Part 6

En route, we came one day near a little town in Tennessee. As usual, the soldiers were given to pillage, and here they raided a Masonic lodge, which enraged Shepherd, who was a Mason. One soldier brought a letter, written by a doctor, advising the neighbors to poison wells and kill the Yankee invaders. Shepherd ordered me to arrest this doctor and bring him to camp. We readily found his house, and, calling him out, found he had a wooden leg. He admitted writing the letter. Colonel Shepherd ordered him before a sentinel and made him march, in the extreme hot weather, during the sentinel's tour. Shepherd reported the case to General Thomas, but the man was liberated without trial.

Colonel, afterwards General Bob McCook, was in command of our brigade, consisting of the 2d Minnesota, the 9th Ohio, almost exclusively German (McCook's regiment), and our own. McCook was a most excellent officer and, although seriously ill, insisted on retaining command, traveling in an ambulance, and caring for his brigade. On August 4, 1862, he rode forward, as was his custom, with a small guard, to select camps for each of the regiments. Near Decherd, Tennessee, a guerrilla band of thirty or forty men, commanded by Frank B. Gurley, ordered McCook to surrender. Upon his refusal, they shot him in the stomach, and he died in great agony that night. The guerrillas carried off two of his staff officers. He had a father and three brothers killed in battle during the war.

The 9th Ohio became infuriated and burned all the houses in the vicinity and killed many citizens. Gurley, the leader of the guerrilla band, was afterwards arrested, identified by the staff officers who had escaped, tried by court martial, and hanged near Nashville.

After McCook's death, the regiment joined the army under Buell at Nashville, which the Confederates failed to reach before it was too strong to capture. Then began the race between Buell and Bragg, in command of the Confederates, from Nashville to Louisville. I am not writing a history of the war, so I shall say nothing of this extraordinary march which ended with our reaching Louisville twenty-four hours ahead of the enemy, with the exception of a little incident at Franklin, Kentucky.

My regiment was rear guard to this great army, taking care that the sick and exhausted should not fall into the hands of the enemy. Colonel Shepherd was instructed to impress transportation sufficient to care for all helpless men. I was ordered, with Quartermaster Benham, to seize such transportation as was necessary. The Confederate cavalry were harassing us flank and rear and, on arriving at Franklin, we were so hard pressed we feared we would lose a great many of our sick.

A friend reported an excellent ambulance and four mules on the outskirts of the town in possession of the wife of a Confederate. Going with two soldiers to seize it, we found the house doors locked, the blinds down, and got no response to our knocks. We directed the two men to search the barn and, if they found the conveyance, to wheel it out and attach the mules. They found the vehicle, wheeled it into the road, and returned to harness the mules, only to find that someone had cut the traces. While we were deliberating how to get the vehicle away with the ruined harness, the blinds flew open, an infuriated woman thrust her head through the open window and angrily exclaimed, "You miserable Yankees; get out of this! Don't you hear those guns?"

We did hear them, for our rear guard was engaged with the Confederate cavalry. Seeing the hopelessness of the situation, I called to an old colored man chopping wood in the yard, "Boy, throw me your axe!" He tossed the axe over the fence; I took it and smashed the spokes in the rear wheels, and Benham smashed those in front. We then bid good-day to the lady, who was as angry as Petruchio's Kate, and the last we saw of her she was still upbraiding us.

General Buell, although a loyal and efficient commander, was not popular with the volunteer army. Although generally chivalrous, it was disposed to interpret orders to its own liking, and became enraged at Buell's severity. He ordered that the commanding officers should not needlessly destroy private property; that he had noticed a disposition to burn valuable cedar fence rails unnecessarily, and that officers would see that only a sufficient number of rails were used to cook the food. A division commander issued an order in derision directing that thereafter none but the top rail should be taken by his troops. The troops understood this insubordination, and it soon developed that there were no more top rails.

This discontent with Buell made its way to Washington. When we arrived in Louisville, General Thomas sent for Colonel Shepherd, showing him a telegram from Washington announcing that General Buell was relieved and that he, Thomas, should take command of the Army of the Cumberland. Thomas said, "Now, Colonel Shepherd, I don't see how I can in honor obey that order unless it is forced upon me, because General Buell has consulted me in every movement he has made since we have been serving together, and I approve of everything he has done. In your opinion, should I not, before taking command, communicate these facts to the government?" Shepherd, loyal to Buell, agreed. Thomas telegraphed to Washington, and Buell was retained for some time. Later he was relieved by Rosecrans.

Bragg, failing to get possession of Louisville, and fearing to proceed further north, fell back to Perryville, Kentucky, where the important battle of Perryville took place on October 8th. General Bragg then abandoned further aggressive movements and began his retirement toward Nashville, Buell following him closely and arriving at Nashville in time to hold that city.

When the Civil War broke out, army regulations provided brass mountings for the soldier, retaining many useless and cumbersome impediments for the soldier's person because at one time they were useful. When fighting was done with arrows and spears and short infantry swords, men wore coats of mail, to ward off the strokes of the enemy. When firearms appeared these became ineffective and were gradually but laboriously abandoned. The soldier's "scale" represented the last remnant of the coat of mail, and theoretically was useful in warding off strokes of the saber on the shoulder. While many intelligent men knew its uselessness, no one had the courage to advocate its abandonment.

In November, '63, while my regiment was guarding Belotte's Ford, on the Cumberland River, eight miles from Gallatin, Tennessee, we received midnight orders to proceed within two hours to an expected battle-field. We were to take four days' rations, to be carried by one four-mule team. My company, the largest in the regiment, found it impossible to pack all the necessary articles in one wagon. Coming upon a chest weighing over three hundred pounds, I asked the sergeant what it contained. He replied, "The scales, sir." I told him to throw it into the latrine, which he did, and the box is there now.

Finding no battle-field, we turned out for Sunday morning inspection in a beautiful camp in the woods. All the other companies appeared with their shining "scales" and other brass ornaments. My scaleless company presented anything but the so-called military appearance.

Approaching my company, the Major, a martinet, remarked, "Captain, where are your scales?" I replied, "I abandoned them for want of transportation." He said, "You are out of uniform, and I shall have to report you. Have you made requisition for more?" I replied that I had not and did not intend to; that they were a very detrimental encumbrance. Although he ordered me peremptorily to do so, I never did. Whenever my company was inspected by others I was similarly reprimanded, and I dare say the files of the War Department are today full of reports condemning me as a captain for being out of uniform.

Later, out on the plains, where we were less harassed by bureaucracy, one captain after another began to shed, and finally, after ten years' defiance of regulations and orders by courageous and sensible captains, the army shed its scales as a snake sheds its skin. No order was ever issued by any authority for their abandonment. It is the only way in which the army can be redeemed from some of its follies, such as continue to this day in wearing the present swords and sabers, as useless for all military purposes as the scales.

When General W. S. Rosecrans was assigned to the command of the Army of the Cumberland, relieving General Buell, my regiment was detached from Steedman's Brigade of the 35th Ohio, 2d Minnesota and 4th Michigan, and all our officers bade the officers of Steedman's Brigade an affectionate goodbye. On Christmas day we joined the 15th, 16th and 19th regular infantry, with Battery H, 5th Artillery, on the height near Nashville, where we were brigaded with them as the "Regular Brigade, Army of the Cumberland," Col. O. L. Shepherd, commanding.

Bragg's army at Murfreesboro, thirty miles south of Nashville, received reinforcements from Virginia, principally under Breckinridge. Rosecrans, hastily assembling as large a command as possible, determined to attack. On the last day of December, 1862, and the first and second of January, 1863, these armies fought one of the bloodiest battles of the war about two miles north of Murfreesboro along Stone River.

General Rosecrans issued a confidential order for a general attack by the whole army at eight o'clock, December 31st. Colonel Shepherd, officer of the day for the whole army, rode the lines to see the leading commanders were prepared to make the common assault on time. I rode with Colonel Shepherd all night, and everything seemed to be fairly understood, but General Bragg was informed, massed his troops on the left and assaulted our whole right wing, commanded by General McCook, capturing most of the batteries before the horses were harnessed. Rousseau's reserve division and the regular brigade reserve of his division were the first in our army seriously in action. I was with Colonel Shepherd and General Rousseau when our right was crushed. General Thomas excitedly ordered Rousseau to "put the regulars in the cedars and drive those devils back." We thrust in our battery under the protection of the cedar trees and rocks in time to check the victorious Confederates, giving Rosecrans time to reform his routed right and establish a new line.

That night Doctor Webster Lindsly and I, with the permission of the Confederates, visited the field to care for the wounded, where I carried Captain Mack to the hospital. I found a young man, mortally wounded, a cannon ball having struck his abdomen. He said, "I know I am going to die. Write my mother that you saw me here." I wrote down his name and address, but I lost it. I have regretted it ever since, especially as I could not remember the name.

During the first day our forces were worsted, our supply trains cut off, and, the men carrying no rations, were hungry. Our entire right wing was doubled back on the left, the enemy were in front and rear, and the night was exceedingly cold. It was midnight before the excitement and confusion abated sufficiently to allow the men a little rest.

When I lay down, I rolled up in my saddle blanket near Captain R. L. Morris, a personal and intimate friend. But I was not to sleep yet. Colonel Shepherd sent me several miles to the rear with orders to seize some unguarded wagons which were filled with hard bread and bacon for the daybreak breakfast.

I folded my blanket, laid it on the ground and carried out the instructions, bringing the wagons back with me. When I returned, my blanket was missing.

The loss was discouraging, and I was cold, but as Morris said he knew nothing of it, there was nothing to do but pass the night as best I could. The next morning I noticed Morris had not only his saddle blanket, but another, tied in a roll behind. I asked where he got it and he retorted it was no concern of mine. I thought the circumstances sufficient to warrant an explanation, and he became angry, exclaiming, "Do you suppose I would steal your blanket, Mills?"

"No," I said, "I don't, but I would like you to untie your blanket and let me examine it."

He untied it, and I showed him my initials worked in one corner with yarn.

Laughing, he said, "Well, Mills, I give it up. That is your blanket. Take it. I stole it, knowing government blankets were as alike as two peas. I wouldn't steal under ordinary circumstances, but such a night as last night would justify a man in doing anything to keep warm."

Bragg assembled half his army on our extreme left during the night, intending to destroy our left as he had our right. General Breckinridge crossed the river opposite our extreme left, expecting to surprise us, but Rosecrans fortunately received notice and concentrated five hundred pieces of artillery on our left, unknown to Breckinridge.

The Confederates were literally cut to pieces with our artillery. On the right we could see nothing, but heard the roar of cannon for at least an hour, not knowing the result. Suddenly the firing ceased, we heard a cheer and, crossing a ridge to our left a sergeant galloped between the lines, carrying an inverted Confederate flag. Although this sergeant was in easy gunshot of the Confederates, not a single shot was fired at him.

The third day of the battle resulted decisively. Bragg retired toward Chattanooga.

On September 19 and 20, Chickamauga, the most sanguinary battle of the war, was fought. Here the regular brigade (one battalion each of the 15th, 16th and 19th, and two battalions of the 18th, with Battery H of the 5th Artillery) lost over thirty-three per cent of their strength in killed, wounded and missing, and during the fight, the battery was taken by the Confederates, all the horses killed, but the guns recaptured later on.

At the close of this battle, my company, the largest in the brigade, was selected for picket duty to cover the brigade front. Lieutenant Freeman, the adjutant, posted me close to the rebel lines. He rode out a couple of hundred yards and was taken prisoner by rebel pickets springing from behind trees, and sent to Libby Prison, from which he escaped through a tunnel in time to join Sherman's army near the sea. During the entire night our picket line was compelled to listen to the shrieks and cries for water and help from the wounded and dying, who lay immediately in front, but whom we were unable to assist, although they were only a few hundred yards from us. Some time after midnight an order came for a change in the position of the army, which moved our brigade a mile and a half to another position. As Freeman was absent, the regimental commander was unaware of the exact location of my company; and, in the morning, hearing no noise from the location of the regiment, I sent a sergeant to find out the cause. The sergeant returned, reporting that the regiment and the troops adjoining had abandoned the field, so I relieved my company and marched, following the trails of the different regiments, and finally arrived at their line of battle. I did not see Freeman again until on recruiting duty at St. Louis.

Rosecrans was practically defeated at Chickamauga and retired to Chattanooga, where Thomas concentrated his army for defense. Bragg besieged the city with so large an army it was found necessary to reinforce the Army of the Cumberland by the Army of the Tennessee, under Grant and Sherman, and two divisions of the Army of the Potomac, under Hooker.

General Thomas, who succeeded Rosecrans, was besieged and on half rations for months, the Confederate cavalry cutting off supplies. Finally there came the wonderful battle of Missionary Ridge, with Grant commanding the whole army; Hooker, the right (Lookout Mountain); Thomas, the center; and Sherman, the left. Hooker took Lookout during the night, but neither army knew it until daylight. As the sun rose, a bugle was sounded and a sergeant and three men presented to the breeze a large American flag from the point of Lookout Mountain, announcing the defeat of the Confederate Army. The whole Federal Army took up the cheer that swept from right to left.

By ten o'clock, Thomas' army, numbering perhaps twenty thousand men, was in battle line at the foot of Missionary Ridge, five hundred feet high, well designed for defense. Three guns from Thomas' headquarters was the signal for the whole line to charge.

Thomas' army stood for hours, with fixed bayonets, reflecting dazzling sun rays to the Ridge.

At last we heard the signal and cheered as we charged. The Confederates reserved their fire until we had passed up one-third of the ridge, when they opened fire. Their guns were so depressed, however, that the recoil destroyed their accuracy, and the shells went over our heads. Finally my company arrived so close I heard one of their gunners call out, "Half-second fuse," which meant that the shell would explode one-half second after it left the gun. It seemed difficult to believe that we could mount that rough mountain ridge and drive the Confederates away from their five hundred pieces of cannon, but no part of the line was ever halted. In half an hour the whole Confederate line was in our possession.

After this defeat, Bragg retired towards Atlanta, to which we also went.

At the battle of Jonesboro, near Atlanta, Captain Andy Burt and I had many men wounded. Visiting these men in a large tent containing perhaps seventy-five men, we found that certain Union Christian Societies had pinned upon its white walls large placards reading, "Are you prepared to die?" "Prepare to meet your God." As soon as Burt saw these senseless signs, he tore them down, stamping them under his feet, crying out, "Never say die, men! Never say die!" A badly wounded sergeant of my regiment answered, "If more officers like this visited us, there wouldn't be so many of us die!"

One of the most distinguished field batteries in the army was raised by the Chicago Board of Trade. Commanded by a fine-looking young German, Captain Dilger, this battery was given carte blanche to proceed where it pleased to do the most destruction, and his men seemed to be inspired with his own spirit and ambition. In his buckskin suit he would ride about, seeking a place to set up his battery to advantage. Dashing even beyond the skirmish lines, he would go into action and do all the destruction he could before the enemy could get his range, and as suddenly disappear.

At New Hope Church, Lieutenant Bisbee (now Brigadier General, retired) and I, with our two companies, were on picket duty when Dilger's battery passed through our lines and into action. Knowing the Confederates would soon get his range, our men protected themselves behind rocks and trees. Bisbee and I were behind a pine tree twenty inches in diameter, when a solid shot cut the tree in two, throwing us to the ground with splinters in our bodies. Neither of us was seriously wounded, and we returned to duty in a few days.

The regular brigade was so depleted with losses, discharges and failure to enlist that it was determined to send it while waiting recruits to camp on Lookout Mountain, overlooking Chattanooga. As the senior officer of the 18th Infantry, I marched it to the mountain for indefinite encampment.

At this time General Steedman, with ten thousand men, was ordered to defend Chattanooga in the apprehended march of Hood to Nashville. Learning I was out of active service while my regiment recuperated, Steedman called me to his staff as inspector general of his provisional corps. When Hood avoided Chattanooga, we moved the whole ten thousand men, reaching Nashville and joining Thomas just in time to escape being cut off by Hood's army.

Hood, relieving Bragg, invested Nashville and, on December 16, 1864, the Battle of Nashville took place. Hood's retreat toward the Cumberland River was disastrous, but floods saved his army. We were unable to cross streams over which he had destroyed the bridges. Thomas ordered Steedman to Murfreesboro to entrain ten thousand men for Decatur, Alabama, to prevent Hood's crossing.

We halted Sunday morning at Huntsville to repair some small bridges. While waiting, a bell began to ring for church services, and the General suggested that we all attend. A dignified, gray-haired old man mounted the pulpit, and began the services, bringing in with more than necessary vehemence the prayer for Jeff Davis and all those in authority. General Steedman, a man of intense passion combined with the tenderest affection, was bitterly insulted, but he remained until the services were completed. Retiring from the church, he arrested the preacher and placed him under guard. He was the Reverend Dr. Ross of Knoxville, Tennessee, who some years before had canvassed the Northern States with Parson Bronlow in a political-religious discussion of slavery. In that canvass Parson Bronlow took the side of slavery and Dr. Ross the opposite. They had now each honestly changed their views completely.

When the Doctor was brought in, the General exclaimed, passionately, "Dr. Ross, have you no more respect for the authorities of the Federal Government than to pray for Jeff Davis in their presence? If you have no more respect, have you no more sense?"

The Doctor stood calmly and said, "I have more respect for my conscientious convictions as a minister, my creed in religion, and my God than I have for the authorities of the United States Government. If I have committed any crime in your eyes, you have the power to punish me; but I shall cheerfully accept any punishment you choose to give me, even to death."

The General made no reply for some time, but finally said, "Very well, sir; I will carry you along with the command as a prisoner." The Doctor replied, "General, I am perfectly willing to go with your command, but I am too old to march. I will do the best I can." He appeared to be about sixty-five or seventy years old, quite gray and rather feeble.

The General replied, "Very well, sir, I will give you transportation--I will give you an ambulance, and" with some oaths, "I will give you an escort of your own color." We had three brigades of colored troops in the command, and the Doctor was of so dark a complexion as almost to suggest a mixture of blood.

Dr. Ross was carried on the cars and, later, on an ambulance with a colored escort. But General Steedman realized he had made a mistake. When General Roddy (commanding the Confederates on our front) requested an exchange of prisoners, General Steedman gave me instructions to give Dr. Ross any military rank that would secure his exchange. We had no difficulty in making the exchange, together with many others.

When my regiment was withdrawn from active service to Lookout Mountain, Tennessee, for reorganization, Lieutenant William H. Bisbee was my adjutant.

The beauty and symmetry of his reports was marked, but some apparently irrelevant figures excited my curiosity. Written in rather large figures in bright red ink was, "S-T-1860-X." Asked why he had made use of these particular letters and figures, he said he had copied them from a manufacturer's trade-mark for "Hostetter's Bitters," which, translated, read, "Started trade in 1860 with $10.00." He had noticed papers from Washington with red ink figures which he could not understand, and so interspersed the notations throughout his own reports, knowing that no one would understand them, but believing it would be assumed to be the result of much study and care!