The Twin
Seven-Shooters.
[Illustration: CHARLES F. MANDERSON
Colonel 19th Ohio Infantry.
Brevet Brigadier General Volunteers, U. S. A.]
The Twin Seven-Shooters.
BY
CHARLES F. MANDERSON
LATE COLONEL 19TH OHIO VOLUNTEER INFANTRY, BREVET
BRIGADIER-GENERAL VOLS., U.S.A.
[Illustration]
F. TENNYSON NEELY
114 Fifth Avenue 96 Queen Street
NEW YORK LONDON
Copyright, 1902,
by
CHARLES F. MANDERSON,
in the
United States
and
Great Britain.
Entered at Stationers’ Hall,
London.
All Rights Reserved.
_The Twin Seven-Shooters._
“_We came into the world like brother and brother,_
‘_And now let’s go hand in hand, not one before another._”
--DROMIO, in “Comedy of Errors.”
INTRODUCTION.
The telling of this truthful story of the Great War comes from the
numerous requests of comrades, who knew somewhat of the presentation,
the capture and the return of the pair of revolvers that came together
after a quarter of a century of separation and after they had been
carried and used under two flags. Their restoration could not have been
had under any other condition than that which came about at the close
of our gigantic struggle.
The Civil War was waged on both the Federal and Confederate sides with
an intensity and manly vigor characteristic of the race that sprang
from the loins of the Puritan and the Cavalier.
The immense hosts that combated upon so many dreadful fields, with
the incident sacrifice of life and limb, while actuated by the desire
to win, by comparison with which individual loss counted as nothing,
were never prompted by personal hatred or ill will. They fought to
obtain the result desired, and when the end came, with its feeling of
exultation by the one and of depression by the other, there was mutual
respect and common consideration, that led naturally to a reunited
country and the placing of the Great Republic in its present position
as the Chiefest of Nations.
The story permits a description of two great battles--that of
Murfreesboro, or Stone’s River, and of Chattanooga, or Mission
Ridge--the first-named one of the hardest fought fields of the War,
and the last, one of the most spectacular. The recital of these calls
for no explanation, and I hope the personal equation of the story needs
no apology.
CHARLES F. MANDERSON,
Late Colonel, 19th Regiment Ohio Infantry.
B’v’t Brig. Gen. Vols., U.S.A.
PROLOGUE.
[Illustration: “RESTING QUIETLY IN THEIR POLISHED CASE OF DARK MAHOGANY
WITH ITS SOFT LINING OF TUFTED CRIMSON SILK.”]
Resting quietly in their polished case of dark mahogany, with its
soft lining of tufted crimson silk, they look harmless indeed and as
though their lives had been uneventful. Yet, could they speak with
other tongues than those of fire and smoke, they could tell a tale to
interest and thrill--of scenes of bloody encounter and deadly strife,
of combat and carnage, of victory and defeat, of raid and destruction,
of pursuit and capture, of loss and recovery, of separation and
reunion,--in short, the exciting story of war, and the captivating tale
of peace.
You take up the pair of revolvers with a new interest. Yes! they are
handsome. Shapely and well proportioned, they deserve your exclamation
of admiration. The blued steel of barrels and cylinders contrasts
attractively with the silver mounting of the handles, so well fitted to
the grasp.
[Illustration: “YOU TAKE THEM IN HAND!
YOU GLANCE ALONG THE SIGHTS!”
]
You take them in hand! You glance along the sights! Ah! my friend, time
was when the threatening glint of the eye that brought these sights
in line was quite different from the gentle light in yours. And now
you read inquiringly the inscription, showing the presentation, deeply
engraved upon the silver handle band of each seven shooter. Yes, I am
the regimental commander to whom they were presented, by the braves of
the gallant 19th Regiment of Ohio Infantry, nearly forty years ago. I
had lived but little over half that many years, when they came to me
and, since the date you read upon them, I have grown grizzled.
The scene of the presentation, the causes that led to it and the after
events of note, are as vivid as though they were of yesterday and yet
there is the strange feeling as though I spoke of some other and not
of myself. I take it that most of us who served through those four
momentous years of gigantic war now feel as though the experiences were
those of a third person, of whom we had knowledge, intimate indeed, but
with whom we had not identity. As you ask for the story, it shall be
given unto you.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
PROLOGUE 5
SCENE I.
The Battle 9
SCENE II.
The Presentation 24
SCENE III.
The Capture 29
SCENE IV.
The Reunion 44
Epilogue 51
The Twin Seven-Shooters.
SCENE I.
THE BATTLE.
The recital will start fairly on Christmas day of the year 1862, near
Nashville, in the camps of the Army of the Cumberland, then commanded
by General Rosecrans.
The festive holiday time had increased the usually present disease,
until home-sickness was the all-pervading complaint. As the picket
peered through the gloomy air under the dull, wintry sky, he saw, in
his mind’s eye, the dear ones at home, gathered about the yule-log.
The sentry’s thoughts were far away, as he challenged the approaching
guard, that brought relief, but gave none save in name, and received
the sharp replies, so different from the words of good cheer properly
incident to the time. The men gathered about the camp fires during the
evening hours with abortive attempts at merriment, soon to be given
up, and then to talk in whispers of friends and family and home. The
bugle calls, holding out the promise that balmy sleep might bring
forgetfulness, were welcomed; although tattoo seemed a wail, and
lights-out a sob.
The restless quiet of a great military camp comes at last. A nest of
sleeping souls, it heaves with sound. The sentinels look like stalking
ghosts.
After midnight the dreaming sleepers are disturbed by the clank of the
sabre of the orderly, seeking the headquarters of regiments to deliver
an important order. Be quick! Light the candle stuck in the bayonet
shank at the head of the ground bed where lies the regimental commander.
Ah! Here is a Christmas gift with a vengeance! Read!
“You will place your command in readiness to march at daylight.
Move very light--three days’ rations in haversacks and two days’ in
wagons. Forty rounds of ammunition on each man, with all the reserve
ammunition in wagons. Take no tents and no baggage.”
A battle order! Up and be stirring, for there is much to be done
before daylight. Sleepers are aroused, their dreams of home and its
festivities rudely disturbed, tents are struck and rolled, and, with
the baggage and surplus stores packed into wagons to be sent within the
earth-works of Nashville.
Reveille finds the Army of the Cumberland, nearly fifty thousand
strong, on the march to attack the Confederates under Bragg at
Murfreesborough, thirty miles away. No holiday march this, I assure
you. The enemy is alert. He harasses our front with artillery, attacks
our flanks with infantry and harries our rear with cavalry. The
elements seem in league with him, for snow, sleet and rain make heavy
roads, at which men swear and in which wagons and artillery flounder
and stall.
Four days of skirmishing and hard marching, with four nights of unrest
and chilly misery bring us to our objective--the enemy. He has selected
his battle ground on the bank of Stone’s River, a swift stream, in
places fordable.
The night of December 30th we slept, or essayed to sleep, upon our
arms, without fires. Never can I forget the dispirited and woe-begone
look of the men as, rising from the frozen ground, they shook
themselves at daylight. The hoar-frost covered them, giving to the
uniforms of blue a new color, resembling somewhat the grey of the foe.
Is there fighting quality in this line of shivering men? Can the battle
fire be kindled in these chilled frames? A cold breakfast from the
haversacks, a tin cup of coffee to each man, a warming drill in the
manual of arms and their appearance is changed for the better.
The order comes! We are to cross Stone’s River at the lower ford and
lead the attack upon the enemy’s right. Rosecrans will strike with his
left.
An inspection of the guns, a distribution of ammunition, filling both
cartridge boxes and haversacks, some words of encouragement and cheer
from the youthful commander, and we move to the river bank, to find
our crossing, by wading the cold stream, unopposed by the enemy. We
form in line of battle upon the other side and are about to advance to
the attack, when the sound of cannon, heard but faintly from our right
a short time ago, becomes louder and more loud. A terrific battle is
raging there and the movement of sound means our men are being driven.
We are halted. There is stir and excitement among the division staff.
We are ordered to recross the river and hasten to the support of the
right wing.
Bragg, actuated by the same motive as Rosecrans, conceiving the same
plan, had attacked our right, but his fresh and sheltered troops struck
their blow at an earlier hour. They doubled our line back upon itself.
They took our straight bar of iron and bent it into a horse-shoe. Our
right flank had become our rear.
Defeat seemed imminent. On our hurried way, the 19th Ohio, leading
Crittenden’s Division, met horses, teams and men in confusion most
confounded. Rousseau, of Kentucky, riding bare-headed, cries to me,
“What troops are these?” and to my answer says, with tearful entreaty
in his voice, “For God’s sake! get quickly to the cedars on our right
and stop this rout.” We hasten on. Rosecrans, pale with anguish of the
thought that Garesche, bosom friend and Chief of Staff, had just been
killed by his side, but determined of purpose and confident in bearing,
says, “Men! you can save the day. Will you do it?” “Aye! Aye! sir; if
mortal men can, we will!”
We pass from the march by the flank into line under the direction of
the Commanding General himself, my regiment forming the right of the
front line.
The grey coats, flushed with success that is so near victory, came
gaily on. We wait until they are within easy range. It is a weary
waiting and hard to endure. Our men are falling rapidly under the fire
of the advancing foe. My favorite mare drops dead with a ball through
her gentle heart. Adjutant Brewer, always alert and devoted replaces
her with his good grey. Rising from the ground, with no great bodily
harm, although I had been pitched headlong, I exclaim: “But, Adjutant,
my glasses are broken into many bits and I see dimly.” “Never mind; I
will see for you,” he quickly responds. And so he did. Gallant fellow!
Brave heart! He gave his young life to his country and his parting
benediction to me afterwards, in a desperate mêlée and fearful
charge.
[Illustration: CHARGE OF GENERAL VAN CLEVE’S DIVISION IN THE CEDARS, AT
THE BATTLE OF STONE’S RIVER, UNDER DIRECTION OF GENERAL ROSECRANS.
The 19th Ohio Infantry forming the right of the front line. Photograph
of a picture made during the war by Private Mathews, of the 31st Ohio
Infantry.]
At last the order to fire! From every musket leaps a missile of death.
The Confederate line wavers! Strong young teeth tear the cartridges. We
load and fire with energy. The grey line breaks! A charge is ordered by
Rosecrans in person. They run! How inspiring! What exhilaration! With
wild yells we rush on. We regain much of the ground lost in the early
morning and hold it fast and firm.
Again the nightfall, the last of the eventful year. What horrid din, of
cannon and of watchful picket’s gun, to disturb and harass the weary
unharmed, who seek to sleep. How cold and miserable the wounded in blue
and grey who groan and moan between the lines, where succor cannot come.
Morn at last! The new year has come. Both armies are so torn and
shattered that the re-forming of lines and watchful rest is a
necessity. The day passes in care for the wounded and hasty burial of
the dead.
Another night, and again the morning. Who will strike the blow?
Rosecrans, tenacious of purpose, returns to his original plan. Again
our division fords Stone’s River in front of the enemy’s right. The
shortened line of each regiment tells the story of the slaughter of the
31st. We wait patiently the order to strike.
The hours pass. Few in number, our division is a tempting bait to
Bragg. General Breckenridge, with a column of many lines, advances
upon us. With precision of movement they march across the open fields.
The sight fascinates us! Splendid spectacle! They break the charm by
opening fire and charging upon us with the shrill yell of the South.
With a crash the lines meet, to mingle a moment and break apart. Our
reserve becomes our front line. We fight for minutes that seem hours,
with bayonet and clubbed musket, with deep cursing and loud yells, with
hot rage and bold defiance, that rarest of happenings in battle comes
to us--a hand to hand fight between lines of infantry upon an open
field. We are overwhelmed by numbers and flanked by the greater force.
Thrice has our color bearer been felled to earth, and of all the color
guard not one is unhurt.
But the regimental flag does not touch the ground. Gallant Phil Reefy,
Lieutenant of Company F, strong and stalwart, bears it aloft. Sullenly
we retreat to the river bank, fighting as we retire. We reach the
stream.
What is that deafening roar? It is as though heaven and earth had come
together. Fifty-two guns, massed by Mendenhall, Chief of Artillery,
commanding the position we had just left, have opened with grape and
canister at short range upon the but now exultant foe. What dreadful
slaughter! Masses of men fall writhing as the missiles hurtle through
the air. They turn and flee, for mortal men cannot withstand such storm.
We pursue until darkness comes, capturing prisoners, guns and stores,
and Reefy, proudly exultant, plants the flag of the 19th Ohio upon two
cannon captured in the tempestuous pursuit.
[Illustration: REPULSE OF THE ATTACK OF THE COLUMN OF GENERAL
BRECKENRIDGE, BEING THE CLOSING SCENE OF THE BATTLE OF STONE’S RIVER.
Made from a picture drawn by Private Mathews, of the 31st Regiment,
Ohio Infantry, during the war.]
No battle of the war shows the dash, pluck, bravery and endurance
of the American soldier better than Stone’s River. The attack, so
spirited and bold, upon the right wing, under McCook, in the gray dawn
of that winter morning, that forced it back until the exultant
enemy was not only on our flank but in our rear! The speedy taking of
new positions by the troops of the left wing, under Crittenden; their
gallant and successful charge in the cedars that regained much of the
ground so ruinously lost!
The sturdy and immovable stand of the center, under Thomas, that
resisted assaults most impetuous and broke the charging columns into
disorganized fragments, as waves are broken on a rock-bound coast! The
dash of the Southerners in attack, the steadiness of the Northerners
in resistance, the impulsive ardor of the one, the deliberate repose
of the other; both so characteristic! The bold front, the confident
daring, the personal exposure, the actual leadership, and the
unconquerable spirit of Rosecrans, that “plucked victory from defeat
and glory from disaster!”
All this, any of this, was worth the sacrifice of life itself to see.
It stands in history as a bright page. The dreadful figures of loss
tell the story of how terribly sanguinary were the engagements when
Americans fought each other. Of 44,000 Federals, 12,000, and of 38,000
Confederates, 10,000 were killed and wounded--over twenty-five per
cent. Recall the fact that at Waterloo, Wellington lost less than
twelve, and at Marengo and Austerlitz, Napoleon lost less than fifteen
per cent.
At daylight the next morning, after the battle, my line was formed.
Shorn was it of half its length, for forty per cent. had fallen. Three
officers were killed and three wounded. Company B, with more of its
own dead to bury than there were unhurt survivors to do them honor.
Ah! the familiar faces gone from us. We who were left looked upon each
other with feelings unknown before. We felt a kinship stronger than
brotherhood, as though we were parts of one body.
We heard read, with infinite satisfaction, of the glory of our
achievements, the congratulations of the General and the thanks of
President Lincoln. We shook hands with each other that we had been
specially mentioned in the reports, and took satisfactory delight that
the commander of the 79th Indiana had officially reported that the good
behavior of his command might be attributed to the splendid conduct of
the 19th Ohio, and to the effect of our example.
We were heroes all, and were proudly conscious of the fact.