The Siege of Knoxville Raised--Battle of Bean Station--Winter
Quarters.
On the night of the 4th of December preparations were made to raise
the siege around Knoxville and vacate the fortifications built around
the city after a fortnight's stay in the trenches. The wagons had
begun moving the day before, with part of the artillery, and early in
the night the troops north and west of the city took up the line of
march towards Rutledge, followed by McLaws on the right.
Kershaw being on the extreme right of the army and next to the river
on the South, could not move until the troops on the left were well
underway, thus leaving us in position until near midnight. Lieutenant
Colonel Rutherford commanded the rear guard of skirmishers, deployed
several hundred yards on either side of the road. Our march was
extremely fatiguing, the roads being muddy and badly cut up by the
trains in our front. The weather was cold and bleaky; the night so
dark that the troops could scarcely see their way, but all night long
they floundered through the mud and slough--over passes and along
narrow defiles, between the mountain and the river to their right--the
troops trudged along, the greater portion of whom were thinly clad,
some with shoes badly worn, others with none. Two brigades of cavalry
were left near the city until daylight to watch the movements of the
enemy. The next day we met General Ranson with his infantry division
and some artillery on his long march from Virginia to reinforce
Longstreet, but too late to be of any material service to the
commanding General. Bragg's orders had been imperative, "to assault
Knoxville and not to await the reinforcement."
Burnside did not attempt to follow us closely, as he was rather
skeptical about leaving his strong positions around Knoxville with the
chances of meeting Longstreet in open field. But strong Federal forces
were on a rapid march to relieve the pressure against Knoxville--one
column from the West and ten thousand men under Sherman were coming up
from Chattanooga, and were now at Loudon, on the Tennessee.
Longstreet continued the march to Rodgersville, some fifty or sixty
miles northeast of Knoxville, on the west bank of the Holston, and
here rested for several days. It was the impression of the troops that
they would remain here for a length of time, and they began
building winter quarters. But Burnside feeling the brace of strong
reinforcements nearing him, moved out from Knoxville a large
detachment in our rear to near Bean Station (or Cross Roads), the one
leading from Knoxville by way of Rutledge, the other from the eastern
side of the Holston and over the mountain on the western side at
Bean's Gap. Longstreet determined to retrace his steps, strike
Burnside a stunning blow, and, if possible, to capture his advance
forces at Bean Station.
Here I will digress a few moments from my narrative to relate an
incident that took place while encamped near Rodgersville, an incident
that will ever remain fresh in the memory of all of the old First
Division who witnessed it. It is with feelings of sorrow at this
distant day to even recall it to mind, and it is with pain that I
record it. But as I have undertaken to give a faithful and true story
of the army life of the First Brigade, this harrowing scene becomes a
part of its history. It was near the middle of the month. The sun had
long since dropped out of sight behind the blue peaks of the distant
Cumberland. All is still in camp; the soldiers, after their many
hardships and fatiguing marches, rest, and soon all in sound slumber.
Even the very voices of nature seemed hushed and frozen in the gloomy
silence of the night. All is quiet, save in one lonely tent, apart
some distance from the rest, before which walks a silent sentinel,
as if he, too, feels the chilling effects of the sombre stillness.
Murmurings soft and low in the one lighted tent are all that break
the oppressive death-like silence. In the back ground the great forest
trees of the mountain stand mute and motionless, not even a nod of
their stately heads to a passing breeze, while far away to the south
could be seen an occasional picket fire, making the surrounding
objects appear like moving, grotesque phantoms. The heavens above were
all bedecked with shimmering stars, pouring down upon the sleeping
Valley of the Holston a cold and trembling light.
In the lonely tent sits a soldier, who is spending his last night on
earth; by his side sits his little son, who has come far away over
the mountains to spend the last moments with his father and see him
die--not to die like a soldier wishes for death, but as a felon and
outcast, the ignominious death at the stake. An occasional sob escapes
the lips of the lad, but no sigh or tears of grief from the condemned.
He is holding converse with his Maker, for to His throne alone must
he now appeal for pardon. Hope on earth had gone. He had no friend at
court, no one to plead his cause before those who had power to order
a reprieve. He must die. The doomed man was an ignorant mountaineer,
belonging to one of the regiments from North Georgia or Tennessee, and
in an ill-fated moment he allowed his longings for home to overcome
his sense of duty, and deserted his colors--fled to his mountain home
and sought to shelter himself near his wife and little ones in the
dark recesses and gorges thereabout. He was followed, caught,
returned to his command, courtmartialed, and sentenced to death--time,
to-morrow.
During the days and nights that passed since the dread sentence had
been read to him, he lay upon his rude couch in the guard tent all
indifferent to his environments, and on the march he moved along with
the guard in silence, gazing abstractedly at the blue vaults of heaven
or the star-strewn, limitless space. That far away future now to him
so near--that future which no vision can contemplate nor mortal
mind comprehend--is soon to be unfolded. Little heed was paid to the
comforting words of his sympathetic comrades in arms, who bid him
hope, for the condemned man felt inwardly and was keenly conscious
of the fact that he had been caught upon the crest of a great wave
of destiny, soon to be swept away by its receding force to darkness,
despair, death. "Fate had played him falsely."
To witness death, to see the torn and mangled remains of friends and
comrades, are but incidents in the life of a soldier. While all
dread it, few fear it. Yet it is upon the field of battle that it
is expected--amid the din and smoke, the shouts of his comrades, the
rattle of musketry, and the cannon's roar. There is the soldier's
glory, his haven, his expected end; and of all deaths, that upon the
battlefield, surrounded by victorious companions and waving banners,
the triumphant shouts of comrades, is the least painful.
The grounds selected for the carrying out of the court's sentence were
on a broad plateau, gently sloping towards the center on three sides.
So well were the grounds and surroundings adapted to the end in view,
that it seemed as if nature had anticipated the purposes of man.
By 9 o'clock the troops of the division were in motion, all under
the command of Colonel James D. Nance, of the Third South Carolina,
marching for the field of death. Kershaw's Brigade took the lead, and
formed on the left of the hollow square. Wofford's on the right, with
Bryan's doubling on the two, while Humphrey's closed the space at the
west end of the square.
A detail of thirty men were made to do the firing, fifteen guns
being loaded with powder and ball, the others with powder alone, this
arrangement being made, perhaps, with a view to ease the qualms of
conscience, should any of the guards have scruples of shedding the
blood of a former comrade in arms. None could know positively who held
the death-dealing guns. An opening was made at the lower end and the
first platoon of guards entered with arms reversed, then the band
playing the "Dead March," followed by the condemned and his son, the
second platoon bringing up the rear. The cortege marched around the
whole front of the lined-up troops, keeping step to the slow and
dismal sounds of the "Dead March." The prisoner walked with the firm
and steady step of a Sagamore, or an Indian brave marching and singing
his death chants, to the place of his execution. His son was equally
as courageous and self-possessed, not a tremor or faltering in either.
At times the father and son would speak in low, soft tones to each
other, giving and receiving, perhaps, the last messages, the last
farewells on earth, the soldier-outcast being now under the very
shadow of death.
After making the entire circuit of the square, the condemned was
conducted to the open space at the eastern side, where a rude stake
had been driven in the ground. To this he boldly walked, calmly
kneeling in front, allowing himself to be bandaged and pinioned
thereto. The guards had formed in double ranks, fifteen paces in
front, his faithful son standing some distance to his right, calm,
unmoved, and defiant, even in the face of all the terrors going on
before him. The officer in charge gives the command, "ready," thirty
hammers spring back; "aim," the pieces rise to the shoulders; then,
and then only, the tension broke, and the unfortunate man, instead of
the officer, cried out in a loud, metallic voice, "fire." The report
of the thirty rifles rang out On the stillness of the morning; the man
at the stake gives a convulsive shudder, his head tails listlessly on
his breast, blood gushes out in streams, and in a moment all is still.
The deserter has escaped.
The authorities at Washington had grown tired of Burnside's failure
to either crush Longstreet or drive him out of East Tennessee, and had
sent General Foster to relieve him, the latter General bringing with
him the standing orders, "Crush or drive out Longstreet." How well
General Foster succeeded will be related further on. In obedience to
the department's special orders, General Longstreet had, several
days previous, sent Wheeler's Cavalry back to General Johnston, now
commanding Bragg's Army. Our troops had heard the confirmation of the
report of General Bragg's desperate battle at Missionary Ridge--his
disastrous defeat his withdrawal to Dalton, and his subsequent
relinquishment of command of the Army of Tennessee. This had no effect
upon our troops, no more so than the news of the fall of Vicksburg
just after Lee's bloody repulse at Gettysburg. The soldiers of
the eastern Army had unbounded confidence in themselves and their
commander, and felt that so long as they stood together they were
invincible.
The enemy had fortified a position at Bean's Station, in a narrow
valley between the Holston River and the Clinch Mountains, the valley
being about two miles in breadth. This force Longstreet determined
to capture, and his plans were admirably adapted to bring about the
result. To the right of the enemy was the river; to their left, a
rugged mountain spur; passable at only a few points. Part of our
cavalry was to pass down the western side of the mountain, close the
gaps in rear, the infantry to engage the enemy in front until the
other portion of the cavalry could move down the east bank of the
river, cross over, and get in the enemy's rear, thus cutting off all
retreat. This part of the Valley of the Holston had been pretty well
ravaged to supply the Federal Army, and our troops, with never
more than a day's rations on hand at a time, had to be put on short
rations, until our subsistence trains could gather in a supply and the
neighborhood mills could grind a few days' rations ahead. Old soldiers
know what "short rations" mean--next to no rations at all.
General Longstreet says of the morale of his army at this time: "The
men were brave, steady, patient. Occasionally they called pretty
loudly for parched corn, but always in a bright, merry mood. There
was never a time we did not have corn enough, and plenty of wood with
which to keep us warm and parch our corn. At this distance it seems
as almost incredible that we got along as we did, but all were then
so healthy and strong that we did not feel severely our really
great hardship. Our serious trouble was in the matter of shoes and
clothing."
Early on the morning of the 14th the troops were put in motion and
marched rapidly down the almost impassable thoroughfare. Bushrod
Johnston's Division being in the front, followed by McLaws'--Kershaw's
Brigade in the lead. Part of Jenkins' Division was acting as escort
for supply trains in the surrounding country, and that Division did
not join the army for several days. Late in the day of the 15th we
came in sight of the enemy's breastworks. The Federal artillery opened
a furious fusilade upon the troops, coming down the road with their
rifled guns and field mortars. Bushrod Johnston had filed to the left
of the road and gotten out of range, but the screaming shells kept up
a continual whiz through the ranks of Kershaw. The men hurried along
the road to seek shelter under a bluff in our front, along the base
of which ran a small streamlet. The greater portion of the brigade was
here huddled together in a jam, to avoid the shells flying overhead.
The enemy must have had presage of our position, for they began
throwing shells up in the air from their mortars and dropping them
down upon us, but most fell beyond, while a great many exploded in
the air. We could see the shells on their downward flight, and the men
pushed still closer together and nearer the cliff. Here the soldier
witnessed one of those incidents so often seen in army life that makes
him feel that at times his life is protected by a hand of some hidden,
unseen power. His escape from death so often appears miraculous that
the soldier feels from first to last that he is but "in the hollow of
His hand," and learns to trust all to chance and Providence.
As a shell from a mortar came tumbling over and over, just above the
heads of this mass of humanity, a shout went up from those farther
back, "Look out! Look out! There comes a shell." Lower and lower
it came, all feeling their hopelessness of escape, should the shell
explode in their midst. Some tried to push backwards; others, forward,
while a great many crowded around and under an ambulance, to which
was hitched an old broken down horse, standing perfectly still and
indifferent, and all oblivious to his surroundings. The men gritted
their teeth, shrugged their shoulders, and waited in death-like
suspense the falling of the fatal messenger--that peculiar, whirling,
hissing sound growing nearer and more distinct every second. But
instead of falling among the men, it fell directly upon the head
of the old horse, severing it almost from the body, but failed to
explode. The jam was so great that some had difficulty in clearing
themselves from the falling horse. Who of us are prepared to say
whether this was mere chance, or that the bolt was guided and directed
by an invisible hand?
Bushrod Johnston had formed on the left of the road; Kershaw marching
over the crest of the hill in our front, and putting his brigade in
line of battle on a broad plateau and along the foot hills of the
mountains on the right. Here the troops were halted, to wait the
coming up of the rest of the division and Jenkins' two brigades. The
cannonading of the enemy was especially severe during our halt, and
General Kershaw had to frequently shift his regiments to avoid the
terrific force of the enemy's shells. It was not the intention of
the commanding General to bring on a general engagement here until he
heard from his cavalry beyond the river and those to the west of the
mountain. The cavalry had been sent to cut off retreat and close the
mountain passes, and the infantry was to press moderately in front, in
order to hold the enemy in position.
Just before sunset, however, a general advance was made. One of
Kershaw's regiments was climbing along the mountain side, endeavoring
to gain the enemy's left, and as our skirmishers became hotly engaged,
the movements of the regiment on the side of the mountain were
discovered, and the enemy began to retire. Now orders were given to
press them hard. The rattle of Bushrod Johnston's rifles on our
left told of a pretty stiff fight he was having. As the long row of
bristling bayonets of Kershaw's men debouched upon the plain in front
of the enemy's works, nothing could be seen but one mass of blue,
making way to the rear in great confusion. Our artillery was now
brought up and put in action, our infantry continuing to press
forward, sometimes at double-quick.
We passed over the enemy's entrenchments without firing a gun. Night
having set in, and General Longstreet hearing from his cavalry that
all in the enemy's rear was safe, ordered a halt for the night,
thinking the game would keep until morning. During the night, however,
by some misunderstanding of orders, the commander of the cavalry
withdrew from the mountain passes, and the enemy taking advantage of
this outlet so unexpectedly offered, made his escape under cover of
darkness. Here we had another truthful verification of the oft' quoted
aphorism of Burns, about "the best laid plans of mice and men."
This last attempt of Longstreet to bring the enemy to an engagement
outside of Knoxville proving abortive, the commanding General
determined to close the campaign for the season, and to put his troops
in as comfortable winter quarters as possible. This was found on the
right or east bank of the Holston, near Morristown and the little
hamlet of Russellville. The brigade crossed the Holston about the 17th
of December, in a little flat boat, holding about two companies at a
time, the boat being put backwards and forwards by means of a stout
rope, the men pulling with their hands. A blinding sleet was falling,
covering the rope continually with a sheet of ice, almost freezing
the hands of the thinly clad and barefooted soldiers. But there was no
murmuring nor complaint--all were as jolly and good-natured as if on
a picnic excursion. Hardship had become a pleasure and sufferings,
patriotism. There were no sickness, no straggling, nor feelings of
self-constraint.
General Longstreet speaks thus of his army after he had established
his camps and the subsistence trains began to forage in the rich
valleys of the French Broad and Chucky Rivers and along the banks of
Mossy Creek:
"With all the plentitude of provisions, and many things,
which, at the time, seemed luxuries, we were not quite happy.
Tattered blankets, garments, shoes (the later going--some
gone) opened ways on all sides for piercing winter blasts.
There were some hand looms in the country from which we
occasionally picked up a piece of cloth, and here and there we
received other comforts--some from kind, some from unwilling
hands, which could nevertheless spare them. For shoes, we were
obliged to resort to raw-hides, from beef cattle, as temporary
protection from the frozen ground. Then we found soldiers who
could tan the hides of our beeves, some who could make shoes,
some who could make shoe pegs, some who could make shoe lasts,
so that it came about that the hides passed rapidly from the
beeves to the feet of the soldiers in the form of comfortable
shoes."
We took up very comfortable quarters, in the way that comfort goes
with a soldier--cut off from the outside world. Only a few officers
had the old army fly tents; the soldiers were each supplied, or rather
had supplied themselves upon the battlefield of the enemy with small
tent flies, about five by six feet, so arranged with buttons and
button holes that two being buttoned together and stretched over a
pole would make the sides or roof and the third would close the end,
making a tent about six feet long, five feet wide, and four feet high,
in which three or four men could sleep very comfortably. In the bitter
weather great roaring fires were built in front during the night, and
to which the soldier, by long habit, or a kind of intuition, would
stretch his feet, when the cold would become unbearable under his
threadbare blanket.
But notwithstanding all these disadvantages, the men of Kershaw's
Brigade were bent on having a good time in East Tennessee. They
foraged during the day for apples, chickens, butter, or whatever they
could find to eat. Some of sporting proclivities would purchase a lot
of chicken roosters and then fight, regiment against regiment, and
seemed to enjoy as much seeing a fight between a shanghai and a
dunghill, as a match between gaved Spanish games.
Many formed the acquaintance of ladies in the surrounding country,
and they, too, Union as well as Southern, being cut off like
ourselves--their husbands and brothers being either in the Northern or
Southern Army--seemed determined on having a good time also. Dancing
parties were frequent, and the ladies of Southern sympathies gave the
officers and soldiers royal dinners.
In this connection, I will relate an anecdote told on our gallant
Lieutenant Colonel Rutherford, of the Third, by a friend of his.
When the Third South Carolina Regiment of Infantry was in East
Tennessee, in the month of January, 1864, not only did the soldiers
find it difficult to get enough to eat, but their supply of shoes and
clothing ran pretty low. Those who had extra pants or jackets helped
their needy friends. Lieutenant Colonel Rutherford had turned over his
extra pair of pants to some one, which left him the pair he wore each
day as his only stock on hand in the pants line. Heavy snows fell. The
regiment was encamped very near a pleasant residence, where a bevy of
pretty girls lived. After an acquaintance of sometime, a snow-balling
was indulged in. It was observed that Colonel Rutherford used his
every endeavor to constantly face the girls, who were pelting him
pretty liberally on all sides. After awhile he slipped up and fell,
but in his fall his face was downward, when lo! the girls discovered
that he had a hole in his pants. Too good-natured to appear to see his
predicament, no notice was seemingly taken of his misfortune; but as
the officers were about going off to bed that night, the married lady
said to him:
"Colonel, lay your pants on the chair at your room door tonight, and
you will find them there again in the morning. We hope you won't mind
a patch."
The Colonel, who was always so gallant in actual battle, and could not
bear to turn his back to the Federal soldiers, was just as unwilling
to turn his back to snow-balls, who happened to be Confederate lasses,
and the reason therefor, although never told, was discovered by them.
The weather had gotten down to two degrees below zero, the ground
frozen as hard as brick-bats, and the winds whistled gaily through our
tattered tents, our teeth beating tattoo and our limbs shivering from
the effects of our scanty clothing and shoes. But our wagons were
gathering in supplies from the rich valleys of the French Broad and
the Nolachucky, and while we suffered from cold, we generally had
provisions sufficient for our want. By the middle of January we had
to temporarily break up camp to meet the enemy, who had left Knoxville
with the greater part of the army, and was marching up on the right
banks of the French Broad to near Dandridge. General Foster seeing the
penalty put upon General Burnside for not driving out Longstreet from
East Tennessee, the former undertook to accomplish in this bitter
weather what the latter had failed to do in comparative good season.
Our cavalry, with Jenkins' Division, headed direct towards the moving
column of the enemy, while McLaws' Division marched in the direction
of Strawberry Plains, with a view to cutting off the enemy and forcing
him to battle in an open field. But General Granger, in command of
the Federal column, was too glad to cross the French Broad and beat a
hasty retreat to Knoxville. We returned to our old camps, and waited,
like Micawber, "for something to turn up."
By some disagreement or want of confidence in General McLaws by
the commanding General, he was relieved of his command, and General
Kershaw being the senior Brigadier General of the division, was placed
in command. What the differences were between General Longstreet and
his Major General were never exactly understood by the soldiers. While
General McLaws may have been a brave soldier and was well beloved by
officers and men, still he was wanting in those elements to make
a successful General of volunteer troops--dash, discipline, and
promptness in action.
General Longstreet had bent all his energies to the repairing of the
railroad through East Tennessee and Virginia, and as soon as this
was accomplished, a limited number of soldiers were furloughed for
twenty-one days. A large lot of shoes and clothing was sent us from
Richmond, and this helped to make camp life more enjoyable. Not all
the men by any means could be spared by furlough even for this brief
period, for we had an active and vigilant foe in our front. Most of
the men drew their furloughs by lot, those who had been from home the
longest taking their chances by drawing from a hat, "furlough" or "no
furlough."
While in winter quarters, during the spasm of chicken fighting, a
difficulty occurred between Lieutenant A and Private B, of the
Third, both good friends, and no better soldiers were ever upon a
battlefield. These are not the initials of their names, but
will answer the purpose at hand, and that purpose is to show the
far-reaching results of the courtmartial that followed, and a decision
reached under difficulties, that the most learned jurist might feel
proud of.
I will say for the benefit of those not learned in the law of army
regulations, that for an officer to strike a private he is cashiered,
and for a private to strike an officer the penalty is either death or
long imprisonment with ball and chain attachments.
Now it appeared to the officers who composed the courtmartial, Captain
Herbert, Lieutenant Garlington, and the writer of this (all parties of
the Third), that Lieutenant A had knocked Private B down. The officer
appeared in his own defense, and gave in extenuation of his crime,
that Private B had hit his (Lieutenant A's) chicken a stunning blow
on the head while they were "petting" them between rounds. Now that
decision of the courtmartial astonished our Colonel as much as the men
who were parties to the combat themselves. Now it read something like
this--time, dress parade:
"Whereas, Lieutenant A, of Company ----, Third South Carolina, did
strike Private B, of same company and regiment, with his fist in the
face, that he should receive the severest of punishment; but, whereas,
Private B did strike the game chicken in the hands of Lieutenant A,
without cause or provocation, therefore both are equally guilty of
a crime and misdemeanor, and should be privately reprimanded by the
Colonel commanding."
Such a laugh as was set up, notwithstanding the grave countenance of
the Colonel, was never heard on ordinary occasions.
* * * * *