THE AFFAIR AT OVERALL'S CREEK. MURFREESBORO. DECEMBER, 1864.
The invasion of Tennessee by the Confederate army under the command of
Gen. J. B. Hood was now on, and only a day or two after our arrival at
Murfreesboro we began to hear the sullen, deep-toned booming of
artillery towards the west, and later north-west in the direction of
Nashville. And this continued, with more or less frequency, until the
termination, on December 16th, of the battle of Nashville, which
resulted in the defeat of the Confederates, and their retreat from the
State. About December 3rd, the Confederate cavalry, under the command
of our old acquaintance, Gen. N. B. Forrest, swung in between Nashville
and Murfreesboro, tore up the railroad, and cut us off from Nashville
for about two weeks. The Union forces at Murfreesboro at this time
consisted of about 6,000 men,--infantry, cavalry, and artillery, (but
principally infantry,) under the command of Gen L. H. Rousseau.
December 4th, 1864, was a pleasant, beautiful day at old Murfreesboro.
The sun was shining bright and warm, the air was still, and the weather
conditions were like those at home during Indian summer in October.
Along about the middle of the afternoon, without a single note of
preliminary warning, suddenly came the heavy "boom" of cannon close at
hand, in a northwesterly direction. We at once ran up on the ramparts,
and looking up the railroad towards Nashville, could plainly see the
blue rings of powder-smoke curling upwards above the trees. But we
didn't look long. Directly after we heard the first report, the bugles
in our camp and others began sounding "Fall in!" We hastily formed in
line, and in a very short time the 61st Illinois and two other
regiments of infantry, the 8th Minnesota and the 174th Ohio, with a
section of artillery, all under the command of Gen. R. H. Milroy, filed
out of Fortress Rosecrans, and proceeded in the direction of this
cannonading. About four miles out from Murfreesboro we came to the
scene of the trouble. The Confederates had opened with their artillery
on one of our railroad block-houses, and were trying to demolish or
capture it. The 13th Indiana Cavalry had preceded us to the spot, and
were skirmishing with the enemy. Our regiment formed in line on the
right of the pike, the Minnesota regiment to our right, and the Ohio
regiment on the left, while our artillery took a position on some
higher ground near the pike, and began exchanging shots with that of
the enemy. The position of our regiment was on the hither slope of a
somewhat high ridge, in the woods, with a small stream called Overall's
creek running parallel to our front. We were standing here at ease,
doing nothing, and I slipped up on the crest of the ridge, "to see what
I could see." The ground on the opposite side of the creek was lower
than ours, and was open, except a growth of rank grass and weeds. And I
could plainly see the skirmishers of the enemy, in butternut clothing,
skulking in the grass and weeds, and occasionally firing in our
direction. They looked real tempting, so I hurried back to the
regiment, and going to Capt. Keeley, told him that the Confederate
skirmishers were just across the creek, in plain sight, and asked him
if I couldn't slip down the brow of the ridge and take a few shots at
them. He looked at me kind of queerly, and said: "You stay right where
you are, and tend to your own business. You'll have plenty of shooting
before long." I felt a little bit hurt at his remark, but made no
reply, and resumed my place in the ranks. But he afterwards made me a
sort of apology for his brusque reproof, saying he had no desire to see
me perhaps throw my life away in a performance not within the scope of
my proper and necessary duty. And he was right, too, in his prediction,
that there would soon be "plenty of shooting." I had just taken my
place in the ranks when a mounted staff officer came galloping up, and
accosting a little group of our line officers, asked, with a strong
German accent, "Iss ziss ze 61st Illinois?" and on being told that it
was, next inquired for Col. Grass, who was pointed out to him. He rode
to the Colonel, who was near at hand, saluted him, and said, "Col.
Grass, ze Sheneral sends his compliments wiss ze order zat you
immediately deploy your regiment as skirmishers, and forthwith advance
on ze enemy, right in your front!" The recruits and non-veterans of the
regiment being yet in Arkansas, its present effective strength hardly
exceeded three hundred men, so there was just about enough of us to
make a sufficient skirmish line, on this occasion, for the balance of
the command. In obedience to the aforesaid order the regiment was
promptly deployed as skirmishers, and the line advanced over the crest
of the ridge in our front, and down the slope on the opposite side. At
the bank of the creek a little incident befell me, which serves to show
how a very trifling thing may play an important part in one's fate. I
happened to reach the creek at a point opposite a somewhat deep pool.
The water was clear and cold, and I disliked the idea of having wet
feet on the skirmish line, and looked around for a place where it was
possible to cross dry-shod. A rod or two above me the stream was
narrow, and where it could be jumped, so I started in a run for that
place. The creek bank on my side was of yellow clay, high and
perpendicular, while on the other margin the bank was quite low, and
the ground adjacent sloped upward gently and gradually. While running
along the edge of the stream to the fording place, one of my feet
caught on the end of a dead root projecting from the lower edge of the
bank, and I pitched forward, and nearly fell. At the very instant of my
stumble,--"thud" into the clay bank right opposite where I would have
been, if standing, went a bullet fired by a Confederate skirmisher. He
probably had taken deliberate aim at me, and on seeing me almost fall
headlong, doubtless gave himself credit for another Yankee sent to "the
happy hunting grounds." It is quite likely that owing to the existence
of that old dead root, and my lucky stumble thereon, I am now here
telling the story of this skirmish. By this time it was sunset, and
darkness was approaching, but we went on. The Confederate skirmishers
retired, but we soon developed their main line on some high ground near
the edge of the woods,--and then we had to stop. We lay down, loaded
and fired in that position, and nearly all of the enemy's balls passed
over our heads. Presently it grew quite dark, and all we had to aim at
was the long horizontal sheet of red flame that streamed from the
muskets of the Confederates. In the mean time the artillery of both
parties was still engaged in their duel, and their balls and shells
went screaming over our heads. Occasionally a Confederate shell would
explode right over us, and looked interesting, but did no harm. While
all this firing was at its liveliest, I heard close by the heavy "thud"
that a bullet makes in striking a human body, followed immediately by a
sharp cry of "Oh!" which meant that someone had been hit. It proved to
be Lieutenant Elijah Corrington, of Co. F. He was struck by the ball in
the region of the heart, and expired almost instantly. He was a good
man, and a brave soldier, and his death was sincerely mourned.
The affair was terminated by the 174th Ohio on our left getting around
on the enemy's right flank, where it poured in a destructive volley,
and the Confederates retired. We followed a short distance, but neither
saw nor heard anything more of the enemy, so we finally retired also.
We recrossed the creek, built some big fires out of dry chestnut rails,
which we left burning, in order, I suppose, to make our foes believe we
were still there, and then marched to Murfreesboro, where we arrived
about midnight.
On the two following days, December 5 and 6, the Confederates showed
themselves to the west of us, and demonstrated most ostentatiously
against Murfreesboro. From where we stood on the ramparts of Fortress
Rosecrans we could plainly see their columns in motion, with flags
flying, circling around us as if looking for a good opening. They were
beyond the range of musketry, but our big guns in the fortress opened
on them and gave them a most noisy cannonading, but what the effect was
I don't know,--probably not much. In the battles of the Civil War
artillery playing on infantry at short range with grape and canister
did frightful execution, of which I saw plenty of evidence at Shiloh;
but at a distance, and firing with solid shot or shell, it simply made
a big noise, and if it killed anybody, it was more an accident than
otherwise.
Beginning about December 5th, and continuing for several days
thereafter, we turned out at four o'clock every morning, fully armed,
and manned the trenches in the rear of the breastworks, and remained
there till after sunrise. It was a cold, chilly business, standing two
or three hours in those damp trenches, with an empty stomach, waiting
for an apprehended attack, which, however, was never made. For my part,
I felt like I did when behind our big works in the rear of Vicksburg,
and sincerely hoped that the other fellows would make an attempt to
storm our defenses, and I think the other boys felt the same way. We
would have shot them down just like pigeons, and the artillery in the
corner bastions, charged with grape and canister, would have played its
part too. But the Confederates had no intention of making any attempt
of this nature. The Official Records of the Rebellion hereinbefore
mentioned contain the correspondence between Hood and Forrest
concerning this movement on Murfreesboro, and which clearly discloses
their schemes. The plan was simply to "scare" Rousseau out of
Murfreesboro, and cause him to retreat in a northerly direction towards
the town of Lebanon, and then, having gotten him out of his hole, to
surround him in the open with their large force of cavalry, well
supported by infantry, and capture all his command. But Rousseau didn't
"scare" worth a cent, as will appear later.