ATLANTA--MAY, 1912.
I am writing this from historic Atlanta, the "gateway of the South." How
very different to the Atlanta I knew in the days gone by when her
streets were filled with the tramp, tramp of marching armies, when her
walls were rocked by the thunders of the cannon's mighty roar, when the
rockets' "red glare gave proof through the night that our new flag was
still there." Oh! what a wonderful change 'twixt now and then. "Lovely
city now, quiet and mighty in her peaceful ways, may the God of war
never again sound his bugle calls over her peaceful slumbers, and may
she know the ways of war no more forever."
How very, very different to the Atlanta I saw in June, 1865, when on my
way home from the South, returning disabled, discomfited, defeated. What
darker picture could be imagined unless it be "Dante's Inferno," than a
city of destroyed homes with blackened walls and chimneys punctuating
the fiendish spirit that prompted the ruin of its people and their
homes. When General Sherman first gave expression to his oft-repeated
apothegm he must have had in mind the ruin he had accomplished in the
destruction of this fair city of the South. Certainly nothing but a
fiendish spirit could have prompted it.
But two buildings of prominence were left--the Masonic Temple and a
hotel. But her people are now enjoying the blessings of peace and
prosperity, having risen, Phoenix-like, from her ashes.
I must now return to some of the incidents and events of the defense of
Atlanta in which I was an humble participant. On the 9th of July General
Johnston's army crossed the Chattahoochee River on pontoons and the time
until the 22d was employed by Johnston and Hood chiefly in marching and
counter-marching to checkmate the movements of Sherman. A circumstance
happened about this time that gave Sherman great pleasure (he says so)
and correspondingly great sorrow and despondency to the Confederates,
heretofore so successfully led by General Johnston, viz., the removal of
Johnston and the substitution of Hood.
While Hood was a Kentuckian as well as we Orphans, and we priding in
everything pertaining to the history of Kentucky, we had unbounded
confidence in General Johnston. But once before had we felt such sadness
and regret--when General Breckinridge was taken from us and sent to
Virginia. This feeling was intensified by the belief that Bragg was
responsible.
On the 20th the battle of Peach Tree Creek was fought and given a
prominence in excess of the facts as the writer saw it; a straggling,
haphazard kind of hide and seek affair, magnified into a battle. On the
22d of July was fought what is known in history as the battle of
Atlanta.
The night march of the 21st from our place in the line of defense on the
left and to the extreme right near Decatur, where this battle was
fought, was the most trying, with one exception, the writer remembers to
have ever experienced, occupying the entire night in dust ankle deep,
without a drop of water or an hour's rest. It is remembered to this day
with a distinctness that makes me fairly shudder. When morning came we
looked like the imaginary Adam "of the earth earthy," so completely were
we encased in dust. But for the nerve stimulus that imminent and great
danger gives a man on the eve of a great battle, I don't think I could
have rendered much service, on this occasion, after such exhaustion and
suffering from thirst. In fact were it not an indispensable part of my
plan I should have little to say about this whole affair, for it was to
me the most ill-conceived and unsatisfactory executed plan of battle of
the whole war in which I participated.
There were difficulties to overcome that might easily have been avoided
had the proper engineering skill been employed in time and the
necessary reconnaissance been made. So far as results accomplished were
concerned, it was barren and fruitless. Especially was this the case on
the extreme right, where Bates' division fought and where the Orphans
took part. Not that any man or body of men proved recreant, but there
was a lack of understanding and co-operation of movement, coupled with
almost insurmountable obstacles that might have been avoided. For
instance, the Kentucky Brigade was compelled to struggle through the
mire of a slough and millpond filled with logs, stumps, brush and
what-not in water and mire knee-deep, the men in many instances being
compelled to extricate their comrades by pulling them onto logs and
other footings before we could pass the obstruction. This so deranged
our battle alignment that in the press and excitement of the moment,
caused by the enemy firing at this critical moment, we were never able
to correct it and present a solid front. Out of dust ankle deep into
water and mire knee-deep was too much for the nerves and patience of the
strongest man and most patient Christian. And then, to be finally
pitched in one disordered and confused mass against a well disciplined
and strongly posted line of veterans, behind earthworks, was too much
for the best soldiers of the times. And yet with the proper use of
artillery at the right time and place, we might have accomplished more
decisive results.
This affair was the more lamentable to the Orphans because of the loss
of quite a number of our best officers and men without any tangible
results. The whole thing was disappointing and to me really disgusting.
Hood at Atlanta, like Bragg at Murfreesboro, might profitably have spent
more time with his engineers in examining and surveying the ground on
which he expected to fight. General Johnson was doubtless better posted.
But the final result would have been the same; Atlanta was doomed--by
Sherman's force of three to one. After summing up results and exchanging
regrets and expressing sorrow for the loss of comrades, we returned to
our original places in the lines of defense to await the next scene in
the grand drama.
This came on August 6th at Utoy Creek on the Sandtown road leading
Southwest from Atlanta. The Orphan Brigade and Tyler's Tennessee Brigade
had been pushed forward on a kind of salient to the left and front of
the main line and touching the little stream known as Utoy Creek. Here
occurred the battle known by the above name. I here recognize more
distinctly than any other place, so far visited, the general appearance
of the ground and especially the falls of the little creek at which on
the day previous to the battle I enjoyed the only refreshing bath for
several days. It is quite an interesting place to the writer. I here
witnessed on the morning of the battle the capture of Lieut. Isham
Dudley, in command of the videttes, together with some half dozen men of
the Orphan Brigade, they having been completely surprised just at
daybreak by a sudden and unexpected rush of the enemy.
The writer had the honor to command the skirmish line covering the
Confederate position and had a fine opportunity to witness the charge of
the two Federal brigades, which were composed chiefly of East
Tennesseans, as they swept past the right of our skirmish line, they
doubtless not knowing that they were about to encounter breastworks of a
formidable character, receiving at the same time a scathing flank fire
from the Fourth Kentucky and the skirmish line above alluded to. But
they were plucky fellows and charged to within a few yards of our works,
paying dearly for their courage and temerity. In this affair we were
attacked by a force somewhat superior in numbers, but the advantage that
our breastworks afforded us made the victory easily won. I here quote
the order of General S. D. Lee, commanding corps, congratulating them
and incidentally complimenting the defenders.
"The lieutenant general commanding takes pleasure in announcing to the
officers and men of this corps the splendid conduct of a portion of
Bates' Division, particularly Tyler's Brigade and the Second and Fourth
Kentucky regiments of Lewis' Brigade, in sustaining and repulsing on
yesterday afternoon three assaults of the enemy in which his loss in
killed, wounded and prisoners was from eight hundred to a thousand men,
with three stands of colors, three or four hundred small arms and all of
his entrenching tools. Soldiers who fight with the coolness and
determination that these men did will always be victorious over any
reasonable number."
In this engagement we lost only about eighteen men all told, while the
enemy's loss in killed alone was 160. I walked over the ground ten
minutes after it occurred and found the crest of the hill covered with
the dead and wounded, swords, guns, cartridge boxes and other
paraphernalia of war.
I found here the thing I need and coveted most of all at this time, a
fine black sombrero, which furnished me ample protection thereafter from
the intense rays of the August sun. I "swapped" my spoon-bill cap with
the fellow who had worn this hat, to which he, of course, raised no
objection. Others provided themselves in like manner, which was entirely
legitimate, of course, the original owners having no further use for
such things. But a flanking column that night, as usual, compelled us to
abandon the position of our recent victory and we retired to our
original position in the circle of entrenchments.
I have this day, May 13, 1912, carefully and studiously reviewed the
very spot on which those 160 men lay dead, and I feel safe in saying
that it is not larger than one-half a city block. They were met square
in front and were fired on from both flanks, and had they attempted to
remain there as much as one hour there would not have been a man of them
left on his feet. It was a death trap similar to the one into which we
Orphans fell at Dallas.
I could hardly control my emotions when viewing this place, and my mind
was almost overwhelmed as I walked along on top of these still distinct
and undisturbed parapets, stopping now and then to pick up a "Yankee
bullet" lodged in them, or a small stone that had been thrown out by the
Confederates. The surroundings here are perfectly familiar to me,
notwithstanding opinions of friends at home to the contrary. So
interesting is this spot that I have made the second visit to it.
Here the time from August 7 to 29, 1864, was spent in listening to the
music of the rifle and the cannon and an occasional sweet, faint and
harmonious symphony from the enemy's brass bands as they played,
seemingly for our entertainment, "The Star Spangled Banner," "Hail
Columbia," "Yankee Doodle" and, to taunt us, "Dixie." At night they
would vary the entertainment by sending up innumerable rockets, which
some of the men interpreted to mean the arrival of a new command or
shift of position, but to most of us it was "Greek and Hebrew."
But this condition was not to last; Sherman's definition of war was in
him and must come out. On the 29th we packed our knapsacks and bidding
good-bye to the Atlanta of the day, soon to be no more, we again turned
Southward to meet the flanking columns of Sherman at Jonesboro, with a
description of which I shall close these recollections.
Before leaving this dear old city I must take one more last look at her
steeples, her walls and her streets, shake the hand of friends in the
last farewell grasp and say good-bye forever.
I find Atlanta so wonderfully changed, commercially, assuming
metropolitan airs and wearing her honors so gracefully that I dare not
attempt a description of her present status. Besides, these things are
well known now by the whole American people. Still I find myself
comparing her (in mind) with what she was "before and during the war."
The fact that I am now looking upon her for the last time, and the
further fact that she contains many warm and true friends whom I shall
never see again, causes a feeling of sadness I wish I could resist. But
I break camp and take up my line of march for Jonesboro.
But before I leave I must tender my thanks to my young friend from
Bourbon, W. H. Letton (who is now a prosperous business man here), for
many favors and courtesies so cheerfully extended me. It were cruel to
allow him to spend with me so much of his time from his lovely little
Georgia bride, so recently taken to himself. But this is Kentucky, you
know, and he inherits it. I am also indebted to my old comrades, J. W.
McWilliams of the Forty-Second Georgia; J. M. Mills of the Soldiers'
Home, and C. L. Ingram of Fort McPherson; ex-Sheriff Barnes, Major Jones
of the Seventeenth Infantry at the fort (McPherson), and last, though
not least by any means, Mrs. Jones of the city at whose boarding house I
was a guest.