THE BATTLE OF MIDDLE CREEK.
Col. Garfield has gained a great advantage, but he knows that it must be
followed up. His ambition is not satisfied. He means to force a fight
with Marshall, despite the odds.
He has been reinforced, but Craven's men are completely exhausted by
their long and toilsome march. They are hardly able to drag one foot
after the other. Garfield knows this, but he explains to his men what he
proposes to do. He orders those who have strength to come forward. Of
the men under his immediate command seven hundred obey the summons. Of
Craven's weary followers four hundred heroic men volunteer to accompany
him.
So at noon of the 9th, with eleven hundred men, Garfield sets out for
Prestonburg, sending all his available cavalry to follow the line of the
enemy's retreat. At nine o'clock that night, after a march of eighteen
miles, he reaches the mouth of Abbott's Creek with his eleven hundred
men. He hears that his opponent is encamped three miles higher up on the
same stream. He sends an order back to Lieutenant-Colonel Sheldon, who
is left in command at Paintville, to bring up every available man with
all possible dispatch, for he intends to force a battle in the morning.
He requires to know the disposition of Marshall's forces, and here the
gallant scout, John Jordan, again is of service to him. While a dozen
Confederates were grinding at a mill, they were surprised by as many
Union men, who, taking them by surprise, captured their corn, and made
them prisoners. Jordan eyed the miller with a critical eye, and a plan
was instantly formed. The miller was a tall, gaunt man, and his clothes
would fit the scout. He takes a fancy to exchange raiment with the
miller. Then, smearing his face with meal, he goes back to the
Confederate camp in a new character. Even if he is surprised he will
escape suspicion, for the miller is a pronounced disunionist, and he
looks his very image.
His midnight ramble enabled him to learn precisely what it was
important for Garfield to know. He found out their exact position, and
that they had laid an ambuscade for the Union commander. They were
waiting for him, strongly posted on a semicircular hill at the forks of
Middle Creek, on both sides of the road, with cannon commanding its
whole length, hidden by the trees and underbrush.
"They think they've got you, general," said Jordan. "They're waitin' for
you as a cat waits for a mouse."
Upon a steep ridge called Abbott's Hill, the Union soldiers, tired and
sleepy, had thrown themselves upon the wet ground. There was a dense
fog, shutting out the moon and stars, and shrouding the lonely mountain
in darkness. The rain was driven in blinding gusts into the faces of the
shivering men, and tired as they were they hailed with joy the coming of
morning. For more than one brave man it was destined to be his last day
upon earth.
At four o'clock they started on their march. About daybreak, while
rounding a hill, their advance guard was charged upon by a body of
Confederate horsemen. In return Garfield gave the Confederates a
volley, that sent them reeling up the valley.
[Illustration: TURNING THE TIDE OF BATTLE AT CHICKAMAUGA]
It was clear that the main body of the enemy was not far away. To
determine this Garfield sent forward a body of skirmishers to draw the
fire of the enemy. He succeeded, for a twelve-pound shell whistled above
the trees, then plowed up the hill, and buried itself in the ground at
the feet of the little band of skirmishers.
Noon came, and Garfield made the necessary preparations for battle. He
could not have been without apprehension, for he knew, though the enemy
did not, that their force was far superior to his. He sent forward his
mounted escort of twelve men to make a charge and draw the enemy's fire.
His plan succeeded. Another shell whistled over their heads, and the
long roll of five thousand muskets was heard.
It was certainly a remarkable battle, when we consider that a small band
of eleven hundred men without cannon had undertaken to attack a force of
five thousand, supported by twelve pieces of artillery, charging up a
rocky hill, over stumps, over stones, over fallen trees, and over high
intrenchments.
"The battle was fought on the margin of Middle Creek, a narrow, rapid
stream, and three miles from where it finds its way into the Big Sandy,
through the sharp spurs of the Cumberland Mountain. A rocky road, not
ten feet in width, winds along this stream, and on its two banks abrupt
ridges, with steep and rocky sides, overgrown with trees and underbrush,
shut closely down upon the road and the little streamlet. At twelve
o'clock Garfield had gained the crest of the ridge at the right of the
road, and the charge of his handful of horsemen had drawn Marshall's
fire, and disclosed his actual position.
"The main force of the Confederates occupied the crests of the two
ridges at the left of the stream, but a strong detachment was posted on
the right, and a battery of twelve pieces held the forks of the creek,
and commanded the approach of the Union army. It was Marshall's plan to
drive Garfield along the road, and then, taking him between two
enfilading fires, to surround and utterly destroy him. But his hasty
fire betrayed his design, and unmasked his entire position.
"Garfield acted with promptness and decision. A hundred undergraduates,
recruited from his own college, were ordered to cross the stream climb
the ridge whence the fire had been hottest, and bring on the battle.
Boldly the little band plunged into the creek, the icy water up to their
waists, and clinging to the trees and underbrush, climbed the rocky
ascent. Half-way up the ridge the fire of at least two thousand rifles
opens upon them; but, springing from tree to tree, they press on, and at
last reach the summit. Then suddenly the hill is gray with Confederates,
who, rising from ambush, pour their deadly volleys into the little band
of only one hundred. In a moment they waver, but their leader calls out,
'Every man to a tree! Give them as good as they send, my boys!'
"The Confederates, behind rocks and a rude intrenchment, are obliged to
expose their heads to take aim at the advancing column; but the Union
troops, posted behind the huge oaks and maples, can stand erect, and
load and fire, fully protected. Though they are outnumbered ten to one,
the contest is therefore, for a time, not so very unequal.
"But soon the Confederates, exhausted with the obstinate resistance,
rush from cover, and charge upon the little handful with the bayonet.
Slowly they are driven down the hill, and two of them fall to the ground
wounded. One never rises; the other, a lad of only eighteen, is shot
through the thigh, and one of his comrades turns back to bear him to a
place of safety. The advancing Confederates are within thirty feet, when
one of them fires, and his bullet strikes a tree directly above the head
of the Union soldier. He turns, levels his musket, and the Confederate
is in eternity. Then the rest are upon him; but, zigzagging from tree to
tree, he is soon with his driven column. But not far are the brave boys
driven. A few rods lower down they hear the voice of the brave Captain
Williams, their leader.
"'To the trees again, my boys!' he cries. 'We may as well die here as in
Ohio!'
"To the trees they go, and in a moment the advancing horde is checked,
and then rolled backward. Up the hill they turn, firing as they go, and
the little band follows. Soon the Confederates reach the spot where the
Hiram boy lies wounded, and one of them says: 'Boy, give me your
musket.'
"'Not the gun, but its contents,' cries the boy, and the Confederate
falls mortally wounded. Another raises his weapon to brain the prostrate
lad, but he too falls, killed with his comrade's own rifle. And all this
is done while the hero-boy is on the ground, bleeding. An hour afterward
his comrades bear the boy to a sheltered spot on the other side of the
streamlet, and then the first word of complaint escapes him. As they are
taking off his leg, he says, in his agony, 'Oh, what will mother do?'"
Poor boy! At that terrible moment, in the throes of his fierce agony, he
thought not of himself, but of the mother at home, who was dependent on
his exertions for a livelihood. For in war it is not alone the men in
the field who are called upon to suffer, but the mothers, the wives, and
the children, left at home, whose hearts are rent with anxiety--to whom,
at any moment, may come the tidings of the death of their loved one.
On a rocky height, commanding the field, Garfield watched the tide of
battle. He saw that it was unequal, and that there was danger that his
troops would be overmatched. He saw that they were being driven, and
that they would lose the hill if not supported.
Instantly he ordered to the rescue five hundred of the Ohio Fortieth and
Forty-second, under Major Pardee and Colonel Craven. They dashed boldly
into the stream, holding their cartridge-boxes above their heads, and
plunged into the fight, shouting:
"Hurrah for Williams and the Hiram boys!"
But their position was most critical, for shot, and shell, and canister,
and the fire of four thousand muskets are now concentrated upon them.
"This will never do!" cries Garfield. "Who will volunteer to carry the
other mountain?"
Colonel Munroe, of the Twenty-second Kentucky, responded quickly, "We
will. We know every inch of the ground."
"Go in, then," cries Garfield, "and give them Columbia!"
I have not space to record the varying fortunes of the day. For five
hours the contest rages. By turns the Union forces are driven back, and
then, with a brave charge, they regain their lost ground, and from
behind rocks and trees pour in their murderous volleys. The battle began
at noon, and when the sun sets on the brief winter day it is still
unfinished.
Posted on a projecting rock, in full sight of both armies, stands the
Union commander--his head uncovered, his hair streaming in the wind, and
his heart full of alternate hopes and fears. It looks as if the day were
lost--as if the gallant eleven hundred were conquered at last, when, at
a critical moment, the starry banner is seen waving over an advancing
host. It is Sheldon and reinforcements--long and anxiously expected!
Their shouts are taken up by the eleven hundred! The enemy see them and
are panic-stricken.
The day is won!