Four Months in Libby and the Campaign Against Atlanta. I. N. Johnston
and Mission Ridge have witnessed its prowess; its ranks have been thinned in many a fierce and bloody assault, and of those who yet follow its flag to victory, and of those who fill a soldier's grave, it shall be said, they were heroes, every one.
And yet it checks our exultation, brings tears to the eyes and sadness to the heart to think of the sad ravages that war has made in the ranks of those noble men. Where are they now? Some have met death on the field, and fill unmarked graves far, far from home; others escaped death on the field to perish by slow, wasting disease in camp and hospital. Some, with mutilated limbs and features disfigured with ghastly wounds, have sought the rest, quiet, and sympathy of home; while others in rebel prisons drag out a wretched existence, feeling all the pain and heart-sickness of hope deferred. On earth many of them will meet no more; yet, when the survivors meet in the years which are to come, when the sounds of strife have ceased, they will speak in low tones of the cherished dead, and drop a tear to their memory, and remember with pride that they themselves were on many a well-fought field with the Sixth Kentucky.
CHAPTER II.
SHILOH AND STONE RIVER.
My first battle, and how I felt—Wounded and left on the field—Disasters of first day and final triumph—Return home—In the field again—Battle of Stone River—Wounded again—Appearance of the country.
My first battle! What a strange sensation it was when I knew that I must soon engage in the deadly strife! The thoughts came thick and fast—thoughts of home, friends, and loved ones crowded upon me with a vividness and distinctness I had never known before. My past life came up in review, and the anxiety to know the result of the next few hours was painful. Should I fall on my first field, or should I escape? Should I share the joy of victory, or experience the sadness of defeat? be a prisoner in the hands of the foe, or, wounded, lie helpless among the slain and dying? make myself a name, or fill a nameless grave, were questions that would force themselves upon my attention. Fearful I was not, but excited, as every one doubtless is when about to enter for the first time the field of carnage and blood.
I can imagine a young soldier gradually becoming accustomed to warfare by engaging at first in slight skirmishes at long range, then in closer encounters, till he is, in a measure, prepared for a general engagement; but my first battle was none of those, but one of the great conflicts of the war, in which thousands went in tyros in the art of war, and came out heroes, ever after confident and bold—it was the bloody field of Shiloh.
It is difficult, perhaps impossible, to describe a battle; one pair of eyes can see but little of a conflict ranging over miles of territory; but there is something common to all battles which every brave man sees and hears, such as the shrieking of the shells, the blaze which accompanies the explosion, the whistling of minie balls, the clash and clang of steel, the roar of the artillery, the rattle of musketry, comrades falling, riderless steeds dashing hither and thither, the shout of officers, the hurrah of the charging line, the ghastly forms of the dead, the piteous cries of the wounded, the clouds of smoke pierced by the quick flashes of flame—with all these every true soldier is familiar.
Our regiment was not in the battle the first day, but came up the following night, and found Gen. Grant, who had been hard pressed the preceding day, in grim silence awaiting the coming light to renew the contest. Early in the morning we were engaged, and the battle raged with great fury till the middle of the afternoon, when the enemy, after a stubborn resistance, were routed, and a shout of triumph went up from the victors who had changed threatened disaster into glorious success.
In that shout of joy I took no part—nay, I heard it as if in a dream; for about twelve or one o'clock a minie ball, striking me on the left cheek, passing through and coming out an inch behind and below the ear, laid me for a time unconscious on the field amid the dead and the dying. Reviving after awhile I slowly made my way to the rear amid a shower of leaden and iron hail. The loss in my company was one killed and fifteen or sixteen wounded, several of them mortally. This battle, as most readers are aware, began on Sunday, the 6th of April. Early in the morning the Confederate forces, in greatly-superior numbers, under Generals A. S. Johnston and Beauregard, attacked Gen. Grant with great fury, the divisions of Sherman, M'Clernand, and Prentiss were driven back, and their respective camps fell into the hands of the enemy. They were stubbornly resisted, however, by Gen. Wallace's division, already weakened by having sent a brigade to assist in another portion of the field. These brave fellows nobly repulsed four different attacks made upon them, each time inflicting a heavy loss on the foe; but when night fell much ground had been lost, and many a heart was anxious concerning the morrow. During the night, however, Buell came up, a heavy burden was removed from many minds; for those who had hitherto contemplated nothing more than a stubborn resistance now felt confident of victory. Nor were they disappointed; the arrival of new troops infused fresh vigor into those wearied with the desperate struggle of the preceding day, and ere the sun had set the enemy had scattered before their resistless advance, the lost ground was all recovered, the lost camps retaken, and the roads southward thronged with a fleeing foe. Johnston, the rebel commander-in-chief, was killed upon the field on the first day; and though Beauregard claimed a complete victory on the 6th, and the rebel capital was wild with joy on the reception of his bulletin, he was compelled the next day to retire in disorder and seek safety within his fortifications at Corinth.
As soon as I was sufficiently recovered to be removed, I was sent home to Kentucky for treatment. I reached there faint and weary, was seized with typhoid fever, which, together with wounds, came very near terminating my life. My first battle, however, was not destined to be my last, and, by skillful treatment, careful nursing, and the interposition of a kind Providence, I was finally restored.
As soon as I was able I rejoined my company; was with it during Buell's march through Tennessee and Kentucky to Louisville; bore its privations well; was in hearing of the battle of Perryville, but our regiment was not engaged. From Perryville we marched through Danville, skirmishing with Bragg's rear-guard; thence to Crab Orchard and Stanford; harassed him as far as London, Laurel county—turned back, marched to Glasgow, thence to Nashville, where we arrived about the 1st of December, 1862.
My first battle, as I have already stated, was under Grant and Buell, against Johnston and Beauregard; my second was against Bragg at Stone River, under Rosecrans. Here, again, it was my fate or fortune to be wounded—this time in three places; but none of my wounds were severe enough to make me leave the field. Both my arms were bruised by fragments of bombshells, another piece struck my pistol which hung by my side, tearing the stock to atoms and bending the iron nearly double. I was knocked down by the violence of the blow, and received a pretty severe wound in my side, and I have no doubt but the pistol saved my life. I had my blanket over my shoulders during the engagement, and at its close I found that four or five balls had passed through it, several bullets also had pierced my coat, and in looking at them I seemed to realize how near to death I had been, and felt devoutly thankful that I had escaped the dangers of another fierce struggle. Soldiers look with pride at the flag, pierced by the bullets of the foe, which they have proudly borne through the din and smoke of battle, and in that feeling I have often partaken; but I shall ever feel grateful to a kind Providence whenever I look at my bullet-pierced blanket and coat; and if I fall before the war closes, I wish no more fitting and honorable shroud than these will afford; if I survive, they shall be preserved as relics of that eventful day, as silent monitors to teach me thankfulness to Him whose hand protected me in the hour of danger.
The battle of Stone River began on the 31st of December, 1862, and continued till the evening of the 2d of January. On the first day our left wing was driven back, and we lost about thirty pieces of artillery; but the attack of the enemy on our center was repelled with fearful slaughter, being subjected to a terrible cross-fire of double-shotted canister from two batteries, and the day closed with the contest undecided. The next day the battle was renewed, our line being restored to the position it had occupied on the morning of the previous day, but without any very decisive result, the spirit of our forces remaining unbroken. On the third day attempts were made by the enemy along our