In Front of Chattanooga.
Early on the morning of the 22d we were ordered forward towards
Chattanooga, the right wing having gone the day before. On nearing the
city, we were shelled by batteries posted on the heights along the way
and from the breastworks and forts around the city. It was during one
of the heavy engagements between our advanced skirmish lines and the
rear guard of the enemy that one of the negro cooks, by some means,
got lost between the lines, and as a heavy firing began, bullets
flying by him in every direction, he rushed towards the rear, and
raising his hands in an entreating position, cried out, "Stop, white
folks, stop! In the name of God Almighty, stop and argy!"
In moving along, near the city we came to a great sink in the ground,
caused by nature's upheaval at some remote period, covering an acre
or two of space. It seemed to have been a feeding place for hogs from
time immemorial, for corn cobs covered the earth for a foot or more
in depth. In this place some of our troops were posted to avoid the
shells, the enemy having an exact range of this position. They began
throwing shells right and left and bursting them just over our heads,
the fragments flying in every direction. At every discharge, and
before the shell reached us, the men would cling to the sides of
the sloping sink, or burrow deeper in the cobs, until they had their
bodies almost covered. A little man of my company, while a good
soldier, had a perfect aversion to cannon shot, and as a shell would
burst just overhead, his body was seen to scringe, tremble, and go
still deeper among the cobs. Some mischievous comrade took advantage
of his position, seized a good sound cob, then just as a shell bursted
overhead, the trembling little fellow all flattened out, he struck
him a stunning blow on the back. Such a yell as he set up was scarcely
ever heard. Throwing the cobs in every direction, he cried out, "Oh!
I am killed; I am killed! Ambulance corps! Ambulance corps!" But the
laugh of the men soon convinced him his wound was more imaginary than
real so he turned over and commenced to burrow again like a mole.
Rosecrans having withdrawn his entire force within the fortifications
around Chattanooga, our troops were placed in camp, surrounding the
enemy in a semi-circle, and began to fortify. Kershaw's Brigade
was stationed around a large dwelling in a grove, just in front of
Chattanooga, and something over a mile distant from the city, but
in plain view. We had very pleasant quarters in the large grove
surrounding the house, and, in fact, some took possession of the
porches and outhouses. This, I think, is the point Grant stormed a few
months afterwards, and broke through the lines of Bragg. We had
built very substantial breastworks, and our troops would have thought
themselves safe and secure against the charge of Grant's whole army
behind such works.
If those who are unfamiliar with the life of the soldier imagines it
is one long funeral procession, without any breaks of humor, they
are away off from the real facts. The soldier is much the same as the
schoolboy. He must have some vent through which the ebullition of good
feelings can blow off, else the machinery bursts.
While encamped around this house, a cruel joke was played upon
Captain--well we will call him Jones; that was not his name, however,
but near enough to it to answer our purpose. Now this Captain Jones,
as we call him, was engaged to be married to one of the
fairest flowers in the Palmetto State, a perfect queen among
beauties--cultured, vivacious, and belonging to one of the oldest
families in that Commonwealth of Blue Bloods. The many moves and
changes during the last month or two considerably interrupted our
communications and mail facilities, and Jones had not received the
expected letters. He became restless, petulant, and cross, and to
use the homely phrase, "he was all torn up." Instead of the "human
sympathy" and the "one touch of nature," making the whole world akin,
that philosophers and sentimentalists talk about, it should be
"one sight of man's misery"--makes the whole world "wish him more
miserable." It was through such feelings that induced Captain I.N.
Martin, our commissary, with Mack Blair and others, to enter into a
conspiracy to torture Jones with all he could stand. Blair had a
lady cousin living near the home of Jones' fiancee, with whom he
corresponded, and it was through this channel that the train was
laid to blow up Jones while said Jones was in the piazza engaged in
a deeply interesting game of chess. Martin was to be in the piazza
watching the game, when Blair was to enter reading a letter. Then
something like the following colloquy took place:
"Well, Mack, what is the news from home?"
"Nothing very interesting," replies Blair. Then, as a sudden
recollection strikes him, "Oh, yes, there is to be a big wedding at
Old Dr. Blanks."
"You don't say so?" (The game of chess stands still.) "And who is to
be married, pray?" innocently enquires Martin.
"Why it will surprise you as much as it did me, I suppose, and I would
not believe it, only Cousin Sallie says she is to be bride's maid."
(Jones ceases to play and listens intently.) "It is nobody else than
Mr. ---- and Miss 'Blank.'"
Now, this Miss "Blank" is Jones' intended. Jones is paralyzed. His
face turns livid, then pale, now green! He is motionless, his eyes
staring vacantly on the chessboard. Then with a mighty exertion Jones
kicked the board aside and sprang to his feet. Shaking his trembling
finger in the face of Blair, his whole frame convulsed with emotion,
his very soul on fire, he hissed between his teeth: "That's an
infernal lie, I don't care whose Cousin Sallie wrote it."
Jones was nearly crazed for the balance of the day. He whistled and
sang strange melodies while walking aimlessly about. He read and
re-read the many love missives received long ago. Some he tore into
fragments; others he carefully replaced in his knapsack.
But those evil geniuses were still at work for further torture, or at
least to gloat over Jones' misery. It was arranged to formally bury
him, allegorically. At night, while Jones was asleep, or trying to
sleep on the piazza, a procession was formed, headed by Major Maffett,
who was to act as the priest, and I must say he acted the part like a
cardinal. We had a little rehearsal of the part each was to play, and
those who "couldn't hold in" from laughing were ruled out, for it was
expected that Jones would cut some frightful antics as the ceremony
proceeded. I was not allowed to accompany the procession, as it was
decided I could not "hold in," and under no condition was there to be
a laugh or even a smile; but I took up position behind the balusters
and watched events as the shadows were cast before. Major Maffett was
dressed in a long dark overcoat, to represent the priestly gown, with
a miter on his head, carrying Hardee's Tactics, from which to read the
burial service. All had in their hands a bayonet, from which burned a
tallow candle, in place of tapers. The procession marched up the steps
in single file, all bearing themselves with the greatest solemnity and
sombre dignity, followed by the sexton, with a frying-pan as a shovel,
and took their places around the supposed corpse. Maffett began the
duties by alluding to that part of the service where "it is allotted
that all men shall die," etc., waving his hand in due form to the
sexton as he repeated the words, "Earth to earth and dust to dust,"
the sexton following the motions with the frying pan.
I must say, in all truthfulness, that in all my life I never saw a
graver or more solemn set of faces than those of the would-be mourning
procession. Captain Wright appeared as if he was looking into his own
grave, and the others appeared equally as sorrowful. Major Maffett
gave out in clear, distinct tones the familiar lines of--
"Solemn strikes
the funeral chime,
Notes of our departing time."
Well, such grotesque antics as Jones did cut up was perfectly
dreadful. He laughed, he mimicked the priest, kicked at the mourners,
and once tried to grab the tactics. The Major and his assistants
pitched the tune on a high key. Captain Wright braced it with loud,
strong bass, while Martin and Sim Pratt came in on the home stretch
with tenor and alto that shook the rafters in the house. Then all
dispersed as silently and sorrowfully as they had come.
In a few days Jones got a letter setting all things straight. Martin
and Blair confessed their conspiracy against his peace of mind,
and matters progressed favorably thereafter between Jones and Miss
"Blank," but Jones confessed afterwards that he carried for a long
time "bad, wicked blood in his heart."
But soldiers have their tragedies as well as their comedies in camp.
It was here we lost our old friend, Jim George, the shallow-pated
wit--the man who found us the flour on the Potomac, and who floundered
about in the river "for three hours," as he said, on that bitter cold
night at Yorktown. It was also told of Jim, that during the first
battle he was loading and shooting at the wounded enemy for all his
gun was worth, and when remonstrated with by his Captain, Chesley
Herbert, telling Jim he "should not kill them," Jim indignantly asked,
"What in the hell did we come to the war for, if not to kill Yankees?"
But this, I think, is only a joke at Jim's expense. Nevertheless, he
was a good solider, of the harmless kind, and a good, jolly fellow
withal, taking it as a pleasure to do a friend a kindness.
As I have said, however, Jim was a great boaster and blusterer,
glorying in the marvelous and dangerous. Had he lived in the heroic
age, I have no doubt he would have regaled the ears of his listeners
with blood curdling stories of his battles with giants, his fights
with dragons and winged serpents. He claimed to possess a charm. He
wore an amulet around his neck to protect him against the "bullets of
lead, of copper, or of brass" of his enemies, through which, he said,
nothing could penetrate but the mystic "balls of silver," the same
with which "witch rabbits" are killed. He would fill his pockets,
after battle, with spent and battered bullets, and exhibit them as
specimens of his art in the catching of bullets on "the fly."
He professed to be a very dangerous and blood-thirsty individual, but
his comrades only laughed at his idiosyncrasies, knowing him as they
did as being one of the best and most harmless soldiers in the army.
He often boasted, "No Yankee will ever kill me, but our own men will,"
his companions little dreaming how prophetic his words would prove.
One night while Jim, in company with some companions, were on a
"foraging expedition," they came to a farm house on Missionary Ridge
and ordered supper. A cavalryman was there, also, waiting to be
served. A negro servant attending to the table gave some real or
imaginary affront, and the soldiers, in a spirit of jest, pretended
as if they were going to take the negro out and flog him. Now Jim, as
well as the cavalryman, thought the midnight revelers were in earnest,
and Jim was in high glee at the prospect of a little adventure. But
nothing was further from the thoughts of the soldiers than doing harm
to the negro. When they had him in the yard the cavalryman came on the
porch, and in an authoritative manner, ordered the negro turned loose.
This was a time Jim thought that he could get in some of his bullying,
so going up on the steps where the cavalryman stood, jesticulating
with his finger, said, "When we get through with the negro we will
give you some of the same."
In an instant the strange soldier's pistol was whipped out--a flash,
a report, and Jim George fell dead at his feet, a victim to his own
swagger and an innocent jest of his companions. So dumbfounded were
the innocent "foragers," that they allowed the cavalryman to ride away
unmolested and unquestioned.
The bones of the unfortunate Jim lie buried on the top of Missionary
Ridge, and the name of his slayer remains a mystery to this day.
While in Tennessee our diet was somewhat changed. In the East, flour,
with beef and bacon, was issued to the troops; but here we got nothing
but corn meal, with a little beef and half ration of bacon. The troops
were required to keep four days' rations cooked on hand all the time.
Of the meal we made "cart wheels," "dog heads," "ash cakes," and
last, but not least, we had "cush." Now corn bread is not a very great
delicacy at best, but when four days' old, and green with mold, it is
anything but palatable. But the soldiers got around this in the way
"cush" was manipulated. Now it has been said "if you want soldiers
to fight well, you must feed them well;" but this is still a mooted
question, and I have known some of the soldiers of the South to give
pretty strong battle when rather underfed than overfed.
For the benefit of those Spanish-American soldiers of the late war,
who had nothing to vary their diet of ham and eggs, steak, pork, and
potatoes, biscuits, light bread, coffee, and iced teas, but only such
light goods as canned tomatoes, green corn, beans, salmon, and fresh
fish, I will tell them how to make "cush." You will not find this
word in the dictionaries of the day, but it was in the soldier's
vocabulary, now obsolete. Chip up bacon in fine particles, place in an
oven and fry to a crisp. Fill the oven one-third or one-half full
of branch water, then take the stale corn bread, the more moldy the
better, rub into fine crumbs, mix and bring the whole to a boil,
gently stirring with a forked stick. When cold, eat with fingers and
to prevent waste or to avoid carrying it on the march, eat the four
days' rations at one sitting. This dish will aid in getting clear
of all gestion of meat, and prevent bread from getting old. A pot of
"cush" is a dish "fit for a king," and men who will not fight on it
would not fight if penned.
The forest and farms around abounded in sheep and hogs. In fact,
Tennessee and North Georgia were not the worst places in the South in
which to live through a campaign. We had strict orders to protect all
private property and molest nothing outside of camp requirements, but
the men would forage at night, bring in a sheep or hog, divide up, and
by the immutable law of camps it was always proper to hang a choice
piece of mutton or pork at the door of the officers' tent. This helped
to soothe the conscience of the men and pave the way to immunity
from punishment. The stereotyped orders were issued every night for
"Captains to keep their men in camp," but the orders were as often
disregarded as obeyed. It was one of those cases where orders are more
regarded "in the breach than in the observance." Officers winked
at it, if not actually countenancing the practice, of "foraging for
something to eat." Then again the old argument presented itself, "If
we don't take it the Yankees will," so there you were.
Most of the soldiers took the opportunity of visiting Lookout Mountain
and feasting their eyes upon the finest scenery of the South. While
they had crossed and recrossed the Blue Ridge and the many ranges of
lesser note in Virginia, Maryland, and Pennsylvania--had gazed with
wonder and admiration at the windings of the Potomac and Shenandoah
from the Heights of Maryland overlooking Harper's Ferry--yet all these
were nothing as compared to the view from Lookout Mountain. Standing
on its brow, we could see the beautiful blue waters of the Tennessee
flowing apparently at our feet, but in reality a mile or two distant.
Beyond lay the city of Chattanooga, nestling down in the bend of the
river, while away in the distance occasional glimpses of the stream
could be had as it wound in and out around the hills and mountains
that lined its either side, until the great river looked no larger
than a mountain brooklet. From the highest peak of Lookout Mountain we
catch faint streaks of far away Alabama; on the right, North Carolina;
to the north, Tennessee; and to the south and east were Georgia and
our own dear South Carolina. From this place many of our soldiers cast
the last lingering look at the land they loved so well. On the plateau
of the mountain was a beautiful lake of several acres in extent,
surrounded by lovely little villas and summer houses, these all
hurriedly deserted by the necessities of war--the furniture and
fixtures left all in place as the owners took their hastened
departure. In one house we visited was left a handsome piano, on which
those who could perform gave the soldiers delightful music.
There was a roadway winding around the base of the mountain and
gradually up its slopes to the plateau above, where wagons and other
vehicles passed to the top. Most of the soldiers who wished to visit
this beautiful and historic place passed up this road way, but there
was another route--just a foot-path--up its precipitous sides, which
had to be climbed hundreds of feet, perpendicularly, by means of
ladders fastened to its sides. After going up one ladder, say fifty
or seventy-five feet, we would come to a little offset in the mountain
side, just wide enough to get a foot-hold, before taking another
ladder. Some of the boldest climbers took this route to reach the
summit, but after climbing the first ladder and looking back towards
the gorge below, I concluded it was safer and more pleasant to take
the "longer way round." It certainly takes a man of stout heart and
strong nerves to climb those ladders up to the "lands of the sky."
The scenery in and around Chattanooga and Lookout Mountain is grand,
far beyond pen picturing. The surroundings had a kind of buoyancy even
to the spirits of the badly clad and badly fed soldiers, which caused
their stale bread and "cush" to be eaten with a relish. The mountain
homes seemed veritable "castles in the air." Looking from the top
of Lookout Mountain--its position, its surroundings, its natural
fortresses--this would have made an old Feudal lord die of envy.
Autumn is now at hand, with its glorious sunsets, its gorgeous
coloring of the leaves and bushes away to the right on Missionary
Ridge, the magnificent purple draperies along the river sides that
rise and fall to our right and left, its blue waters dwindling away
until they meet the deeper blue of the sky--are all beautiful beyond
description. Lovely though this scenery may be in autumn, and its
deeper coloring of green in the summer, how dazzled must be the looker
on in beholding it in its tender, blushing mantle of spring?
For quite a time rumors came of Burnside's advance through East
Tennessee and of Longstreet's detachment from the army to meet him.
The troops were kept in constant expectation, with the regulation
"four days" cooked rations on hand. It is not our purpose to criticise
the acts of Generals, or the schemes and plans of the Southern
Government, but future historical critics will not differ as to the
ultimate results of the East Tennessee move. That Longstreet's advance
to East Tennessee was without results, if not totally disastrous, all
will agree. To divide an army in the face of an enemy, is dangerous
at best, and, with few exceptions, has been avoided by Generals and
commanders of all time. Lee could afford it, because he was LEE and
had a JACKSON to execute the movements, but on occasions when the
enemy in front are more numerous and commanded by the most able and
astute Generals of the time, the movement is hazardous in the extreme.
Lee and his Lieutenants had already "robbed the cradle and the grave"
to replenish their ranks, and what real benefit would accrue to the
South had Longstreet captured the whole of Burnside's Army, when the
North had many armies to replace it? The critics of the future will
judge the movement as ill-timed and fraught with little good and much
ill to the Confederacy. However, it was so ordered, and no alternate
was left the officers and soldiers but to obey.
On the 9th of October President Davis came out to Chattanooga to
give matters his personal attention and seek, if possible, some
"scape-grace" upon which to saddle the blame for not reaping greater
fruits of the battle, and to vindicate the conduct of his commander in
chief.
General Bragg had already preferred charges against Lieutenant General
Polk, commander of the right wing of the army, for his tardiness in
opening the battle of the 20th, and General Hindman was relieved of
the command of his division for alleged misconduct prior to that
time. Many changes were proposed and made in the corps and division
commanders, as well as plans discussed for the future operations of
the army. All agreed that it should be aggressive.
Major General Cheatham was temporarily placed in command of Folk's
Corps after the downfall of that General, and he himself soon
afterwards superseded by lieutenant General Hardee. President Davis
had thought of placing Pemberton, who had capitulated to Grant at
Vicksburg, but who had been exchanged, in command of the corps; but
the officers and troops demurred at this, and public opinion was so
outspoken, that Mr. Davis was forced to abandon the idea. It was,
therefore, given to Hardee. For some offense given by Major General
D.H. Hill, who commanded the right of the right wing on the 20th,
he was relieved of his command and his connection with the Army of
Tennessee. Major General Buckner, commanding the divisions on the left
of Longstreet's wing, also came under the ban of official displeasure
and was given an indefinite leave of absence. There was wrangling,
too, among the Brigadiers in Hood's Division, Jenkins, Law, and
Robertson. Jenkins being a new addition to the division, was senior
officer, and commanded the division in Hood's absence by virtue of
his rank. Law had been in the division since its formation, and after
Hood's disabilities from wounds, commanded very acceptably the balance
of the days at Gettysburg. For this and other meritorious conduct,
he thought the command should be given to him as senior in point of
service with the division. Robertson had some personal difficulty
with General Longstreet, which afterwards resulted in a call for a
courtmartial. The advanced ideas and undisguised views of Longstreet
himself were considered with suspicion by both the President and the
General commanding the army, and had it not been for the high prestige
and his brilliant achievements in the East, the unbounded love and
devotion of his troops, the loyalty and confidence of General Lee in
the high military ability of the old War Horse, his commander of the
First Corps, in all probability his official head would have fallen
in the basket. But President Davis was strong in his prejudices and
convictions, and as usual, tenacious in his friendship and confidence
towards his favorites. Bragg, in President Davis' estimation at
least, was vindicated, but at the expense of his subalterns, and was,
therefore, retained in command in the face of overwhelming discontent
among the Generals and the pressing demands of public opinion for his
recall from the command of the army.
General Lee in the meantime had sought to relieve the pressure against
Bragg as much as possible by making a demonstration in force against
Meade, forcing the Federal Army back behind Bull Run, thereby
preventing a further reinforcement of Rosecrans from the Army of the
Potomac.
I digress thus far from the thread of my story, that the reader may
better understand the conditions confronting our army--the morale, and
esprit de corps of the officers and troops composing it.
On the 19th of October General Rosecrans was superseded by Major
General George B. Thomas, in command of the Union Army, with Grant,
who was rapidly climbing to the zenith of this renown, marching to his
relief as commander of the department.
A considerable commotion was caused in camp about the last of October
by the news of a large body of Union soldiers making a demonstration
against our left flank and rear. It seems that a body of troops had
embarked on board pontoon and flat boats in Chattanooga, and during
the night had floated eight miles down the river and there were
joined by a similar body marching over land on the north side. This
formidable array was crossed over to the south side and moved in the
direction of our rear and our line of communication under cover of the
hills and mountain ridges. Jenkins' and McLaw's Divisions were ordered
to intercept them and drive them off. A night attack was ordered, but
by some misunderstanding or disobedience of orders, this movement
on the part of the Confederates miscarried, and was abandoned; not,
however, until General Bratton, of Jenkins' old Brigade, came up and
attacked the rear guard with such vigor that the enemy was glad enough
to get away, leaving their wounded and dead upon the field. No further
movements were made against the army until after our removal to East
Tennessee.
About the first of November orders were issued for the transfer of
Longstreet to begin, and on the 5th and 6th the greater part of his
army was embarked on hastily constructed trains at Tyner's Station,
some five or six miles out on the E.T. & K.R.R. The horses, artillery,
and wagon trains took the dirt road to Sweetwater, in the Sweetwater
Valley, one of the most fertile regions in East Tennessee.
Longstreet's command consisted of Kershaw's (South Carolina), Bryan's
and Wofford's (Georgia), and Humphreys' (Mississippi) Brigades, under
Major General McLaws; Anderson's (Georgia), Jenkins' (South Carolina),
Law's (Alabama), Robertson's (Arkansas and Texas), and Benning's
(Georgia) Brigades, under Brigadier General M. Jenkins, commanding
division; two batteries of artillery, under General Alexander; and
four brigades of cavalry, under Major General Wheeler.
General Hood had been so desperately wounded at Chickamauga, that
it was thought he could never return to the army; but he had won a
glorious name, the prestige of which the war department thought of too
much value to be lost, but to be used afterwards so disastrously in
the campaign through Middle Tennessee. General Hood was, no doubt,
an able, resolute, and indefatigable commander, although meteoric,
something on the order of Charles, the "Madman of the North;" but
his experience did not warrant the department in placing him in the
command of an expedition to undertake the impossible--the defeat of
an overwhelming army, behind breastworks, in the heart of its own
country.
The movement of Longstreet to East Tennessee and Hood through Middle
Tennessee was but the commencement of a series of blunders on the
part of our war department that culminated eventually in the South's
downfall. But it is not our province to speculate in the rosy fields
of "might-have-been," but to record facts.
General Longstreet had of all arms fifteen thousand men, including
teamsters, guards, medical and ambulance corps. General Burnside
had an army of twenty-five thousand men and one hundred pieces of
artillery, and this was the army Longstreet was expected to capture or
destroy.
General Grant was marching from Mississippi with a large portion
of his victorious troops of the Vicksburg campaign to reinforce
Rosecrans, Sherman coming down through Tennessee, and Meade was
sending reinforcements from the East, all to swell the defeated ranks
of Rosecrans. With the knowledge of all these facts, the department
was preparing to further reduce the forces of Bragg by sending
Longstreet up in East Tennessee, with soldiers badly clad, worse
equipped, and with the poorest apology of camp equipage, for an active
and progressive campaign.
Both governments were greatly displeased with the results of the
battle of Chickamauga--the Federals at their army failing to come up
to their expectations and gaining a victory, instead of a disastrous
defeat; the Confederates at their commanders in not following up their
success and reaping greater results. Under such circumstances,
there must be some one on whom to place the blame. General Rosecrans
censured General McCook and General Crittenden, commanders of the
Twentieth and Twenty-first Corps, and these two able soldiers were
relieved of their commands, while General Rosecrans himself was
severely censured by the department in Washington, and soon afterwards
relieved of his command.
The regiments of the brigade were now all short of field officers--the
Seventh and Battalion with none, and the Eighth and Fifteenth in
charge of Majors. However, Colonel W.G. Rice joined us on the way to
East Tennessee and took command of his battalion.
After a stay of a week in the beautiful Valley of Sweetwater, we were
moved to Loudon, the railroad crossing of the Tennessee River, the
railroad bridge having been burned by the enemy. The country in East
Tennessee was greatly divided in sentiment, some for the Union cause
and some for the Confederate cause. Rumors of outrages and doings of
desperadoes were rife, and the soldiers were somewhat dubious in going
far into the country, for fear of running up against bushwhackers, of
which the country was said to be full.
While one train with the Third was being pulled over the East
Tennessee Railroad towards Sweetwater by a strange engineer over a
track long unused, and cars out of repair, an occurrence took
place which might have ended more seriously than it did under the
circumstances. The train, composed of box cars, one company inside and
one on top, was running along at a good, lively rate. A stampede took
place among the troops on top, who began jumping right and left down a
steep embankment and running with all their speed to the woods in the
distance. It was just after daylight, and those inside the cars not
knowing what the trouble was, and a great many on the top being roused
from their slumbers and seeing the others leaping in great disorder,
and hearing the word "bushwhackers" being called out, threw their
blankets aside and jumped likewise. Soon the cars were almost
empty, those above and within all thinking danger was somewhere, but
invisible. Just then a train of passenger cars, containing General
McLaws, General Kershaw, their staffs, and others, rounded the cut in
our rear, and was running at break-neck speed into the freight train
in front. Those in the passenger cars seeing those from the train
in front running for dear life's sake for the woods, began to climb
through windows and off of the platforms, the engineers and firemen on
both trains leaping like the men. So we had the spectacle of one train
running into another and neither under control, although the levers
had been reversed. In a moment the rear train plunged into the front
one, piling up three or four cars on their ends. Fortunately, only one
or two were hurt by jumping and none by the collision. It seems almost
miraculous to think of two car loads of soldiers jumping from trains
at full speed and on a high embankment and a great many from top, and
so few getting hurt.
General Longstreet's plan of campaign was to move up the east side
of the Holston, or, as it is now called, the Tennessee River, pass
through Marysville, cross the river in the vicinity of Knoxville with
his infantry, the cavalry to take possession of the heights above and
opposite the city, thus cutting off the retreat of the Federals in
front of Loudon, and capture the garrison in the city of Knoxville.
But he had no trains to move his pontoon bridge, nor horses to pull
it. So he was forced to make a virtue of necessity and cross the river
just above the little hamlet of Loudon in the face of the enemy. On
the night of the 12th the boats and bridge equipment were carried to
the river, the boats launched and manned by a detachment of Jenkins'
South Carolina Brigade, under the command of the gallant Captain
Foster. This small band of men pushed their boats across the river
under a heavy fire of the enemy's pickets, succeeded in driving off
the enemy, and took possession of the opposite side. The boats were
soon joined together and the bridge laid. The troops then began to
cross rapidly and push their way out far in advance. By morning the
greater part of the army was on the west side of the river.
General Wheeler, with his cavalry, started simultaneously with the
infantry, but on the east side, with the view of taking possession
of the heights around Knoxville, which he partly accomplished after
several severe engagements with the Union cavalry, in which the young
Confederate cavalier came off victorious.
The next morning after our crossing the enemy showed some disposition
to attack our lines, but did no more than drive in our skirmishers,
and then began to fall slowly back. Longstreet remained near the river
constructing some defensive earthworks to protect the bridge, and to
allow the supply train, which had been out on a foraging expedition,
time to come up. By his not making as rapid advance as was expected,
the enemy again, on the 14th, returned to feel our lines and to learn
the whereabouts of his foe.
On the morning of the 15th, just at daylight, we took up our line of
march through a blinding mist or fog, our skirmishers not being able
to see an object fifty paces in front. Our line of advance was along
the dirt road, on the west side of the little mountain range, a spur
of the clinch, while the main body of the enemy kept close to the
railroad, on the east side, and between the mountain range and the
river, traversing a narrow valley, which gave him strong positions for
defensive battle. The mountain was crossed in several places by dull
roads and bridle paths, and it was the intention of the commanding
General to take possession of these passes and turn the enemy's
flank, or to move around the head of the mountain, where the two roads
followed by the armies came together on converging lines, then to
either close him in between the mountain and the river and give
battle, or fall upon his rear and crush him. Some few miles out
Jenkins' skirmishers came upon those of the enemy and a running fight
took place, the Federals retreating through the mountain gap to the
east side.
Jenkins kept up his advance (not following the enemy, however, over
the mountain), with Alexander's Battalion of Artillery, while McLaws
followed closely, with Leydon's Battery as a support. Thus the march
was continued all day, taking up camp at night far in advance of
the enemy on the other side o: the mountain. Jenkins was ordered at
midnight, with a part of his command, to take possession of a gap in
the mountain, and at daylight throw himself across the line of the
enemy's retreat. But for some unforeseen circumstance, or treachery
or ignorance in Jenkins' guide, he failed in his undertaking, and the
enemy passed in safety during the night beyond our lines to a place of
comparative security.
Early next morning the army was in motion, but instead of an enemy in
our front we found a park of eighty wagons, well laden with supplies
of provisions, camp equipage, tools, etc., deserted by the retreating
column. The horses had been cut loose, still this capture was a very
serviceable acquisition to the outfit of the army, especially
in entrenching tools. Jenkins followed close on the heels of the
retreating army, occasionally coming to a severe brush with the
enemy's rear guard, using every exertion to force Burnside to battle
until McLaws, with Hart's Brigade of Cavalry, could reach Cambell's
Station, the point where the two converging roads meet. McLaws marched
nearly all day in full line of battle, Kershaw being on the left of
the main thoroughfare and under a continual skirmish fire. But all too
late. The wily foe had escaped the net once more and passed over and
beyond the road crossing, and formed line of battle on high ground in
rear. Longstreet still had hopes of striking the enemy a crushing
blow before reaching Knoxville, and all he desired and all that was
necessary to that end was that he should stand and give battle. The
attitude of the Union Army looked favorable towards the consummation
of the Confederate leader's plan. Our troops had been marching all
the forenoon in one long line of battle, near a mile in length,
over ditches, gullies, and fences; through briars, brambles, and
undergrowth; then again through wide expanse of cultivated fields,
all the while under a galling fire from the enemy's batteries and
sharpshooters, and they felt somewhat jaded and worn out when they
came upon their bristling bayonets, ready for combat. A great number
of our men were barefooted, some with shoes partly worn out, clothes
ragged and torn, not an overcoat or extra garment among the line
officers or men throughout the army, as all surplus baggage had
been left in Virginia. But when the battle was about to show up the
soldiers were on hand, ready and willing as of old, to plunge headlong
into the fray. McLaws was on the left wing and Jenkins on the right.
Preparation for a general engagement was made. McLaws was ordered
to throw forward, Wofford on his extreme left, supported by cavalry,
while Jenkins was to send two of his brigades, under General Law, far
to the right, on the flank and rear of the enemy's left. Law was first
to make the attack on the enemy's flank, then the columns in front
were to advance and make direct assault. But the "best laid plans
of mice and men oft' gang aglee." Law missed his line of
direction--failed to come upon the enemy's flank, night was upon us,
and it must be remembered that all these movements took time, thus
giving the Union Army an opportunity, under the sable curtains of
night, to "fold their tents and gently steal away."
General Longstreet, in his book written nearly thirty years after the
occurrence of Cambell's Station, severely criticises General Law, who
commanded the two flanking brigades, and in withering and scathing
terms directly charges him with the loss of a great victory. He quotes
one of his staff officers as saying that it was the common camp
rumor that General Law had made the remark "that he could have made
a successful attack, but that Jenkins would have reaped the credit
of it, hence he delayed until the enemy got out of the way." This is
unjust and ungenerous to a gallant and faithful officer, one, too,
who had, by his many and heavy blows in battle, added largely to
the immortal fame of Longstreet himself. That there was a laudable
ambition and rivalry among all officers and men in the Confederate
Army, there can be no question--an ambition to outstrip all others
in heroic actions, noble deeds, and self-sacrificing, but jealously
never. As for treachery, as General Longstreet clearly intimates in
the case of General Law, why the poorest, ragged, starved, or maimed
soldier in the South would not have sold his country or companions for
the wealth of the Indies, nor would he have unnecessarily sacrificed
a life of a comrade for the greatest place on this continent, or the
fairest crown of Europe. It must be remembered in this connection
that there were personal differences between the corps commander and
General Law at times, and with one of his division commanders, all
during our Western campaign. That General Law was obstinate, petulant,
and chafed under restraint, is true, but this is only natural in a
volunteer army, and must be expected. And had General Longstreet, so
rigid a disciplinarian as he was, but a breath of suspicion at the
time of disobedience, lack of courage, or unfaithfulness in his
subaltern, General Law would have been put under immediate arrest,
and a courtmartial ordered. The old General, in several places in his
memoirs, makes uncomplimentary remarks and insinuations against
some of his old compatriots in arms, but these should not be taken
seriously. It will be remembered by all the old Confederates in this
connection that during the period just succeeding the war mighty
social convulsions took place in the South--political upheavals,
whereby one party was as bitter against the other as during the mighty
struggle of the North against the South, and that General Longstreet,
unfortunately for his name as a civilian, aligned himself along with
the party whom the whites of the South acknowledged as antagonistic
to their welfare and interest. This roused the ire of all his old army
associates, and many of his former friends now began to hurl poisoned
and fiery shafts at the old "War Horse" of the South, and no place so
vulnerable as his army record. This, of course, was resented by
him, and a deadly feud of long standing sprang up between Generals
Longstreet, Mahone, and a few others, who joined him on the one side,
and the whole army of "Codfederate Brigadiers" on the other. This
accounts, in a large measure, for many of Longstreet's strictures
upon the conduct of officers of the army, and, no doubt, a mere
after thought or the weird imaginations of an old and disappointed
politico-persecuted man.
No, No! The officers and men of the Confederate Army were patriots
of diamond purity, and all would have willingly died a martyr's death
that the Confederacy might live.
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