ridge that finally formed our line, had some severe fighting. We had the
opportunity of seeing a counter charge against General Willich's brigade
on our right. The rebels came at Willich in fine shape, just as he was
coming into position, but it seemed they had no real good appetite for
an open field fight and got back into their works in the order of "every
one for himself." That night we threw up intrenchments on this line and
the next morning the enemy still confronted us.
We had orders early in the day that we should be required to charge the
enemy's position in our front. In our immediate front there is a deep
ravine, and the rebel works ran across this at right angles to our line.
Whenever we charged from our works our right flank was exposed to the
fire from the rebel intrenchments. At about two p. m. the charge was
ordered and our line moved out over our intrenchments. No sooner was it
exposed to the flank fire from the enemy behind the works than it went
to pieces. Most of the men got back in as good shape as did the rebels
that charged on Willich. Some of our regiment got into a position where
they could not return with any safety, and stayed out and came in under
the cover of darkness. Later in the afternoon the 20th Corps made two or
three attempts to break the rebel line, but each time failing, and when
the morning of the sixteenth dawned the enemy had abandoned his works
and put the little river called Coosa between himself and us.
What good results the battle of Resaca may have had on the campaign I
cannot say, but it is certain the enemy was forced back by some movement
made by General Sherman on his flanks that would compel him to fight
outside of his works. We took a number of prisoners at this position,
and our regiment lost quite severely. We marched through the town and
found it all knocked into splinters by the shelling it had suffered
during the two days' battle. We crossed the river and marched about five
miles to the southward that night.
The experience of one day did not vary much from that of another. The
seventeenth we marched through a county town called Calhoun, county seat
of Gordon county. It was march and skirmish every day. This is a better
country than any other we had seen in northern Georgia, but desolation
was written all over it after we passed. At almost every plantation we
came to the rebels made a stand and the mansion house a fortress from
which to fire at our skirmishers, and when we drove them out the house
almost invariably took fire, and at all times of day and night the
heavens were lurid with the flames of rebel homes. The country from
Resaca to the Etowah river was the most absolutely desolated of any that
we ever left behind us.
Between Cartersville and Adairsville I picked up a muster roll of a
company of an Alabama regiment that had written thereon eighty-four
names. Until I found this roll I was not aware the Roman Catholic church
was so strong in the south. The four commissioned officers signed the
roll by their signatures, but the enlisted men each _put the sign of the
cross_ in the place of the signature. On this march one of the boys
found a copy of the debates of the Georgia convention, held in the
winter of 1860-61, at which the state resolved to go out of the Union.
It contained the speech of Alexander H. Stevens, made in the convention,
in which he warned the delegates of the deluge of blood and fire that
would be poured down on their fair state by the invading armies of the
north. It seemed almost prophetic to us who read this speech in the
light of those blazing southern homes, and it also seemed that we were
the ones he saw in his prophetic vision. Of course, all the prophetic
power he had was the keen intellectual force he possessed, and whether
he believed his own prophesies or not, he was afterward chosen vice
president of the confederate states and served as such during the life
of the rebellion. This book was carried along for days, hoping to save
it as a relic of this memorable campaign, but the time comes in the
experience of every soldier when a pocketknife seems a burden, and this
book, containing all the venom of the southern fire-eaters, couched in
language not only learned and chaste in style, but eloquent in diction,
had to be thrown away. Stevens, alone, tried to stem the tide of
secession, "but it was the voice of a drowning man in the midst of the
breakers."
With marching and skirmishing every day the time wore away, and May 23d
found us on the north bank of the Etowah, a fine river that comes down
from northeastern Georgia, the valley of which seemed very fertile and
productive. This river we crossed on one of Sherman's lightning bridges
and struck out over what is known, locally, as the burnt hickory
district, across the ridges of the Allatoona mountains in the direction
of Dallas. Here Hooker's Corps had a heavy battle, but our corps was not
engaged.
The next position taken by the enemy was known as Dallas, though the
battles along the position were known by different names. I should say
before passing that we were now in what (before the discovery of gold in
California) was known as the gold region of Georgia. Our boys brought in
from time to time, while in this position, some beautiful specimens of
gold bearing and crystallized quartz, but I suppose they had to be
thrown away to lighten the burden of the soldier when the time comes
that one has to give thought and close attention to be able to put one
leg before the other. This seems hardly probable to my young friends
here to-day, so full of health and activity, but how many times have we
heard the dear boys say, "Captain, _I cannot take another step to save
my life_." Often we would pull out of the road and go into camp near
some clear mountain stream, and you would see the boys pulling off their
shoes and stockings and holding their blistered feet in the cool water
by the half-hour, before making any preparations for supper or sleep.
But what pen will ever be able enough, what tongue will be eloquent
enough, to portray the trials and sufferings of the march and
battlefield, to say nothing of sickness, death and wounds.
May 26th our corps found the enemy in position at what was known as
Dallas. That night the rebels attacked General Logan's Corps and were
badly repulsed. This was the only serious night attack I ever knew in
all my army experience. All have known more or less firing at night, but
this was the first and only charging column that I ever knew to be sent
off at night. There seems to be too much uncertainty about it to favor
nocturnal battles.
Early the twenty-seventh we were on the move, my company on the skirmish
line. About ten o'clock we heard that our beloved major, James B.
Hampson, who was on staff duty with General Wood, commanding division,
was killed. This was very sad news, indeed, as the major was idolized by
the regiment, and we all recognized the fact that he had done so much to
make soldiers of us. He was one of the most intelligent, soldierly and
brave officers in the 4th Army Corps. One thing was a little strange,
the major always insisted that he would be killed in the service. Early
in the war the major was a member of the Cleveland Grays, and belonged
to that splendid organization for many years before. He was, without
doubt, the best drilled man in the 3d Division.
It seemed to be the object of General Sherman to put the 4th Corps in on
the left, find the right flank of the enemy, "catch it in air," if
possible, bring on a general engagement, destroy the rebel army, and
thereby end the campaign. It was the fortune of Company B, which I
commanded, to be ordered to the skirmish line, with other portions of
the brigade, and which line in front of our division was in command of
Major Williston, of the 41st O. V. I. Very many times that day we moved
to the front, but always found the enemy in very strong works, and then
we would withdraw and move by the left flank still further to the left.
Late in the afternoon we came near the Pumpkinvine creek, and found the
rebels without works. This fact was immediately reported to division
headquarters. We drove the rebel skirmish line back on his line of
battle. Colonel Payne sent me an order to force the skirmish line well
to the front, and word was sent back that we were fighting the main line
of the enemy, not one hundred feet away. The rebel line was on the top
of a ridge that runs along the valley of the creek, and is naturally a
very strong position. Soon the brigade came up and charged the hill, but
was unable to go beyond our skirmishers. Later on General Howard put in
General Wm. H. Gibson's brigade, the general leading the charge on foot.
Never did I see men show more courage than did Gibson's brigade in this
charge, but all was unavailing. The rebels reinforced their line with
General Pat. Cleburne's division, and thereby far outnumbered the men we
had engaged in the action. Had an entire division been put in between
our left and Pumpkinvine creek mill pond, early in the afternoon, I
believe the result would have been different. As it was a brigade was
fought at a time, on a very short line where the hill was steepest, and
the enemy's position the most unassailable. The result was that our
brigade was the worst cut up of all the battles in which we were
engaged. We fought in this position until dark, and then what was left
of the two brigades, that had been put into this slaughter pen, withdrew
to the other side of the valley. I have said that my company was on the
skirmish line and opened the battle, and fought with the main line when
the same came up. About four o'clock in the afternoon I went over to the
left of the line to see how the battle was progressing in that quarter,
and met Lieutenant Stedman where an old road comes winding down the
hill. I made some inquiry as to how the boys were getting on, and he
told me Adam Waters had been killed. Adam Waters was one of the best men
of our company. He also informed me that a great many others of the
company and regiment were badly wounded. He said: "Captain, we can hold
this position until reinforcements come up, can we not?" I replied, "I
think so, but what we want is to carry this hill." I was facing up the
hill, and he stood with his face toward me, and so near that I could
have laid my hand on his shoulder. All at once a great stream of blood
spouted from his left breast. He gave me one look, as much as to say "my
time has come," and sank in my arms, dead. I moved his body out of the
road, and folded his arms across his breast. I took his watch and
memorandum book, and laid his new and beautiful saber on his body,
marked the tree under which he laid with my knife, so I could find the
spot again, and amid the thunders of battle I left him reposing on the
loving breast of mother earth, while sadly I left for another part of
the field. There on that lone hillside was sacrificed one of the very
few absolutely brave men I ever knew. I moved over to the right of the
line, and there I saw Captain John Irving, sitting up, his body
reclining against the body of a small sapling, smoking his pipe, his
face as white as the driven snow. I said: "Captain are you wounded?"
"Yes, it is all day with me," he replied. I asked him where he was
wounded, he pointed to his right groin. I learned from him that
Lieutenant Colonel Pickands and Captain Wm. Wilson were also wounded.
Captain John Irving died at the hospital at Chattanooga some weeks
afterward. I think the 124th O. V. I. never had a line officer that was
held in higher respect, for his great bravery, soldierly conduct, as
well as social qualities, than Captain John Irving.
[Illustration:
_CAPTAIN JOHN B. IRWIN._
]
It was now quite dark, and the firing had ceased all along the line. The
few men that came out of the battle together gathered around Colonel
Payne. He was all alone. His gallant major had been killed early in the
day, and his lieutenant colonel had been dangerously wounded. Of course,
we had hopes that many more would come in during the night, as we were
withdrawn from the field in squads, and without any word of command that
all could hear, and the men were coming in all night.
The night was very dark, and I proposed to Sergeant Orson Vanderhoef of
our company, that if he and two others would volunteer to go with me we
would go over to the hillside and bring off the body of Lieutenant
Stedman. Ort. was made of the best of stuff, and with two others, as
good, we started. Never saw I such a scene before. The old dead pine
trees standing on the ridge had taken fire from the bursting shells and
cast a weird and gloomy light over the battlefield. When we came to the
old road we followed it up and soon came to the tree under which the
body of the dead lieutenant lay. Some one had taken his saber that I so
much wanted to send home to his only child, at that time a small boy,
but we searched in vain for it. I never can forget the terrible sounds
that filled our ears. When the wounded men discovered that some one was
there they began such piteous appeals for help. "For God's sake can't
you give me a drop of water?" "Can't you help me off the field, so I may
not be captured?" The memory of that dread scene haunts me still, and I
suppose will as long as I can turn in fond recollection to those brave
men that were so ruthlessly sacrificed at the battle of New Hope Church.
Would it not be the proper thing for General O. Howard (between his
prayers) to explain why he left that hillside with its great number of
wounded men to fall into the hands of a merciless enemy, when a good
skirmish line could have held it, at least until the wounded could have
been removed? I would not have propounded this inquiry had I not seen
some of his war articles in a popular magazine. But I must return to my
sad story. I said to Sergeant Vanderhoef that he and I would take the
shoulders, and the others might divide the balance of the burden, as
Ort. and I were a little the more muscular of the party. We had just
stooped down to raise the body of our loved comrade when there rang out
the silvery notes of a bugle, so clear and soft one might have mistaken
it for some night bird's call. Ort. said: "Captain, what's that?" I
said: "I guess that is some artillery call. It is certainly not an
infantry call." Ort. said: "By G—d, it's the _rebel forward_, I've heard
it many a time on picket, and we'd better be getting out of here pretty
G—d d—d quick." Just at this instant a rebel skirmisher stepped into the
old road, and the blaze of his musket went away past where we stood. I
whispered to separate instantly, and away we went down the hill. The
firing had now become general all along the line, telling the story only
too plainly that the field, with all of its wealth of dead and wounded
comrades, had been abandoned to the tender mercies of one of the most
cruel enemies that ever fought a battle. Common humanity would have
dictated that a fresh line should have been established on that field,
and maintained there until the last wounded union soldier had been
tenderly borne back to the field hospital. The only reason the rebels
charged over that battlefield that night was because they knew no line
of union skirmishers was there to oppose them, and they could plunder
the brave dead and wounded without danger of molestation.
As soon as one was away from the light of the burning pines it was so
dark one could not see a hand before him, and the first thing that I
realized I was up to my neck in Picket's mill pond; but, being a
Baptist, that did not astonish me to any alarming extent. I groped
around in the darkness not knowing whether my wandering steps were
bearing me into our lines or the rebels'. At length, about three o'clock
a. m., I came upon a group of men and asked who they were. One replied
they were General Howard and staff. I told them my name, rank, company
and regiment, as well as brigade and division, and asked for directions.
None of them could give any and I was about to leave when it occurred to
me that was the corps commandant, and I, as an officer, had a duty to
perform. I addressed the general, begging his pardon for the intrusion,
and told him that I had been driven off the battlefield, and that there
was not so much as a union picket between our lines and the rebels. You
might have supposed that he thanked me for the information, and that he
would have said "that he would have the matter looked into," but on the
contrary his reply was: "There is not a word of truth in your story,
sir. Go away from here, this is my headquarters." I went immediately
away reflecting how it was possible for a man to be such a devout
Christian and a corps commander, and still be so little of a gentleman.
When I found the regiment they were intrenching, and I worked with them
until daylight, when we found our works faced to the rear. We soon put
out a skirmish line, reformed our works, and this battle under the
different names of Picket's Mills, Pumpkinvine creek and New Hope
Church, was the last engagement in which our brigade took part on the
rebel position known as Dallas.
In this battle of New Hope Church, just described in the poor way that a
line officer has of seeing such a conflict, our regiment lost very
heavily in officers and men. I see by a note I made at the time that the
brigade in this action lost five hundred and sixty men. We remained in
this position for a number of days, skirmishing and fighting, somewhere,
almost constantly. It was at this position that we had the benefit of a
lesson and example from the regular brigade. On this line the regulars
joined us on the left. The rebel skirmish line ran along by the edge of
a wood, while from our line to theirs the ground was open and
comparatively level. To avoid losing men, we put our skirmishers out
before daylight in the morning, avoiding any formal "guard mounting,"
and relieved them after dark at night. The regulars took the _regular
regulation way_. At nine o'clock every morning they had "guard
mounting," omitting no formality of the same. The rebel skirmish line,
safe in their pits, firing into them all the time. The new line going
out under fire, and the relieved one coming back under the same
conditions. This occurred every morning as long as we remained in this
position. I am not certain whether this fact ever came to the knowledge
of the general officers or not, but the fact became so notorious that
the men from all along our brigade were in the habit of coming in behind
our works to witness the "_regular guard mounting_." They used to lose
from two to five men every morning. The boys used to call it the
"regular slaughter pen."
We remained in this position until the fifth of June, when we found that
Sherman's flanking process had done its work and the rebels had
abandoned their position, and we moved to the left to within three miles
of Ackworth. From this time until we again struck the rebel position,
the twenty-second of June, it was march, skirmish and intrench. This
gave us but little rest, and the boys were looking haggard and careworn.
This constant skirmishing, this no place of safety, this constant alarm,
and night work on intrenchments, seemed to fatigue and wear out men more
than fighting hard battles, followed by security and rest.
We had now pushed our line as far south as Marietta, a beautiful town,
situated just north of the Chattahoochee river, and just south of
Kennesaw mountain. This country of central Georgia is somewhat peculiar
in its formation. There are no distinct mountain ranges south of the
Allatoonas, but here and there a beautiful little mountain rises all
alone above the surrounding country, that seems very much like table-
land, though not level enough to bear that appellation. Among these
solitary mountains, the names of which I remember, are Pine, where the
rebel general, Bishop Polk, was killed before we reached our present
position, Kennesaw mountain, Lost mountain and Stone mountain. All these
little mountains were taken advantage of, as defensive positions, by the
enemy; and here at Marietta the rebel line ran over the north side of
Kennesaw, making an admirable position for its right flank. Here we
forced our way very close to the enemy's works and in some places our
works approached theirs to within two hundred feet, so that neither army
could have a skirmish line beyond its works. When we were coming into
this close position, the rebels made a charge and were repulsed with
great slaughter; and their dead lay there unburied until after they
abandoned this line. Some of us went over this portion of the line, and
it was with difficulty that we picked our way among the rebel dead. I
never saw the dead lie thicker, save at Chickamauga; and it took a
strong man to stand the terrible stench that arose from that field in
this almost tropical climate. I think this position of the enemy was the
strongest of any we had encountered, and for the benefit of those that
were not there I will describe these rebel works and defenses. In the
first place there was the timber, the trees were felled and the tops
turned outward, the small branches all trimmed off and the large ones
sharpened. These trees, so trimmed, were placed contiguously to each
other, and the buts staked down with heavy stakes driven deep into the
ground. This first line of rebel defenses was about shoulder high to an
ordinary man, and could only be cleared away by axmen. Their second line
was constructed in this wise: A ditch was dug about four feet deep, pine
poles from three to four inches in diameter were cut and sharpened to a
point, set about four inches apart at an angle of about forty-five
degrees, facing outward, and coming up about breast high. This ditch was
filled with earth, and tamped solidly, then near the ground these
sharpened stakes were woven together with withes. A more formidable
defense could hardly be invented. Their third line of defense required
more labor. They cut pine logs about twelve inches in diameter, and
bored them through the center at right angles, with three inch augers;
these holes were filled with pine poles six feet long sharpened at each
end, and driven through the log just halfway. These logs were halved
together and pinned, and the splices wrapped with telegraph wire, thus
making a continuous line. This defense is what the French call
_Chevauxdefrise_, and is just as formidable one side up as the other,
and cannot be gotten over without axmen. Finally, the rifle pits, with
head-logs thereon, leaving a space of about three inches, through which
an infantryman could aim and fire in comparative safety, the head-logs
fully protecting the head above the line of sight. These defenses were
placed and constructed about fifteen rods apart, and all within the
deadly range of the Enfield rifle with which our mother country had
armed the confederacy; and a more accurate, longer range muzzle-loader
was never invented. A portion of the enemy's line, with defenses just as
I have described above, General Sherman tried to carry by assault the
twenty-seventh day of June, and lost three thousand men in fifteen
minutes, General Newton making the assault with the first division of
the 4th corps. Our brigade was in position to support the assaulting
columns and we saw the disastrous charge, but the charge failing we were
not put in. Here the brave young General Harker was killed, while
leading one of the assaulting columns. That the charge would fail was
inevitable. A single line of battle of the enemy, armed as they were,
inside of such defenses, could repulse any mass of men that could be
sent against them. It would require a man without a musket and
accouterments, armed with a good ax, from five to ten minutes to cut
through these three outer lines of defenses, and the idea of assaulting
such a position without first having these defenses cleared away, was
entirely preposterous. It would have cost the killing or wounding of one
thousand axmen to have cleared the way for a regimental front to charge.
After the terrible disaster of the twenty-seventh of June, 1864, General
Sherman came out in a long general order, which was in fact a very weak
excuse for this disastrous blunder, and winding up in substance as
follows: "My soldiers must learn that they must charge in all places,
and that we cannot depend at all times upon flank movements."