A SOLDIER OF THE UNION.
And there was mounting in hot haste—the steed,
The mustering squadron, and the clattering car
Went pouring forward with impetuous speed
And swiftly forming in the ranks of war!—_Byron._
Honor to the West Point soldier! War is his business, and, wicked though
wars be, the warrior shall still receive his honor due. By his devotion
to rugged discipline, the professional soldier preserves war as a
science, so that armies may not be rabbles, but organizations. He
divests himself of the full freedom of a citizen, and puts himself under
orders for all time.
One of our ablest leaders in the Civil War was General George H. Thomas.
Of Thomas we learn, from an address of Garfield, that “in the army he
never leaped a grade, either in rank or command. He did not command a
company until after long service as a lieutenant. He commanded a
regiment only at the end of many years of company and garrison duty. He
did not command a brigade until after he had commanded his regiment
three years on the Indian frontier. He did not command a division until
after he had mustered in, organized, disciplined, and commanded a
brigade. He did not command a corps until he had led his division in
battle, and through many hundred miles of hostile country. He did not
command the army until, in battle, at the head of his corps, he had
saved it from ruin.” This is apprenticeship with all its hardships, but
with all its benefits.
In our popular praises of the wonders performed by the great armies of
citizens which sprang up in a few days, let it never be forgotten that
the regular army, with its discipline, was the “little leaven” which
spread its martial virtues through the entire forces; that the West
Point soldier was the man whose skill organized these grand armies, and
made it possible for them to gain their victories.
[Illustration: GENERAL GEORGE H. THOMAS.]
Honor to the volunteer soldier! He is history’s greatest hero. What kind
of apprenticeship for war has _he_ served? To learn this, let us go back
to the peaceful time of 1860, when the grim-visaged monster’s “wrinkled
front” was yet smooth. Now, look through the great ironworking district
of Pennsylvania, with its miles of red-mouthed furnaces, its thousand
kinds of manufactures, and its ten thousands of skilled workmen. Number
the civil engineers; count the miners; go into the various places where
crude metals and other materials are worked up into every shape known,
to meet the necessities of the modern arts. These are the sources of
military power. Here are the men who will build bridges, and equip
railroads for army transportation, almost in the twinkling of an eye.
Cast your mind’s eye back into all the corners of the land, obscure or
conspicuous, and in every place you shall see soldiers being trained.
They are not yet in line, and it does not look like a military array;
the farmer at his plow, the scholar and the professional man at the
desk, are all getting ready to be soldiers. No nation is better prepared
for war than one which has been at peace; for war is a consumer of arts,
of life, of physical resources. And we had a reserve of those very
things accumulating, as we still have all the time.
Europe, with its standing armies, stores gunpowder in guarded magazines.
America has the secret of gunpowder, and uses the saltpeter and other
elements for civil purposes; believing that there is more explosive
power in knowing how to make an ounce of powder than there is in the
actual ownership of a thousand tons of the very stuff itself. The
Federal army had not gone through years of discipline in camp, but it
was no motley crowd. Its units were not machines; they were better than
machines; they were men.
James A. Garfield became a volunteer, a citizen soldier. The manner of
his going into the army was as strikingly characteristic of him as any
act of his life. In a letter written from Cleveland, on June 14, 1861,
to his life-long friend, B. A. Hinsdale, he said:
“The Lieutenant-Colonelcy of the Twenty-fourth Regiment has been
tendered to me, and the Governor urges me to accept. I am greatly
perplexed on the question of duty. I shall decide by Monday next.”
But he did not then go. For such a man, capable of so many things, duty
had many calls, in so many different directions, that he could not
easily decide. How Garfield was affected by the temptation to go at once
may be seen in a letter of July 12, 1861, written from Hiram, to
Hinsdale, wherein he says: “I hardly knew myself, till the trial came,
how much of a struggle it would cost me to give up going into the army.
I found I had so fully interested myself in the war that I hardly felt
it possible for me not to be a part of the movement. But there were so
many who could fill the office tendered to me, and would covet the
place, more than could do my work here, perhaps, that I could not but
feel it would be to some extent a reckless disregard of the good of
others to accept. If there had been a scarcity of volunteers I should
have accepted. The time may yet come when I shall feel it right and
necessary to go; but I thought, on the whole, that time had not yet
come.”
But the time was at hand. Garfield had become known and appreciated, and
he was wanted. On July 27, Governor Dennison wrote to him: “I am
organizing some new regiments. Can you take a lieutenant-colonelcy? I am
anxious you should do so. Reply by telegraph.” Garfield was not at home
when this letter was sent, but found it waiting for him on his return,
August 7. That night was passed in solemn thought and prayer; face to
face with his country’s call, this man began to realize as he had not
before done, what “going to war” meant. He began to consider the
sacrifice which must be made, and found that in his case there was more
to give up than with most men. How many thousands of volunteers have
thought the same! Garfield’s prospects in life were very fine in the
line of work for which he had prepared himself. He was a fine scholar,
and on the road to distinguished success. Moreover, he had a dearly
loved wife and a little child, his soul’s idol. Who would provide for
them after the war if he should fall victim to a Southern bullet? He had
only three thousand dollars to leave them. After all, willing as he was,
it was no easy thing to do. So it took a night of hard study; a night of
prayer, a night of Bible reading, a night of struggle with the awful
call to arms; but when the morning dawned, a great crisis had passed,
and a final decision had been made. The letter of Governor Dennison was
answered that he would accept a lieutenant-colonelcy, provided the
colonel of the regiment was a Wrest Point graduate. The condition was
complied with already. On the 16th of August, Garfield reported for
duty, and received his commission. His first order was to “report in
person to Brigadier-General Hill, for such duty as he may assign to you
in connection with a temporary command for purposes of instruction in
camp-duty and discipline.” In pursuance of these instructions he went
immediately to Hill’s head-quarters at Camp Chase, near Columbus. Here
he staid during the next four months, studying the art of war; being
absent only at short periods when in the recruiting service. In the
business of raising troops he was very successful. The Forty-second O.
V. I. was about to be organized, and Garfield raised the first company.
It was in this wise: Late in August he returned to Hiram and announced
that at a certain time he would speak on the subject of the war and its
needs, especially of men. A full house greeted him at the appointed
hour. He made an eloquent appeal, at the close of which a large
enrollment took place, including sixty Hiram students. In a few days the
company was full, and he took them to Camp Chase, where they were named
Company A, and assigned to the right of the still unformed regiment. On
September 5th, Garfield was made Colonel, and pushed forward the work,
so that in November the requisite number was secured.
Meanwhile the work of study and discipline was carried on at Camp Chase
with even more than Garfield’s customary zeal. The new Colonel was not
an unwilling citizen in a soldier’s uniform. He had been transformed
through and through into a military man. He himself shall tell the
story:
“I have had a curious interest in watching the process in my own
mind, by which the fabric of my life is being demolished and
reconstructed, to meet the new condition of affairs. One by one my
old plans and aims, modes of thought and feeling, are found to be
inconsistent with present duty, and are set aside to give place to
the new structure of military life. It is not without a regret,
almost tearful at times, that I look upon the ruins. But if, as the
result of the broken plans and shattered individual lives of
thousands of American citizens, we can see on the ruins of our old
national errors a new and enduring fabric arise, based on larger
freedom and higher justice, it will be a small sacrifice indeed. For
myself I am contented with such a prospect, and, regarding my life
as given to the country, am only anxious to make as much of it as
possible before the mortgage upon it is foreclosed.”
During the fall of 1861, Colonel Garfield had to perform three duties.
First, to learn the tactics and study the books on military affairs;
second, to initiate his officers into the like mysteries, and see that
they became well informed; and, finally, to so discipline and drill the
whole regiment that they would be ready at an early day to go to the
front. In pursuance of these objects he devoted to their accomplishment
his entire time. At night, when alone, he studied, probably even harder
than he had ever done as a boy at Hiram. For there he had studied with a
purpose in view, but remote; here the end was near, and knowledge was
power in deed as well as word. Every-day recitations were held of the
officers, and this college President in a few weeks graduated a
well-trained military class. The Forty-second Regiment itself, thus
well-officered, and composed of young men of intelligence, the very
flower of the Western Reserve, was drilled several hours every day with
the most careful attention. Every thing was done promptly, all things
were in order, for the Colonel had his eye on each man, and the Colonel
knew the equipments and condition of his regiment better than any other
man. After all, great events generally have visibly adequate causes; and
when we see Garfield’s men win a victory the first time they see the
enemy, we shall not be surprised, for we can not think how it could be
otherwise.
On December 15th an order came which indicated that the Forty-second was
wanted in Kentucky. General Buell was Commander of the Department of the
Ohio. His head-quarters were at Louisville. At nine o’clock on the
evening of the 16th they reached Cincinnati. From this point, in
compliance with new orders received, the regiment was sent on down the
Ohio to Catlettsburg, where a few hundred Union troops were gathered
already; and Garfield himself went to Louisville to learn the nature of
the work he had before him. Arriving on the evening of the 16th, he
reported to his superior at once.
Don Carlos Buell was at this time forty-three years of age; a man
accomplished in military science and experienced in war. He had first
learned the theory of his business at West Point, where he had graduated
in 1842; and besides other service to his country he had distinguished
himself in the war with Mexico. What a contrast to Garfield! The latter
was only thirty years of age, and just five years out of college. The
only knowledge he possessed to prepare him for carrying out the still
unknown duty, had been gathered out of books; which, by the way, are not
equal to West Point nor to a war for learning how to fight. Now what
could be the enterprise in which the untried Forty-second should bear a
part? And who is the old head, the battle-scarred hero, to lead the
expedition? We shall see.
Taking a map of Kentucky, Buell briefly showed Garfield a problem, and
told him to solve it. In a word, the question was, how shall the
Confederate forces be chased out of Kentucky? The rebels badly needed
Kentucky; so did the Union. Having shown Garfield what the business was,
Buell told him to go to his quarters for the night, and at nine o’clock
next morning be ready to submit his plan for a campaign. Garfield
immediately shut himself up in a room, with no company but a map of
Kentucky. The situation was as follows: Humphrey Marshall, with several
thousand Confederate troops, was rapidly taking possession of eastern
Kentucky. Entering from Virginia, through Pound Gap, he had quickly
crossed Pike County into Floyd, where he had fortified himself,
somewhere not far from Prestonburg, and was preparing to increase his
force and advance farther. His present situation was at the head of the
Big Sandy River. Catlettsburg, where the Forty-second had gone, is at
the mouth of this river.
Also, on the southern border, an invasion from Tennessee was being made
by a body of the Confederates, under Zollicoffer. These were advancing
toward Mill Spring, and the intention was that Zollicoffer and Marshall
should join their forces, and so increase the rebel influence in the
State that secession would immediately follow. For Kentucky had refused
to secede, and this invasion of her soil was a violation of that very
cause of State’s Rights for which they were fighting.
Garfield studied this subject with tireless attention, and when day
dawned he was also beginning to see daylight. At nine o’clock he
reported. The plan he recommended was, in substance, that a regiment be
left, first, some distance in the interior, say at Paris or Lexington,
this mainly for effect on the people of that section. The next thing was
to proceed up the Big Sandy River against Marshall, and run him back
into Virginia; after which it would be in order to move westward, and,
in conjunction with other forces, keep the State from falling into
hostile hands. Meanwhile, Zollicoffer would have to be taken off by a
separate expedition.
Buell stood beside his young Colonel and listened. He glanced at the
outline of the proposed campaign and saw that it was wisely planned. As
a result—for Buell did nothing hastily—Colonel Garfield was told that
his instructions would be prepared soon, and he might call at six that
evening. That evening he came, and learned the contents of Order No. 35,
Army of the Ohio, which organized the Eighteenth Brigade, under the
command of James A. Garfield, Colonel of the Forty-second O. V. I. The
brigade itself was made up of the last-named regiment, the Fortieth O.
V. I., Colonel J. Cranor; Fourteenth K. V. I., Colonel L. D. F. Moore;
Twenty-second K. V. I., Colonel D. W. Landsay, and eight companies of
cavalry.
Buell’s instructions were contained in the following letter:
“HEADQUARTERS DEPARTMENT OF THE OHIO, Louisville, Ky., Dec. 17, 1861.
“_Sir_: The brigade organized under your command is intended to
operate against the rebel force threatening, and, indeed, actually
committing depredations in Kentucky, through the valley of the Big
Sandy. The actual force of the enemy, from the best information I
can gather, does not probably exceed two thousand, or twenty-five
hundred, though rumors place it as high as seven thousand. I can
better ascertain the true state of the case when you get on the
ground.
“You are apprised of the condition of the troops under your command.
Go first to Lexington and Paris, and place the Fortieth Ohio
Regiment in such a position as will best give a moral support to the
people in the counties on the route to Prestonburg and Piketon, and
oppose any further advance of the enemy on the route. Then proceed
with the least possible delay to the mouth of the Sandy, and move
with the force in that vicinity up that river and drive the enemy
back or cut him off. Having done that, Piketon will probably be in
the best position for you to occupy to guard against future
incursions. Artillery will be of little, if any, service to you in
that country. If the enemy have any it will incumber and weaken
rather than strengthen them.
“Your supplies must mainly be taken up the river, and it ought to be
done as soon as possible, while navigation is open. Purchase what
you can in the country through which you operate. Send your
requisitions to these head-quarters for funds and ordnance stores,
and to the quartermasters and commissary at Cincinnati for other
supplies.
“The conversation I have had with you will suggest more details than
can be given here. Report frequently on all matters concerning your
command. Very respectfully, your obedient servant,
“D. C. BUELL,
“Brigadier-General commanding.”
On receipt of these instructions, Garfield began instantly to carry them
out. He telegraphed his forces at Catlettsburg to advance up the Big
Sandy towards Paintville, Marshall’s advance post. This he did that no
delay should be occasioned by his absence. He then visited Colonel
Cranor’s regiment, and saw it well established at Paris. Returning
thence, he proceeded to hasten after his own regiment, and reached
Catlettsburg on the 20th of December. Here he stopped to forward
supplies up the river to Louisa, an old half-decayed village of the
Southern kind, where he learned that his men were waiting for him.
It was on this march from Catlettsburg to Louisa that the Forty-second
Ohio began, for the first time, that process of seasoning which soon
made veterans out of raw civilians. The hardships of that march were not
such as an old soldier would think terrible; but for men who but five
days before had left Columbus without any experience whatever, it was
very rough. On the morning of the eighteenth the first division started,
twenty-five mounted on horses, and one hundred going by boat. The
cavalry got on very well; but the river was quite low, and after a few
miles of bumping along, the old boat finally stuck fast. Leaving this
wrecked concern, the men started to tramp it overland. The country was
exceedingly wild; the paths narrow, leading up hill and down hill with
monotonous regularity. That night when the tired fellows stopped to
rest, they had advanced only eight miles. The next day, however, they
reached Louisa, where the mounted company had taken possession and
prepared to stay; meanwhile the remaining companies were on the road.
Rain set in; the north wind blew, and soon it was very cold. The steep,
rocky paths scarcely afforded room for the wagon-train, whose
conveyances were lightened of their loads by throwing off many articles
of comfort which these soldiers, with their unwarlike notions of life,
hated to lose. But advance they must, if only with knapsacks and
muskets; and on the twenty-first all were together again. About this
time Garfield arrived.
Paintville, where it was intended to attack Marshall, is on Painter
Creek, near the west fork of the Big Sandy, about thirty miles above
Louisa. The first thing to be done, therefore, was to cross that
intervening space, very quickly, and attack the enemy without delay. A
slow campaign would result in disaster. While this advance was being
made, it would also be necessary to see to the matter of reinforcements;
for Marshall had thirty-five hundred, Garfield not half as many. The
only possible chance would be to communicate an order to the Fortieth
Ohio, under Colonel Cranor, at Paris, one hundred miles away; that
hundred miles was accessible to Marshall, and full of rebel
sympathizers. The man who carried a dispatch to Cranor from Garfield,
would carry his life in his hand, with a liberal chance of losing it. To
find such an one, both able and willing for the task, would be like
stumbling over a diamond in an Illinois corn-field. In his perplexity,
Garfield went to Colonel Moore, of the Fourteenth Kentucky, and said to
him: “I must communicate with Cranor; some of your men know this section
of country well; have you a man we can fully trust for such a duty?” The
Colonel knew such a man, and promised to send him to head-quarters.
Directly the man appeared. He was a native of that district, coming from
the head of the Baine, a creek near Louisa, and his name was John
Jordan. What kind of a man he was has been well told by a writer in the
_Atlantic Monthly_ for October, 1865:
“He was a tall, gaunt, sallow man of about thirty, with small gray
eyes, a fine falsetto voice, pitched in the minor key, and his
speech was the rude dialect of the mountains. His face had as many
expressions as could be found in a regiment, and he seemed a strange
combination of cunning, simplicity, undaunted courage, and
undoubting faith; yet, though he might pass for a simpleton, he had
a rude sort of wisdom, which, cultivated, might have given his name
to history.
“The young Colonel sounded him thoroughly, for the fate of the
little army might depend on his fidelity. The man’s soul was as
clear as crystal, and in ten minutes Garfield saw through it. His
history is stereotyped in that region. Born among the hills, where
the crops are stones, and sheep’s noses are sharpened before they
can nibble the thin grass between them, his life had been one of the
hardest toil and privation. He knew nothing but what Nature, the
Bible, the Course of Time, and two or three of Shakespeare’s plays
had taught him; but, somehow, in the mountain air he had grown up to
be a man—a man, as civilized nations account manhood.
“‘Why did you come into the war?’ at last asked the Colonel.
“‘To do my sheer fur the kentry, Gin’ral,’ answered the man. ‘And I
didn’t druv no barg’in wi’ th’ Lord. I guv him my life squar’ out;
and ef he’s a mind ter tack it on this tramp, why, it’s a his’n;
I’ve nothin’ ter say agin it.’
“‘You mean that you’ve come into the war not expecting to get out of
it?’
“‘That’s so, Gin’ral.’
“‘Will you die rather than let the dispatch be taken?’
“‘I will.’
“The Colonel recalled what had passed in his own mind when poring
over his mother’s Bible that night at his home in Ohio, and it
decided him. ‘Very well,’ he said; ‘I will trust you.’”
Armed with a carbine and a brace of revolvers, Jordan mounted the
swiftest horse in the regiment, and was off at midnight. The dispatch
was written on tissue paper, then folded closely into a round shape, and
coated with lead to resemble a bullet. The carrier rode till daylight,
then hitched his horse in the timber, and went to a house where he knew
he would be well received. The lord of that house was a soldier in
Marshall’s little army, who served the Union there better than he could
have done with a blue coat on. The lady of the house was loyal in a more
open manner. Of course, the rebels knew of this mission, as they had
spies in Garfield’s camp, and a squad of cavalry were on Jordan’s trail.
They came up with him at this house; hastily giving the precious bullet
to the woman, he made her swear to see that it reached its destination,
and then broke out toward the woods. Two horsemen were guarding the
door. To get the start of them, as the door opened, he brandished a red
garment before the horses, which scared them so that they were, for a
moment, unmanageable. In an instant he was over the fence. But the
riders were gaining. Flash, went the scout’s revolver, and the one man
was in eternity! Flash, again, and the other man’s horse fell! Before
the rest of the squad could reach the spot, Jordan was safely out of
their power. That night the woman who had sheltered him carried the
dispatch, and a good meal, to a thicket near by, whither she was guided
by the frequent hooting of an owl! And, after a ride of forty miles
more, with several narrow escapes, the Colonel of the Forty-second at
last read his orders from a crumpled piece of tissue paper. As for
Jordan, he was back in Garfield’s tent again two weeks later; but the
faithful animal that carried him had fallen, pierced by a rebel ball.
What, meanwhile, had been the progress of Garfield’s forces in their
attempt to reach Paintville? On the morning of December 23d, the first
day’s march began. The rains of the preceding days had been stopped by
extreme cold, and the hills were icy and slippery. The night before this
march very few of the men had slept; but, instead of that, had crouched
around camp-fires to keep from freezing. During the day they only
advanced ten miles. In half that distance, one crooked little creek,
which wound around in a labyrinth of coils, was crossed no less than
twenty-six times. This was slow progress, but the following days were
slower still. Provisions were scarce. Most of the wagon-train and
equipments had been loaded on boats to be taken up the river, and the
supplies that had started with them were far in the rear. To meet their
necessities, the men captured a farmer’s pigs and poultry without leave.
But Garfield was no plunderer; he was a true soldier; and, after
reprimanding the offenders, he repaid the farmer.
On the 27th, a squad of Marshall’s men were encountered, and two men
captured. The next day the compliment was returned, and three Union
soldiers became unwilling guests of the too hospitable South. Thus
slowly advancing, in spite of bad weather and bad roads, skirmishing
daily with the enemy, as the opposing forces neared each other, on the
6th day of January, 1862, the Eighteenth Brigade, except that portion
which was coming from Paris, was encamped within seven miles of
Paintville; and at last it had become possible to bring things to a
crisis, and determine, by the solemn wager of battle, who was entitled
to this portion of Kentucky.
Up to this time, Garfield had been moving almost in the dark. He did not
know what had become of his message to Cranor; he did not know the exact
position of his enemy; he did not know the number of the enemy. Now we
shall see good fortune and good management remedy each of these
weaknesses in a single day.
Harry Brown had been a canal hand with Garfield in 1847, and the latter,
with his genial ways, had made Brown his friend. At this time, Brown was
a kind of camp-follower, and not very well trusted by the officers. But
he knew the region well where these operations were going on, and
hearing that his old comrade was commander, he hastened to offer his
services as a scout. Garfield accepted, told him what he wanted, and
through him learned very accurately the situation of the Confederate
forces. On the night of the sixth, Jordan also appeared on the scene,
with the information that Cranor was only two days’ march behind. To
crown all, a dispatch came from Buell, on the morning of the seventh,
with a letter which had been intercepted. This letter was from Humphrey
Marshall to his wife, and revealed the fact that his force was less than
the country people, with their rebel sympathies, had represented. It was
determined to advance that day and attack the enemy at Paintville, where
about one-third of them were posted.
[Illustration: OPERATIONS IN WEST VIRGINIA.]
This attack on Paintville was a hazardous enterprise. In main strength,
Marshall was so superior that Garfield’s only hope was in devising some
plan to outwit him. From the point of starting, there were three
accessible paths; one on the west, striking Painter Creek opposite the
mouth of Jenny Creek, three miles to the right, from the place to be
attacked; one on the east, approaching that point from the left; and a
third road, the most difficult of the three, straight across. Rebel
pickets were thrown out on each road. Marshall was prepared to be
attacked on one road, but never dreamed of a simultaneous approach of
the enemy on all at once; and it was this misapprehension which defeated
him. First, a small detachment of infantry, supported by cavalry,
attacked on the west, whereupon almost the entire rebel force was sent
out to meet them. Shortly, a similar advance was made on the east, and
the enemy retraced their steps for a defense in that direction. While
they were thus held, the remaining Union force drove in the pickets of
the central path, who, finding the village empty, rushed on three miles
further, to a partially fortified place where Marshall himself was
waiting. Thinking that Paintville was lost, he hastily ordered all his
forces to retreat, which they did, as far as this fortified camp.
Garfield entered Paintville at the same time, having with him the
Forty-second Ohio, Fourteenth Kentucky, and four hundred Virginia
cavalry.
A portion of the cavalry were chasing the rebel horse, whom they
followed five miles, killing three and wounding several. The Union force
lost two killed and one wounded. The next day, the eighth of January, a
few hours rest was taken, while preparations were being made for another
fight. But towards evening it was determined to advance. Painter Creek
was too high to ford. But there was a saw-mill near by, and in an hour a
raft was made upon which to cross. Marshall, being posted concerning
this movement, was deliberating what to do, when a spy came in with the
information that Colonel Cranor was approaching, with 3,300 men. Alarmed
at such an overpowering enemy, he burnt his stores and fled
precipitately toward Petersburg. At nine o’clock that night, the
Eighteenth Brigade was snugly settled in the late Confederate camp. Here
it appeared that every thing had been left suddenly, and in confusion;
meat was left cooking before the fire, and all preparations for the
evening meal abandoned. This place was at the top of a hill, three
hundred feet high, covering about two acres, and would soon have been a
strong fortification.
On the ninth, Colonel Cranor did at last arrive, with his regiment,
eight hundred strong, completely worn out with the long march. But
Colonel Garfield felt that the present advantage must be pursued, or no
permanent gain could result. So he raised 1,100 men, who stepped from
the ranks as volunteers, and immediately started on the trail of the
enemy.
The action which followed is known as the battle of Middle Creek.
Eighteen miles further up the West Fork, along which they marched, two
parallel creeks flow in between the hills; the northernmost one is
Abbott’s Creek, the next Middle Creek. It was evident that Marshall
would place himself behind this double barrier and make a stand there,
if he should endeavor to turn the tide of defeat at all. Toward this
point the weary troops, therefore, turned their steps. The way was so
rough and the rains so heavy that they did not near the place until late
in the day. But about nine o’clock in the evening they climbed to the
top of a hill, whose further slope led down into the valley of Abbott’s
Creek. On this height the enemy’s pickets were encountered and driven
in. Further investigation led to the conclusion that the enemy was near,
in full force. That night the men slept on their arms in this exposed
position; the rain had turned to sleet, and any degree of comfort was a
thing they ceased to look for. Perceiving the necessity for
reinforcements, Colonel Garfield sent word to Colonel Cranor to send
forward all available men. Meanwhile, efforts were made to learn
Marshall’s position, and arrange for battle. Our old friend John Jordan
visited the hostile camp in the mealy clothes of a rebel miller, who had
been captured, and returned with some very valuable information. Morning
dawned, and the little Federal army proceeded cautiously down into the
valley, then over the hills again, until, a mile beyond, they were ready
to descend into the valley of Middle Creek, and charge against the enemy
on the opposite heights. Garfield’s plan was to avoid a general
engagement, until about the time for his reinforcements to appear,
because otherwise it was plainly suicidal to attack such a large force.
On this plan skirmishing continued from eight till one o’clock, the only
result being a better knowledge of the situation. Now it was high time
to begin in earnest. In the center of the strip of meadow-land, which
stretched between Middle Creek and the opposite hills, was a high point
of ground, crowned by a little log church and a small graveyard. The
first movement would be to occupy that place, in order to have a base of
operations on that side. The rebel cavalry and artillery were each in
position to control the church. But the guns were badly trained, and
missed their mark; the cavalry made some show, but, for some reason,
retired without much fighting.
Keeping a reserve here, a portion of the brave eleven hundred were now
to strike a decisive blow; but the enemy’s infantry was hidden, and they
did not know just how to proceed. On the south side of Middle Creek, to
the right of the place where the artillery was stationed, rose a high
hill. Around it wound the creek, and following the creek ran a narrow,
rocky road. The entire force of Marshall, except his reserve, was in
fact hidden in the fastnesses of that irregular, forest-covered hill,
and so placed as to command this road, by which it was expected that the
Federal troops would approach. But “the best laid plans” sometimes go
wrong. The Yankee was not to be entrapped. Suspecting some such
situation, Garfield sent his escort of twelve men down the road; around
the hill they clattered at a gallop, in full view of the enemy. The ruse
worked well, and the sudden fire of several thousand muskets revealed
the coveted secret. The riders returned safely, and then the battle
began. Four hundred men of the Fortieth and Forty-second Ohio, under
Major Pardee, quickly advanced up the hill in front, while two hundred
of the Fourteenth Kentucky, under Lieutenant-Colonel Monroe, went down
the road some distance and endeavored, by a flank movement, to so engage
a portion of the rebels that not all of them could be turned against
Pardee. The latter now charged up the hill under a heavy fire. They were
inferior in numbers, but determined to reach the summit some way. So
they broke ranks at the cry of “Every man to a tree,” and fought after
the Indian fashion. After all, the Union boys were not altogether at a
disadvantage. Their opponents were raw troops, and after the manner of
inexperienced men they aimed too high, while the Federals did much
better execution. But Marshall meant business at this important hour,
and sent his reserve to swell the number. A charge was made down the
hill. Now the boys in blue retreat; but not far. Garfield goes in with
_his_ reserves. Captain Williams calls, “To the trees again, my boys;”
they rally; the fight grows hotter and whistling death is in the air.
The critical moment is here, and those poor fellows down below are about
to be crushed. The exultant Confederates rush down in swelling volume,
the wolf is about to seize his prey.
But now a faint, though cheerful shout rings across the narrow valley;
then louder it grows while the echoes clatter back from hillside to
hillside like the tumult of ten thousand voices. The Confederates above
peer out through the branches and view the opposite road. Every face,
just flushed with hopes of victory, now turns pale at the sight. The
force from Paintville has come at last. The hard-pressed men of Pardee
can see nothing, but they catch new inspiration from the sound. They
answer back; while to the thousand voices and the ten thousand echoes on
the Union side, one word of reply is given from the rebel commander’s
mouth. And the word he utters is—RETREAT.
This ended the struggle. Lieutenant-Colonel Sheldon, with his seven
hundred men, after a hard day’s march of twenty miles, came down on the
scene of action at a run, and found that their approach had saved the
day. Garfield and his men were already occupying the hill-top, and a
detachment was following the fleeing troops of the enemy. The policy
adopted, however, was to not follow the enemy very far, as it was not
known in how bad a condition they were. The Union loss in this battle
was two killed and twenty-five wounded. The rebels left twenty-seven
dead on the field, and had carried off about thirty-five more.
The captures were, twenty-five men, ten horses, and a quantity of army
supplies. Toward midnight a bright light appeared in the sky in the
direction Marshall had taken. It was the light of his blazing wagons and
camp equipments, burned by his men to keep them from doing any body else
any good, while they made their enforced visit to Virginia by way of
Pound Gap. The field was won; and Buell’s commission to Garfield had
been faithfully performed.
[Illustration: GARFIELD DRIVES HUMPHREY MARSHALL OUT OF KENTUCKY.]
On the following day Colonel Garfield addressed his victorious men as
follows:
“_Soldiers of the Eighteenth Brigade_: I am proud of you all! In
four weeks you have marched, some eighty and some a hundred miles,
over almost impassable roads. One night in four you have slept,
often in the storm, with only a wintry sky above your heads. You
have marched in the face of a foe of more than double your
number—led on by chiefs who have won a national renown under the Old
Flag—intrenched in hills of his own choosing, and strengthened by
all the appliances of military art. With no experience but the
consciousness of your own manhood, you have driven him from his
strongholds, pursued his inglorious flight, and compelled him to
meet you in battle. When forced to fight, he sought the shelter of
rocks and hills. You drove him from his position, leaving scores of
his bloody dead unburied. His artillery thundered against you, but
you compelled him to flee by the light of his burning stores, and to
leave even the banner of his rebellion behind him. I greet you as
brave men. Our common country will not forget you. She will not
forget the sacred dead who fell beside you, nor those of your
comrades who won scars of honor on the field.
“I have recalled you from the pursuit that you may regain vigor for
still greater exertions. Let no one tarnish his well-earned honor by
any act unworthy an American soldier. Remember your duties as
American citizens, and sacredly respect the rights and property of
those with whom you may come in contact. Let it not be said that
good men dread the approach of an American army.
“Officers and soldiers, your duty has been nobly done. For this I
thank you.”
On this day, January 11th, the troops took possession of Prestonburg,
and the remaining duties of the campaign were only the working out in
detail of results already secured. As to the merits of the decisive
little fight at Middle Creek, Garfield said at a later time: “It was a
very rash and imprudent affair on my part. If I had been an officer of
more experience, I probably should not have made the attack. As it was,
having gone into the army with the notion that fighting was our
business, I didn’t know any better.” And Judge Clark, of the
Forty-second Ohio, adds: “And during it all, Garfield was the soldiers’
friend. Such was his affection for the men that he would divide his last
rations with them, and nobody ever found any thing better at
head-quarters than the rest got.”
Indeed, there was one occasion, I believe just after this engagement,
when the Eighteenth Brigade owed to its brave commander its possession
of any thing at all to eat. The roads had become impassable, rations
were growing scarce, and the Big Sandy, on which they relied, was so
high that nothing could be brought up to them; at least the boatmen
thought so. But our old acquaintance, the canal boy, still survived, in
the shape of a gallant colonel, and with his admirer and former canal
companion, Brown, Garfield boldly started down the raging stream in a
skiff. Arriving at Catlettsburg, he found a small steamer, the _Sandy
Valley_, which he loaded with provisions, and ordered captain and crew
to get up steam and take him back. They all refused, on the ground that
such an attempt would end in failure, and probably in loss of life. But
they did not know their man. His orders were repeated, and he went to
the wheel himself. It was a wild torrent to run against. The river was
far out of its natural limits, rushing around the foot of a chain of
hills at sharp curves. In some places it was over fifty feet deep, and
where the opposite banks rose close together the half-undermined trees
would lean inward, their interlocking branches making the passage
beneath both difficult and dangerous. But the undaunted leader pressed
on, himself at the wheel forty hours out of the forty-eight. Brown stood
steadfastly at the bow, carrying a forked pole, with which to ward off
the big logs and trees which constantly threatened to strike the boat
and stave in the bottom. The most exciting incident of all occurred the
second night. At a sharp turn the narrow and impetuous flood whirled
round and round, a boiling whirlpool; and in spite of great care the
boat turned sidewise, and stuck fast in the muddy bank. Repeated efforts
to pry the boat off were unavailing, and at last a new plan was
suggested. Colonel Garfield ordered the men to lower a small boat, carry
a line across, and pull the little steamer out of difficulty. They said
no living mortal could attempt that feat and not die. This was just what
they had said about starting the steamer from Catlettsburg, and the
answer was similar. Our hero leaped into the skiff himself, the faithful
Brown following.
[Illustration: GARFIELD’S EXPLOIT ON THE BIG SANDY.]
Sturdily and steadily they pulled away, and in half an hour were on
_terra firma_ once more. Line in hand, they walked up to a place
opposite the _Sandy Valley_, fixed the rope to a rail, and standing at
the other end with an intervening tree to give leverage, soon had the
satisfaction of seeing, or rather in the darkness feeling, the steamer
swing out again into the current. After this impossibility had been
turned into history, there was no more doubting from the incredulous
crew. They concluded that this man could do any thing, and henceforth
helped him willingly. At the end of three days, amid prolonged and
enthusiastic cheering from the half-starved waiting brigade, the _Sandy
Valley_ arrived at her destination, and James A. Garfield had finished
one more of his great life’s thousand deeds of heroism.
Immediately after the battle of Middle Creek great consternation filled
the minds of that ignorant population which filled the valley of the Big
Sandy. The flying rebels, the dead and the debris of a fugitive army,
and wild stories of savage barbarities practiced by an inhuman Yankee
soldiery, had been more than enough for their fortitude. They fled like
frightened deer at the blast of a hunter’s horn, and sought safety in
mountain fastnesses. It was therefore necessary by some means to gain
their confidence, and for this purpose the following proclamation was
issued from the Federal head-quarters:
“HEAD-QUARTERS EIGHTEENTH BRIGADE, }
“PAINTVILLE, KY., January 16, 1862. }
“_Citizens of the Sandy Valley_: I have come among you to restore
the honor of the Union, and to bring back the Old Banner which you
all once loved, but which, by the machinations of evil men, and by
mutual misunderstandings, has been dishonored among you. To those
who are in arms against the Federal Government I offer only the
alternative of battle or unconditional surrender; but to those who
have taken no part in this war, who are in no way aiding or abetting
the enemies of the Union, even to those who hold sentiments adverse
to the Union, but yet give no aid and comfort to its enemies, I
offer the full protection of the Government, both in their persons
and property.
“Let those who have been seduced away from the love of their
country, to follow after and aid the destroyers of our peace, lay
down their arms, return to their homes, bear true allegiance to the
Federal Government, and they also shall enjoy like protection. The
army of the Union wages no war of plunder, but comes to bring back
the prosperity of peace. Let all peace-loving citizens who have fled
from their homes return, and resume again the pursuits of peace and
industry. If citizens have suffered from any outrages by the
soldiers under my command, I invite them to make known their
complaints to me, and their wrongs shall be redressed, and the
offenders punished. I expect the friends of the Union in this valley
to banish from among them all private feuds, and to let a
liberal-minded love of country direct their conduct toward those who
have been so sadly estranged and misguided. I hope that these days
of turbulence may soon end, and the better days of the Republic may
soon return.
“[Signed],
“JAMES A. GARFIELD,
“Colonel Commanding Brigade.”
After the true character of the invaders became known, the natives were
as familiar as they had been shy, and multitudes of them came into camp.
From their reports, and from the industry of the small parties of
cavalry which scoured the country in all directions, it was established
beyond doubt that the rebel army had no more foot-hold in the State;
although sundry small parties still remained, endeavoring to secure
recruits for the forces in Virginia, and destroying many things which
could be of use to the Union soldiers. In order to be nearer the scene
of these petty operations, Colonel Garfield moved his head-quarters to
Piketon, thirty miles further up the river. From this point he
effectually stopped all further depredations, except in one locality.
And it was in removing this exception to their general supremacy that
the Eighteenth Brigade performed its last notable exploit in Eastern
Kentucky.
The principal pathway between Virginia and South-Eastern Kentucky is by
means of Pound Gap. This is a rugged pass in the Cumberland Mountains,
through which Marshall had in the fall of 1861 made his loudly-heralded
advance, and, later, his inglorious retreat. Here one Major Thomas had
made a stand, with about six hundred men. Log huts were built by them
for shelter, the narrow entrance to their camp was well fortified, and
for snug winter-quarters they could want nothing better. When in need of
provisions a small party would sally forth, dash down into the valleys,
and return well laden with plunder. Garfield soon determined to break up
this mountain nest; and early in March was incited to immediate action
by a report that Humphrey Marshall was making that place the starting
point for a new expedition. He had issued orders for all available
forces to be gathered there on the 15th of March, preparatory to the
intended re-invasion of Kentucky. To frustrate this scheme, Garfield
started for Pound Gap with six hundred infantry and a hundred cavalry.
It was a march of forty-five miles from Piketon in a south-westerly
direction. Deep snows covered the ground, icy hillsides were hard to
climb, and progress was difficult. On the evening of the second day,
however, they reached the foot of the ascent which led up to the object
for which they had come. Here they stopped until morning, meanwhile
endeavoring to discover the number and condition of the mountain paths.
The information obtained was meager, but sufficient to help form a plan
of attack. One main path led directly up to the Gap. When morning came,
Garfield sent his cavalry straight up in this direction, to occupy the
enemy’s attention, while with the infantry he was climbing the mountains
and endeavoring to surprise them in the rear. After a long and perilous
scramble, they reached a point within a quarter of a mile of the rebel
camp. They were first apprised of their nearness to it by the sight of a
picket, who fired on them and hastened to give the alarm. But the eager
troops were close after him, and the panic-stricken marauders vanished
hastily without a struggle, and were chased by the Union cavalry far
into Virginia.
After resting a day and night in these luxurious quarters, the huts were
burned, the fortifications destroyed, and in less than five days from
the start, the successful Colonel was back again in Piketon.
This was the end of Garfield’s campaign in East Kentucky. There was no
more fighting to be done; and after a few days he was called into
another field of action.
When Colonel Garfield’s official report of the battle of Middle Creek
reached Louisville, General Buell replied by the following, which tells
the story of his delight at the result:
“HEAD-QUARTERS DEPARTMENT OF THE OHIO,
LOUISVILLE, KY., January 20th, 1862.
“_General Orders, No. 40._
“The General Commanding takes occasion to thank Colonel Garfield and
his troops for their successful campaign against the rebel force
under General Marshall, on the Big Sandy, and their gallant conduct
in battle. They have overcome formidable difficulties in the
character of the country, the condition of the roads, and the
inclemency of the season; and, without artillery, have in several
engagements, terminating with the battle on Middle Creek on the 10th
inst., driven the enemy from his intrenched positions, and forced
him back into the mountains with the loss of a large amount of
baggage and stores, and many of his men killed or captured.
“These services have called into action the highest qualities of a
soldier—fortitude, perseverance, courage.
“By command of General Buell.
“JAMES B. FRY,
“A. A. G., Chief of Staff.”
But this was not the only reward. The news went on to Washington, and in
a few days Garfield received his commission as a Brigadier-General,
dated back to January 10th.
The defeat of Marshall was conspicuous on account of its place and time.
Since the defeat of the Union army at Bull Bun, in July of the preceding
year, no important victory had been gained. The confidence of the North
in its military leaders had began to waver. General McClellan had turned
himself and his army into a gigantic stumbling block, and patriots were
getting discouraged. No wonder that Lincoln and Buell were grateful for
a man who was willing to wade through difficulties, and disturb the
stagnant pool of listless war!
On the night of January 10, an interview occurred between the President
and several persons, one of whom, General McDowell, has preserved the
knowledge of what occurred in a memorandum made at the time. He says:
“The President was greatly disturbed at the state of affairs. Spoke
of the exhausted condition of the treasury; of the loss of public
credit; of the Jacobinism of Congress; of the delicate condition of
our foreign relations; of the bad news he had received from the
West, particularly as contained in a letter from General Halleck on
the state of affairs in Missouri; of the want of coöperation between
Generals Halleck and Buell; but, more than all, the sickness of
General McClellan. The President said he was in great distress; and,
as he had been to General McClellan’s house, and the General did not
ask to see him, and as he must talk to somebody, he had sent for
General Franklin and myself to obtain our opinion as to the
possibility of soon commencing active operations with the Army of
the Potomac. To use his own expression, if something was not soon
done, the bottom would be out of the whole affair; and if General
McClellan did not want to use the army, he would like to _borrow
it_, provided he could see how it could be made to do something.”
This shows how necessary some decisive action now was to the safety of
the Union. And to Garfield belonged the honor of ushering in an era of
glorious successes.
On the 19th of January, General Thomas defeated Zollicoffer’s army,
killed its general, and chased the remnants into Tennessee. This gave us
Kentucky, and completed the break in the extreme right wing of
Johnston’s Confederate army. Just after this came Grant’s successful
move on the left wing of that army. Proceeding rapidly up the Tennessee,
he took Fort Henry, then crossed over to the Cumberland, and, on
February 16th, captured Fort Donelson. Other actions followed in quick
succession. The South, fallen into false security during our long
inactivity, was completely astonished. The North, thoroughly aroused,
believed in itself again; and, with exultant tread, our armies began to
march rapidly into the enemy’s country.
Colonel Garfield’s career in the Sandy Valley was not the cause of all
these good things. The first faint light which warns a watcher of the
dawn of day, is not the cause of day. But that early light is looked for
none the less eagerly. Middle Creek was greeted by a Nation with just
such sentiments.
Historians of the Civil War will not waste much time in considering this
Kentucky campaign. Its range was too small; the student’s attention is
naturally drawn to the more striking fortunes of the greater armies of
the Republic. But, as we have seen, the intrinsic merits of Colonel
Garfield’s work here were such as forced it upon the attention of his
official superiors. As we have also seen, this campaign occurred at a
time when small advantages could be appreciated, because no great ones
were being secured. And the hand of Time, which obliterates campaigns,
and effaces kingdoms, and sinks continents out of sight, will never
quite neglect to keep a torch lighted here, until the starry light of
all our triumphs shall go out in the darkness together.