UNDER THE STARS AND BARS
OR,
MEMORIES OF FOUR YEARS SERVICE
WITH THE
OGLETHORPES, OF AUGUSTA, GEORGIA.
BY
WALTER A. CLARK,
ORDERLY SERGEANT.
AUGUSTA, GA
Chronicle Printing Company.
1900.
PREFACE.
For the gratification of my old comrades and in grateful memory of their
constant kindness during all our years of comradeship these records have
been written. The writer claims no special qualification for the task
save as it may lie in the fact that no other survivor of the Company has
so large a fund of material from which to draw for such a purpose. In
addition to a war journal, whose entries cover all my four years
service, nearly every letter written by me from camp in those eventful
years has been preserved. Whatever lack, therefore, these pages may
possess on other lines, they furnish at least a truthful portrait of
what I saw and felt as a soldier. It has been my purpose to picture the
lights rather than the shadows of our soldier life. War is a terribly
serious business and yet camp life has its humor as well as its pathos,
its comedy as well as its tragedy, its sunshine as well as its shadows.
As Co. B, of the Oglethorpes was an outgrowth of the original
organization, its muster roll before and after reorganization, with a
condensed sketch of its war service has been given. For this information
I am indebted to the kindness of Mr. Frank H. Miller and Mr. Brad
Merry, as I am to the former also for data pertaining to the early
history of the Oglethorpes.
Aside from the motive already named, there is another which has had some
influence in inducing me to publish these memories. In the generation
that has grown up since the '60's, there is a disposition to undervalue
the merits of the "Old South" and to discount the patriotism and the
courage, the sacrifice and the suffering of those, who wore the grey. If
these pages shall recall to my old comrades with any degree of pleasure,
the lights and shadows of our soldier life, or shall bring to the
younger generation, to whom the Old South is not even a memory, a truer
conception of "the tender grace of a day that is dead" I shall be more
than repaid for the labor involved in their preparation.
INDEX.
Page
INTRODUCTORY.
Early History of the Oglethorpes 7
Off to the War 9
The Laurel Hill Retreat 15
CHAPTER I.
Donning the Grey 17
My First March 21
My First Skirmish 23
My First Picket Duty 29
My First Battle 30
A Night Stampede 33
Three Little Confederates 36
CHAPTER II.
A Change of Base 38
A Tramp With Stonewall Jackson 43
Aunt Hannah 48
A Ride With Belle Boyd, the Confederate Spy 50
Home Again 55
Roster of Oglethorpe Infantry 56
CHAPTER III.
_Service with 12th Ga. Battalion._
A "Little Long" 62
12th Ga. Flag 63
Col. Hogeland's War Diary 65
The Parson and the Gravy 71
Rations 75
CHAPTER IV.
_Coast Service._
A Study in Insect Life 80
Fire and Fall Back 86
Skirmishing for Pie 87
Steed and the Sugar 88
Our Camp Poet 91
CHAPTER V.
Dalton and Atlanta Campaign 97
Stripes on the Wrong Side 107
A Twilight Prayer Meeting 109
Tom Howard's Squirrel Bead 112
"Jim, Touch Off No. 1" 114
A Summer Day on the Firing Line 117
Saved from Death by a Bible 123
Battle of Kennesaw 130
Under Two Flags 137
Saved from a Northern Prison by a Novel 142
A Slave's Loyalty 148
CHAPTER VI.
_Nashville Campaign._
A Christmas Day With Forrest 155
Gen. Bate as a Poet and Wit 166
Pat Cleburne as an Orator 168
"Who Ate the Dog?" 171
Courage Sublime 178
CHAPTER VII.
_The Closing Campaign._
An Arctic Ride 182
A Sad Home Coming 187
Our Last Battle 190
Conclusion 200
Roster Co. A, 63rd Ga. 204
ADDENDA.
Oglethorpe Infantry Co. B 214
Roster Co. A, 9th Ga., Co. C, 2d Ga. S. S. 219
SUPPLEMENT.
One of My Heroes 225
Ben Hill and the Dog 229
The Rebel Chaplain and the Dying Boy in Blue 236
INTRODUCTORY.
EARLY HISTORY OF THE OGLETHORPES.
On a winter's day in '51, in the old Capital at Milledgeville, Ga.,
Howell Cobb, then Governor of Georgia, gave his official sanction to an
Act of the General Assembly incorporating a new military organization in
the City of Augusta. If he had been told that ten years from that date
he would be wearing the wreath of a Brigadier General in actual war and
that the Company, to which his signature had given legal existence would
be camped on Virginia soil, attached to the command of an officer, who
will go down into history as one of the greatest captains of the ages,
he would have smiled at the statement as the outgrowth of a distempered
fancy. And yet such a prophecy would have found literal fulfilment.
In honor of the founder of the Georgia Colony the Company was named the
Oglethorpe Infantry. Hon. Andrew J. Miller, was its first commander.
Representing some of the best blood of one of the most cultured cities
of the Old South, the company, by its proficiency in drill and its
military bearing soon gained a distinguished position among the citizen
soldiery of the State. On the death of Capt. Miller in 1856, Judge
Ebenezer Starnes was chosen to succeed him. He, in time, was followed
by John K. Jackson, afterwards a Brigadier General in the Confederate
Army. During the captaincy of the last named, the volunteer companies of
the State were ordered into camp at Milledgeville, Ga., by Gov. Herschel
V. Johnson. Capt. Jackson, on account of illness in his family, could
not attend and the Oglethorpes were commanded by Lieut. J. O. Clark. In
the military drill and review, that occurred during the encampment the
Oglethorpes presented the best marching front of any company present.
Mr. Frank H. Miller, then Orderly Sergeant, attributes their success on
this line, in part at least to the fact that nature had failed to endow
him with a full share of what my father was wont to term "legability,"
and his shortened step, as Company Guide, rendered it an easier task for
his comrades marching in column of companies to preserve their
alignment.
On the organization of the Independent Volunteer Battalion in 1857,
Capt. Jackson was elected Lieut. Col., and Lieut. J. O. Clark succeeded
to the captaincy, retaining the position until the Company was mustered
into the Confederate service in 1861. Of the original roll as organized
in 1851, if my information is correct, only Mr. William Richards now
survives. Capt. Horton B. Adams, who died during the present year (1899)
was the last surviving member of the original roll, who retained active
connection with the Company from its organization until its enlistment
in the Confederate Army.
OFF TO THE WAR.
Prof. Joseph T. Derry, who served with the Oglethorpes from their
enlistment until his capture at Kennesaw Mountain; in July, 1864, has
kindly furnished the following sketch of their war service prior to my
connection with the Company:
"Following the lead of four of her sister States Georgia passed an
ordinance of 'Secession,' Jan. 19, 1861. Gov. Brown ordered the seizure
of all Federal property within the limits of the State, and on Jan. 24
the volunteer companies of Augusta, consisting of the Oglethorpe
Infantry, Clinch Rifles, Irish Volunteers, Montgomery Guards, Washington
Artillery, Richmond Hussars, and two companies of 'Minute Men,'
afterwards organized into the Walker Light Infantry, with a company of
infantry from Edgefield, So. Ca., and two hundred mounted men from Burke
county, marched up to the Augusta Arsenal and demanded its surrender.
Capt. Elzey, afterwards a Brigadier General in the Confederate Army, was
in command, and having only a small force in the barracks, he promptly
complied with the demand.
ORGANIZATION OF FIRST GA. REGIMENT.
The efforts to secure a peaceable separation from the Union having
failed, the Augusta companies promptly offered their services to the
Confederacy. The Oglethorpes and Walker Light Infantry were the first
two accepted. On March 18, 1861, the lists for the Oglethorpes were
opened at their armory on Reynolds street. Sterling C. Eve was the first
to enroll his name, and Virginius G. Hitt was the second.
As the Company had in its ranks a larger number than would be accepted,
married men were excluded, except as commissioned officers. In the
closing days of March, orders were received from the War Department for
these two companies to rendezvous at Macon, Ga. On April 1st they were
escorted to the Central R. R. Depot by all the volunteer companies of
Augusta, while the entire city, apparently, turned out to witness their
departure and to bid them God speed on their mission.
On April 3rd the First Volunteer Regiment of Ga. was organized with the
following corps of field officers:
Colonel, James N. Ramsey, Columbus, Ga.
Lieut. Colonel, James O. Clark, Augusta, Ga.
Major, Geo. H. Thompson, Atlanta, Ga.
Adjutant, James W. Anderson, Newnan, Ga.
Quartermaster, Andrew Dunn, Forsythe, Ga.
Commissary, Geo. A. Cunningham, Augusta, Ga.
The enlistment dated from March 18, '61, and the regiment was composed
of the following companies:
A. Newnan Guards, Capt. Geo. M. Hanvey.
B. Southern Guards, Capt. F. S. Wilkins.
C. Southern Right Guards, Capt. Jno. A. Hauser.
D. Oglethorpe Infantry, Capt. Horton B. Adams.
E. Washington Rifles, Capt. S. A. H. Jones.
F. Gate City Guards, Capt. W. L. Ezzard.
G. Bainbridge Independents, Capt. Jno. W. Evans.
H. Dahlonega Volunteers, Capt. Alfred Harris.
I. Walker Light Infantry, Capt. S. H. Crump.
K. Quitman Guards, Capt. J. S. Pinkard.
The patriotism of Augusta is evidenced by the fact that in this, the
first regiment organized, she had larger representation than any city in
the State. On the date of its organization Gov. Brown reviewed the
regiment and delivered an address that aroused much enthusiasm. A few
days later we left for Pensacola, via Montgomery, Ala., then the Capital
of the new Confederacy. Between Garland and Evergreen, Ala., there was a
gap of sixteen miles, over which the boys had to take the peoples' route
as there was no railway connection. It was their first march and as
their feet grew sore and their untried muscles wearied by the
unaccustomed strain upon them, they began to ask the citizens they met:
"How far to Evergreen?" "After you pass the next hill and reach the rise
of another it will be five miles," said one. This point reached, another
was asked the question. "Six miles," he said. Tramping along the dusty
highway, another traveler was met, "How far to ----." "For the Lord's
sake," said Tom Eve, "don't inquire again. The road gets longer every
time you ask."
AN AMENDMENT TO THE TABLE OF LONG MEASURE.
While not germane to the matter under discussion my friend, Joe Derry
will pardon I know a slight interruption in his story, suggested by the
incident just related. Passing through the piney woods of Richmond
county some years ago the writer stopped at a country home to secure
proper direction as to his route. A lady came to the door and in answer
to my questions, said she was unable to give the information, but
suggested that I might be enlightened at the next house. "How far is the
next house?" I asked. "About twict out o' sight," she replied, and I
went on my way with at least the satisfaction of having secured for the
"table of long measure," that had worried me in my school boy days, an
amendment, that in originality if not in definiteness, was literally
"out o' sight."
"Straggling into Evergreen, next morning, we reached Pensacola by rail
that evening, spent a day in the town and then sailed down the beautiful
bay, past the navy yard at Warrenton, and so close to Fort Pickens that
its guns could have blown us out of the water. Landing near Fort
Barrancas, we marched to our camping place, half a mile beyond and near
the magazine. Our stay here was marked by no special incident, the time
being spent in drilling, regimental and picket duty, unloading powder
from a sloop and filling sand bags to strengthen the front of Fort
Barrancas.
About the last of May, orders were received for the transfer of the
regiment to Virginia. Steaming back to Pensacola, the Oglethorpes were
met by a delegation from the Clinch Rifles, 5th Ga. Reg., by whom they
were conducted to the quarters of that company and royally entertained
until our departure next day. The pleasure of the occasion was marred,
however, by the death of Bugler Parkins, of the Clinch, caused by the
bite of a small ground-rattlesnake. On reaching Augusta the Company
received an ovation as great as that accorded them on their departure
for Pensacola. Three days in Augusta and then we were off for Richmond,
where we met with a very hearty reception. At our camp we were reviewed
by President Davis and Gov. Letcher, both of whom addressed the
regiment. About the middle of June we were off for Staunton by rail,
stopping at Waynesboro to partake of a bountiful feast prepared for us
by the ladies and served on rough pine tables in picnic style."
(Col. C.H. Withrow, then a resident of Waynesboro, recalls the incident
and says that he was strongly impressed with the appetite shown by the
boys on that occasion, that the presence of beauty did not prevent them
from doing ample justice to the spread.)
"At Staunton the regiment was entertained by a concert, in which the
children of the Blind Asylum sang patriotic Southern airs. A few days
later we were on the march to re-inforce Garnett at Laurel Hill. About
midday of the first day's march the patriotism of the Virginia ladies
manifested itself again in a bountiful feast prepared for us in a
beautiful grove, while from a rock near by there gushed forth a bold
spring of almost ice-cold water. A night or two afterward, we camped at
the foot of Cheat Mountain, in a beautiful valley, at the Southern end
of which some time later we were stationed for several months,
confronting a Federal force under Gen. Reynolds on Cheat Mountain. A
young lady living near our camping ground entertained us with Southern
songs, with a melodeon accompaniment, some of the boys singing with her.
Two nights later, at Beverly, we encountered a fearful storm, which blew
down every tent and repeated that interesting performance every time we
put them up.
Reaching Laurel Hill we found that service in West Virginia was far more
serious business that at Pensacola. Picket duty was heavy and soon
became dangerous. McLellan with 20,000 men, began his advance early in
July. To oppose this force Garnett had only 4,500 men, many of whom were
in the hospital. Exposure had produced much sickness and here occurred
the first death among the Oglethorpes, that of Dillard Adams, a good
soldier and a true man. On July 7th Gen. Morris took position in our
front with 8,000 men, while McLellan, with the remainder of his force
advanced on Rich Mountain, held by Col. Pegram with 1,300 of Garnett's
command. On July 8th the 1st Ga. moved out in front of Laurel Hill to
feel the enemy's position. We soon encountered their skirmishers, who
after shelling woods, attempted to seize a small round hill in front of
Belington. Lieut. Col. J. O. Clark quickly deployed his men and
exclaiming, "Up the hill, boys, and remember you are Georgians," led a
gallant charge, which drove the enemy back with some loss. Skirmishing
continued until July 11th, when Garnett learned that Rich Mountain had
been captured by Rosecranz.
THE LAUREL HILL RETREAT.
The capture of Pegram's position and of a large part of his force
necessitated the evacuation of Laurel Hill, and Garnett began his
retreat towards Beverly, sixteen miles distant. After two-thirds of the
distance had been covered he was falsely informed that the enemy had
already occupied that place, and retracing his steps almost to his
abandoned camp, he turned off towards Beverly, crossing, by an almost
impassable road, over Cheat Mountain into the Cheat River valley and
intending by turning the mountains at their Northern end to regain his
communications. On July 13th we were overtaken by the Federals between
Kalers and Corricks fords. The 1st Ga. and 23rd Va., with a section of
artillery under Lieut. Lanier, and a cavalry force under Capt. Smith,
were formed into a rear guard to protect the wagon train. At Carrick's
Ford the 23rd Va. suffered considerably and a part of the wagon train
was captured. The larger part of six companies of the 1st Ga. and
including the Oglethorpes, failed to hear the order to retire and held
their position until the enemy had passed. Cut off from the main force
and with no avenue of escape except the pathless mountains, that hemmed
them in, they wandered for three days with nothing to appease their
hunger except the inner bark of the laurel trees. On the third day,
famished and worn out, they stopped to rest, when Evan Howell proposed
that he and another member of the regiment would go forward and endeavor
to find an outlet or a pilot to lead them to an inhabited section. He
fortunately met with a mountaineer named Parsons, who took them to his
home, called in his neighbors, killed a number of beeves to feed the
famished men and then piloted them safely to Monterey.
Gen. Garnett, who was with the main column, had been killed, after
passing Carrick's Ford, while withdrawing his rear guard and his force
under Ramsey and Taliaferro marched all night and succeeded in passing
the Red House and turning the mountain before Gen. Hill, who was sent by
McLellan to intercept them, had reached that point. They were now on
fairly good roads, in friendly country and at Petersburg, W. Va., the
people turned out en masse to feed the exhausted Confederates. From this
point they retired by easy marches to Monterey. The campaign, undertaken
with a small force, to hold an unfriendly section, had proven an
expensive failure."
CHAPTER I.
DONNING THE GREY.
About midday on Dec. 20, 1860, the writer sat in an audience room in
Macon, Ga., listening to an address delivered by Hon. Howell Cobb to the
Cotton Planters' Convention, then in session in that city. After all
these years my memory retains no trace of that address in either theme
or outline. I do recall, however, an interruption in its delivery,
remembered, possibly, because it threw a crimson tint over the years
that followed it, and for the further reason that if there had been no
occasion for such an interruption, these records might never have been
written. While Mr. Cobb was speaking, a messenger entered the hall and
handed him a telegram. He broke the seal, glanced over its contents and
then read the following message to the audience: "The South Carolina
Convention has just passed the Ordinance of Secession from the Union."
From that moment the "Cotton Planters' Convention" was no longer in it.
The audience became a howling mob. That night there was a torchlight
procession with brass band accompaniments. The streets were packed with
a solid mass of excited, fevered, yelling humanity. The people were
simply wild for Southern independence and the scene was probably
duplicated in every Southern city.
In the early months in '61, when all hope of a peaceful separation had
passed, the war fever attacked first the towns and cities where the
people were in constant touch with each other and where the daily press
kept the public pulse at more than normal beat. As the demand for troops
increased, the infection spread to quiet country places with their
monthly church service and their weekly mail. And so in due time it
reached the community in which I lived, a community of quiet, well-to-do
farmers, whose knowledge of Jomini and the art of war was decidedly
limited. A military organization of thirty of forty men was, however,
effected and Mr. John D. Mongin, the only member who knew the difference
between "shoulder arms" and "charge bayonet," was elected captain. Our
weekly drills at the academy grounds were confined largely to marching
in single rank to the music of a rustic drummer and fifer, who seemed in
blissful ignorance of anything but "slow time." There was a short-legged
Frenchman in the company, whose number was "32" and, who in counting
off, always responded with "dirty too." A year or two later those of us,
who had seen actual service, could probably have made the same response
without impairing in the least our reputation for veracity. As there was
not sufficient material in the community to form a full company, my
brother and myself, with D. W. Mongin, A. J. and J. H. Rhodes, made
application to the Oglethorpe Infantry, 1st Ga. Regiment, then at Laurel
Hill, Va., for admission into its ranks, and were accepted. Leaving
Augusta July 31, 1861, in company with George Pournelle and Ginnie Hitt,
who were returning from a ten days' furlough, we stopped over in
Richmond a day and visited the Confederate Congress then in session.
Sitting in the gallery of the Senate Chamber looking down upon Alex
Stephens in the chair and Bob Toombs, Ben Hill, E. A. Nisbet R. M. T.
Hunter and other worthies in the Hall, Luke Lane, an old college
classmate, wrote on the fly leaf of the pocket diary, from which these
records are partly taken a sort of preface, closing it with these words:
"Here's hoping that every Yankee may find a bloody grave;" and Ginnie
Hitt, sitting by, wrote beneath it: "Amen, say I." Luke appended my
initials to the sentiment, but as it was stronger than my inclinations
prompted me to endorse, I erased them. We visited also the prison
hospital where the Federals wounded at Manassas, were being cared for.
It was my first contact with "grim visaged war."
To a stripling boy, reared in a quiet country home and in a community
in which there had never occurred a serious personal difficulty, I had
neither inherited nor acquired any taste for carnage or bloodshed, and
the scene was not a pleasant one. And yet the battlefield unfortunately
soon dulls our natural sensibilities and begets an indifference to
suffering that would shock us in civil life.
On reaching Monterey, Va., where the Oglethorpes were recuperating from
the hardships of the "Laurel Hill Retreat," we found every tent occupied
and we remained at the village inn until quarters could be provided. I
remember that I slept, or tried to sleep, on the bare floor of our room
as a sort of preparation for the life on which I was entering. In this
connection I recall another fact, a peculiarity of this tavern, and that
was its capacity for the utilization of green apples as an article of
public diet. My experience with hostelries is not claimed to be at all
extensive, but among those whose hospitality I have had the good or bad
fortune to enjoy, or endure, this particular inn, on the line named,
certainly "took the dilapidated linen from the lonely shrub." We were
treated to apples baked and stewed and fried, to apple tarts and
custards and dumplings, to apple butter and it would probably be no
exaggeration to say, "there were others." After paying our bill Dan
Mongin remarked, "When green apple season plays out this hotel is going
to suspend." In verification of his prophecy, when we passed through
Monterey en route to join Stonewall Jackson in December, its doors were
closed, its lights were gone and all its halls deserted. Whether its
demise was due to the green apple theory, I am unable to say.
My first month in camp was devoid of incident, its monotony being varied
only by squad drill, guard duty, foraging for maple syrup and other
edibles among the Dutch farmers of that section and digging graves for
the unfortunate victims of the campaign just ended. One of the graves
which the writer helped to dig in very hard clay, was appropriated by a
burial squad from another regiment for one of their own dead. I am not
lawyer enough to say whether the act was petty larceny, forcible entry
and detainer, or what an old colored friend of mine once diagnosed as
"legal mischievous" with the accent on the second syllable.
MY FIRST MARCH.
On Sept. 7, '61, Sterling Eve, Ginnie Hitt, Dan Mongin and the writer,
not having been favored with the confidence of Gen. Lee as to his
military plans, went into the country on a foraging expedition. This
trip was probably inspired by a triumph in the culinary line achieved by
Dr. Hitt and George Pournelle in supplying our table with two varieties
of dumpling, apple and huckleberry, on the same day. We had no bag, in
which to boil the dumpling and were forced to use the mess towel as a
substitute. How long it had been subjected to its ordinary uses before
being utilized in this way I do not now recall. Dr. Hitt remembers,
however, or says he does, that the entire outer surface of the dumplings
was towel-marked. The nature of the mark referred to is left without
further discussion to the imagination of the reader. In this connection
I recall another incident in the culinary line, which may be as well
recorded here as elsewhere. About twenty years after the war I met Dr.
Hitt in Augusta and taking something from my pocket, I handed it to him
and asked if he could give me any information as to its character. He
examined it very carefully by sight, touch and smell, and then said very
confidently: "Oh, yes, I know what that is. It is a stone taken from a
deer's liver." His diagnosis was not "reasonably" correct. The article
under examination was a Confederate biscuit baked in our camp at
Jacksonboro, Tenn., in 1863, sent to my father's family as a specimen
and preserved during all those years. If I had taken the precaution to
have immersed it in insect powder it would probably at this date have
been still in the ring, though possibly a little disfigured. A few years
after Dr. Hitt's examination, I found that it had--
"Like an insubstantial pageant faded
Leaving not a wrack"--
but only a little dust behind.
On our return from the foraging tour with a good supply of potatoes,
onions and maple syrup, we found the camp deserted--a camp favored with
the purest mountain air and the finest spring water, and yet where Dan
Mongin wrote to his father for brandy to counteract the effects of
malaria. The entire force at Monterey had been ordered to report to Gen.
Henry R. Jackson on Green Brier River, and had broken camp two hours
before our arrival. After resting an hour we began the tramp, trudging
over the mountain roads for eight miles in the mud and rain and stopping
for the night at the residence of a Col. Campbell in Crab Bottom. Here
we had the pleasure of meeting the first two heroines of the war, Miss
McLeod and Miss Kerr. They had ridden seventy miles on horseback without
an escort to notify Gen. Garnett of McLellan's approach. My first day's
march, though a short one, had broken me down so thoroughly that I was
compelled to tax the kindness of a 3rd Arkansas Regiment wagoner for a
ride next day. The entry in my journal for that date begins with these
words: "Took the road with a heavy heart and a heavier load." Three
years later, under the hardening process of camp life I was enabled to
march, on Hood's tramp to Nashville and back to Corinth, Miss., twenty
miles a day continuously and rode only one of the eight hundred miles
covered in that campaign. During my two days experience as an "Arkansas
Traveler" I think I heard more expletive, unadulterated "cussin" from
the driver of that wagon than it has ever been my misfortune to listen
to. His capacity in this line seemed to be not only double barreled, but
of the magazine gun variety. If he had failed to pass his examination in
the school of profanity I have never seen a man who was entitled to a
diploma. I appreciated the ride, but was glad to reach our new camp,
since it relieved me of his presence.
MY FIRST SKIRMISH.
Gen. Jackson's force on the Green Brier consisted of the 1st and 12th
Ga., the 3rd Ark. and the 23rd and 37th Va. Regiments. Ten or twelve
miles northwest of us, on Cheat Mountain, lay a Federal force of 5,000
men under Gen. Reynolds. Gen. Lee had planned an attack to be made on
this force on the morning of Sept. 12th, two days after our arrival at
the Green Brier. On the evening of the 11th an advance guard of ninety
men from the 1st and 12th Ga. under command of Lieut. Dawson was formed
with instructions to flank, by a night march, the Federal picket, secure
a position in their rear, capture them and thus prevent notice to Gen.
Reynolds of the intended attack. For this guard there were detailed from
the Oglethorpes, Wilberforce Daniel, Joe Derry, Tom Burgess, W. H. Clark
and the writer. Leaving camp at 7:30 p. m., under the pilotage of a
citizen of that section we reached a position within half a mile of the
Federal camp about sunrise, after a fatiguing march in the rain and mud,
being compelled to draw ourselves up the slippery mountain side by the
undergrowth that lay in our route. Soon after reaching our place of
ambush we heard the drums beat for "Guard Mount" and then the bands
began to play "Annie Laurie," "Run, Nigger Run," and "Jordan is a Hard
Road to Trabble," were three of the selections rendered. The first
suggested pleasant memories of our far away homes; the second, the
possibility that in a little while there might be a practical
illustration of the refrain, while the tramp we had just taken satisfied
us that "Jordan" was not the only hard road to travel. The selection of
these airs recalls the singular fact that in actual service military
bands do not as a rule play national or military music. The writer had
other opportunities than the one named of hearing Federal bands during
his term of service, but does not recall a single instance in which a
national air was rendered. Lulled by the music and overcome by fatigue
and loss of sleep, I fell into a doze, from which I was awakened by the
accidental discharge of a gun in the hands of one of the guard. A
Federal sergeant from the picket post, hearing the noise, came down the
road to investigate. On reaching a point opposite the left of our line
he heard the ominous click of the rifle hammers and started in full run
for his camp. Six or eight balls crashed through him and the poor fellow
fell dead in the road. Attracted by the firing, about twenty-five of the
Federal pickets came hurriedly down the road and on seeing their dead
comrade fired a volley into the woods, which concealed us, but failed to
do any execution. "Charge!" sang out our commander, and we broke for the
road. Before reaching it, the pickets had scattered into the woods
beyond. Tom Burgess, as he leaped into the road saw one of them rise
from a stump behind which he had been hiding, and run. Tom raised his
rifle, took deliberate aim and fired. As he fell, Tom pointed his finger
at him and said, "Got you." I was standing only a few feet from Tom and
it has always been a matter of gratification to me that my gun had been
fired before reaching the road and that I had no opportunity to reload.
At such close range it would have been almost impossible to have missed
my man, and whatever my feeling at the time may have been it would have
been a source of life-long regret to me to know positively that "some
mother's boy" had fallen by my hand, even in war. Several others were
killed as they ran through the woods. No member of the guard received
even a scratch, and the affair had more the appearance of a rabbit hunt
than a skirmish. After the firing had ceased, Lieut. Dawson, feeling
that it was unsafe to remain so near the Federal camp with so small a
force, reformed the guard and we began our march down the mountain. We
were expecting to meet the reserve picket of the enemy and in a sharp
curve in the road were confronted by a column of troops marching in
fours and only a hundred yards away. One of the guard sang out, "Here
they are boys," and the firing began. Three men were shot down and
seeing that we were outnumbered, Dawson gave the command: "Fall below
the road." Believing that implicit obedience to orders was the first
requisite of a soldier, I responded with considerable promptness. The
fire slackened a moment and then came the order: "Charge 'em." Up into
the road we clambered again, when we discovered that we were fighting
our own regiment, and "Cease firing, we are Georgians," rang out from
nearly a hundred throats. Ed Johnson, then in command of the 12th Ga.,
afterwards a Major General, was riding towards the head of the column
and hearing our cry, sang out: "They are liars, boys. Pop it to 'em!
Pop it to 'em." The mistake was soon discovered, however, and the firing
ceased. Three men had been killed and a number wounded by this mutual
and unfortunate error. After the skirmish had ended and order had been
restored, Dr. Hitt told me that he had drawn a bead, squirrel or
otherwise, on my anatomy, and was in the act of firing when Col. Ed
Johnson, in his anxiety to reach the front, rode directly between us and
possibly saved him the horror of having killed a comrade and messmate.
One of the victims of that encounter, Felder, of the Houston Guards,
told his mess on leaving camp that he would be killed, a presentiment
that was unfortunately too true. Another poor fellow was shot through
the thigh, the ball cutting an artery. He lay there until the blood ran
down the road for a distance of fifteen feet. The sight caused another
soldier to have a nervous chill and he begged piteously to be moved
away.
After the wounded had been cared for, the guard was reformed in front of
the brigade and we were marched back to a position in front of the
Federal camp to await the attack on its rear by the 3rd Ark. and the
23rd Va. Why this attack was never made seems to be a sort of unsolved
problem. Gen. Lee is said to have made a verbal explanation to President
Davis, but if there has been any published statement of the reason I
have failed to see it. As the attack on the rear had for some reason
failed to materialize, Gen. Jackson, after remaining on the mountain for
four days, returned to his old camp.
In connection with this, my first skirmish I am glad to have the
opportunity of paying deserved tribute to a comrade, who has since
passed over the river, but who, on that day, as on every other in which
I had the honor to serve with him in time of peril, was conspicuous for
his courage and his cool indifference to danger. When the order was
given to fall below the road in order to secure some protection from the
rocks and trees, Will Daniel refused to do so and kept his exposed
position, coolly loading and firing until the skirmish was over. In
devotion to the cause, for which he fought, in readiness to accept the
gravest personal risks, in apparently absolute unconsciousness of
danger, he was every inch a soldier.
And now what were my own sensations in this, my first baptism of fire? A
candid confession is said to be good for the soul, but whether it would
be good for the reputation in this particular case is another matter.
Under the law of testimony a witness is not compelled to incriminate
himself. Besides, after the lapse of nearly forty years, my memory can
not be expected to retain very accurately such minor details. I will
only say, therefore, that while the excitement produced by the crack of
the rifles and the hiss of the minies did in some degree lessen the
sense of personal danger, I have been able, even in my limited
experience as a traveler, to find quite a number of places that were to
me equally as pleasant as being under fire even for the first time. I
speak, of course, only for myself. Men's tastes differ in this as
widely perhaps as in other matters, and I do not claim that mine was a
universal or even a common experience. I only claim that while I had
been curious to know how I would feel under such circumstances, my
curiosity was satisfied in a little while, in a very little while. This
may have been due to the fact that my temperament is conservative and
that I did not care to be an extremist even in a little matter of this
kind--possibly, ah, yes, possibly.
MY FIRST PICKET DUTY.
For several miles in our front, the road leading towards Cheat Mountain
ran through a narrow valley and then crossing the river, wound up the
mountain side. On an outpost near this road my first picket service was
rendered. From an aesthetic, rather than a military point of view the
scenery from this post was really enchanting. Just beyond the river lay
a range of mountains broken in its contour by a partial gap. In its rear
and forming a background, rose a loftier range, the whole constituting
in appearance a mammoth alcove. The foliage of the forest growth, that
studded the slopes from base to summit, alchemized by the autumn frosts
had changed its hues to gold and crimson and with its blended tints
forming to the eye an immense bouquet, the picture was worthy an
artist's brush and has lingered in my memory during all these years.
But the scene changes. Night comes on cold and drizzly and starless.
No fire is allowed by the officer of the guard. Standing alone on an
outpost in Egyptian darkness and numbed with cold, while the muffled
patter of the rain drops on the fallen leaves continually suggests the
stealthy footfall of an approaching foe, I reach the conclusion that it
subjects a man to some inconvenience to die for his country.
A few nights afterwards the picket at this post was attacked by the
enemy and driven in. As they retired under fire Joe Derry was knocked
down by a buck and ball cartridge that riddled his cap and grazed his
scalp but inflicted no wound. When they had rallied on the reserve post
and Joe had opportunity to take his bearings he found that while
unwilling to remain and extend to his Northern friends any social
courtesies, he had been kind enough to leave with them a lock of his
hair. The clipping was made without pecuniary charge, but Joe has
probably preferred since to patronize a professional barber even at the
expense of his bank account.
MY FIRST BATTLE.
On Oct. 3rd, '61, Gen. Reynolds, thinking, possibly, that military
etiquette required that he should return the call we had made him on
Sept. 12th, came down, attended by his entire force and knocked at the
door of our outer picket posts in the early morning hours with the
evident purpose of making an informal visit to our camp. The knock was
loud enough to arouse Col. Ed. Johnson, who went out and took command
of the pickets in person in order that the reception given our visitors
might be sufficiently warm and cordial. Under his personal direction
every foot of the Federal advance was stubbornly contested. A little
fellow belonging to our regiment finally grew tired of falling back and
running up to Johnson said: "Colonel, let's charge 'em." Johnson, with
that peculiar nervous twitching of the lip that characterized him in
battle, commended the little fellow for his grit, but did not think it
good military judgment to charge an entire army of five thousand men
with a squad of fifty pickets. By 8 a. m. Gen. Reynolds had taken
position in our front and his artillery had opened on our line. The main
attack was expected on our right, and to its defence the 1st and 12th
Ga. were assigned. Forming into line and lying down to escape the shot
and shells from the Federal batteries, we awaited the attack. A nervous
officer in the regiment kept walking up and down the line saying: "Keep
cool, boys, keep cool," until Lieut. Ben Simmons of the Oglethorpes,
suggested to him that he was wasting his breath, that the boys were
cool. Gen. Jackson came down to our position to overlook the field, and
while there a courier rode up and said: "General, the wagoners are
cutting the traces and running off with the horses." The General grew
very much excited and turning to his son, Harry Jackson, said, "Go up
there, Henry and shoot the first wagoner that cuts a trace or leaves his
team." Harry galloped off, trying to get his pistol from the holster.
After the cannonade had lasted several hours an infantry attack was made
on our left and was repulsed. Then Gen. Reynolds ordered an assault on
our right. As the attacking column debouched from the woods on the
further bank of the shallow Green Brier, we were double-quicked to the
front to oppose their passage. Just then Shoemaker's Va. Battery began
to throw grape shot into their ranks and the men refused to cross. The
officers stormed at them and rode their horses into the ranks in the
effort to force them to advance, but without avail. The column fell back
to the road where they were joined by their right wing and by 1 p. m.
the entire force was making tracks for Cheat Mountain. Thus ended my
second lesson in "Jomini," or my first battle, if battle it can be
called. The losses on both sides, probably, did not aggregate two
hundred. The official report of the engagement was, however, so
elaborate that it was subjected to criticism and ridicule by the
merciless pen of Jno. M. Daniel, of the Richmond Examiner. It was
reported that he said that there were more casualties from overwork and
exhaustion in setting up type for that report than from shot and shell
in the battle.
Among the wounded that day was a member of the Bainbridge company of our
regiment, who had been shot down in the early morning as the pickets
were retiring before the Federal advance and, whose comrades were forced
to leave him where he fell. As the Union troops passed him again on
their return a surgeon was asked as to the propriety of taking him along
as a prisoner. "No," said he. "Give him a canteen of water. He'll be
dead in a few hours." The wounded man looked up at him and quoting, as
Dr. McIntyre would say, very liberally from profane history, told him
that he didn't intend to die. They left him, nevertheless, and when, at
3 o'clock next morning, he was brought into camp, both of our surgeons
pronounced his wound fatal. He dissented very strongly from their
opinions, was sent to the hospital and came out a well man, saved
largely, as I believe, by his dogged determination not to die.
A NIGHT STAMPEDE.
There are panics commercial and panics military, bearing no special
relation to each other and yet produced possibly by similar causes. One
is attributed to a lack of confidence in others; the other is possibly
due to a want of the same mental condition in regard to ourselves. In
war fear as well as courage is contagious. The conspicuous bravery of a
single soldier has sometimes steadied a wavering line, while one man's
inability to face the music has begun a rearward movement that ended in
a rout. Gen. Dick Taylor says that in Jackson's Valley Campaign he one
day quieted the nervousness of his men under a heavy fire by standing on
the breastworks and coolly striking a match on the heel of his boot to
light a cigar. His apparent indifference to the danger was probably
feigned but it produced the desired result. Heroism in battle and out of
it is probably not so much the result of what is termed personal courage
as it is the effect of lofty pride of character, backed and strengthened
by a God-like sense of duty. Napoleon once ordered one of his colonels
to charge a battery that was playing havoc with his lines. The officer
turned pale as the order came from his commander's lips, but he went to
his post promptly and led the charge and Napoleon said to his staff:
"That's a brave man, he feels the danger, but is willing to face it."
There are times, however, in war, when men, from some cause, real or
imaginary, lose their self-control and give way to an unreasonable and
unreasoning fear, when the instinct of self-preservation is uppermost
and patriotism and pride alike lose their power. A few occasions of this
kind I recall in my term of service. One of them occurred on the night
of Oct. 26, '61, at Green Brier River. A picket from one of the outposts
came in and reported the presence of a body of Federal troops near his
post. Two companies from the 1st and 12th Ga. and 37th Va. each, were
aroused from sleep and sent out to capture or disperse these disturbers
of our dreams. Few occasions in war test a man's nerves more thoroughly
than being suddenly awakened at night by an alarm. I have known men at
such a time to suffer from nervous chills and on one occasion it brought
on a member of the regiment an attack of cholera morbus. As this was the
only instance within my observation when such a result was produced, I
am not prepared, without further evidence, to recommend it to the
medical profession either as an emetic or an aperient.
The six companies, including the Oglethorpes, had passed the last
vidette post and crossing Green Brier River had begun the ascent of the
mountain beyond. We had reached the point where the enemy had been seen
and the location was an ideal one for an ambuscade. The dense forest
growth overarching the road, shut out the starlight and we were unable
to see six feet in our front. The head of the column had passed a sharp
bend in the road and was doubling back, after the manner of mountain
highways, when a soldier near the front stepped on a stick and it broke
with a sharp snapping sound resembling the click of a rifle hammer. Some
one in his rear, not knowing that the column had changed direction, and
mistaking the sound for evidence of an ambush, said: "Look out boys,"
and stepped to the side of the road. The next file followed suit and the
movement increased in volume and force as it came down the line, until
the hurried tramp of feet sounded like a cavalry charge, as most of the
men thought it was. For a few minutes everything was in confusion and
panic reigned supreme. There was an undefined dread in every man's mind
of a danger whose character and extent was hidden by the darkness.
Several guns were fired, but fortunately there were no casualties save a
few skinned noses from too sudden contact with the undergrowth that
walled in the road. Order was finally restored and the command proceeded
on its mission, but failed to locate an enemy, which had probably never
existed except in the perverted vision of a nervous picket.
THREE LITTLE CONFEDERATES.
Thomas Nelson Page has written very charmingly of "Two Little
Confederates," but an incident that occurred during our stay at Green
Brier shows that "there were others." On Nov. 14, '61, three Virginia
boys living in vicinity of our camp, and all under fifteen years of age,
were out squirrel hunting on the Green Bank road, which led partly in
the direction of the Federal camp on Cheat Mountain. Rambling through
the woods in search of game, they came in sight of Yankee soldier, who
was out on a similar errand, or possibly on an independent scouting
expedition. As he was a "stranger" they decided to "take him in." He had
laid aside his gun and cartridge box and was sitting by a tree eating
his lunch. Slipping up noiselessly in his rear they captured his arms
and then presenting their squirrel rifles they offered to serve as an
honorary escort to our camp. He was rather loth to comply with the
request of his youthful captors, but the muzzles of their guns were very
persuasive, and with true Virginia pluck, they marched their mortified
prisoner to Gen. Jackson's quarters. I regret that I failed to preserve
the names of those three brave little Confederates.
But few other incidents worthy of record in these memories occurred
during our stay on the Green Brier. On Nov. 17 there was a hotly
contested snow ball fight between the 1st and 12th Ga. Regiments,
resulting in a drawn battle. Two days later at 2 a. m., in response to
the rattle of musketry at the picket post, we were aroused and
marshalled into line in the wintry night air to repel an expected attack
on our camp. It was on this occasion that the cholera morbus incident,
to which allusion has been made, occurred. The alarm proved groundless,
as the pickets had mistaken an old grey mare and her colt for a body of
the enemy. As the animal was clothed in grey, the Confederate color, the
mistake was all the less excusable.