[Illustration: THOS. J. FORD,
Sergeant Company H. Twenty-fourth Wisconsin Infantry.]
WITH THE RANK AND FILE.
INCIDENTS AND ANECDOTES DURING THE WAR OF THE
REBELLION, AS REMEMBERED BY ONE
OF THE NON-COMMISSIONED
OFFICERS.
By THOMAS J. FORD,
SERGEANT COMPANY H, TWENTY-FOURTH WISCONSIN
INFANTRY.
1898.
PRESS OF THE EVENING WISCONSIN CO.,
MILWAUKEE.
COPYRIGHT, 1898,
BY
THOS. J. FORD.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
INCIDENTS AND ANECDOTES 5
ON THE BATTLEFIELD 32
PULPIT AND PRESS 61
THAT LEXINGTON IMPUDENCE 70
SHOULD EDUCATION BE COMPULSORY 77
WASHINGTON AND LINCOLN 82
AS TO PENSIONS 87
DEPARTURE OF THOMAS J. FORD 91
COMMENDED BY HIS SUPERIORS 93
INTRODUCTORY.
MY DEAR READER: Among the many publications which the late war has
drawn forth, I present you with something which you have never read,
nor which has ever been in print, until the issue of this little
book. The sketches contained herein have been carefully revised and
made as brief as possible, with the object of bringing before you the
privations and hardships of the rank and file. A few of the amusing
incidents of life in the army are also chronicled, as they occurred
in Camp, on the March, or on the Battlefield. Papers on compulsory
education, the pulpit and the press, farm life, and one on the merits
of America's two grandest men (George Washington and Abraham Lincoln)
will also be found herein.
THOMAS J. FORD.
Milwaukee, May, 1898.
INCIDENTS AND ANECDOTES.
Sketches of Army Life from the Viewpoint of a Non-Commissioned
Officer During the Rebellion.
An Address Delivered at E. B. Wolcott Post, G. A. R., Hall,
Milwaukee, Wis., November 19, 1897, by Thomas J. Ford.
Commander and Comrades: The history of the late war is generally
known by the whole civilized world; but the history of each private
individual in that conflict is known much less by others than by
myself.
In presenting to you a few sketches of the many incidents and
privations of my army life, you must not expect me, in my humble rank
as private, corporal and sergeant, to give you as broad a view of the
army in which I served as other men of higher rank and station can
give you. My duty was with my company and its immediate surroundings,
as others in the same rank and file.
The Twenty-fourth Wisconsin Regiment was organized in August, 1862,
and on the 8th of October following were engaged in the Battle of
Perryville, Kentucky. Just before starting for the battlefield that
morning (I had not been feeling very well for a week past) I went to
Dr. Hasse, our regimental surgeon, and told him about it.
"Well," he said, "Ford, I don't know what to do for you. All the
medicine is packed away but that five-gallon can of castor oil there.
Just set it on the top of that stump and take a swallow of it."
I did so. "And now," he said, "I will give you an order to have your
luggage carried in the wagon." I packed up everything that I could
get along without, which left nothing on my person but my red shirt,
pants, shoes and cap. We got into battle sooner than was expected.
As we were in the reserve line of battle waiting for orders the
rebel bullets were dropping thick and fast around us, for they were
preparing to charge on one of our batteries. A brigade orderly rode
up to Col. Larrabee, of our regiment, the Twenty-fourth Wisconsin,
and said, "Colonel, the General wants you to march your regiment to
the left of that battery and hold it at all hazards; the rebels are
about to charge on it."
The Colonel was somewhat hard of hearing. He placed his hand to his
ear and said, "What's that, sir?"
The order was repeated. The Colonel answered, "I will, by God,
sir;" and called the regiment to attention. We marched to the left
of that battery in double-quick time. The size and appearance of
the Twenty-fourth Wisconsin swinging into line with ten hundred and
twenty-four men and firing a few volleys of musketry at them checked
the advancing foe and the battery was saved. I was in the front rank
in my company with no coat on and the only red shirt visible in the
regiment. The order was given to fall back about twenty paces to the
rear. We were too far out near the crest of the hill looking down on
the cornfield where the rebels were, but I did not fall back. I was
so interested loading and firing at the rebels down in that cornfield
that I did not hear the command to cease firing or to fall back. The
regiment was ready to fire in its new position, but the command was
not given until the red-shirted man fell back into line. The Colonel
was calling for me. He sent Adjutant McArthur out in front after me,
at the same time calling aloud, "You man with the red shirt, fall
back."
I knew that meant me, so I looked around and saw Adjutant McArthur
galloping to the front and the regiment was back in the rear. Too
quick did I about face and double-quick to my place in the front rank
of my company. That night I lay on the ground with nothing between me
and the blue sky but my shirt, pants, shoes and cap.
Another incident. Just before the Battle of Stone River I received
a box of fine cut chewing and smoking tobacco from an uncle of mine
in Milwaukee. We got orders that night to get ready for the march in
the morning. I did not know what to do with my big box of tobacco,
containing eleven dollars' worth, done up in Milwaukee. A rare thing
to get--Milwaukee tobacco. Some of the company boys helped me to do
it up in packages from fifty cents' worth to a dollar and a half size
packages, and we went around and sold all the tobacco in an hour's
time to officers and privates alike, but got very little money, the
regiment not being paid yet, so we had to trust until pay day. We
got into the fight, however, at daybreak, one gray, frosty morning,
after lying on our arms all night, and our fingers were all benumbed
with the cold and frost. As for myself, I can say that I had to
place my finger on the trigger of the gun with my left hand before
I could bring it up to an aim. The rebels came down on us, colors
flying and in solid column, shouting and hollering as if certain and
sure of victory. We fell back before them. They crowded us into a
cedar woods, where there was nothing but cedar trees and rocks, and
it seemed as if all the birds and rabbits in that large field were
looking for protection around our feet. So thick and fast did the
rebels send their shot and shell after us that you might think it
impossible for a bird to escape them. The rebels had us surrounded
for a while. You could see the rebel officers and orderlies galloping
on their horses in the near distance, urging their men on to make
a complete capture, but we got out of that battle all right, as
history fully explains. When we were in the thickest of this fight
an incident took place about that tobacco I sold on time. A comrade
of mine, James Mangan, formerly a school teacher in the Town of
Franklin (and I was a pupil at his school myself), came near me and
said, "Thomas, this is terrible. It seems impossible for any of us
to escape being killed by those shells and bullets, if they continue
this way much longer." (At the same time I noticed one of the boys
that I sold some tobacco to, on time, drop.)
"Yes," said I. "But what will I do now for the price of my tobacco?
Most of those are killed that I sold it to, and I will never be paid."
"To the devil with you and your tobacco," said he, "if that is what
you are thinking of now, in place of your soul."
We went into that battlefield early in the afternoon, without
anything to eat; lay on our arms all night in line of battle in the
immediate front of the enemy and fought all the next day without
anything to eat or drink. Our supply train was cut off. General
Rosecrans had a large pile of forage corn near his headquarters. The
boys commenced stealing it for food. There was a strong guard placed
around it, and an order issued to give each man one ear of corn as
far as it went until supplies would arrive. In dealing out the corn
the plan was to put one ear of corn into each empty hand as it
reached out. Some got two ears of corn by placing the first behind
their back and thrusting forth the other empty hand. The pile of
corn did not supply one-hundredth part of the vast numbers clustered
around it. We ate the ear of corn, and that was all we had to eat at
that time.
Closing this incident of the Battle of Stone River, I might as well
remark right here that my father and his three sons were in the War
of the Rebellion from 1861-1865, and the first he knew of two of his
sons being in the war and in the Twenty-fourth Wisconsin was after
the Battle of Stone River. He took part in the same battle with
Captain Bridges' battery. Father came to see Col. Larrabee of the
Twenty-fourth Wisconsin with a view of getting his two sons, Daniel
and Thomas, transferred to Bridges' battery, so that we could be
together with him. He told the Colonel about it, and the Colonel said
he would not allow it to be done; they were two good boys and he was
going to keep them.
"But they are my boys," said the old man, "and I want them with me."
"They are not your boys, by God, sir," said the Colonel; "they are my
boys, and I am going to keep them; you cannot have them."
The other son was in the Twenty-fourth Massachusetts Regiment, and
at the Battle of Fredericksburg was shot through the heart while
planting the Stars and Stripes on the rebels' breastworks. The
color-bearer being shot down, he picked up the flag and both he and
the flag lay on the rebels' breastworks, our side being repulsed.
There was a general order one time that our boys should not steal
anything in a certain part of the country where we were located
during Col. Larrabee's command over the regiment. The General ordered
the Colonel that he should punish those two men that were caught as
an example for the rest. I heard the Colonel pronounce the sentence
in these words, as I was standing guard near his tent, "Now, boys,
I have to punish you. I am so ordered by the General. I want you
both to understand that I am not punishing you for stealing, but for
getting caught at it, by God." This seemed to be a common byword of
the Colonel.
General Rousseau had command of our division for a short time near
a place in Tennessee that we addressed our letters from as Camp
Starvation, near Cowan's Station. The citizens were nearly all loyal
to the Union cause. It was a rough, stony and hilly country. They
seemed to have only a few sheep for their meat. The General ordered
that the men should not kill any of those sheep. Shortly after we
broke ranks of course some went off foraging, as usual. They killed
a sheep and dressed it and had it on their shoulders coming back to
camp when they met the General and his staff out reconnoitering.
"Halt those men there," said the General to one of his orderlies,
"and place them under arrest. Take that mutton up to my headquarters
and have it cooked for supper." He released the men on the promise
that they would not do it again. Next day about the same time the
same four boys went out again. They knew where there was a large, fat
Newfoundland dog. They killed him, cut off his head and legs, skinned
and dressed him up nicely in the shape of a mutton. They met the
General nearly in the same place as the day before.
"What, those same men disobeying my orders again? Place those men
under arrest and report their commanding officer. Orderly, take that
mutton to headquarters and tell the cook to hurry up with it for
supper." They ate that mutton for supper, and all declared it sweeter
and better mutton than the one eaten the night before.
Everyone in camp knew what had happened. We had those little dog
tents at that time. The General and staff came galloping down our
company streets the next morning, when every soldier, as if with one
accord, thrust his head out of the little tents and commenced barking
like so many dogs. The horses commenced prancing; the General's hat
fell off; he stuck the spurs into his horse's side, and galloped off
to Col. Larrabee's tent, just in front of him.
"I say, Colonel, what does this mean, your men barking at me like so
many dogs?"
"Well, I don't know, General," said the Colonel, "unless you have
some dog in you."
The General scratched his head and said, "Out-generaled by my own
men. That is the last damned 'order' I will ever issue in this camp."
Col. Larrabee was a good man, but he seemed to get tired of the war
after a certain time when he did not receive a brigadier-generalship,
which he was entitled to by seniority. We were taking a rest one day
under the shade of some trees waiting for orders, lying down full
length, taking the best advantage of the precious moments given us,
when the Colonel raised himself up to a sitting position and said,
"Boys, I brought the Twenty-fourth Wisconsin Regiment into the field
ten hundred and twenty-four men strong. Now I have but three hundred
and sixty men, a regiment that I can take anywhere and feel proud of
them; a regiment that every man of them knows as much if not more
than I do myself."
The orders came to fall in, and right here the curtain drops on
Col. Larrabee. I have never heard of or seen him since. It is true
that a great many different men had their turn in commanding the
Twenty-fourth Wisconsin Regiment, and it is also true that they
were all good men, viz., West, Kennedy, Bombach, Parsons, and last
of all that young and brave boy, Col. McArthur, whose gallantry at
the Battle of Franklin I shall never forget. The rebels had driven
our men out of the breastworks that we were relieved from about an
hour or so before in order to cook some refreshments, for we were
on advance guard duty about 48 hours and were bothered so much
with rebel cavalry that we did not have much time to rest or eat.
Marching into Franklin we were closely followed up, in the rear of
our army, by rebel General Hood's infantry. We stacked arms, after
being "relieved," a quarter of a mile, I should think, from those
breastworks. Our coffee was just beginning to boil and our sow-belly
and crackers frying, when the rebels charged those breastworks and
drove our men out, and followed them up. They came through our
stacked arms and over our fires, upsetting our coffee pots and frying
pans, with the rebels right at their heels and at our stacked arms
as soon as we were. Every one of us was as mad as he could be after
losing his nearly cooked dinner, and we felt as if we could whip
the whole rebel army just at that moment, when Col. McArthur called
out, "Fall in, Twenty-fourth; take arms. Charge. Give um hell, boys.
Give um hell, give um hell, Twenty-fourth." We did "give um hell,"
and drove them back over the breastworks again. When he got the run
on them we commenced shooting as they were jumping back again over
the breastworks, and they'd holler out, "Don't shoot, Yanks. For God
Almighty's sake, don't shoot." Then some of them would get hit and
cry out, "Oh."
We got the breastworks and held them against several attempts to take
them from us, until darkness came and everything was still. About 2
o'clock in the morning, under cover of darkness, after the supply
train and everything was across the river, we stole away out of those
breastworks without making any noise, crossed the river, burned the
bridge and were safe on our journey to Nashville, where ended the
last of our battle of the war.
Right here I will mention a little incident that happened at one of
the rebel attempts to take those breastworks from us at the Battle of
Franklin. Capt. Fillbrooks, of Company D, a very brave man, noticed
one of his men dodging or ducking his head from the noise of the
rebel bullets. "Mike," said the Captain, "quit dodging your head
there. Stand up to it and take it like a man." The word was no sooner
out of the Captain's mouth when a bullet hit him in the middle of
the forehead and laid him out dead. Mike said to him. "Why the devil
in hell don't you stand up and take it like a man." And the word
wasn't out of Mike's mouth when he got a scalp wound on the right
side of his forehead. "Holy Moses," said he, "there is nothing like
the dodging after all. Every time I heard it before I dodged it and
it never hit me."
The day before the Franklin battle we got into a brush with the rebel
cavalry at a place called Spring Hill. The sun was settling down
in the west. They had been picking at us all day, so they prepared
for a charge. We could see the sun glisten on their swords as they
drew sabers. They were on the east of us and charged across that
plain with a seeming determination to play great havoc in our ranks.
But the old First Brigade let them come near enough to give them
one volley of musketry and then came to a charge against cavalry,
the front-rank men standing firmly placed in proper position all
with fixed bayonets. Here they come hollering like demons, carbines
empty, sabers drawn over their heads ready to come down with a cut
and slash, but they couldn't do it. Every man stood firm. The
Twenty-fourth was in the front of the brigade, facing the enemy. They
tried to force their horses to open a gap, but it was impregnable.
They withdrew in disorder. We lay down and our batteries played
havoc with those rebel cavalry. You could see a rebel's head falling
off his horse on one side and his body on the other, and the horse
running and nickering and looking for its rider. Others you could
see fall off with their foot caught in the stirrup and the horse
dragging and trampling them, dead or alive. Others, the horse would
get shot and the rider tumble head over heels, or may be get caught
by his horse falling on them. I used to think before that cavalry
charge what a terrible thing it would be to get into a battle with
cavalry and imagine how they could cut and slash and shoot at us and
trample us down with their horses; but I thought different after
that experience with the rebel cavalry. Why, it is the greatest fun
imaginable in time of war for a solid column of infantry prepared
for the attack to have a cavalry charge on them. The horses won't do
it for the rider, and the rider can do nothing with a body of solid
infantry.
There was a little incident that happened before the Battle of
Chickamauga in a place we called the Devil's Basin, in Georgia. We
had fifty rebel officers and soldiers as prisoners. There was one
rebel captain who was continually cursing and abusing Abe Lincoln and
the Stars and Stripes. I was sergeant of the guard in charge of the
prisoners. The officer of the day gave me orders to have that kind
of language stopped if I had to do it with the point of the bayonet.
I put a new guard on, a man that I knew would stop it. After a while
this rebel captain thought he would make the acquaintance of the new
guard, and asked him what countryman he was. The guard replied with
great emphasis, "My father is an Irishman, and my mother is a Dutch
woman; the damnedist breed that ever lived; and if you don't keep
your mouth shut I'll run this bayonet right through you," at the same
time going right for the rebel captain. The next day we let the rebel
officers go and withdrew from the Devil's Basin towards Chickamauga.
Our line was too long and weak, a great mistake of General Rosecrans.
We were double-quicked into the Battle of Chickamauga on the morning
of September 20, 1863, and filled a gap that was wide open right in
front of a large body of rebel soldiers that was lying on the ground
waiting for orders to go, as it appeared to me, when General Little,
our brave Brigadier-General, led us up within plain sight of them.
General Little was wounded slightly in the arm. The rebels peppered
it into us, as our brave Henry G. Rogers can tell you. Little moved
his line back, which I think was wrong, for it encouraged the rebels
and they came right for us. Just when the new line was formed General
Sheridan rode by in a gallop down the right of the line. In passing
the Twenty-fourth Wisconsin he said a word to General Little and went
on. A limb of a tree brushed off his hat, but he did not stop. One of
his orderlies dismounted and made several attempts before he replaced
the hat on Sheridan's head, Sheridan paying no attention whatever
to the hat business, as it appeared to me. The rebs came for us in
our new line. The firing commenced. Our brigade, General Little, was
right behind our colors. I was between him and the colors. Oh, how
the boys did load and fire. I saw rebels crawling on their hands and
knees through the underbrush to get the Twenty-fourth Wisconsin
flag. They never got the flag, neither did they ever go back. A man
in my company was firing high. I drew his attention to the fact, and
ordered him to aim low.
"Sergeant," said he, "I have a son in the rebel army, and I imagine
he is forninst me out and I don't want to shoot him."
"Well, then, aim low," said I, "and shoot the son of a gun right in
the heart." Strange to say the son deserted the rebels and ate supper
with his father that night.
So determined and persistent was the fight in our part of the line, I
heard a voice behind me saying, "Sergeant, what regiment is this?"
I looked around and saw General Little, and said, "This is the
Twenty-fourth Wisconsin, General."
He commenced falling off his horse and said, "Brave boys, brave boys."
Those were the last words he ever spoke. He had his hand on the pone
of his saddle, and as he was falling his hat fell off, his long
auburn hair hung down, and he seemed to hang on to that saddle with
his right hand until he was nearly to the ground. It is a sight I
will never forget. I then looked to our left, and saw the rebels in
our rear. The troops on our left had left us and we also left. As
we were retreating in pretty good time, one of our boys was just in
front of me, making the best time he could, and I keeping right up
with him, when he was hit and killed. He fell across my track and I
fell on top of him. I thought we were both shot with the same bullet.
I got up again all right and lit out. You could see the rebels and
you could hear the bullets plainer because there was but one side
shooting. The bullets went zip, zip, into the leaves on the ground
and around your ears as thick as bees.
We got down to the turnpike road. General Rosecrans and other
generals were there, and tried to have us halt and form a line and
charge the rebels back. Rosecrans said, "The rebels are defeated and
are retreating at another part of the line, and if you could have
held them here five minutes longer the battle would be ours." Some
stood and listened, and three times as many went on.
The general took off his hat and said, "Boys, form a line here;
there are enough of us to whip those rebels. We have them on the
run in another part of the field. If you won't do it for my sake,
do it for God's sake and for your country's sake." That brought a
great many to halt and ready in line when a rebel solid shot, about a
fifteen-pounder, came along and took off the right hand of one of the
generals and part of the saddle he was resting on. That was seen too
quick. Some one started, and away we went until we found ourselves
near a gap leading into Ringgold.
General Sheridan took command of everything he could find. We got
through the gap and into Chattanooga, and we were not long there
before every man was three feet under ground with a breastwork
against the enemy. We thought they would be right on to us, but they
were too glad to take a rest and too glad to get rid of us, for they
were nearly as badly whipped as we were.
This reminds me of the story of the Irishman and the Georgian who met
and fought until both laid down along side of each other, completely
exhausted. The Irishman threw his hand over on the Georgian's face
and got him by the throat, but the Georgian got the Irishman's thumb
in his mouth. They both held their grip and were found in that
position and taken to the hospital. The Irishman got better first,
but with his hand in a sling on account of his wounded thumb. He went
to see the Georgian, and at first sight greeted him with, "Give me
your hand, be jabers, you're nearly as good a man as meself."
So we went to see the rebels at Mission Ridge, and reminded them
of Chickamauga, and I'll tell you how we did it. The rebels had us
hemmed in in the Valley of Chattanooga for two months and five days,
as near as I can recollect, with railroad and river communication
cut off. Our line was sixteen miles long, the shape of a horseshoe,
with the hind calking resting on the river. We were subjugated to
quarter rations, not knowing how long a time we might be held inside
of that circle. We would draw our quarter rations and eat them up
right away, not having drawn for four days before, and take chances
on foraging or gobbling or in any way that we could pick up anything
to eat. At first we had candles and had some light. We ran out of
candles, and we used grease in a tin can with a rag, a piece of an
old shirt, or anything that would answer the purpose of a wick, to
make light. After a while we ran out of grease. So whatever was left
of the grease and wick in the old tin cans was thrown away and we
did without light. After a while, when hunger began to pinch me very
severely, I hunted up the old tin can that belonged to my messmates
and myself, and I found it with considerable grease in it, mixed
with some flies and the old rag wick. I ate them all and relished
them very much at the time, but did not have very much appetite for
my next quarter ration. I will say right here that if every soldier
inside that line was asked to volunteer to drive the rebels off
Mission Ridge there would be but one answer, and that would be, "I
will go, let me go." Such was the feeling of the troops hemmed in in
the Valley of Chattanooga. Every man was healthy and hungry, could
run a race or turn a somersault. General Grant noticed that when he
ordered a general review; that is what it turned out to be, but the
order was not given in that shape. The order was, "Be ready to march
tomorrow, at such an hour, in light marching order." We went out in
the valley right at the edge of the timber near Orchard Knob and
had a fine general review. General Bragg commenced concentrating his
troops. He thought the Yankees were coming. A widow woman, at whose
house he had his headquarters, asked him if he didn't think it better
for her to move her family away from there to Ringgold. He said, "No,
there were not Yankees enough in all Christendom to take that ridge."
When the review was over Grant ordered each commander to march his
command to camp. The next week Grant had that same review over
again. It annoyed Bragg as before. Review over with, we marched
to camp again. The next week we got orders to get ready for the
march to-morrow morning, heavy marching order, with eighty rounds
of ammunition. Every man knew what that meant. Everybody knew we
were going to take that ridge, or at least make the attempt, but
the rebel General Bragg said it was nothing but that damned Yankee
review again. The orders came from Grant after he had his lines
all arranged, that when six cannons were fired in succession,
1-2-3-4-5-6, the whole line was to advance and take the first line
of rebel breastworks. There is no doubt in my mind but that Grant
thought that sufficiently far enough to go; with Hooker on Lookout
Mountain; our communications opened up; with boatloads and carloads
of supplies arriving, the rebels would not be very likely to hang
onto Mission Ridge any very great length of time. We (the first
brigade of Sheridan's division) were near those cannons, however,
that gave the order to advance, and we went clear up to the top of
the Ridge. We were after something to eat, and we got it, too. All
the generals in the Union army could not stop us if they tried to
after we got started up that Ridge. I remember in crossing the first
line of trenches some of our boys fired into the trenches, and I
made the remark that it was cowardly, but we went on, on and up.
The color-bearer of Company C, with the colors, myself and Nelson
of Company H were the first men upon that Ridge in the line of our
brigade. The first thing I did after the rebels skedaddled was to
grab a full haversack and jerk it off a wounded rebel captain's neck.
He was shot in the shoulder and his hand lay on the mouth of the
haversack on the down-hill side. I opened it and divided its contents
with my comrades in the immediate vicinity. It was saturated with
the rebel captain's blood, but we ate it all the same.
Mission Ridge was ours. The rebels were running down the other side
of the Ridge and we shouted "Chickamauga, Chickamauga." The sun was
just going down, beautiful and bright. It was a splendid sight to
witness. In a short time General Sheridan made his appearance. At
sight of the General, the boys clustered around him and commenced
cheering that gallant commander. Some shouted for hard-tack, some for
sow-belly and some for beef, while others shouted for whisky.
The General raised his hat off his head until silence prevailed,
and said, "Boys, in less than two hours' time you will have all the
hard-tack, all the sow-belly and all the beef you want; as for the
whisky I can't say yet for sure."
And in less than that time the boats and railroad cars were unloaded
without any detail being made for that purpose. There were sixteen
hundred head of cattle driven up on that Ridge, and in an hour's time
they were in the frying pan. You could see men as far as the eye
could reach, several lines of them, with boxes of crackers on their
shoulders. Sheridan made his word good, with the exception of the
whisky. He advised with the surgeon-general, and he said, "No whisky,
General. Your men will eat enough, and perhaps too much, without
whisky;" and true enough, some died eating that night. You might wake
up any time in the night and see men cooking and eating. A great many
of us flung our blankets away coming up the Ridge. When it was time
to lie down I went back to the battlefield for a blanket. The moon
was full and shining bright. I found nothing to suit till I came to
a rebel Colonel who had a fine, large, gray overcoat with large cape
and trimmed with gold braid. I rolled him over and took it off; took
it to camp under my arm thinking, "Now I will have something fine
and warm to put about me;" but, alas! when I got nicely settled down
for sleep I could not sleep. The thoughts of lying under that rebel
overcoat and taking it off him in that lonely battlefield, overcame
me. The way he appeared to me in the bright light of the moon made
me think that I was robbing my dead enemy, when he was helpless to
defend himself, and no witness to the action but the sweet silver
moon. My heart filled with emotion and I got up and took it back and
laid it over him, then returned to my company and lay down under a
part of my comrade's blanket, and immediately went to sleep with a
full ration in my stomach.
So ended the Battle of Mission Ridge, and the boys all felt happy.
And let me say right here that those few sketches of mine are not
dreams, nor misty recollections of the past. It is not a play that
you might read of in your parlor, or see acted on the stage with fine
sceneries and blue and red lights; but it is a living actuality--a
play that we all had a hand in ourselves with a pure and manly
motive--to save our country and protect our country's flag.
ON THE BATTLEFIELD.
From Chickamauga to the Close of the War--Wounded at Adairsville,
Ga.--Nourished by a Union Woman.
An Address Delivered at E. B. Wolcott Post, G. A. R., Hall,
Milwaukee, Wis., by Thomas J. Ford, March 11th, 1898.
Commander and Comrades: Those pages that I have here to-night are a
continuation of the past, and take in all my recollections in brief;
and, in giving you those few more sketches of the incidents and
privations of my army life, I will tell you, in my humble way, of an
incident that happened shortly after we were driven into Chattanooga.
After the Battle of Chickamauga, so many men were told off from each
regiment to build up Fort Wood, detailed for fatigue duty. We worked
hard that day. An order came around when the day's work was done that
General Sheridan was going to give us all a ration of whisky. We fell
in in two ranks, with our tin cups, in double-quick time. The whisky
came around in buckets, full. It was measured out with a small tin
cup emptied into our larger ones. I got my ration and drank it. My
brother Daniel was standing in the rear of me. He never drank liquor
nor used tobacco. The commissary man ordered him to put out his cup
and take his ration. Brother told him he didn't drink any and didn't
want any. I turned around quick, and said, "Draw your ration, Dan,
and give it to me." He did so, and I was very much pleased to get
it. The boys in the line looked over each other's shoulders to see
me drink the double ration of whisky, and one said to the other, "My
God, I wish I had a brother in the army that didn't drink."
At a place called Buzzard Roost, perhaps better known in history as
Rocky Face, the rebels were protected by natural breastworks and
could not be driven away from in front. After several attempts a
movement was made on their flank by General Kilpatrick's cavalry.
The rebels soon discovered the movement and left from our front. At
the time that General Howard was viewing through his field glass,
Kilpatrick's cavalry were speeding to the rebels' right around by
the valley road. He felt something touch him, and looking down he
saw a bullet hole through his boot leg, which evidently had been
aimed at him by some one in a much higher location than where he was
standing, and, turning his glasses in that direction, he discovered
a rebel up in a tree. Seeing the movements up there through the
leaves, Howard sent after a couple of his sharpshooters. They took
in the situation. Mr. Rebel kept very still, thinking perhaps he
might not be discovered, but our boys got a bead on him. They let
go their sharpshooting rifles. There was an "Oh!" and a scrambling
and a shaking of the leaves and branches, and finally down comes the
rebel's gun and next himself. Upon examination it was found that he
had tied his arm with his handkerchief to a limb of the tree so as to
steady himself while he was taking aim. The handkerchief became loose
in the struggle, but remained around his arm as he fell.
As we advanced through those natural breastworks of rocks some of
our men that were killed were lying just at the opposite side of the
rock from the rebels and were stripped of their clothing. When we
were advancing on this rocky mountain the rebs pried loose a great
many of those large rocks and started them rolling down on us, but
we went up another direction, and marched about a week, picketing
and skirmishing until the rebels made a stand at Resaca, which was
a very hard fight. We advanced in line of battle to within a short
distance of the rebels' breastworks, where we halted. There were
two cedar rail fences, ten rails high with a stake and rider, right
alongside of each other. It was evident that the owners of the land
disputed the boundaries, or would not join fences with each other,
consequently each one built and maintained his own fence on his
own land, just inside the line. We took advantage of that piece of
contrariness, however, and soon pulled down both fences and piled
them up into one. They made us a fine breastwork. We were in close
quarters to the rebels; we could see them plainly and they could
see us. I remember in the part of the breastwork where I was we had
a thin cedar rail on top. Two rebel bullets struck that rail and
went through it and dropped down just as I raised my head from it
to fire--a very close call for me. It was very wet weather. The
ground was uneven and rough, all mud and slush. When firing ceased at
night some of us lay down to sleep, while others stayed on duty in
the breastworks. I rolled two dead comrades together where I wanted
to lie down and another who was not quite dead was rolled crossways
over their heads for a pillow. I slept very comfortably, with the
exception of being disturbed once in a while from a hiccough or
movement of muscles or peculiar noises coming from my pillow. On the
right of us the battlefield took fire and burned a great many of our
men, dead or wounded, that were lying there. It was a piece of open
land where the grass was very thick the year before, and was neither
pastured nor cut off.
A few days previous to going into this fight we went through a very
plentiful country. We halted for camp one evening. Some from every
command, the same as usual, struck off foraging. They commenced
coming in after a while with hams and chickens. I remember by brother
Dan and myself asked some one about the hams, and they said you might
as well have one, they will be all gone anyway. And so we struck out
and soon found the smoke-house. I made a rush in. There was just
one shoulder left. I grabbed it, and in going by the house the woman
was standing at the door crying, and said that was the last piece of
meat, and what would she and her children do now. Brother Dan and I
agreed to give it to her. She put it under her bed. We went to camp
empty-handed; had plenty to eat of government rations and felt and
slept better than if we had taken the meat from the widow.
We had a hard march the next day. When we camped that evening my feet
were very painful, with scalding blisters, and as I was very tired I
went down to a stream near by, took off shoes and socks, rolled my
pants above my knees, sat down on the bank of the stream and placed
my feet in the cool, running water. Oh, but it did feel refreshing.
I lay down on my back with my feet in that position, placed my hands
under my head and fell asleep; was in that position until the cool
of the morning began to break on me. I woke up much refreshed and no
pain or soreness in my feet.
I remember in marching through Huntsville, Alabama, about 11 o'clock
A. M., our band struck up the tune of "Away Down South in Dixie."
The regiment was at a right shoulder shift arms, with fixed bayonets.
The sergeants walked on the sidewalks, marching right in front, every
man keeping perfect step. A woman was sitting on her door step with
her elbows on her knees, and holding a pan of potatoes in her hands
that she had just strained the water from preparatory to putting them
on the fire to cook for dinner. I noticed they were a different kind
of potato from what I had ever seen, and politely asked her, "Please,
madam, what do you call those potatoes?"
She made answer in a very sarcastic manner, saying, "I don't call
them at all; they come without calling." The next sergeant to me,
Charles Powers by name, a big, able fellow about six feet two inches
in height, raised his right foot, and never losing his step to the
music, hit the pan a kick, and pan and potatoes flew out on the
street on top of the regiment, at the same time saying, "Now, damn
you, see if they'll come without calling." The regiment charged on
the potatoes and came to right shoulder arms again with a potato on
top of their bayonets, and not one potato was lost. We marched into
camp and cooked them, and Charley said to me, "Ford, you are a hell
of a man to let that rebel talk to you in that way."
"Well, how could I prevent her talking? I didn't know what she was
going to say; but I'll tell you, Charley, I am mighty glad I didn't
get that kick."
We were going into camp one evening, and in passing by a farm-house
our Chaplain noticed a lot of nice chickens. He called his
servant--Sandy was his name for short. "Sandy, here is a quarter, go
over there to that house and buy a chicken; we will have a chicken
for supper. If they don't want to sell you any of their chickens
don't you gobble any; don't you steal any of their chickens, Sandy."
The Chaplain rode away a short distance and called after Sandy,
saying, "Now, Sandy, be sure and have a chicken for supper." It is
needless to say Sandy got the chicken and the quarter, too.
This Chaplain resigned. The marching and camping out were too severe
on his delicate constitution. He was not a very rugged man. Our next
chaplain was a drafted man, a wealthy farmer, one of the first men
that had the thoroughbred short-horn cattle imported to this state
from England. He created an influence over James T. Lewis, then
Governor of Wisconsin, and received from the Governor a commission as
Chaplain of the Twenty-fourth Wisconsin. The boys did not appreciate
this drafted man as a chaplain, but rather took it as an offense to
have a drafted man sent down South to preach to them when he should
have been sent with a musket. I will say right here that this man
did no more good for the Twenty-fourth Wisconsin than Billy Bray,
the jackass who to this day stands on the list of drafted men as
forming one of the quota of Maryland. The boys became determined
to rout him by scaring him and making him think that they might do
him bodily harm. We had a flag pole. We hoisted the flag every day
and took it down at night. One morning the Chaplain got up after a
very pleasant night's sleep, as he told me when he came to my tent,
seemingly under great excitement, telling me that there were burglars
in his tent last night, and he never knew it until he awoke in the
morning, and found his chair, his table, little writing desk and
sheet iron heating stove, pipe and all, had been taken from his
tent. Being intimately acquainted with me, having known me since I
was a little boy, he asked me if I would go with him in search of his
stolen furniture. I did. We went up and down every company street,
waking them up and inquiring as we went along, but to no avail. No
information whatever could we get of the stolen furniture. We gave up
the search and came back by regimental headquarters. In passing by
the flag pole--it was early in the morning and the flag hadn't been
hoisted yet--I happened to look up, and lo! what was there?
"My God, Chaplain, look. What's on top of that pole? Look at your
furniture up there."
He looked up and cried out in solemn and fervent prayer, with hands
extended upwards, "Thanks be to God on high that it ain't myself that
is hanging up there this morning."
There were no arrests made. The Chaplain sent in his resignation. It
was accepted.
This Chaplain introduced prayer meeting in Company D's tent one
night. We had fire-places in the tents, with chimneys built of mud
and sticks on the outside. You could reach your hand to the top of
the chimney from the ground. John Mahan was stretched on his bunk;
Andy O'Neil had one leg of his pants off, sewing a rip; he had a very
long thread in the needle. The Chaplain knelt down close by Andy and
asked Mahan if he would not join in prayer. Mahan said he was tired
and wanted rest.
"And don't you want me to pray for you?" asked the Chaplain.
"Oh, yes, pray for me all you have a mind to," said Mahan.
The Chaplain prayed. Each time O'Neil put a stitch in his pants,
in drawing the thread its full length brought his hand in close
proximity to the Chaplain's face. He was seemingly very much
interested in repairing his trousers.
The Chaplain asked, "Now, Andy, don't you feel the spirit of God
coming within you?"
"No," said Andy, drawing his thread its full length with his hand
against the Chaplain's face, "and I don't think it will come while
the devil is so close to me." At the same time the boys outside
dropped two or three bunches of cartridges down the chimney into the
fire inside. R-r-r-r-rapp-zip-zip-zip, went the cartridges like a
volley of musketry. The Chaplain sprang from his knees, made a rush
for the door and then outside, saying, "Sure enough, I believe the
devil is in that tent."
We drove the Confederate General Anderson across the river at a
place called Loudon, Tennessee. He burnt the bridge after his troops
and supplies had crossed it. The picket lines of both armies were
stationed on both sides of the river. An armistice was agreed upon.
Firing ceased, so the boys might go in bathing. Every day we would
swim out further, and so would the rebels. We came pretty close
together one day, so close that we dashed water into each other's
faces and ducked one another under the water, and about faced and
swam to shore, when a big rebel dived under the water and came up
in our ranks and swam to shore with us. He was taken to General
Sheridan's headquarters, naked as he was born. They clothed him and
sent him to New York, the only chance he said he ever had to get
away. Being down South before the war he was held and forced into the
rebel ranks; but that stopped the bathing in the river. The armistice
was withdrawn. If you would show your face after that you would hear
a bullet whistle.
Captain Parsons had charge of the Twenty-fourth Wisconsin at this
place. An order came from headquarters for a sergeant to take charge
of a detail of men to be sent out in the country with a foraging
train of wagons, mules and drivers and wagon master to gather in
all the wheat from the farmers' granaries and haul it to a grist
mill that General Sheridan had confiscated to grind flour for his
army. The order fell on me, because it was my turn to go on detail.
I reported at Sheridan's headquarters, and he himself gave me
instructions what to do. My detail of men was soon ready, and we
started with our wagons and wagon master out to the mill, and the
next day commenced hauling in the wheat. I was very much interested
in that business, having been raised on a farm. With some of the
farmers we had a great deal of trouble to get them to open their
granaries peaceably, especially those who were rebels. We ground
forty barrels a day. It was a water-power mill. Every night I was
offered greenback money for flour, but never took a cent. They would
tell sorrowful stories about their little children starving. I
would tell them that their little children were of no consequence
when compared with the condition of thirty thousand men stationed in
Loudon waiting for this flour. "Go and see Sheridan; he may give you
some." The owner of the mill was in the mill office in the daytime
when the wheat was brought in. I signed the vouchers for the number
of bushels of wheat weighed and ground into flour, and that, with the
supplies we had, furnished plenty of food. Every farmer that we took
wheat from had the miller's signature and mine attached to his order
on General Sheridan, and if he proved his loyalty to the Union he got
spot cash, or its equivalent, for his wheat. My work being over, I
received an order one morning to report at Sheridan's headquarters.
We got into camp in the afternoon and formed a line in front of the
General's tent. I found him inside and reported. He said, "You have
done very well, sergeant; you deserve a promotion. Have your men
break ranks right where they are and go to your respective quarters."
I did not think any more about it. I simply was glad that I pleased
the General and did my duty. In returning to the regiment I found
Col. MacArthur in command. I learned that Capt. Parsons would not
give up his command of the regiment to MacArthur until he got orders
to do so from General Sheridan, which were promptly given.
Liquor was plenty around Loudon, but at very high prices. One man
paid $10 for a canteen full. He became disorderly and wanted to shoot
somebody. He was court-martialed and sent to Dry Tortugas. I learned
afterwards that he was pardoned and came home. The bridge across the
river that the rebels burned was rebuilt by government employes with
the assistance of the pioneer corps, and we crossed to the opposite
side on another campaign. Our regimental bakers at this place turned
out several loaves of bread with an old chew of tobacco in the center
of the loaf.
From Resaca we followed up the rebel General, Johnston, and came
very close to his rear guard at a place called Calhoun, Georgia. We
crowded them very closely. The next day Johnston had his advanced
troops stop at Adairsville and build breastworks of logs and earth,
and located themselves in the houses, while the main army passed
through and formed ready for battle. We followed them right up, but
we suddenly came to a halt. They were ready for us. Johnston managed
his retreat with good generalship from Resaca. We could not budge
them. We marched across the road into a field by the right flank,
right in front, towards the rebels' left, when Col. MacArthur gave
the command "By the left flank, charge." When I was in the act of
executing the command I got a broadsider in the left jaw bone. The
bullet struck me in the lower angle of the jaw, breaking the bone
at that place, and coursed downwards, inside the collarbone, and
lodged in the cavity of the chest. Dr. Hasse, our regimental surgeon,
treated me on the battlefield. I remember he cut my accoutrements
with his knife and left them on the ground, cut the string of my
blanket, spread it out and laid me on it.