infested it, and to care for the refugees from Chattanooga and other
places in the rear of the army, who had lost their means of gaining a
livelihood. We supported the refugees by forced levies of corn and bacon
from the wealthy planters of the vicinity, while our mounted force soon
disposed of the guerrillas, capturing a number and frightening the rest
out of the county. We had a novel way of administering justice. For
instance, about two months after our arrival a number of these young
offenders, whose parents lived in the vicinity and were substantial
farmers, stole from a citizen mules valued at $400. The Colonel
immediately assessed the amount on the fathers, and with the money thus
collected paid for the mules. That was our policy all through--to make
the wealthy Confederates pay for the damage done by their lawless
colleagues. And this method had a good effect, for it soon put an end to
the thievery.
Shortly after we arrived, our mounted men captured a Confederate officer
named Boone, a grandson of the famous Daniel. On him was found a list of
all the guerrillas in the county. When I examined him, he told me that
he had been sent to muster these fellows into the Confederate army; but
his plans were spoiled. Instead he went to Johnson's Island, a prisoner,
and his little memorandum book remained in my possession.
Among the names on the list were those of two Miller boys, whose mother
and sister lived in town. The Captain of our mounted men, and several
other officers, boarded with the family, for the people in Fayetteville
were usually glad to take in Union officers as boarders, in order that
they might secure from our rations the otherwise unobtainable luxuries
of sugar and coffee. Several days after the capture of Boone's list, the
Captain brought in both of the young Millers as prisoners. They were
forwarded to Corps headquarters at Tullahoma. The elder, instead of
being sent North as a prisoner of war, was tried by court martial and
sentenced to be hanged in the public square of Fayetteville. That did
not suit some of us; so we found means to send Mrs. Miller to
Shelbyville, where she secured Judge Cooper, a well-known Unionist and
former member of Congress, to go to Washington, and lay the case before
President Lincoln. It was well known that no death sentence was ever
executed with the President's consent, if there was any reasonable
excuse for avoiding it. His usual magnanimity did not fail in this case,
and the boy was sent North as an ordinary prisoner of war.
When the President's amnesty proclamation was issued, we were given the
duty of reorganizing Lincoln County under its provisions. I was
appointed provost marshal, and in that position administered oaths of
allegiance to several thousand repentant and unrepentant Secessionists.
When the election was held, returns were made to me, and by me
tabulated, and sent to the military governor at Nashville. Commissions
were then issued by him to the officials who had been elected, so that
when we left, the county was ready to resume civil government.
In administering the oath of allegiance, the demand for blanks was so
great that the ordinary sources could not furnish a sufficient supply.
It was necessary, therefore, for me to open a printing office. So I took
possession of an old printing establishment, and set several men to
work. The press was broken down and the type badly "pi'd"; but we soon
had the machinery repaired, and by combining the stock of three printing
offices, secured sufficient type to run our establishment with success.
In addition to these other duties, I had to listen to everyone in the
county who sought redress for a grievance of any kind. Some had had
horses taken by our army, or by bushwhackers; some had been robbed of
money or other valuables; some wanted permits to carry firearms, which
were of course never granted; and others needed assistance from the
Government to keep from starving. One man came with a case parallel to
that of the woman who wanted a "pass to raise geese." He wanted a "pass
to raise a crup." I told him to go on and raise his crop, or do whatever
he pleased, so long as he remained loyal to the Government. He said his
neighbors had told him he could not raise a crop without a permit from
the Federals, and that every man who took the oath of allegiance was
branded in the forehead with the letters "U. S."
One day a woman came to me, who said she had heard that we paid $10,000
to the widows of men killed by guerrillas. I explained to her that we
had done that only for the widows of three Union soldiers. I told her,
however, that if she could give me any information about where the
guerrillas could be found, we would capture and punish them. She said
she did not know, but that she had heard some shots in the woods. She
had not seen her man since, and she was sure they had killed him. After
parleying awhile she started out of the door. But before she went out,
she turned and called back to me, "That ai'nt the wust of 't; they stole
my old mare, too!"
When we first arrived at Fayetteville not a person was to be seen on the
streets, although before the war it had been a place of 2,000
inhabitants. There was not a vestige of any kind of business left in the
town. Even the stores and taverns were vacant. The people soon made
their appearance, however, when they found that we had come to stay, and
before very long we had established the most friendly relations with
them. By the time we were ready to leave, almost every family in town
had its friends among the soldiers. They were very sociable, and always
seemed glad to have the Federal officers call on them. The young ladies
would sing and play the piano beautifully, and make things quite
homelike for us after the routine of the day's work. Twenty years later,
while passing through Fayetteville on my way to Atlanta, I received
courtesies from a citizen who only knew me by reputation as one of the
officers of the Third Wisconsin.
It was curious to see what a difference slavery had made in the social
life of these people. Everywhere work was considered disgraceful for
a white man, and as only the occupation of the "nigger." In order
to succeed socially, it was necessary to own slaves. The idea of
hiring labor, or of being rich without negroes, was apparently
incomprehensible. And in fact it was true that all of the people who had
obtained any sort of success, intellectually or otherwise, had owned
slaves.
Most of the men who resided in the vicinity had served in the
Confederate army. Some had been discharged on account of wounds or
sickness, while others, and probably most of them, had deserted when
they became sure that the fight was hopeless.
My office was a common resort for these people after they had taken the
oath of amnesty. They would sit around by the hour, and spin their yarns
about the Confederate service. The recent deserters had to be sent to
headquarters at Tullahoma for examination; and as we could communicate
only with a strong escort, I would sometimes have half a dozen of them
paroled to report to me daily until I could arrange to send on a party.
In all my dealings with these people, I found scarcely any who really
desired the success of the Union cause. There were plenty of them,
probably the majority, who thought the Confederacy a failure, and wished
to get back into the Union on the best possible terms; but they still
clung to their old ideas. However, that did not interfere with our
friendship and the good time that we had while we were there. And when
the day at length came when we were obliged to leave, I think that they
really were, as they professed to be, sorry at our going. And well they
might be, for the regiment of Tennessee Union Cavalry, that occupied the
town after we left, proceeded at once to kill several of the most
prominent men who had not taken the amnesty oath, and at least one who
had.
On the morning of April 28, 1864, we said farewell to our Fayetteville
friends and started out on the campaign which a year later was to end at
Raleigh, North Carolina, with the surrender of Johnston's army and the
end of the war. With us was a company of Tennessee Union Cavalry,
commanded by Captain Brixey, which had been sent to Lincoln County to
hunt bushwhackers. On leaving Fayetteville they had taken a horse
belonging to Judge Chilcote, a prominent citizen, who had been of much
assistance to me in the provost marshal's office in restoring civil
government, and who had at the election been chosen county clerk. The
Judge followed us, and asked to have his horse restored. Colonel Hawley
of our Regiment at once compelled Captain Brixey to give it up. He did
so with apparent reluctance, and then secretly sent a number of his men
over a by-road to intercept the Judge on his return and kill him. This
cowardly deed accomplished, the men rejoined their command. Brixey then
pushed on ahead to Tullahoma, and on the next day left for the
mountains of East Tennessee. The murder was reported to us that night.
The Colonel sent back Captain Gardner with his mounted men to
investigate, but the murderers had fled as soon as their deed became
known, and nothing more could be done. After this outrage, Brixey never
dared to rejoin our army. Some time later he was killed by Confederates
in northwestern Georgia.
During our stay at Fayetteville our Corps and the old Eleventh of the
Army of the Potomac were consolidated, and became known as the Twentieth
Corps of the Army of the Cumberland. The command was given to General
Hooker. Our portion of the army would very much have preferred General
H. W. Slocum, who was sent to Vicksburg. In the reorganization we became
the Second Brigade of the First Division, with General Thomas H. Ruger
commanding the Brigade and General A. S. Williams commanding the
Division. At the suggestion of the officers of the Eleventh Corps, our
old badge, the five-pointed star, was retained as the badge of the new
corps.
_Opening of the Atlanta Campaign_
Our Regiment reached Tullahoma on April 30, to find that the rest of our
Brigade had already gone to the front. We started out on the next day to
join them, and on May 4 crossed the Tennessee River at Bridgeport. On
the 7th we passed over the battle-field of Chickamauga, where signs of
the conflict were still everywhere in evidence. On the night of the 8th
we crossed the mountains by way of Nickajack Pass, and joined our
Brigade at daylight the next morning. This passage over the mountains
was interesting. The night was extremely dark and perfectly quiet. The
men in charge of the wagon train had placed lighted candles on the rocks
along the road, at intervals of about a hundred feet, in order to guide
themselves and those who came after. These were still flickering when we
came along.
Our march to Atlanta was now well under way. The enemy continually fell
back, and in most cases without offering serious resistance. The three
armies of General Sherman, marching in parallel lines, seemed to be able
to carry everything before them. On the 10th we again crossed the
mountains at Snake Creek Gap, going into camp on the other side until
the 13th. On the night of the 10th we were visited by a tremendous wind
and rain storm, which blew down our tents, and raised the water in the
creek so high that we had to move our camp or be drowned. At about this
time, also, an order was read to the troops announcing the great success
of the Army of the Potomac in the opening battles of the final campaign
against Richmond.
On the 14th we were moved to the extreme left to support General Howard,
who was there engaged with the enemy. We arrived at about sundown, just
as the Confederates were driving in a brigade of the Fourth Corps and
threatening to capture a battery of artillery. As we moved forward in
line of battle, ready to receive the advancing enemy, General Williams
called out to the fleeing soldiers of the Fourth Corps to get back out
of the way, for he had a division there from the Army of the Potomac
that would protect them. All of which goes to show that even
major-generals are human, and when they get a chance like to exult over
their rivals. We checked the advance of the enemy without much trouble.
At about noon on the 15th, General Butterfield, with our Third Division,
moved forward to attack an earthwork and a four-gun battery, which the
enemy held in his front. We moved forward on the left to support him;
and encountering little opposition at first, advanced somewhat farther
than the Third Division. We took position in the edge of a woods, where
we made use of a rail fence and some logs to build a breastwork in
anticipation of an attack, which the skirmish firing in front warned us
was coming. We soon had sight of the advancing enemy. A few volleys from
us, however, and they broke and ran. In a short time they again came up,
with a new line. We disposed of that almost as quickly as the first. A
third time they repeated the attempt, and again we beat them back.
Now came the order to pursue. My Company, and the companies on my right,
moved forward about two hundred yards in the woods. Suddenly we found
that we were on the flank of a Brigade that was still stubbornly
fighting with troops of the Twenty-Third Corps and the left companies
of our Regiment. They were in a peach orchard, the nearest of them not
fifty yards away. I hastily wheeled my Company, and Company H to the
left, and opened fire. At such short range, and in such a crowd, every
shot must have counted. The Confederates did not wait for much, but
skedaddled as fast as their legs could carry them.
Just as the last of them were disappearing from sight, I saw a man in
Confederate uniform come running toward my Company, hatless, but with
gun in hand. I supposed that he was coming in to give himself up. He
came within twenty yards of us, then apparently noticed for the first
time that we were Yankees. He immediately started to run back. I called
to him to surrender, but it only increased his speed. Finding that he
did not stop, two of my men fired at him, and both hit him. He fell dead
almost instantly upon the field. I went forward then and examined him.
He was a mere boy, not over twenty years of age. In his pocket we found
his order, not two weeks old, from the conscript officer of his
district, notifying him to join the army. I have seen fields of battle
in front of our Regiment, covered over with the dead, without
experiencing the pang of regret that I felt for this poor lad who,
scarcely out from home, and too frightened and confused to know what to
do, thus sadly met his fate.
The loss of our Regiment in this fight was one killed and thirty-one
wounded. Many of the wounded subsequently died, among them Reverend John
M. Springer, the Chaplain of the Regiment. When drafted in 1863, he had
been a Methodist minister in Monroe, Wisconsin. Believing this to be a
call of duty he had refused to allow his church to secure a substitute,
and had reported at Madison for service. When our Regiment was about to
leave Wisconsin for the front, after the veteran furlough, we officers
had been introduced to him in the Executive Chamber at the Capitol,
where we had assembled on the invitation of the Governor. When sent for,
Springer had been found doing sentinel duty before the gate of Camp
Randall. We had elected him Chaplain, and he had joined us at
Fayetteville as soon as he could secure his discharge as a private. On
the morning of the battle, when the prospects seemed good for a lively
fight, he had come to me and asked for a musket and some ammunition, for
he did not wish to be lurking in the rear while we were in danger at the
front. At my suggestion, he had previously posted himself in the
tactics, so I now told him to take the place of a Lieutenant in my
Company. He was the first man hit, and died in the hospital a few days
later.
By a strange coincidence, our picket found on the field in our front the
dead body of the Chaplain of the Georgia Regiment with which we had been
engaged. We were told by some of the wounded prisoners that he had been
shot in coming up to recover the body of his son, a captain in the
Regiment, who had been killed early in the fight.
In this battle, for the first time in my experience, Confederate
soldiers who might have escaped came in and gave themselves up as
prisoners. I think as many as forty did this. They were all thoroughly
discouraged, and the same feeling seems to have run through their whole
army, for they were more quickly and easily beaten than I had ever seen
them before.
It was understood on our part that in order to give the Army of the
Tennessee time to get below Resaca and cut off their retreat, we were
not to push the attack against the enemy. They were too quick for us,
however; the next morning they had abandoned Resaca, leaving behind them
six heavy guns and large quantities of provisions and ammunition.
On the 19th we came up to them again at Cassville, where we drove them
into their entrenched lines and occupied the town. We expected a fight
in the morning, but once more they were gone, this time across the
Etowah River. After a rest of four days at Cassville, we again went
forward, crossing the Etowah on a pontoon bridge without resistance.
On the 25th we had nearly reached Dallas when we were turned back to
assist General Geary, who had encountered a division of Hood's Corps,
entrenched on the Marietta road to our left, at a place called New Hope
Church. On our arrival we found that Geary's Division had already pushed
back the enemy's skirmishers until the latter were thought to be in
their main line of works, from which position we were ordered to drive
them. The country was heavily timbered, and underbrush so obscured the
view that it was impossible to see in any direction more than a few
rods. When we came within sight of the enemy we found that a six-gun
battery was posted a little in front of their line of infantry. The
latter awaited us behind a breastwork, evidently hastily constructed of
logs and earth, nevertheless affording fairly good shelter. As soon as
we came within range, the battery opened on us with round shot and
shell; then, as we came nearer, with grape and canister. But we pushed
steadily on until we were less than sixty yards from them, when we
halted; for we had lost so many men, and had become so disorganized in
the march through the timber and brush that the impetus of our charge
was gone. The regiments on both sides of us had already done the same.
We sheltered ourselves as well as we could, behind trees and fallen
timber, and opened fire on their battery, receiving a hot fire in return
from their infantry. We succeeded, however, in driving off the
Confederate gunners, and prevented the cannon from being worked for the
remainder of the day.
_Wounded and in Hospital_
When we had first come within range of the grape-shot, my scabbard had
been struck and cut in two at a point just below where I grasped it with
my left hand. Later, when my men had sheltered themselves and had
commenced firing, I was again struck. I was at the time resting on one
knee in a position where I could watch the battery, and direct our fire
upon it, for I was determined that the enemy should not have an
opportunity to take it away so long as we had a chance to capture it. My
attention had just been called to something on the left, when a bullet
struck the front of my cap, cutting the figure "3" out of the bugle, and
glancing from the bone, cut a gash across my forehead. For a time I lost
all interest in that battle. When I regained my feet, Colonel Hawley,
who was standing near, told me to get back to the hospital. I succeeded
in finding my way to a small ravine that we had crossed, thinking as I
got back of the line, that there were a thousand bullets flying, to
every one nearer the front. At the small brook in the ravine, I tried to
wash off the blood which was blinding me, but had such poor success that
I concluded to follow the Colonel's advice and have the wound dressed. I
considered it not much of a clip, and thought that in three days at the
most I would be back with my company. It was about two months before I
rejoined, and a good many years before I entirely recovered.
On my way back to the hospital, I met in succession General Williams who
commanded the Division, General Hooker who commanded the Corps, General
Thomas who commanded the Army of the Cumberland, and General Sherman who
commanded the Department. Each stopped and asked if I was much
hurt--when I told that it was only a scratch, they were eager for
information as to the situation at the front. I explained that we had
driven the artillerymen from their guns, but that the infantry in their
breastworks had been too much for us. Then each kindly told me to go to
the hospital.
At the hospital I found Dr. Conley, our Regimental Surgeon, who dressed
my wound and gave me a blanket to lie down on. I got away to one side
and tried to sleep, but the Doctor disturbed me so often to look at my
wound that this was impossible. I finally lost all patience with him and
ordered him to let me alone; but he afterwards explained that he feared
I would go to sleep and wake up in the next world.
This fight is known in the North as the Battle of Dallas, or the Battle
of Pumpkinvine Creek, and in the South as the Battle of New Hope Church.
In the engagement, our Regiment lost eighteen men killed and ninety-two
wounded. This loss was quite unevenly distributed among the companies.
Mine had sixteen men severely wounded, two of whom subsequently died.
Company A, on my left, had six men killed and twenty-one wounded.
Captain Hunter of Company F was wounded by a canister shot, in one of
his legs near the knee-joint, and died shortly after. Captain Ruger of
the Brigade staff also received a severe wound in the knee, which
incapacitated him for further service during the war.
On the afternoon of the day following the battle, I thought I was
strong enough to go back to my Regiment. So I started out, against the
protests of the surgeons; but after going about a quarter of a mile, my
legs gave out, and I was obliged to return and obey directions. I
remained at the field hospital for about three and a half days. During
most of that time the surgeons were busy at the amputating table. On the
morning of the 29th all of the slightly wounded were sent off with the
wagon train. The more seriously wounded were sent off late in the
afternoon in the ambulances. Captains Hunter, Ruger, and I went in the
same ambulance, I was on the seat with the driver.
At Kingston, where we arrived on the 30th, a long train of freight cars
for the slightly wounded, and hospitals cars for the severely wounded
was waiting, ready to start for Chattanooga. Captain Hunter was,
however, too ill to go, and I would not leave him, so we waited over
together until June 2. The ride to Chattanooga was a very severe one for
poor Hunter, and he appeared to be much the worse for it. He recovered
temporarily under the careful treatment at Chattanooga, of Doctor
Persons of the First Wisconsin Cavalry, but on June 8 began to sink
rapidly, and died on the afternoon of the following day.
My wound was not dangerous, yet it was serious enough to entitle me to a
leave of absence. I took advantage of it to return for a pleasant week
to my Wisconsin home; then rejoined my Regiment near the Chattahoochee
River on July 17. During my absence it had followed the fortunes of the
Twentieth Corps, having had no hard fighting and but few casualties on
the picket line. The term of service of the men who had not reenlisted
had expired on June 29, and they had been mustered out. The officers in
the various regiments, however, who wished to be mustered out, found
themselves conscripted for a longer term. Their applications had been
approved until they had reached General Thomas; but he had forwarded
them to Washington with recommendations for dishonorable discharge.
Discovering this danger, the officers had withdrawn their applications.
A number in the Twenty-Ninth Pennsylvania had, however, been
dishonorably discharged under such circumstances, and at the time this
seemed to us an injustice.
_The Siege of Atlanta_