Sherman's army floats across the Tennessee River at
midnight--Washington at the Delaware nothing compared to this--We
assault Missionary Ridge--An awful battle--My capture.
On my return from my home to my regiment I found it had been transported
to Memphis, where, as a part of General Sherman's army corps, we were
now to make a forced march to relieve Rosecrans' army at Chattanooga.
Chickamauga had been lost. The Union army lying under Lookout Mountain
was starving and its destruction almost certain. We made now the march
of four hundred miles from the Tennessee River, at Florence, in twenty
days, without incident. On the 22d of November, 1863, we beheld the
heights of Lookout Mountain and Missionary Ridge.
November 23, 1863, and the great battle of Chattanooga was about to
begin. The victorious Rebel army, seventy-five thousand strong, lay
intrenched along the heights of Missionary Ridge and on top of Lookout
Mountain. My regiment was in Sherman's corps that had just hurried
across from Memphis. We had marched twenty miles a day. Now this corps
was to form the left of Grant's forces, cross a deep river in the
darkness, and assault the nearly inaccessible position of Bragg's army.
That night we lay in bivouac in the woods close by the Tennessee River.
We very well knew that 116 rude pontoon boats had been built for us and
were lying hidden in a creek near by. We had almost no rations for the
army. As for the horses and mules, they had already starved to death by
the thousands, and were lying around everywhere. Rosecran's army had
been virtually besieged, and was about to starve or surrender when Grant
came on to the ground and took command. When Sherman's corps got up it
was decided to stake all on a great battle. If defeated, we should
probably all be lost. All the men in Sherman's corps who were to make
the first great assault realized that, and they realized also the danger
we were now to encounter by attempting to cross that rapid river in the
night.
Midnight came and all were still awake, though quiet in the bivouac. At
two o'clock we heard some quiet splashing in the water. It was the sound
of muffled oars. The boats had come for us. Every man seized his rifle,
for we knew what was coming next. "Quietly, boys, fall in quietly," said
the captains. Spades were handed to many of us. We did not ask for
what, as we knew too well. Quietly, two by two, we slipped down to the
water's edge and stepped into the rude flatboats that waited there. "Be
prompt as you can, boys; there's room for thirty in a boat," said a tall
man in a long waterproof coat who stood on the bank near us in the
darkness. Few of us had ever before heard the voice of our beloved
commander. Sherman's kind words gave us all cheer, and his personal
presence, his sharing the danger we were about to undertake, gave us
confidence.
In a quarter of an hour a thousand of us were out in the middle of the
river afloat in the darkness. Silent we sat there, our rifles and our
spades across our knees. There was no sound but the swashing of the
water against the boats. We had strange feelings, the chief of which was
probably the thought: Would the enemy on the opposite bank fire into us
and drown us all? Every moment we expected a flash of musketry or a roar
of cannon. We did not know that a ruse had been played on the pickets on
the other side; that a boatload of our soldiers had crossed farther up
and in the darkness caught every one of them without firing a shot. One
only got away. Who knew how soon all of Braggs' army might be alarmed
and upon us?
In half an hour we were out on the opposite bank and creeping along
through the thicket, a spade in one hand a rifle in the other. What
might happen any moment we knew not. Where was that escaped picket? And
where was Braggs' army? Instantly we formed in line of battle and
commenced digging holes for ourselves. We worked like beavers, turn
about; no spade was idle for one moment. Daylight found us there, two
thousand strong, with rifle pits a mile in length. Other brigades got
over the river, pontoons soon were down; still other troops, whole
divisions, were across, and forty cannon were massed close to the
crossing to protect us. What a sight was that for General Bragg, when he
woke up that morning at his headquarters' perch, on top of Missionary
Ridge! All that day we maneuvered under heavy cannonading and drove the
enemy from hill to hill at our front. Some of the troops did heavy
fighting, but the Rebels only fell back to their great position on the
Ridge.
That night my regiment stood picket at the front. The ground was cold
and wet, none of us slept a wink, and we were almost freezing and
starving. We had not slept, indeed, for a hundred hours. It had been one
vast strain, and now a battle was coming on. All that night we who were
on the picket line could hear the Rebel field batteries taking position
on Missionary Ridge, to fight us on the morrow. The morning of the 25th
dawned clear and beautiful. Instantly whole divisions of troops
commenced slaughtering each other for the possession of single hills and
spurs. At times the battle in front of Sherman was a hand to hand
encounter. My own brigade was so close that the Rebels even threw stones
down upon us. Over to the far right Hooker's men were in possession of
Lookout Mountain, and were breaking in on the enemy's left flank.
It was two o'clock when our division, my own regiment with it, received
orders from Sherman to fix bayonets and join in the assault on
Missionary Ridge. General J. E. Smith led the division, and General
Matthies, our former colonel, led the brigade. We had to charge over the
open, and by this time all the cannon in the Rebel army were brought to
bear on the field we had to cross. We emerged from a little wood, and at
that moment the storm of shot and shell became terrific. In front of us
was a rail fence, and, being in direct line of fire, its splinters and
fragments flew in every direction. "Jump the fence, men! tear it down!"
cried the colonel. Never did men get over a fence more quickly. Our
distance was nearly half a mile to the Rebel position.
We started on a charge, running across the open fields. I had heard the
roaring of heavy battle before, but never such a shrieking of
cannonballs and bursting of shell as met us on that charge. We could
see the enemy working their guns, while in plain view other batteries
galloped up, unlimbered, and let loose at us. Behind us our own
batteries (forty cannon) were firing at the enemy over our heads, till
the storm and roar became horrible. It sounded as if the end of the
world had come. Halfway over we had to leap a ditch, perhaps six feet
wide and nearly as many deep. Some of our regiment fell into this ditch
and could not get out, a few tumbled in intentionally and stayed there.
I saw this, and ran back and ordered them to get out, called them
cowards, threatened them with my revolver; they did not move. Again I
hurried on with the line. All of the officers were screaming at the top
of their voices; I, too, screamed, trying to make the men hear. "Steady!
steady! bear to the right! keep in line! Don't fire! don't fire!" was
yelled till we all were hoarse and till the awful thunder of the cannon
made all commands unheard and useless.
In ten minutes, possibly, we were across the field and at the beginning
of the ascent of the Ridge. Instantly the blaze of Rebel musketry was in
our faces, and we began firing in return. It helped little, the foe was
so hidden behind logs and stones and little breastworks. Still we
charged, and climbed a fence in front of us and fired and charged again.
Then the order was given to lie down and continue firing. That moment
someone cried, "Look to the tunnel! They're coming through the tunnel."
Sure enough, through a railway tunnel in the mountain the gray-coats
were coming by hundreds. They were flanking us completely.
"Stop them!" cried our colonel to those of us at the right. "Push them
back." It was but the work of a few moments for four companies to rise
to their feet and run to the tunnel's mouth, firing as they ran. Too
late! an enfilading fire was soon cutting them to pieces. "Shall I run
over there too?" I said to the colonel. We were both kneeling on the
ground close to the regimental flag. He assented. When I rose to my feet
and started it seemed as if even the blades of grass were being struck
by bullets. As I ran over I passed many of my comrades stretched out in
death, and some were screaming in agony. For a few minutes the whole
brigade faltered and gave way.
Colonel Matthies, our brigade commander, was sitting against a tree,
shot in the head. Instantly it seemed as if a whole Rebel army was
concentrated on that single spot. For a few moments I lay down on the
grass, hoping the storm would pass over and leave me. Lieutenant Miller,
at my side, was screaming in agony. He was shot through the hips. I
begged him to try to be still; he could not. Now, as a second line of
the enemy was upon us, and the first one was returning, shooting men as
they found them, I rose to my feet and surrendered. "Come out of that
sword," shrieked a big Georgian, with a terrible oath. Another grabbed
at my revolver and bellowed at me "to get up the hill quicker than
hell." It was time, for our own batteries were pouring a fearful fire on
the very spot where we stood. I took a blanket from a dead comrade near
me, and at the point of the bayonet I was hurried up the mountain. We
passed lines of infantry in rifle pits and batteries that were pouring a
hail of shells into our exposed columns. Once I glanced back,
and--glorious sight!--I saw lines of bluecoats at our right and center,
storming up the ridge.
In a few minutes' time I was taken to where other prisoners from my
regiment and brigade were already collected together in a hollow. We
were quickly robbed of nearly everything we possessed and rapidly
started down the railroad tracks toward Atlanta. While we were there in
that little hollow General Breckenridge, the ex-Vice President of the
United States, came in among us prisoners to buy a pair of Yankee
gauntlets. I sold him mine for fifteen dollars (Confederate money).
General Grant's victorious army was already over the Ridge and in rapid
pursuit. Taking the Ridge and Lookout Mountain cost the Union army well
on to six thousand dead and wounded. The Rebels lost as many, or more,
so that twelve thousand human beings were lying dead, or in agony, that
night among the hills of Chattanooga. Not long before, thirty thousand
had been killed and wounded, on both sides, close to this same Ridge.
Forty-two thousand men shot for the possession of a single position.
_That was war._
That night as the guards marched us down the railroad we saw train after
train whiz by loaded with the wounded of the Rebel army. The next day
when they halted us, to bivouac in the woods, we were amazed to see
quite a line of Union men from East Tennessee marching along in
handcuffs. Many of them were old men, farmers, whose only crime was that
they were true to the Union. They were hated ten times worse than the
soldiers from the North. These poor men now were allowed no fire in the
bivouac, and had almost nothing to eat. "They will everyone be shot or
hanged," declared the officer of our guard to me. I do not know what
happened to these poor Tennesseeans. Shortly after, we Northern
prisoners were put aboard cattle cars and started off for Libby Prison
at Richmond, most of us never to see the North or our homes again.