Four Months in Libby and the Campaign Against Atlanta. I. N. Johnston
THE SERVICE.
Character of the age—My own experiences—Object of my book—Entering the service—Elected captain—The 6th Kentucky—Its deeds.
I am a soldier, a plain, blunt man; hence, what I have to say will have the directness of a soldier's tale. The age in which we live is a heroic one; boys who four years ago were at school or guiding the plow are now heroes; we have battle-fields enough for all time, and names on the page of history eclipsing those of the great captains of the past—names that the world will not willingly let die. Reason as we may, there is a charm about the story of a great war that few are able to resist; grave scholars go into ecstasies over the tale of Troy; and the youth, whose reading is confined to the old family Bible, devours with avidity those portions which tell of the exploits of Samson or the triumphs of David; and it is the fearful conflicts which they describe that give such interest to the Paradise Lost and Bunyan's Holy War. What boy's blood has not been stirred by the story of Bunker Hill, the exploits of a Marion, and the fall of Yorktown? What youth has not wept as he read the story of Warren's death, or the sadder story of the execution of Hale, the proud young martyr of liberty? and in generations to come the youth of this land, with burning cheek and tearful eye, will read how Ellsworth fell, just as he had torn down the emblem of treason; and how the gallant young Dahlgren died, almost in sight of the sad captives whom he desired to deliver. Who has not been thrilled with horror at the cruelties inflicted by the minions of the British King upon the colonists taken in arms for a cause the most noble, and consigned to the living grave of the prison-ship? and yet these cruelties have been repeated, with even increased malignity, at Belle Isle and Libby Prison.
I have experienced nearly all the fortunes of a soldier, and can therefore speak from my own personal observation. I have felt that ardent love of country which has taken so many from the peaceful pursuits of life to the tented field. I know something of the stern joy of battle, the rapture of victory; I am familiar with the long, weary march, want of food, and thirst, which amounts to agony; nay, I have been stretched almost lifeless on the battle-field, know something of the long, weary hours of slow recovery from painful wounds, and, harder than all, long months of sad, weary, and almost hopeless captivity, and the joy, too, of escape from what almost seemed a living tomb. And though young, wanting the large experience of some, and the culture of others; yet my plain, unadorned story, I feel well assured, will not be told in vain.
I shall make no apology, then, for any literary defects; the work I propose is not one of art or imagination, but a record of facts; and in whatever other respects it may fail, it will, at least, have the merit of truth. Moreover, I write mainly for my companions in arms, my comrades by whose sides I have fought, and with whom I have suffered; and if, in fighting over again our battles, rehearsing our common dangers, privations, toils, and triumphs, I can minister to their pleasure, my task will not be a useless one, and my little book will long be a link to bind together hearts that danger has only endeared.
Nor am I without hope that I shall be able to awaken an interest for the soldier in the minds of those who never have passed through scenes such as I describe. He who unselfishly bares his breast to the storm of battle, who stands between peaceful homes and danger, who suffers that others may be safe, certainly deserves well of his country; and never have any soldiers established a better claim on the gratitude of their country than the soldiers of the Union. As a nation, we have honored the men who achieved our independence: we ought never to forget those who struck for home and native land, when all that the heart holds dear was imperiled, and the very life of the nation threatened by armed traitors.
If a man's acts are regarded as the exponents of his patriotism, mine, I feel assured, will not be questioned, and yet at the same time I feel at perfect liberty to honor kindness, truth, and magnanimity in a foe; and wherever these are found, even in an enemy, I shall not be slow to acknowledge it. Having now, as I trust, established a good understanding between myself and readers, I shall proceed to cultivate still further their acquaintance by a free and unreserved statement of whatever may seem to be of interest prior to my life in Libby.
Like thousands of my fellow-soldiers, I am a farmer's son. The only college with which I have had any acquaintance is the old-fashioned log school-house; and a few years ago I as little dreamed of being an author as I did of being a soldier; my only literary achievements heretofore have been sundry epistles to the fairer portion of creation, and in that department I am not able to declare positively that the pen is mightier than the sword, as I rather incline to the opinion that few things have more influence with that portion of humanity than soldierly bearing and a suit of Federal blue. And had I rested my claims to their favor upon authorship, I fear it would have proved but a broken reed. My military career, however, I have not found to be an impediment, and even an unsightly wound was not a deformity in the eyes of her who was dearest to me.
You will be disappointed, kind reader, if you expect from me a history of the causes of the war. I am not sufficiently skilled in the political history of the country for such an undertaking, and, indeed, there is no necessity for it, as it has already been done by far abler hands than mine. Still, in a contest like the present, every man should have reasons for his course, especially when that course involves personal danger and sacrifices the greatest a man can make—sacrifices which, if need require, must not stop short of life itself.
My own reasons are those of thousands of others, but they are not those of the mere politician; they are the reasons of the man and the patriot who loves his country with an unselfish love, and loves that country most, not in the days of peace and prosperity, but when the clouds are darkest and perils and trials beset her round. A milder, freer Government than ours the world never saw; we knew not that we had a Government, by any burdens that it imposed upon us; it was only by the constant flow of blessings we enjoyed that we were conscious of its existence. Our history, though short, was glorious; our future full of the brightest promise, and the hopes of the toiling and oppressed millions of Europe were bound up in our success.
Though not an adept in the theory of government, I could not be blind to its practical workings; though no politician, I could not be insensible of the manifold blessings which it secured. I remembered the wisdom of those men who gave shape to our institutions; I remembered the price at which independence was purchased; I remembered that it was not without blood that those blessings were gained; and now that all that the wisdom of a Franklin, Hancock, and Adams had devised—all that for which a Washington had fought, for which Warren had bled, was in jeopardy, I felt that in such a cause, and for such a country, it would be sweet even to die.
No love of war and bloodshed led me to the field; the charter of our independence was sealed with blood, the very blessings of civil and religious liberty which we enjoy I felt to be purchased by noble lives freely given; and to preserve them for generations yet to come I felt to be worth as great a sacrifice. God grant that the effort may not be in vain! God grant that the fierce struggle which has filled our land with weeping may be followed by all the blessings of a lasting peace!
Under the influence of the sentiments just expressed, no sooner was the flag of my country insulted, and an attempt made by bold, bad men to pull down the fairest fabric ever devised by human wisdom and cemented by patriot blood, than I determined to do my utmost to uphold the starry banner; and seeking no position save that of one of my country's defenders, I volunteered for three years. Nearly one hundred young men, mostly from my own locality—Henry county, Ky.—enrolled themselves at the same time, and became soldiers of the Union. We all had much around us to render life pleasant, and home dear; but the call of our country in her hour of need sounded in our ears, and we could not permit her to call in vain. After the organization of our regiment—the Sixth Kentucky Volunteer Infantry—the young men from my part of the county selected me as their captain, and I have had the honor of commanding Company H, of the Sixth Kentucky Volunteer Infantry, till the present time. I have been with that company in several of the bloodiest battles of the war, and in a number of severe skirmishes; and having seen its members time and again under the enemy's fire, I take pleasure in saying that a better and braver band of men never shouldered muskets or faced a foe upon the battle-plain. Indeed, the Sixth Kentucky has a record of which it may well be proud; its steady endurance in resisting an attack, and its fiery valor when hurling its ranks on the foe, has covered it with well-deserved renown.