Part 3

These various headquarters that I had visited were all situated at or near Manchester, and I applied to them all the same day; but the headquarters of General Thomas was at Winchester, more than sixty miles from our camp. The point now was how to get to Winchester? I went to the colonel and applied for a pass for that place, which, luckily for my purpose, he granted me without asking me what I wanted it for. We had a train down in the morning and back at night; so the next morning, armed with my pass and my badly _disallowed_ application in my pocket, I took the train for Winchester. With my heart away up in my thorax, I approached the headquarters of the old general. I was compelled to wait a long time, it seemed to me, to obtain an interview with him; he received me very gravely, yet kindly, and carefully listened to all I had to say; he wanted to know "if the men would be able to go home if the furlough should be granted?" I insisted they would if granted immediately, and that must be my excuse for not sending the application through the regular channel. I urged upon the general the fact that so many of our men were dying in the hospitals of that terrible disease. The old iron-faced general turned to a member of his staff that was at a table writing and told him to indorse the application _allowed_. I then asked the general if he would indorse on the same, leave for me to take it in person to General Rosecrans. This he most cheerfully did, and General Rosecrans issued the furloughs without another word of explanation.

The next morning the sick boys were taken to the train, and started for Ohio. In sixty days two of them returned for duty, were in every battle of the regiment, and were honorably discharged. The other was discharged for disability. One of them, after the war, made himself a home in California, the other I meet often, but I never see him but I think how much he owes to that noble "Old Pap Thomas."

In a few days after we were ordered to get ready to march, and the first day brought us to a beautiful mountain river, on the banks of which we went into camp, near a small quaker village called Irvingville, I think. The next morning we had to ford the river, which was cold and in some places quite deep. This brought us to the first range of the Cumberland mountains. Our regiment was detailed to assist the wagon train up the steep mountain road, which duty occupied our attention the greater part of the day. That night we encamped on the mountain, and enjoyed a most refreshing sleep in the cool invigorating mountain air. The next day we marched down off from this ridge into the Sequatchie valley. This valley is some mile or more, perhaps, in width and runs down to Chattanooga, and we entered it some six or eight miles from its head. Through this valley runs a pure cold stream of water—a thing always prized by an army or camping party.

We also found here plenty of corn—just at the roasting-ear period of maturity; and it would surprise you farmers to see how soon a ten-acre field of green corn would be used up by an army. But how did the boys prepare it so as to make it good and wholesome? Of course, it could be roasted on the ear, but that was too slow a process. By this time, in our experience as soldiers, we had divided into messes of about four. One would carry a small tin pail or kettle, holding about four quarts; another would carry a small frying pan; the third would carry a coffeepot (without which the rebellion could not have been put down); while the fourth would carry some other article necessary to the culinary art. The commissary supplied us with salt pork or bacon, and also with salt and pepper. Now the culinary process is this: the corn is gathered and carefully silked, then with a sharp knife (and every soldier was supposed to have one—or if left lying about loose) the corn was shaven from the cob, put into the frying pan with a slice of pork or bacon, and cooked until tender; add salt and pepper to suit taste, and you have a dish good enough to set before a union soldier—and too good for a king.

We remained in this beautiful valley until the corn was all used up; and one would be surprised to see how it helped out our rations. One other notable thing about this green-corn diet—some of our men that were sick, but dreaded to be sent back to hospital and had kept along with us as best they could, were entirely cured by this change of diet. It was the vegetable food that did the good work for them. I have known green apples, that are always supposed to be harmful to a well person, help a sick soldier.

One could not help thinking, what was to become of these poor people of this valley, whose only means of support we had eaten up and destroyed; but war is merciless, "war is hell," as General Sherman said.

When we broke up our camp we pushed straight for Waldron's ridge lying directly in front of us. We found the ascent of this ridge much more difficult than that of the other had been, but finally we reached the top of the mountain. It was very singular to find here a country with all the characteristics of level or table-land—lying more than two thousand feet above the country we had left behind us, or the valley of the river beyond. The next day we resumed the march, and in the afternoon began the descent into the valley of the Tennessee.

The road down the mountain was the worst, by far, that we had encountered. In some places the road lay over ledges of rocks that were four feet directly down; and many wagons were broken, as well as axles of cannons and caissons. I suppose, to this day, there could be found evidences of that fearful descent, in the wreck of government property lying along that mountain road.

The valley of the Tennessee at last reached, we went into camp at Poe's tavern, and remained there some three weeks, spending the most of our time in foraging for our animals, as well as ourselves.

In this locality there is one of the greatest curiosities it was ever my privilege to behold. It consists of a lake or pond on the top of the ridge we last came down. Directly to the west of where we were encamped, the ridge breaks off into palisades, some five hundred feet in height. Hearing of this curious lake from some of the natives, a party of us set out one day to explore it. We were compelled to go up the ridge by the same road we had come down, which took us some distance to the northward of the place where we had been informed the lake was located. At last our efforts were rewarded by finding the place. The lake is almost a circle of about six hundred feet in diameter; on one side the rocks had fallen down on an angle of about forty-five degrees, making it possible to descend into this terrible looking place. Once down to the water's edge one could look up the perpendicular sides of this walled-in lake for three hundred feet. It looks as though at some time the rocks had sunken down into the great cave beneath, and left this basin which filled with water from the springs of the mountains. One of the most curious features of this curious basin is that the water has a rise and fall of fifteen feet, at regular intervals. The water was as clear as "mountain dew," and some of our party, on going in to swim, thought they could dive out of sight; but no effort of a swimmer that could go down eighteen feet, seemed to make any difference with his visibility. The natives looked upon this place with great awe, and gave it the fearful name of "Devil's Washbowl."

We had not been at this camp many days before the mystery of the rising and falling of the water in the bowl was fully explained. About a half mile below our camp was a large spring from which some of our brigade got water; on going there for water one day a soldier found the spring had failed, and so reported. In a few days thereafter another soldier went for water, and found the spring flowing as bountifully as when first discovered. An investigation showed that when the spring ceased to flow, the water in the bowl began to rise, and when the water in the spring began to run, the water in the bowl began to fall. And so it turned out to be an intermitting spring, the philosophy of which every schoolboy that hears me to-night is familiar; and the devil lost the most of his reputation in that locality.

We made quite a long stop at this camp, but at last the order to march came; we went directly down the west bank of the river for about twenty miles, and went into camp for the night; the next morning we marched out to the river, and were informed that we must ford the same.

The Tennessee, where we were required to ford it, was a little less than a mile in width, and in some places quite swift. We were ordered to remove our clothing, but the order was regarded more advisory than imperative; and while some did their clothing up in neat bundles and bore them on their bayonets, others kept theirs on and trusted to the warmth of their bodies to dry them on the other side.

We started in four ranks, the usual marching order; we got on very well until we came to the deep and rapid portion of the river, when some of our short men became very apprehensive, and I remember we had to keep hold of hands to prevent the current from carrying us down the stream; while we had to take our shortest men on our shoulders to keep their heads above water. It is a sight never to be forgotten to see a mile of men in the water. After having gained the east bank in safety we spent the time in watching the others come across, or in drying our water soaked garments. It was amusing to see the little short fellows ford; they would come along with great bravery until they came to the deep water, when you could see them holding their heads away back; now and then one would go all under, and you would see him climbing some fellow that nature had provided with a longer pair of running-gears; but finally all crossed in safety, and no sickness followed this enforced baptism.

We went into camp that afternoon near the river; and the next morning took up the march in the direction of Ringgold, Ga. Here we found, as a rule, the people had abandoned their homes and gone south, leaving them to be pillaged by thoughtless or criminally inclined soldiers. On this day's march I saw an instance of the propensity of some men to steal that was about as amusing as it was disgusting. As I was marching at the head of my company I heard a great clattering, and on looking back I saw a soldier coming with a great load on his back done up in a piece of shelter tent, which on a nearer inspection proved to be a set of dishes; there were tureens, bowls, plates, pitchers, platters, and in fact everything known to a well regulated set of dishes. The fellow marched on with great composure amid the derisive shouts of his comrades that he passed; and probably that night ate his hard-tack off southern china.

That night we went into camp near a branch of the Chickamauga river, and the next day marched into Ringgold. This village, named in honor of Major Ringgold, that fell at the battle of Buena Vista, was a town of about two thousand people at that time, I should think, when at home, beautifully located at the foot of the White Oak mountains; but very few of its people remained there, and the town was a very sorry looking place, though built mostly of brick, and in much better taste than most of the southern towns that we had seen.

Here I saw the first exhibition of the extreme spitefulness of the southern woman. Our camp was close to quite a fine looking residence, and seeing a collection of soldiers about there, I thought I would step over and see what was going on. In the doorway stood a good looking, decent appearing lady, and another was just inside of the door. The first one spoke to the crowd of soldiers (that looked as though calico was worth a dollar a yard), and said, "I suppose yuans all came down here to rob weuns of our land." Some one denied the accusation, and, with the most intense bitterness depicted in every feature, she added, "Weuns are perfectly willin' to give yuans all land 'nough to bury yuans on, and we reckon yuans will need consid'able befo yuans git out heyer." I am sorry to say that some of the boys that laughed at the display of provincialism and spite on the part of the rebel lady, were compelled to take up with her offer a few days thereafter.

Here we found quite a lively skirmish going on between Wilder's mounted infantry and some confederate cavalry, out toward Dalton.

We remained here a few days and then moved over to the locality of Lee & Gordon's mills, and the eighteenth day of September found us encamped on the Chickamauga river, some sixteen miles south of Chattanooga.

The Chickamauga is a small river that puts into the Tennessee a few miles above Chattanooga; at most places fordable in low water, but at some points, owing to the limestone formation, dropping into pools, deep and cavernous. The Indians named the little stream Chickamauga, and as they interpret, the word means "dead man's river;" if the name was intended to be prophetic, how terribly was it fulfilled the nineteenth and twentieth days of September, 1863.

All day the eighteenth the south bank of the stream was held by the skirmish line of the enemy; and I remember it was quite a novel and exciting scene to witness the belching of the smoke and flame from the muskets of the skirmishers, while now and then the whizzing of the stray bullet, admonished us that even off duty our position was not one of absolute safety and repose. All that day "the grapevine telegraph" was working in fine shape. The camp was alive with rumors that McCook's Corps had not yet effected the crossing of the mountains; that Bragg had been reinforced by Longstreet from the army of northern Virginia (this was true), and it was the purpose of the confederate commander to destroy the 14th and 21st Corps before a junction could be made with McCook, and before the Reserve Corps under Granger could come within reinforcing distance.

The sun had just hid his face behind the rocky sides of the Lookout when the order was given to "strike tents," and each regiment was quietly but speedily formed in marching order, and all that night long we marched to the right, to be nearer McCook when the time should come when the foe, long followed and hunted, should hunt us in return.

Any one who has not had the experience cannot have any notion of the absolutely disgusting weariness of a night march in the presence of the enemy. To march in column, day or night, is much more fatiguing than to march singly; but on this terrible night, I remember, the dust was shoe mouth deep, and it came up filling our nostrils with dirt and our souls with indignation. Happy, then, was he that had some phrases, unknown to the ordinary soldier, with which he could give vent to his disgust. If it is true "that hope keeps the heart from breaking," I have often had the reflection that "there are moments—this was one of them," when the strong expressions used by the union soldier kept him from desertion. Then the halting to let a battery of artillery pass or a train of baggage wagons, while we were standing or being led into the darkness, in a kind of military blind man's buff, without any of the merry incidents of that childish game of the long ago.

At last the morning of the nineteenth of September, 1863, dawned on thousands of that grand old army for the last time. Inexperienced as we of the 124th O. V. I. were at this time, we knew that we should soon be struggling in the shock and carnage of battle. That the time for our first baptism of blood and fire was fast approaching. The blare of the bugles on every hand told that the work of preparation for that struggle that was to be one that was to save the army from annihilation, was soon to begin.

We pulled out of the old road that leads from Lee & Gordon's mills on the Chickamauga, to Chattanooga, and halted and made coffee and were soon partaking of "the soldier's banquet," not a very elaborate bill of fare, but relished by those tired and dusty soldiers, notwithstanding the preparations for battle going on around us.

I remember a little colloquy that took place between our colonel and General Palmer that morning, while we were breakfasting that illustrates how lightly soldiers can talk about going into battle, no matter how they may feel. Our colonel said, "general, there's going to be a dance down there this morning, is there not?" "Yes," replied the general, "and in less than an hour your regiment will get an invitation to attend it."

The country where the battle was fought was largely woods, now and then broken by what in southern parlance is called a "deadening," which simply means that the timber has been killed by girdling, and the ground subjected to the mode of cultivation of slave times in the South. Some portions of the country are quite level, and then breaking into bluffs, as one leaves the river and approaches the foothills of the mountains. Fisher Ames said, "nobody sees a battle," and it is literally true. While Ames had reference to the great battles of the East that were invariably fought on open plains, how certain the statement is when thick woods and hills intervene along the battle line, which in this case, extended for more than seven miles from right to left.

Soon the bugle sounded the "assembly" and our brigade commanded by the late lamented General H. B. Hazen, filed out into the Chattanooga road. We had not moved more than half a mile to the left, and down the road, when we came to an old partially cleared field and deadening, halted, marched into this field and formed into "double column at half distance," which every soldier knows is the last position before the line of battle is formed. Soon one regiment after another took its place in the line, and all was ready for the advance into the woods in our front where we knew from the skirmishing that had been going on all the morning, that the enemy's line of battle was extending itself, with the evident intention of getting between our left and Chattanooga. As I have before said, this battle was the first time our regiment had been under fire, though the other regiments of which our brigade was composed had done good service at Perryville and Stone river.

I suppose there are plenty of men, that can get ready, and go into a battle without fear or wavering, but for my part, my recollection of that momentous event, is somewhat like another's, who describes his condition on a certain occasion as, "whether in the body, I cannot tell, or whether out of the body, I cannot tell; God knoweth."

But the order to move forward came at last and we moved into the pine and oak woods in our front. We had moved but a few yards into the woods, when the enemy opened fire and two of my men were wounded at the first discharge. I was then in command of company B 124th O. V. I., composed of my schoolmates and scholars, the most of them farmers' sons that knew the use of the rifle; and but very few but that had a larger share of _courage_ than their commanding officer.

I was ordered to deploy my company, as skirmishers to cover the regiment, and moved to the front. This movement was executed under fire and not in very good style. The regimental bugle still sounded the _forward_, until my skirmish line was within three hundred feet of the confederate line of battle. My line now attracted the attention of the enemy, and drew his fire exclusively. A six gun battery was run up to the line, and in less time than I can now tell it, my farmer boys had shot down every horse and not one of the gunners could approach a gun.

At this time I saw the first man of our regiment killed, Corporal Atkins. He was a tall, finely formed man, a farmer and school-teacher by occupation; an abolitionist, he hated slavery, and consequently the slaveholders' rebellion; and many a time around the mirthful campfire had he been the object of the friendly raillery of his comrades, by reason of his fiery sentiments of hatred of that giant wrong; and sometimes it was hinted in his hearing, "the best fighters are not as a rule, the best talkers." I can see him now as he stands at my right behind the sheltering trunk of a large pine loading and firing, in that storm of bullets, as calmly as though not at death's carnival. I see the blood flowing from his left shoulder, I say, "William, you are badly wounded; go to the rear." Putting his hand up to his wounded shoulder, and extending his left arm says, "see captain, I am not much hurt, I want to give them another." He draws another cartridge from his box, springs his rammer, runs the cartridge half down—a bullet from the enemy pierces that brave heart, and I see him fall on his face—dead. So perished one of those brave sons that fought _for a great principle_, which was the soul of the union army. By the fortunes of the field, we were compelled to leave him there "unknelled, uncoffined and unknown," buried, if at all, by the careless enemy. But if there is a future where the deeds of the brave and true are rewarded, William Atkins will be one of the brightest stars in the galaxy of immortal life. But I must hasten with my story or I weary you, as that day wearied us.

The skirmish line alone of our regiment was engaged. The line of battle could not fire for fear of injury to our line, while our line was so far advanced that the enemy's fire enfiladed us; trees, the ordinary cover of skirmishers, were no protection whatever. Our colonel ordered us to lie down and our main line opened fire over us, and it was difficult to tell from which we suffered most, the fire of the enemy, or the bad marksmanship of the line in the rear. Finally, those of us that had not been killed and wounded, fell back on the line of battle and fought with that line, and thus the day wore away.

In the afternoon, sometime, the order was sent around to be saving of our ammunition as no more could be had at present, and if the confederates charged we must rely upon the bayonet.

About four o'clock in the afternoon, we heard the commands of officers in our rear, and turning in that direction, we saw the blue of our lines over the old field coming to our relief. It was General Johnson's division of McCook's Corps. They are formed in column by regimental front, at a distance of about two hundred yards between regiments. The first regiment at double-quick rushes through and past our broken and decimated ranks, not stopping until they come close to the confederate line; then halting abruptly, deliver a well directed volley in the face of the enemy, fall and reload, while the next regiment rushes over them only to repeat what those had done who had gone before. It would be almost idle to add that the confederates were compelled to fall back though composed of the flower of the army of northern Virginia. No men no matter how brave, could stand outside of works the deadly impetuosity of such a charge.

I had seen many noble looking men before; I have seen many since, but have never seen any such men in appearance, as composed that charging column that relieved us that dismal afternoon at Chickamauga. Had every division of the Army of the Cumberland been handled and fought as General Johnson's division was that afternoon, the historian would write Chickamauga a victory, instead of a defeat.