MISSIONARY RIDGE.
KENTUCKY CONFEDERATE VISITS SCENES OF BATTLE AND SIEGE DURING CIVIL WAR.
From here (Missionary Ridge) about the last of September the Orphans
were sent to Tyner Station as a base from which to guard the commissary
stores at Chickamauga Station, that place being the depot of supplies
for the army investing Chattanooga.
But when it was seen that Grant, who had arrived and assumed command of
the Federal Army, was planning to move on our lines on Lookout and
Missionary Ridge, we were ordered back to our original position on the
Ridge, not far from Bragg's headquarters. From this point we could see
on the night of the 24th of November the flashes from the rifles of the
contending lines on Lookout, like so many fireflies on a hot July
evening.
The extravagant talk about Hooker's "battle above the clouds" is a
misnomer, that has found its way into print, and for a long time filled
the papers and magazines and is nothing but a magnified myth
(unsupported by facts) that is absolutely incredible. At no time were
the contending forces more than half way up the mountain, and all the
glory arrogated by the Federals was achieved over a light line deployed
as skirmishers, composed of Alabamans. For a long time this twaddle was
absolutely and positively sickening.
But I must return to my beloved Orphans. Next morning (25th) before
daylight we were ordered to the extreme right (Northern point of the
Ridge) as support to Cleburne's division, a man who was never known to
ask for support. This move was a complete waste of that important
element of strength at this critical and all-important time, for we,
the Orphans, rendered practically no service at all on that eventful
day. But here I conjecture and philosophize again. May be and perhaps it
was providential, for had we kept our place in the line between and
among Cobb's guns, "Lady Breckinridge," "Lady Buckner" and "Lady Helm,"
and his other guns to which the Orphans were lovingly endeared, they
would never have been surrendered while a man was on his feet. Lucky
indeed for Sheridan and Wood that day that the Orphans were away from
home, and perhaps equally lucky for some, if not all, of us, for we had
sworn never to abandon this position while a man of us lived.
This, in my mind, was the strongest natural position with one exception
(Rockyface Gap) ever held by the Confederate forces in the West, and its
abandonment was a disgrace to Confederate arms. Imagine our
mortification and deep chagrin when we learned that our
battery--Cobb's--with the endearing names inscribed thereon, had been
cowardly abandoned after we had successfully defended them at Shiloh,
Vicksburg, Baton Rouge, Murfreesboro, Jackson, Chickamauga and other
places. It was enough to make an angel weep and justified the anathemas
hurled at the commander and the cowardly troops that were left to defend
them. The circumstance left a sting that never can be forgotten while an
Orphan survives.
We never knew what had happened until about dark, when we were ordered
from our position toward Chickamauga Station. Then the truth took first
the form of conjecture, then misgiving and lastly the sad news that we
were to cover the retreat of the army. Then all was explained.
The retreat that night was one of intense hardship and excitement, and
it was entrusted to the Orphan Brigade, with the help of Cleburne's
division, to protect the retreating army. We were in their grasp had
they only known it. Passing so near one of their pursuing columns we
could actually hear them talking and see them moving around the camp
fires they were kindling. To prevent being ambushed we threw out a
string of guards on both sides of the road, who moved along parallel
with the road and near it. Every moment we expected an attack.
The feeling was one of intenseness and we were greatly relieved when at
last we became assured of our escape.
Had the Federals only known it, they had our retreating column cut in
two and could have made a finish of the day's work and probably the
Confederacy as well.
But they, too, as well as the Confederates, failed sometimes to grasp
their opportunities. One of the pleasant and enjoyable features of this
night's experience was the wading of Chickamauga River, waist deep,
which had a tendency to further exasperate us and cause the men to
express themselves in anything but Sunday school phrase and song.
Next day was but little less exciting. The Federal advance was pressing
us with unusual vigor and compelled us to turn time and again from the
line of march and check their advance. It was fight and run until
Cleburne determined to, and did, put an end to it, ambushing them at
Ringgold Gap, where they paid for their persistence with the lives of
several hundred men.
After this costly warning from Cleburne we were permitted to continue
our retreat unmolested and reached, the next day, that haven of rest,
Dalton, about which I have written in a subsequent chapter.
I am making my chapter on Mission Ridge short because there is nothing
pertaining to it that is to the credit of the Confederate soldier as a
whole. Yet there were some commands of the army that did their duty well
and creditably.
In looking at the tablets of many--in fact most of the Federal regiments
and brigades which contain a summary of their losses--I was struck with
amazement at the very light loss sustained in this memorable
engagement, so disgraceful to the Confederates. Some regiments losing
only one man killed and ten or twelve wounded, and no brigade, so far as
I noticed, lost more than thirteen men, which was an average of three to
the regiment. We had a single company, Company I, of the Fourth
Kentucky, that lost more men at Shiloh than a whole brigade here.
When considering the great advantage of position held by them and the
insignificant losses inflicted upon the Federals, the losses but
emphasize the fact that the Confederates must have been badly rattled on
this summit and would no doubt have made a better fight from their
entrenchments at the base of the mountain bordering the valley, over
which the columns of Grant moved to the attack.
But let us think and reason for the moment, and if possible find some
excuse for this miserable failure. It is well known to the expert
marksman and sportsman as well, that in shooting on a steep decline you
are much more apt to overshoot than when directing a shot horizontally
or upward. This was the case there on these steep mountain sides, which
furnishes the one excuse only for such bad marksmanship and the low per
cent of casualties just noticed. But notwithstanding this fact a much
more creditable record could have been made by rolling the huge boulders
that were abundant down upon the Federals, whose progress was, of
course, necessarily slow; and, lastly, when the enemy reached the summit
exhausted, what were their bayonets for and why did they not use them?
These are questions that suggest themselves to the mind of the writer at
this distant day, while looking at this natural and seeming impregnable
position. As stated before, the history on one part of the field would
have been differently written had not the Orphans been taken away from
their pets--"Lady Buckner," "Lady Breckinridge," "Lady Helm," "Lady
Hanson," "Lady Lyon" and others of their companions in war. A feeling
of chagrin creeps over me when I think of the surrender of these guns
with their endearing names and hitherto immortal history.
But General Bragg, in his wisdom--no, his unwisdom--thought it best to
send us away from our idols and hazard them in the keeping of those who
betrayed their trust, and left us, like Rachael, weeping, because they
were lost and we "also refused to be comforted."
I find almost innumerable tablets, markers and monuments placed here to
commemorate the deeds of valor here performed by the Federals; but I
find very few (which is well) to mark the Confederates and _their_
deeds. But could I have my way every one of these would be removed and
in their stead I would place the Goddess of Liberty, weeping for shame
that her children had so dishonored their heritage.
I have said that I would be brief, and choking back the feeling of
remorse and disgrace that this one incident in the history of the
Confederate soldier has fixed upon their otherwise brilliant and
incomparable record, I close by referring the reader to Murfreesboro.