(By request.)
That subdivision of the Confederate forces, known as the "Army of
Tennessee," and then commanded by General Jos. E. Johnston, passed the
memorable winter of 1863-4 in camp at Dalton, Ga. The winter was one
of unprecedented severity--the thermometer registering in January,
1864, three degrees below zero. During the cold weather an unusual
amount of snow fell for that latitude; and the chief occupations of
the soldiers were getting wood, cooking, eating, and keeping warm. It
was too cold to drill or to indulge in the usual out-door games, "stag
dances," etc., tents being too small for these purposes. And as most
of the "boys" were _young_ men, naturally there was an accumulation of
physical energy that constantly sought issue in athletic exercises.
When the copious fall of snow came, it brought the opportunity not
only for exercise, but for royal sport as well. But before proceeding
further, let us explain that in selecting a camp, the subdivisions
of the same command are placed as near together as sanitation, water
supplies, the conformation of the ground and general convenience, will
allow. That is to say, the regiments of a brigade are located near each
other. So, the brigades of a division; and so the divisions of an army
corps. General B. F. Cheatham's Division of General Hardee's Corps,
was composed of four brigades of Tennesseeans,--Maney's, Vaughan's,
Carter's and Strahl's, and was camped on one side of a considerable
depression in the ground, not sharp enough to be called a ravine, but
through which a small branch ran during wet weather. On the opposite
summit and slope to this depression, and about three hundred paces
from the Tennesseeans, was camped Gen. Walker's Division of Georgia
troops--also of Gen. Hardee's Corps.
The day after the snow had ceased to fall, "snow-balling" first began
among the men of the same companies and camps, and many interesting,
exciting and clamorous contests were had for several hours. But
finally a body of Tennesseeans and Georgians became arrayed against
each other and very soon the contest became highly exciting. As the
news spread through the camps that a fight was on hand between the
Georgians and Tennesseeans, division pride and State pride became
excited, the small fights ceased, and reinforcements poured in to both
sides of the State forces until all interest was absorbed in one grand
battle between Georgians and Tennesseeans, in which several thousand
men were now engaged, making the heavens wild with shouts and the air
striped with the tracks of flying snow-balls. Charge after charge
was made and repulsed. Shout after shout rent the sky. For two hours
or longer the battle raged, with partially varying successes. The
prisoners who were captured in one charge would make their escape under
the excitement of the next, and rejoin their comrades in the fight.
Sometimes the assaulting columns would have to retreat because their
ammunition would give out, and would, in turn, be countercharged and
routed by the receiving forces who had held their ground and defended
their magazines (large piles of snow-balls as high as a man's head all
along the line and prepared beforehand) and were thus supplied with
ammunition. Sometimes these magazines would be charged and captured by
massing a force for that purpose. In these charges the supreme efforts
made by the defending forces to resist the momentum of the assaulting
mass, raised excitement to its wildest height. The place where a
magazine was captured was always retaken, but sometimes not until the
ammunition had been used up on those making it, or carried away by
the enemy into his own lines. Finally, after alternating successes of
a very partial and indecisive character, the battle ceased as if by
common consent and the weary combatants "rested upon their arms"--each
upon his original ground and upon opposite sides of the depression,
or small branch before referred to, and not more than a hundred paces
apart. Neither side seemed to be satisfied. Neither was whipped and
neither appeared inclined to leave the field. Besides, during this
cessation of hostilities, both armies were vigorously engaged in making
ammunition, which, with other demonstrations of a hostile character,
clearly indicated that the battle was soon to be renewed and upon a
much grander and more imposing scale than ever before.
Up to this juncture, the writer had been only a highly interested
spectator of the contest from a distance, and had not expected to take
any personal part in the fight. But at this moment, a messenger, and
one of my own command, came running to my quarters and said that he
had been sent by the Tennesseeans to ask me to come and command them,
and to come mounted; that with a mounted commander to lead them, they
thought they could win the fight. With my interest already highly
excited, it needed no persuasion, and I told my colored boy to saddle
my horse immediately. By the time he had done so, the messenger had
improvised a flag for me to carry, out of an old bandanna handkerchief,
about two feet and a half square, and the largest and dirtiest one, I
think, I ever saw. I mounted my horse, a beautiful dappled iron grey,
and with the bandanna flag in my hand, flying to the breeze, I charged
to the field--my horse leaping logs, ditches and other obstructions
and running faster as I approached the exciting scene. When I checked
up in front of the Tennesseeans, (now in battle array) and waving my
flag, such a tremendous shout shook the air that the very atmosphere
seemed to quiver around and above us. Excitement was now intense, and
the men wildly impatient to make the charge. Immediately after my
appearance on horse-back in front of the Tennesseeans, Major ----,
(whose name I regret to have forgotten) of Gen. Walker's staff,
appeared mounted at the head of the Georgians. His coming was greeted
with a tremendous shout from _his_ men, and was answered by mine with
another shout, as if to say: "We accept your challenge." Excitement
was now extreme. Non-combatants had assembled by hundreds on the
surrounding hills and house-tops to see the fight. General officers
and their staffs, at their headquarters, had mounted their horses or
ascended higher elevations to witness the impending struggle. All
was now ready. And after directing the men to fill their pockets,
bosoms and hands with balls, and the ordnance officers to follow the
line with all the ammunition their details could carry, I ordered
the charge. With a shout that signaled victory, and an impetuosity
that seemed irresistible, we dashed upon the brave Georgians, and
for a few minutes the struggle was fierce and furious, desperate and
doubtful. The air was white with whizzing and bursting balls; men were
tripped up, knocked down, covered with snow, or run over. The writer
was struck with at least a hundred balls, and his horse by as many
more. The momentum of the charging column was too great, however, to
be successfully resisted, more especially so when it outflanked both
wings of the enemy, which soon gave way. The center then being flanked,
and at the same time being sorely pressed in front, also gave way, and
his entire army fled in great confusion. The rout on the field was now
complete, and the enemy was not only driven therefrom, but through
his own camp and into the woods beyond. The object of the campaign
(victory) being now accomplished, I ordered the pursuit to cease and
the men to return to their camps. As they did so, however, some of
them stopped in the deserted camps of the Georgians and plundered
their mess chests, which had been well filled by supplies from their
friends at home. When I heard of this, and reproved it as not being a
legitimate object of the campaign, the reply and defense were in that
questionable old maxim, "All is fair in love and war."
* * * * *
So far from this episode of camp life having been a source of unkind
feeling between Walker's Division of Georgians and Cheatham's Division
of Tennesseeans, it ever afterward seemed to be rather a bond of
sympathy and union. The writer never afterward passed or met the
Georgia Division, that its men did not greet him with shouts, often
with "Three cheers for the Snowball Colonel!" "Colonel" was my rank
at the time and "The Snowball Colonel" was the designation they ever
afterward gave me. This "snowball battle" seems to have made a deep
and indelible impression on all the soldiers who took part in, or who
witnessed it; for one of the first questions I am often asked by old
soldiers whom I have not seen since the close of the war, is: "General,
do you remember the snowball battle at Dalton, Ga.?" This, and the
additional fact that it is still so often a topic of conversation among
the old soldiers, is, I suppose, why Gen. Vaughan has requested me to
write an account of it as an appendix to his book.
* * * * *
In concluding this report of the celebrated snowball fight, I suppose
the writer can say, without being charged with vanity, that he won
more "reputation" ("that idle and most false imposition; often got
without merit and lost without deserving") than in all the other
battles in which he participated during the war. He is said to have
performed prodigies of daring and desperation during the action, as
men can generally do when there is not much danger in front, and no
disgrace in defeat. With a bowed head (after the manner of a pugnacious
sheep) to protect his face and eyes from the balls of the enemy, he
rode right into and through their ranks, amid a deluging snowstorm
of flying missiles, and emerged therefrom with a floating flag, but
a hatless head. He congratulates his command and himself that though
the battle was intensely boisterous, it was practically bloodless--the
only casualties being a few blinded eyes and two or three broken arms,
during an action in which not fewer than five thousand men were engaged.
The Tennesseeans were so enthused with their great victory over the
Georgians, that they wanted another fight before the "weary sun," then
sinking low, "had made his golden set." But as there was not time to
seek it with troops in a distant camp and from a different State, they
concluded to fight each other. Accordingly an issue was joined between
Maney's Brigade, commanded by Col. Hume Field, mounted, and Vaughan's
Brigade, commanded by the writer, also mounted. The dispositions for
battle having been duly made, the charge was mutually sounded, and
when the opposing lines, advancing on each other with great speed and
impetuosity, clashed, the shock was tremendous. Men fell right and
left, in front and rear. Some were dragged from the field, hatless
and coatless, amid the greatest cheering and wildest shouts. "When
Greek meets Greek, then comes the _tug_ of war." The battle raged till
all the reserves had been brought into action, when a supreme effort
was made by both sides to close the fight with victory. The writer,
venturing too far into the enemy's ranks, had his horse seized by as
many of them as could get hold of him, and was thrown to the ground;
the rider was grabbed by the head and arms (his bandanna flag going
down in the wreck), and was being dragged to the enemy's rear, when a
large squad of his own men seized him by the other end in an effort to
recapture him, and he was raised from the ground and actually strung
up between the heavens and the earth by the pulling forces at each end
of him. At this moment he _felt_ that his situation was now serious
indeed, and that it was time to stop such "d--n foolishness." So, by
vigorous kicking, "cussing" and yelling to his men to release him,
they did so, and he was left a prisoner in the hands of the enemy,
but without any serious injury. In the meantime, however, his own men
had captured the commander of the enemy, and as neither side now had
a leader the men ceased fighting and entered into negotiations for an
exchange of prisoners. By the time the exchange was effected, the ardor
of the combatants had greatly cooled, and neither side seemed disposed
to renew the contest.
* * * * *
As to the result of the fight, it may be called a drawn battle, or
described by an anecdote of a darkey attached as a servant to Gen.
Floyd's command in Virginia. When Gen. Floyd had been beaten and was
being pursued by the enemy, the darkey moved to the rear far in advance
of the retreating troops, and when he was met by a soldier going to
join the command and was asked what was the news from Gen. Floyd, he
did not want to admit that he had been defeated, but said: "When I lef
'em, our men wuz vancin backwards on de Yankees, and dey wuz retreatin
on us." As the last beams of the setting sun gilded the icy branches
of the leafless trees with the beauteous tints of the rainbow, the
soldiers returned to their camps from the white field of the great
"snowball battle," and retired that night with the fadeless memory of a
glorious day.
* * * * *
Transcriber's Notes:
Omitted periods repaired.
Punctuation typos in rosters have been corrected for consistency.
Retained period spelling of 'intrench' and its derivatives
throughout.
Alphabetizing errors in the Roster listings
have been preserved.
Page 86: The spelling of 'schrapnel' has been retained as it
appears in the original publication. ["when a schrapnel shell
came over"]
Page 90: Changed 'hight' to 'height'. ["raised excitement to its
wildest height"]