Beatty, and Colonel McCook, your brigade
commanders, that I have publicly and privately
commended their brigades, and that I stand
prepared, at all times, to assist them in whatever
way lies in my power.
"I again thank you personally, and beg to
subscribe myself, Your sincere friend,
"W. T. SHERMAN, Major-General."
Colonel Van Vleck, Seventy-eight Illinois, was kind enough in his report
to say:
"In behalf of the entire regiment I tender to the general commanding the
brigade, my sincere thanks for his uniform kindness, and for his
solicitude for the men during all their hardships and suffering, as well
as for his undaunted courage, self-possession, and military skill in
time of danger."
26. Moved to McAffee's Springs, six miles from Chattanooga, and two
miles from the battle-field of Chickamauga. My quarters are in the State
of Tennessee, those of my troops in Georgia. The line between the states
is about forty yards from where I sit. On our way hither, we saw many
things to remind us of the Confederate army--villages of log huts,
chimneys, old clothing, and miles of rifle pits.
27. Just a moment ago I asked Wilson the day of the week, and he
astonished me by saying it was Sunday. It is the first time I ever
passed a Sabbath, from daylight to dark, without knowing it.
Wilson lies on his cot to-night a disappointed man. His application for
a leave was disapproved.
I am quartered in a log hut; a blanket over the doorway excludes the
damp air and the cold blasts. The immense chinks, or rather lack of
immense chinks, in various parts of the edifice, leave abundance of room
for the admission of light. There are no windows, but this is fortunate,
for if there were, they, like the door, would need covering, and
blankets are scarce. The fire-place, however, is grand, and would be
creditable to a castle.
The forest in which we are encamped, was, in former times, a rendezvous
for the blacklegs, thieves, murderers, and outlaws, generally of two
States, Tennessee and Georgia. An old inhabitant informs me he has seen
hundreds of these persecuted and proscribed gentry encamped about this
spring. When an officer of Tennessee came with a writ to arrest them,
they would step a few yards into the State of Georgia and laugh at him.
So, when Georgia sought to lay its official clutches on an offending
Georgian, the latter would walk over into Tennessee and argue the case
across the line. It was a very convenient spot for law-breakers. To
reach across this imaginary line, and draw a man from Tennessee, would
be kidnapping, an insult to a sovereign State, and in a States'-rights
country such a procedure could not be tolerated. Requisitions from the
governors of Tennessee and Georgia might, of course, be procured, but
this would take time, and in this time the offender could walk leisurely
into Alabama or North Carolina, neither of which States is very far
away. In fact, the presence of large numbers of these desperados, in
this locality, at all seasons of the year, has prevented its settlement
by good men, and, in consequence, there are thousands of acres on which
there has scarcely been a field cleared, or even a tree cut.
The somber forest, with its peculiar history, suggests to our minds the
green woods of old England, where Robin Hood and his merry men were wont
to pass their idle time; or the Black Forest of Germany, where thieves
and highwaymen found concealment in days of old.
What a country for the romancer! Here is the dense wilderness, the
Tennessee and Chickamauga, the precipitous Lookout with his foot-hills,
spurs, coves, and water-falls. Here are cosy little valleys from which
the world, with its noise, bustle, confusions, and cares, is excluded.
Here have congregated the bloody villains and sneaking thieves; the
plumed knights, dashing horsemen, and stubborn infantry. Here are the
two great battle-fields of Chickamauga and Mission Ridge. Here neighbors
have divided, and families separated to fight on questions of National
policy. Here, in short, every thing is supplied to the poet but the
invention to construct the plot of his tale, and the genius to breathe
life into the characters.
It may be possible, however, that the country is yet too young, and its
incidents too new, to make it a fertile field for the novelist. The
imagination works best amid scenes half known and half forgotten. When
time shall have thrown its shadows over the events of the last century,
and the real and unreal become so intermingled in the minds of men as to
become indistinguishable, imaginary Robin Hoods will find hiding places
in the caves; innocent men, in deadly peril, will seek safety in the
mountain fastnesses until the danger be past; conspirators will meet in
the shadowy recesses to concoct their hellish plots, over which truth,
courage, and honesty will finally triumph. Here the blue and the gray
will meet to fight, and to be reconciled; and there will not be wanting
the Helen McGregors and Die Vernons to give color and interest to the
scene.
27. Our horses are on quarter feed.
Some benevolent gentleman should suggest a sanitary fair for the benefit
of the disabled horses and mules of the Federal army. There is no
suffering so intense as theirs. They are driven, with whip and spur, on
half and quarter food, until they drop from exhaustion, and then
abandoned to die in the mud-hole where they fall. At Parker's Gap, on
our return from Tennessee, I saw a poor white horse that had been rolled
down the hill to get it out of the road. It had lodged against a fallen
tree, feet uppermost; to get up the hill was impossible, and to roll
down certain destruction. So the poor brute lay there, looking pitiful
enough, his big frame trembling with fright, his great eyes looking
anxiously, imploringly for help. A man can give vent to his sufferings,
he can ask for assistance, he can find some relief either in crying,
praying, or cursing; but for the poor exhausted and abandoned beast
there is no help, no relief, no hope.
To-day we picked up, on the battle-field of Chickamauga, the skull of a
man who had been shot in the head. It was smooth, white, and glossy. A
little over three months ago this skull was full of life, hope, and
ambition. He who carried it into battle had, doubtless, mother, sisters,
friends, whose happiness was, to some extent, dependent upon him. They
mourn for him now, unless, possibly, they hope still to hear that he is
safe and well. Vain hope. Sun, rain, and crows have united in the work
of stripping the flesh from his bones, and while the greater part of
these lay whitening where they fell, the skull has been rolling about
the field the sport and plaything of the winds. This is war, and amid
such scenes we are supposed to think of the amount of our salary, and of
what the newspapers may say of us.
28. One of my orderlies approached me on my weak side to-day, by
presenting me four cigars. Cigars are now rarely seen in camp. Sutlers
have not been permitted to come further south than Bridgeport; and had
it not been for the trip into East Tennessee the brigade would have been
utterly destitute of tobacco.
While bivouacking on the Hiawasse, a citizen named Trotter, came into
camp. He was an old man, and professed to be loyal. I interrogated him
on the tobacco question. He replied, "The crap has been mitey poor fur a
year or two. I don't use terbacker myself, but my wife used to chaw it;
but the frost has been a nippen of it fur a year or two, and it is so
poor she has quit chawen ontirely."
When returning from Knoxville, we passed a farm house which stood near
the roadside. Three young women were standing at the gate, and appeared
to be in excellent spirits. Captain Wager inquired if they had heard
from Knoxville. "O yes," they answered, "General Longstreet has captured
Knoxville and all of General Burnside's men." "Indeed," said the
Captain; "what about Chattanooga?" "Well, we heard that Bragg had moved
back to Dalton." "You have not heard, then, that Bragg was whipped;
lost sixty pieces of artillery and many thousand men?" "O no!" "You
have not heard that Longstreet was defeated at Knoxville, and compelled
to fall back with heavy loss?" "No, no; we don't believe a word of it. A
man, who came from Knoxville and knows all about it, says that you uns
are retreating now as fast as you can. You can't whip our fellers."
"Well, ladies," said the Captain, "I am glad to see you feeling so well
under adverse circumstances. Good-by."
The girls were evidently determined that the Yank should not deceive
them.
At another place quite a number of women and children were standing by
the roadside. As the column approached, said one of the women to a
soldier: "Is these uns Yankees?" "Yes, madam," replied the boy, "regular
blue-bellied Yankees." "We never seed any you uns before." "Well, keep a
sharp lookout and you'll see they all have horns on."
One day, while I was at Davis' quarters, near Columbus, a preacher came
in and said he wanted to sell all the property he could to the army and
get greenbacks, as he desired to move to Illinois, where his
brother-in-law resided, and his Confederate notes would not be worth a
dime there. "How is that, Parson," said Davis, affecting to
misunderstand him; "not worth a damn there?" "No, sir, no, sir; not
worth a dime, sir. You misunderstood me, sir. I said not worth a dime
there." "I beg your pardon, Parson," responded Davis; "I thought you
said not worth a damn there, and was surprised to hear you say so."
While we were encamped on the banks of the Hiawasse, a Union man, near
seventy years old, was murdered by guerrillas. Not long before, a young
lady, the daughter of a Methodist minister, was robbed and murdered near
the same place. Murders and robberies are as common occurrences in that
portion of Tennessee as marriages in Ohio, and excite about as little
attention. Horse stealing is not considered an offense.
29. Nothing of interest has transpired to-day. Bugles, drums, drills,
parades--the old story over and over again; the usual number of
corn-cakes eaten, of pipes smoked, of papers respectfully forwarded, of
how-do-ye-do's to colonels, captains, lieutenants, and soldiers. You put
on your hat and take a short walk. It does you no good. Returning you
lie down on the cot, and undertake to sleep; but you have already slept
too much, and you get up and smoke again, look over an old paper, yawn,
throw the paper down, and conclude it is confoundedly dull. Jack brings
in dinner. You see somebody passing; it is Captain Clayson, the
Judge-Advocate, and you cry out: "Hold on, Captain; come in and have a
bite of dinner." He concludes to do so. Being a judge-advocate he talks
law, and impresses you with the idea that every other judge-advocate has
in some respects been faulty; but he has taken pains to master his
duties perfectly, and makes no mistakes. Pretty soon Major Shane drops
in, and you ask him to dine; but he has just been to dinner, and thanks
you. Observing Captain Clayson, he asks how the business of the
court-martial progresses, and says: "By the way, Captain, the sentence
in that quartermaster's case was disapproved because the record was
defective." The Captain blushes. He made up the record, and it strikes
him the Major's remark is very untimely.
It is dull!
30. Took a ten-mile ride this afternoon. Two miles from camp I met
Lieutenant Platt, one of my aids. He had asked permission in the morning
to go into the country to secure a lady for a dance, which is to take
place a night or two hence. I asked: "Where have you been, Lieutenant?"
"At Mrs. Calisspe's, the house on the left, yonder." I did not, of
course, ask if he had been successful in his mission; but as I
approached the little frame in which Mrs. Calisspe resided, I thought I
would drop in and see what sort of a woman had drawn the Lieutenant so
far from camp. Knocking at the door, a feminine voice said "Come in,"
and I entered. There were three females. The elder I took to be Mrs.
Calisspe. A handsome, neatly-dressed young lady I concluded was the one
the Lieutenant sought. A heavy and rather dull woman, who stood leaning
against the wall, I set down as a dependent or servant in the family.
"Beg pardon, madam, is this the direct road to Shallow Ford?" "Yes, sir,
the straight road. Won't you take a seat?" "Thank you, no. Good
evening." Trotting along over the road which Mrs. Calisspe said was
straight, but which, in fact, was exceedingly crooked, we came finally
to the camp of the Thirteenth Michigan, a regiment which General Thomas
supposes to be engaged in cutting saw-logs, when, in truth, its
principal business is strolling about the country stealing chickens. It
is, however, known as the saw-log regiment.
On our return from Shallow Ford, as we approached Mrs. Calisspe's, we
saw her handsome daughter on the porch inspecting a side-saddle, and
concluded from this that the gallant Lieutenant's application had been
successful, and that she proposed to accompany him to the ball on
horseback. As we galloped by the house, a little flaxen-haired, chubby
boy, who had climbed the fence, extended his head over the top rail and
jabbered at us at the top of his voice; but the handsome young lady did
not favor us with even a glance.
31. It is late. Hours ago the bugles notified the boys that it was time
to retire to their dens. I have been reading Thackeray's "Lovell, the
Widower," and as I sat alone in the silence of the middle night, the
scenes depicted grew distinct and life-like; the characters encompassed
me about real living men and women; the drawing-rooms, dining-halls,
parlors, opened out before me; the streets, walks, drives, were all
visible, and I became a spectator instead of a reader. Suddenly a low,
unearthly wail broke the stillness, and my hair stiffened somewhat at
the roots, as the fancy struck me that I heard the voice of the defunct
Mrs. Lovell. A moment's reflection, however, dispelled this
disagreeable thought. Looking toward the corner of the cabin whence the
ghostly sound emanated, I discovered a strange cat. My long-legged boots
followed each other in quick succession toward the unhappy kitten, and I
yelled "scat" in a very vindictive way.
JANUARY 1, 1864.
Standing on a peak of Mission Ridge to-day, we had spread out before us
one of the grandest prospects which ever delighted the eye of man.
Northward Waldron's Ridge and Lookout mountain rose massive and
precipitous, and seemed the boundary wall of the world. Below them was
the Tennessee, like a ribbon of silver; Chattanooga, with its thousands
of white tents and miles of fortifications. Southward was the
Chickamauga, and beyond a succession of ridges, rising higher and
higher, until the eye rested upon the blue tops of the great mountains
of North Carolina. The fact that a hundred and fifty thousand men, with
all the appliances of war, have struggled for the possession of these
mountains, rivers, and ridges, gives a solemn interest to the scene, and
renders it one of the most interesting, as it is one of the grandest, in
the world.
When history shall have recorded the thrilling tragedies enacted here;
when poets shall have illuminated every hill-top and mountain peak with
the glow of their imagination; when the novelist shall have given it a
population from his fertile brain, what place can be more attractive to
the traveler?
Looking on this panorama of mountains, ridges, rivers, and valleys, one
has a juster conception of the power of God. Reflecting upon the deeds
that have been done here, he obtains a truer knowledge of the character
of man, and the incontestable evidences of his nobility.
* * * * *
Standing here to-day, I take off my hat to the reader, if by possibility
there be one who has had the patience to follow me thus far, and as I
bid him good-by, wish him "A Happy New Year."
CAPTURE, IMPRISONMENT,
AND
ESCAPE,
BY
GENERAL HARRISON C. HOBART,
OF MILWAUKEE, WISCONSIN.
EXPLANATORY.
Among the Union officers who escaped from Libby Prison at Richmond, on
the night of the 9th of February, 1864, was my esteemed friend, General
Harrison C. Hobart, then Colonel of the Twenty-first Wisconsin Volunteer
Infantry. His name is mentioned quite frequently in the preceding pages.
Ten years after the war closed, he spent a few days at my house, and
while there was requested to tell the story of his capture,
imprisonment, and escape. My children gathered about him, and listened
to his narrative with an intensity of interest which I am very sure they
never exhibited when receiving words of admonition and advice from their
father.
While my manuscript was in the hands of the publishers, it occurred to
me that General Hobart's story would be as interesting to others as it
had been to my own family, and so I wrote, urging him to furnish it to
me for publication. He finally consented to do so, and I have the
pleasure now of presenting it to the reader. It bears upon its face the
evidence of its entire truthfulness, and yet is as interesting as a
romance.
JOHN BEATTY.
GENERAL HOBART'S NARRATIVE.
The battles of Chickamauga were fought on the 19th and 20th of
September, 1863. The Twenty-first Wisconsin, which I then commanded,
formed a part of Thomas' memorable line, and fought through the battles
of Saturday and Sunday. At the close of the second day, Thomas' Corps
still maintained its position, and presented an unbroken front to the
enemy, but the right of our army having fallen back, the tide of battle
was turning against us.
To avoid a flank movement, our brigade was ordered to leave the
breastworks, which they had held against the severest fire of the enemy
during the day, and fall back to a second position. Here only a portion
of the men, with three regimental standards, were rallied. A rebel
battery was instantly placed in position on our right, and rebel cavalry
swept between us and the retreating army.
Being the ranking officer among those who rallied, I directed the men to
cut their way through to our retreating line. I was on the left of this
movement to the rear, and, to avoid the approach of horsemen, rapidly
passed to the left through a dense cluster of small pines, and
instantly found myself in the immediate front of a rebel line of
infantry. I halted, being dismounted, and an officer advanced and
offered his hand, saying that he was glad to see me, and proposed to
introduce me to his commander, General Cleburne. I replied, that I was
not particularly pleased to see him, but, under the circumstances,
should not decline his invitation.
I met the General, who was mounted and being cheered by his men, and
surrendered to him my sword. He inquired where I had been fighting. I
said, "Right there," pointing to the line of Thomas' Corps. He replied,
"This line has given us our chief trouble, sir; your soldiers have
fought like brave men; come with me and I will see that no one insults
or interferes with you."
It was now after sun-down, and the last guns of the terrible battle of
Chickamauga were dying away along the hillsides of Mission Ridge. A
large number of prisoners of war were soon gathered, and marched to the
enemy's rear across the Chickamauga. Here we witnessed the fearful
results of the battle. The ground strewed with the dead and wounded, the
shattered fragments of transportation, and a general demoralization
among the forces, told the fearful price which the enemy had paid for
their victory. More than fifteen hundred soldiers, prisoners of war,
camped by a large spring to pass the remainder of a cold night; some
without blankets or overcoats, and all without provisions.
The next day we were marched about thirty miles to Tunnel Hill, where
we received our first rations from the enemy. On this march, the only
food we obtained was from a field of green sorghum. Here we were placed
in box cars and taken to Atlanta. On arriving at this place, we were
first marched to an open field outside of the city, near a fountain of
water, and surrounded by a guard. Kind-hearted people came out of the
city, bringing bread with them, which they threw to us across the guard
line. Immediately a second line was established, distant several rods
outside of the first, to prevent them from giving us food.
From this place we were marched to the old slave-pen, and every man, as
he entered the narrow gate, was compelled to give up his overcoat and
blanket. I remonstrated with the officers for stripping the soldiers of
their necessary clothing, as an act in violation of civilized warfare
and inhuman. The men who were executing this infamous duty, did not deny
these charges, but excused themselves on the ground that they were
simply obeying an order of General Bragg from the front. That night I
saw seventeen hundred Union soldiers lie down upon the ground, without
an overcoat or blanket to protect them from the cold earth, or shield
them from the heavy Southern dew.
The next morning we were ordered to take the cars, and proceed on our
way to Richmond. These men arose from the ground, cold and wet with dew,
and under my command organized and formed in column by companies, and
marched to the depot through one of the main streets of Atlanta, singing
in full chorus the Star Spangled Banner. Crowds gathered around us as
we entered the cars. A guard with muskets accompanied the train.
I will here relate an incident which occurred on our way. We overtook a
train of open cars, filled with Confederate wounded from the
battle-field. The two trains stopped for some time alongside and in
close proximity. It was a spectacle to see the men of the two armies
intently observe each other. On the one side was the calm, pale face of
the wounded; on the other, the earnest, deep sympathy of the captive. No
unkind look or word passed between them. Of the seventeen hundred
prisoners, there was not one who would not have given his coat, or
reached for his last cent, to help his wounded brother.
On the last day of September, after traveling more than eight hundred
miles from the battle-field of Chickamauga, we arrived at Richmond, and
the officers of the Cumberland Army, to the number of about two hundred
and fifty, were marched to Libby Prison.
This building has a front of about one hundred and forty feet, with a
depth of about one hundred and five. There are nine rooms, each one
hundred and two feet long, by forty-five wide. The height of ceilings
from the floor is about seven feet. The building is also divided into
three apartments by brick walls, and there is a basement below.
On entering the prison, we were severally searched, and every thing of
value taken from us. Some of us saved our money by putting it into the
seams of our garments before we arrived at Richmond. The officers of
the Army of the Cumberland were assigned to the middle rooms of the
second and third stories. The lower middle room was used as a general
kitchen, and the basement immediately below was fitted up with cells for
the confinement and punishment of offenders. These rooms received the
_sobriquet_ of Chickamauga.
The whole number of officers of the army and navy in prison at this time
was about eleven hundred--all having access to each other, except those
in the hospital. There were no beds or chairs, and all slept on the
floor. I shared a horse blanket with Surgeon Dixon, of Wisconsin, which
was the only bedding we had for some time. Our bread was made of
unbolted corn, and was cold and clammy. We were sometimes furnished with
fresh beef, corn beef, and sometimes with rice and vegetable soup. The
men formed themselves into messes, and each took his turn in preparing
such food as we could get.