Part 11

When we came to the Duck river, that we had crossed the year before at Manchester, there a mere mountain stream, we found a considerable river, and so swollen with rains that it gave us considerable difficulty in crossing. We soon arrived at Pulaski, a beautiful little village in middle Tennessee. This is the best portion of the state, and so much has nature done for it, that had it not been for the blighting influence of slavery, might have truthfully been denominated the garden spot of the United States. We had not been in Pulaski many days before Forrest's cavalry appeared on our flanks, and we heard that Hood had crossed the Tennessee river. We now took the pike again and moved up as far as the village of Columbia, the home of several distinguished officers of the confederate army. Here we went into camp, and did considerable intrenching, our flanks resting on the Elk river. We arrived at Columbia the twenty-fourth of October, and remained there until the night of the twenty-ninth. During the day of the twenty-ninth our regiment was sent up the river to watch a ford, and we watched it nicely, seeing the rebel infantry crossing all day; but we had no orders to do anything but watch. That afternoon we heard heavy firing in the direction of Spring Hill, and we afterwards learned that our first division had been sharply engaged with Cheatham's division, and had most handsomely checked the rebel advance. At dark we were called in, and commenced the march northward again. I should say it was about midnight when Adjutant Hammer came riding back directing the company commandants to have the men so adjust their canteens and bayonet scabbards that as little noise be made as possible, that we were in the immediate presence of the enemy. This we could hardly believe. Were it possible that the rebels had gotten a position cutting our army in twain? We believed nothing of the kind, but, nevertheless, obeyed the order like the true veteran soldiers that we were. Soon we saw two lines of fires running away to the northeast, and the left end of the line nearest us was so near the pike one could have cast a stone into it without much effort. Were it possible these two lines of bivouac fires represented the two lines of blue and gray that had been fighting there the afternoon before? It was true. Such were the facts. And yet our division, the 3d, and a wagon train twelve miles long, passed along that pike, with all the noise incident to the moving of a wagon train and artillery attached to our division, without hindrance or molestation from the enemy.

Not a shot was fired, not a rebel picket nor skirmish line encountered, as we passed the left flank of the enemy's line. Yet, they knew we were there, for several of our men wandered from the column and went over to the fires to warm, and were captured. Was there treason to the confederacy? The fighting the next day fully answers that question in the negative. Hood claims, I am told, that his officers were drunk and failed to attack as he had ordered, and thereby let our division pass him at Spring Hill. This may be true, for middle Tennessee makes a kind of whiskey that will take the W. C. T. U. a long time to eradicate. A single skirmish line across the pike that night would have so delayed us, incumbered with the train, as we were (the train could not have been moved off the pike), that it hardly seems possible that General Stanley could have reunited the divisions of his corps. Thus was the golden opportunity of Hood lost. We soon left the rebel fires behind us, and with our train well ahead, and our divisions united, we had little to fear from an army commanded by such a general as Hood. I have read somewhere a confederate account of this transaction, and the writer, though claiming to have been on the spot, fails to give anything like a rational reason for the confederate forces letting us pass them October 30th, at Spring Hill.

The next morning we halted and made coffee beside the pike. While breakfasting, a squad of rebel cavalry dashed up to the train, fired a few shots, and were away like the wind. As we neared Franklin we came up with some new regiments that General Thomas had hurried on from Nashville, to meet and assist us in case we were forced to a battle before we reached Nashville. These poor fellows that had been as far south as Spring Hill, and were returning that morning, were mostly completely played out, and filled the fence corners all along the pike. I am sorry to say the hardy veterans that swung along after marching all night treated them to expressions of which the following are samples: "Fresh fish." "Fresh fish." "There lies $1000 and a cow." "How much did you get?" "Say Jimmy, who owns you?" "Millions in it." These poor fellows, with knapsacks larger than a mule should be required to carry, received these taunts and jeers with silent disgust; and quite likely the most of them at this time are drawing pensions for disabilities received in the service and in the line of duty, while the old veteran of scores of battles and skirmishes, of hundreds of miles of marches, though broken in health, and prematurely old by reason of his hard service, _has no hospital record_, and suffers great difficulties in establishing his claim for a pension. Something wrong, somewhere, sure.

We arrived at Franklin about noon, and found the 23d Corps in position and throwing up works from the Harpeth river above the village to the river below. With this place we were very familiar. We first came here in February, 1863. This was our camp of instruction. We assisted in building the fort, with its large magazine on the north side of the river and to the left of the village facing south. We that had worked out many a weary detail asking, "What is all this worth?" "What is this for, miles—miles from the enemy and the front," had the opportunity, this thirtieth day of October, 1864, of seeing our labor richly rewarded. We use to do picket duty north of the river and town, and knew every foot of that country; and our Lieutenant Colonel Pickands and Adjutant Hammer enjoyed the reputation of knowing some of the rebel girls, with which the village swarmed. I remembered one Sally Atkinson, who lived near our picket line, in fact the line ran through her father's dooryard, who was a fine player on the piano, and something of a singer. She, like all the southern women, was a bitter rebel, and used to entertain the boys with "The bonny blue flag," and other rebel songs. She often boasted of having two brothers in the rebel service. But more of this anon.

Our wagon train was on the north side of the river, pulling out for Nashville to the full extent of its mule power. Those not familiar may be interested in a brief description of the field where the battle of Franklin was fought. The Harpeth river makes quite a sharp bend to the north, and the formerly very rich village, built very compactly, occupies the most of the room in the bend. Here, before the war, was the home of many rich cotton planters, for as you all will remember, this is the heart of the cotton growing belt of Tennessee. The turnpike running from the southern part of the state, through Pulaski, Columbia, and on to Nashville, ran through about the center of Franklin. The Harpeth river is a small stream, made largely of springs, but running through a limestone region, lay in deep pools much of its way, that only rendered it fordable above and below the town. To the left of the pike going south from town there was a large cotton field, stretching to the left, nearly to the river, and extending to the south, I should say, from half to three-quarters of a mile to a line of hills, that rise quite abruptly and constitute a picturesque landscape. Across this cotton field, from east to west, ran our works, as I have said, from river above to river below. At and near the pike, and to the left of the same, was planted all of the field artillery that we possessed. It was the fortune of our regiment to be detailed to cross the river, go down below the pike bridge, intrench the south bank and guard the ford; and while we witnessed the battle we were not called into it, and did not have occasion to fire a shot at the point where we were stationed. Our line, as you will understand from this brief description, was of necessity short, and in some places was supported by a reserve line. General Hood came up with his forces and formed his charging columns under the cover of the hills at the south. He visited each division and brigade, to which he stated that all the confederate soldiers had to do was to take the rude works in front of Franklin, Thomas' army would be captured, and Nashville with all of its vast military stores of clothing, provisions and ammunition would fall into their hands. That Hood was a good man to fight, about a division, I think is conceded; but I take it, if Thomas had been consulted, and could have had the directing of Hood, he would not have had him done any different from what he did. Hood had in all arms, about forty-five thousand men when he came before Franklin. He had about six thousand cavalry, under General Forrest, that instead of using on our flanks and rear, he sent off to Murfreesborough to take the fort that was garrisoned by a few regiments of recent enlistment. The fort was easily defended against Forrest and would have been had his force been double what it was. Forrest was a raider, but in no sense a fighter. Schofield had not more than twenty thousand men, all told, some of which were on duty with the train. But twenty thousand old veterans, as my old soldier friends will bear me witness here to-day, are hard to go out and get, especially, if you come straight up to the front door, and this Corporal Hood, in a very gentlemanly manner, did.

Hood formed his charging column in three lines, extending across the old cotton field from east to west; his right reaching the river, his left resting on the pike. About three o'clock he made his first assault. His lines came on in fine style. The heavy guns in the fort commenced shelling unmercifully as soon as the assaulting column emerged from behind the hills, and when it reached a point near enough the field artillery opened with shrapnel and canister, making fearful havoc in the ranks of gray. But nothing daunted those charging lines, led by that best of fighting generals, Pat Cleburne, came on until they reached a point within two hundred yards of our works, when our infantry opened such a murderous fire over that level field that no valor could stand before its destructive torrent. The assaulting column broke, and the personal presence of Hood and his daring lieutenant could not rally them until they were behind the sheltering protection of the hills where they were first formed. The assault was repeated time after time, until nine o'clock that night. In one of these assaults the rebels charged to our works and drove our first line out of them for a short distance; but Colonel Opdyke's brigade, lying close in the rear, at once charged, restoring the line and capturing over a thousand prisoners. The rebels were taken entirely unawares by the charge made by Opdyke's brigade. When they captured that portion of the line they seemed to think our forces had left, for Opdyke found them sitting down on the top of the works; some of them, having laid their guns aside and lighted their pipes, were enjoying the _solace of the soldier_.

Our field artillery did most magnificent work, but suffered heavily. One battery of the Ohio regiment of artillery lost all the men it had at one gun, save a sergeant, and he loaded and gave the charging column one dose of canister after his left arm had been blown off.

This battle of Franklin was one of the most sanguinary, and to the rebel army one of the most disastrous, of the war. Hood lost four general officers, among them was the celebrated Pat Cleburne, that our division had been opposed to so many times on the Atlanta campaign. He fell in one of the many charges that afternoon, his horse's fore legs resting on our works. As soon as it was certain that the enemy did not intend to renew the conflict that night, our troops began to retire to the south side of the river. The bridge across the stream was covered with blankets to a depth of six or eight inches, and the artillery was moved across without noise; and by two o'clock a. m. of the thirty-first of October the last regiment was on the south side of the river and on the march for Nashville. Our wounded were left in the village, those that could not be moved, and surgeons to take care of them.

About two o'clock that morning Colonel Pickands came to our company and said "he had orders to leave one company in the position our regiment had occupied during the battle, and concluded that company B must be the one." The order was, "that we stay at the ford until orders were received to abandon it;" said, "he would send back an orderly to notify us when we could leave;" said, "we might all be captured," and he bade me an affectionate farewell when he rode away. If any one doubts that this was an anxious hour for us, he does not duly appreciate the situation. It would have been nothing for mounted men, but we were footmen and expected the enemy would send out a squadron of cavalry at daybreak to ascertain what had become of those that had punished them so the day before. We listened to the last footfall until it died away up the stone pike toward Nashville, then all was still. I then went along the line and told each one of the boys that when we were relieved, or if attacked before the order came, we would about-face and move back in our present order, deployed as skirmishers. About three-fourths of a mile to the south on a gentle elevation was a poplar grove, and I insisted to the boys that if we could maintain our line, in case of an attack, either before or after the order of relief came, we could make a splendid fight even against cavalry in those woods. I knew I could rely upon the boys. I knew any 124th man could be relied upon during the war—and since. Then we had nothing to do but wait. Not a sound was heard across the river in Franklin, in the direction of the enemy. Sodom and Gomorrah were not stiller after they received the sulphurous shower, than was that intensely rebel village and their friends near the hills beyond. The day-god began to streak the east with his golden rays, and still no order came. No cheerful cockcrowing was heard as a harbinger of the dawning day. The last rooster in the confederacy had been eliminated long years before. Day began to break, and we strained our eyes up and down the river and in the direction of Franklin, to see the approaching foe, but all was still as death. Had we been forgotten? Had something happened to the orderly? What good could we do by staying? But the order was imperative, "stay until ordered away," and orders must be obeyed, even if the brave men on this severe duty were relegated to captivity. It was now broad daylight, and no orderly in sight. But no rebel cavalry in sight either. The situation was strangely interesting in the extreme. All at once we heard the ringing clatter of a horse's hoofs, and looking up the pike—coming down the hill at breakneck pace—_came the orderly at last_. Talk about sweet strains of music—not Theodore Thomas' orchestra, rendering one of Beethoven's symphonies, could ever sound as sweetly as the ringing of those hoof-beats on that limestone pike that October morning. Riding up to me he said: "Captain, remove your men," and turning his steed toward Nashville was soon out of sight over the hill. We immediately began to _remove_. The order was obeyed, not only with willingness, but with wonderous alacrity. We double-quicked in line until we came to the poplar grove, when we, seeing no signs of pursuit, came into column on the pike, and with a long step toward the front, and a sharp lookout toward the rear, we rapidly measured off the miles in the direction of Nashville. About eight o'clock that morning we came up with the rear guard, and soon the balance of the regiment, making coffee and breakfasting by the road side. We were greeted by the colonel and the regiment with exclamations of joy. I told the colonel I was afraid he had forgotten us, but he insisted we had not been out of his mind a minute since he left us, which I have no doubt was true. But when the facts came to be known, we were not in the least danger. Had we known at that time that old Corporal Hood had so kindly sent all of his cavalry away to Murfreesborough, where they could do him no good, and us no possible harm, we would have stayed, made coffee, and eaten breakfast before starting. In fact, I have no doubt some of the boys would have been over in the village looking for "Robinson County," where they used to find it while on picket months before. But, all in all, a portion of the old 124th were the last union soldiers to leave Franklin, after the bloody battle of the thirtieth of October, 1864.

But war has its sad features, even for an enemy as dishonorable and as thoroughly hated as were the rebels. The beautiful village of Franklin was riddled with shot and shell. The great cotton field to the south was thickly covered with the graves of the confederate soldiers. The two brothers of the sweet singer of rebel songs were both killed within a few rods of their dear old home. But on the other hand, Miss Sally Atkinson, after the war, _became the kind and loving wife of an officer on General Thomas' staff, emblematical of the restored Union_.

The thirty-first we marched to Nashville, and the first of December took our position on the line extending around the city, from the Tennessee above to the river below. The line was a long one and necessarily thin. Everything was in a bustle of excitement in the city. Hood was expected to arrive and invest the city every hour. The gunboats were busy puffing up and down the river looking after the flanks of our lines and the various fords above and below. Every soldier in the hospitals that could possibly perform duty was sent to the front. All the laborers that were enlisted as such, and everyone that could use a pick and shovel, was pressed into the service and set at work on the intrenchments. Every private horse in the city was taken for the cavalry or artillery. The right of ownership of private property, as applied to horseflesh, was in no sense respected. Dan Castello's circus was performing at Nashville at the time, and every horse was confiscated. Mrs. Lake's celebrated trick horse, Czar, was the only one left, and that was undoubtedly owing to the feeling of chivalry every true soldier has for a lady. We had been in Nashville two days, I think, when Hood came up very leisurely and formed his lines well out from ours. He did not act like business, and evidently had not recovered from the terrible drubbing he had received at Franklin. It was now midwinter in the climate of Tennessee, the mud was deep, and it rained and sleeted almost every day. Hood did not even ask for a skirmish, and his was the saddest army of investment that ever encompassed a city. General Thomas was busy issuing clothing to his army, and especially shoes, as our foot gear had been sadly demoralized by the long march over stony roads and railway tracks back from Atlanta. Our portion of the line ran in front of the Acklin Place, a charming villa residence, built at an expense of a million and a half of dollars. The owner was a Mr. Acklin, a wealthy Englishman, who, at his own expense, fully armed and equipped a regiment of confederate infantry, named for him "The Acklin Rifles." This Mr. Acklin _was not at home_, so General Thomas took his spacious mansion for corps and division headquarters. I am satisfied that never before was army headquarters so ornamented with such paintings and marbles. We, on the outside, were equally well off, for the spacious grounds were surrounded by nicely built stone walls that were worked into chimneys noiselessly as was the building of Solomon's Temple, and though not quite as ornamental, were quite as useful, as that fabled temple of the olden time. The ornamental trees did not make first-rate firewood on account of being green, but we had not time for them to dry, and had to get along with them as best we could. Here we had plenty of rations; and vegetables of all kinds were issued to us in great abundance. The greatest evil we were compelled to suffer, while here, was the sale of intoxicating liquor to the soldiers in the city. The large majority of our regiment were reasonably temperate men; but, I am sorry to be compelled to say that there was a large amount of drunkenness in the army that made the men difficult to control, and caused very many to lose their lives. Drunken officers in command was a terrible evil.

I suppose no city in the United States ever had so bad a population as the city of Nashville during the winter of 1864-5. The thieves, gamblers and disreputable of both sexes, swarmed in from all over the country, and at one time the demimonde became such a plague that General Thomas loaded a steamboat with them and sent them to Louisville, but the authorities there refused to let them land, and what became of them I never knew; it may be they were destroyed for the good of the service. It was no uncommon thing to find two or more dead soldiers, murdered in an unsavory locality known as Smoky Row, every morning, and the original inhabitants of the city were none too good to murder a union soldier if they found him in a condition not to be able to take care of himself. If there ever was a city that should have been disposed of as Atlanta and Columbia were, that city was Nashville. But things were getting ripe for action. Every day troops in squads, detachments and regiments, were coming in by river and by rail. The 17th Army Corps, commanded by that gray-headed old hero (noted for his choice (?) English), General A. J. Smith, came up and took position at the right of our corps. General Stedman, that did such good work with the reserve corps at Chickamauga, commanded a division of colored troops on the extreme left, while more artillery than was ever before made ready for battle, was being put into position. There were grave apprehensions that Hood would cross the river and move into Kentucky, as Bragg had done in 1862. The government at Washington became alarmed, and sent General John A. Logan to relieve General Thomas. It did seem that the General was terribly slow, but he was preparing to give the rebel army such a crushing blow that when he did strike no second blow would be necessary. General Logan came as far as Louisville, and learning how General Thomas was situated and what he was doing, refused to supersede him though he had the orders in his pocket to that effect. _Was there a regular officer in the union service that would have been that magnanimous?_