundrel; here these men, any one of them worth a
thousand of you, are suffered to starve and die, because you want to be
off on a drunk. Pull off your shoulder straps, for you shall not stay
in the army a week longer!”
The doctor laughed at her, but within three days she had caused his
discharge. He went to General Sherman to be reinstated.
The General said: “Who caused your discharge?”
“Why,” said the doctor, hesitatingly, “I suppose it was that woman,
Mrs. Bickerdike.”
“Oh,” said General Sherman. “Well, if it was she, I can do nothing for
you; she ranks me.”
During the night, while we boys were trying to keep from freezing and
wondering what the morrow would bring forth, the Confederate Generals
held another council of war, deciding they could not hold out longer
against Gen. Grant’s army, and would surrender.
Colonel Forrest (who commanded the cavalry) during the council arose
and said: “I will not surrender my command or myself,” and left the
council. During the night, or early morning, he and his command escaped
by wading the river on our extreme right, which was unprotected by the
Union forces.
Colonel Forrest was a brave man and a terrible fighter, as our troops
afterwards learned on numerous occasions.
The two senior Generals of the Confederates turned the command over to
Gen. S. B. Buckner, who somewhat scornfully notified his colleagues,
that if they proposed to escape they must do so speedily, for after he
should open negotiations with General Grant no one would be allowed to
leave the fort.
I have always admired General Buckner for declining to leave, claiming
as he did, that it was honorable to stay with his soldiers.
During the night or early morning, Gen. Buckner sent a note, under a
flag of truce, to Gen. Grant, asking an armistice to arrange terms of
surrender.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Gen. Grant wrote the following answer,
probably one of the finest specimens of energetic war literature in
military history.
“No terms other than an unconditional and immediate surrender can be
accepted. I propose to move immediately upon your works.”
Upon the receipt of this, Gen. Buckner promptly returned his answer of
acceptance.
From this time on during the war, Gen. U. S. Grant was known as
“Unconditional Surrender Grant.”
Will kept a diary and we are permitted to quote from it:
“Soon after daybreak (Sunday, February 16, 1862) we heard great
cheering by the troops along the line and presently orderlys came
galloping towards us, swinging their caps and proclaiming the news of
the surrender of the fort. Did we shout? Well, if we didn’t use our
lungs then we never did. Hip! Hip! Hurrah! from every man in blue.
The victory was ours and we rejoiced over the fall of the Confederate
stronghold.”
The Union loss was about 2,400, and the Confederate loss was 2,000
killed and wounded, besides 15,000 prisoners and munitions of war.
Presently the order to march was given and we marched into Fort
Donelson with bands playing and colors flying. It was a grand sight,
as regiment after regiment poured in with their flags floating gayly
in the wind, and the brass hands playing, “Hail Columbia,” “Yankee
Doodle,” etc., in such style as the gazing captives had never heard
even in the palmy days of peace.
The Confederates were drawn up in line with their guns thrown down, and
with a woebegone, sullen, downhearted look they watched our parading.
[Illustration: Charge of the 8th Missouri and 11th Indiana Regiments,
led by General Lew Wallace, at Fort Donelson]
A few of them told us they were forced into the army and did their
fighting unwillingly. We did not believe a word of it. We marched
to the large fort next to the river and planted our colors upon the
ramparts and then camped inside the fort. The prisoners were very
anxious to know what their fate was to be. They were assured they would
be taken north and kept as prisoners of war until exchanged.
Gen. Lew Wallace was the first inside the works, and going to the
Confederate headquarters was met by Gen. Buckner, who invited him to
breakfast, which invitation was accepted, the bill of fare being coffee
and corn bread.
The fall of Fort Donelson was the first great and valuable victory won
by the Union armies during the war. When the news flashed through the
loyal states, the people went wild with enthusiasm. Salutes were fired,
joy bells rung, flags displayed everywhere, and the people asked one
another: “Who is this Grant, and where did he come from?” Before the
war closed the people found out who Grant was and what was in him.
There were others in the battle of Donelson, who, afterwards became
famous. There was our gallant Illinois soldiers, Colonel John A. Logan,
the “Black Eagle” of Egypt; the bluff old Colonel Richard Oglesby, both
of whom became Major Generals, and after the war served in the United
States Senate from the State of Illinois. Then Gen. Lew Wallace, of
Indiana, the noted author of “Ben Hur,” and Colonel John A. Rawlins,
of Galena, Ill., chief of staff of Gen. Grant, who, afterwards became
Secretary of War under Grant, and many others.
In speaking of Colonel Oglesby, we must give you an old story about him
which happened while he was in command of the 8th Illinois Regiment.
One day while the regiment was in camp, two of the drum corps went
into the woods to practice, and, while practicing, a nice fat pig
came nosing around. The temptation to the drummers was too great; the
pig was caught and slaughtered, but now the thought came to them: “How
shall we get into camp without discovery.” A happy idea, “Let’s put
him in the big drum.” So the head of the drum was taken off and Mr.
Pig safely stowed away, and they arrived at camp. The regiment was on
dress parade when they arrived at camp. The Colonel was vexed at their
absence, and as soon as he saw them, sternly ordered them to take
their places with the music. The drummers did not know what to do, but
one of them went up to the Colonel, and, in an under tone, told him
the situation, winding up with, “We ’low, Colonel, to bring the best
quarter over to your mess.” The Colonel thundered out: “Sick, hey! Why
didn’t you say so at first. Go to your quarters, of course. Battalion
right face, to your quarters, march.” The Colonel had fresh pork for
supper.
After the fall of Fort Donelson, the people of the North believed that
it would be but a short time until the rebellion would be put down, and
we boys could go home. Captain Johnson wrote home: “I believe it won’t
be over three months now until the rebellion will be squelched and we
shall be permitted to go home.”
Yes, we boys thought then that we had broken the backbone of the
rebellion, and that the war would soon be over. How badly mistaken we
were history proves. It was but the beginning of a terrible four years
of battle and bloodshed ere the end came.
SHILOH