Part 2

This reminds me of the story of the Irishman and the Georgian who met and fought until both laid down along side of each other, completely exhausted. The Irishman threw his hand over on the Georgian's face and got him by the throat, but the Georgian got the Irishman's thumb in his mouth. They both held their grip and were found in that position and taken to the hospital. The Irishman got better first, but with his hand in a sling on account of his wounded thumb. He went to see the Georgian, and at first sight greeted him with, "Give me your hand, be jabers, you're nearly as good a man as meself."

So we went to see the rebels at Mission Ridge, and reminded them of Chickamauga, and I'll tell you how we did it. The rebels had us hemmed in in the Valley of Chattanooga for two months and five days, as near as I can recollect, with railroad and river communication cut off. Our line was sixteen miles long, the shape of a horseshoe, with the hind calking resting on the river. We were subjugated to quarter rations, not knowing how long a time we might be held inside of that circle. We would draw our quarter rations and eat them up right away, not having drawn for four days before, and take chances on foraging or gobbling or in any way that we could pick up anything to eat. At first we had candles and had some light. We ran out of candles, and we used grease in a tin can with a rag, a piece of an old shirt, or anything that would answer the purpose of a wick, to make light. After a while we ran out of grease. So whatever was left of the grease and wick in the old tin cans was thrown away and we did without light. After a while, when hunger began to pinch me very severely, I hunted up the old tin can that belonged to my messmates and myself, and I found it with considerable grease in it, mixed with some flies and the old rag wick. I ate them all and relished them very much at the time, but did not have very much appetite for my next quarter ration. I will say right here that if every soldier inside that line was asked to volunteer to drive the rebels off Mission Ridge there would be but one answer, and that would be, "I will go, let me go." Such was the feeling of the troops hemmed in in the Valley of Chattanooga. Every man was healthy and hungry, could run a race or turn a somersault. General Grant noticed that when he ordered a general review; that is what it turned out to be, but the order was not given in that shape. The order was, "Be ready to march tomorrow, at such an hour, in light marching order." We went out in the valley right at the edge of the timber near Orchard Knob and had a fine general review. General Bragg commenced concentrating his troops. He thought the Yankees were coming. A widow woman, at whose house he had his headquarters, asked him if he didn't think it better for her to move her family away from there to Ringgold. He said, "No, there were not Yankees enough in all Christendom to take that ridge."

When the review was over Grant ordered each commander to march his command to camp. The next week Grant had that same review over again. It annoyed Bragg as before. Review over with, we marched to camp again. The next week we got orders to get ready for the march to-morrow morning, heavy marching order, with eighty rounds of ammunition. Every man knew what that meant. Everybody knew we were going to take that ridge, or at least make the attempt, but the rebel General Bragg said it was nothing but that damned Yankee review again. The orders came from Grant after he had his lines all arranged, that when six cannons were fired in succession, 1-2-3-4-5-6, the whole line was to advance and take the first line of rebel breastworks. There is no doubt in my mind but that Grant thought that sufficiently far enough to go; with Hooker on Lookout Mountain; our communications opened up; with boatloads and carloads of supplies arriving, the rebels would not be very likely to hang onto Mission Ridge any very great length of time. We (the first brigade of Sheridan's division) were near those cannons, however, that gave the order to advance, and we went clear up to the top of the Ridge. We were after something to eat, and we got it, too. All the generals in the Union army could not stop us if they tried to after we got started up that Ridge. I remember in crossing the first line of trenches some of our boys fired into the trenches, and I made the remark that it was cowardly, but we went on, on and up. The color-bearer of Company C, with the colors, myself and Nelson of Company H were the first men upon that Ridge in the line of our brigade. The first thing I did after the rebels skedaddled was to grab a full haversack and jerk it off a wounded rebel captain's neck. He was shot in the shoulder and his hand lay on the mouth of the haversack on the down-hill side. I opened it and divided its contents with my comrades in the immediate vicinity. It was saturated with the rebel captain's blood, but we ate it all the same.

Mission Ridge was ours. The rebels were running down the other side of the Ridge and we shouted "Chickamauga, Chickamauga." The sun was just going down, beautiful and bright. It was a splendid sight to witness. In a short time General Sheridan made his appearance. At sight of the General, the boys clustered around him and commenced cheering that gallant commander. Some shouted for hard-tack, some for sow-belly and some for beef, while others shouted for whisky.

The General raised his hat off his head until silence prevailed, and said, "Boys, in less than two hours' time you will have all the hard-tack, all the sow-belly and all the beef you want; as for the whisky I can't say yet for sure."

And in less than that time the boats and railroad cars were unloaded without any detail being made for that purpose. There were sixteen hundred head of cattle driven up on that Ridge, and in an hour's time they were in the frying pan. You could see men as far as the eye could reach, several lines of them, with boxes of crackers on their shoulders. Sheridan made his word good, with the exception of the whisky. He advised with the surgeon-general, and he said, "No whisky, General. Your men will eat enough, and perhaps too much, without whisky;" and true enough, some died eating that night. You might wake up any time in the night and see men cooking and eating. A great many of us flung our blankets away coming up the Ridge. When it was time to lie down I went back to the battlefield for a blanket. The moon was full and shining bright. I found nothing to suit till I came to a rebel Colonel who had a fine, large, gray overcoat with large cape and trimmed with gold braid. I rolled him over and took it off; took it to camp under my arm thinking, "Now I will have something fine and warm to put about me;" but, alas! when I got nicely settled down for sleep I could not sleep. The thoughts of lying under that rebel overcoat and taking it off him in that lonely battlefield, overcame me. The way he appeared to me in the bright light of the moon made me think that I was robbing my dead enemy, when he was helpless to defend himself, and no witness to the action but the sweet silver moon. My heart filled with emotion and I got up and took it back and laid it over him, then returned to my company and lay down under a part of my comrade's blanket, and immediately went to sleep with a full ration in my stomach.

So ended the Battle of Mission Ridge, and the boys all felt happy. And let me say right here that those few sketches of mine are not dreams, nor misty recollections of the past. It is not a play that you might read of in your parlor, or see acted on the stage with fine sceneries and blue and red lights; but it is a living actuality--a play that we all had a hand in ourselves with a pure and manly motive--to save our country and protect our country's flag.

ON THE BATTLEFIELD.

From Chickamauga to the Close of the War--Wounded at Adairsville, Ga.--Nourished by a Union Woman.

An Address Delivered at E. B. Wolcott Post, G. A. R., Hall, Milwaukee, Wis., by Thomas J. Ford, March 11th, 1898.

Commander and Comrades: Those pages that I have here to-night are a continuation of the past, and take in all my recollections in brief; and, in giving you those few more sketches of the incidents and privations of my army life, I will tell you, in my humble way, of an incident that happened shortly after we were driven into Chattanooga. After the Battle of Chickamauga, so many men were told off from each regiment to build up Fort Wood, detailed for fatigue duty. We worked hard that day. An order came around when the day's work was done that General Sheridan was going to give us all a ration of whisky. We fell in in two ranks, with our tin cups, in double-quick time. The whisky came around in buckets, full. It was measured out with a small tin cup emptied into our larger ones. I got my ration and drank it. My brother Daniel was standing in the rear of me. He never drank liquor nor used tobacco. The commissary man ordered him to put out his cup and take his ration. Brother told him he didn't drink any and didn't want any. I turned around quick, and said, "Draw your ration, Dan, and give it to me." He did so, and I was very much pleased to get it. The boys in the line looked over each other's shoulders to see me drink the double ration of whisky, and one said to the other, "My God, I wish I had a brother in the army that didn't drink."

At a place called Buzzard Roost, perhaps better known in history as Rocky Face, the rebels were protected by natural breastworks and could not be driven away from in front. After several attempts a movement was made on their flank by General Kilpatrick's cavalry. The rebels soon discovered the movement and left from our front. At the time that General Howard was viewing through his field glass, Kilpatrick's cavalry were speeding to the rebels' right around by the valley road. He felt something touch him, and looking down he saw a bullet hole through his boot leg, which evidently had been aimed at him by some one in a much higher location than where he was standing, and, turning his glasses in that direction, he discovered a rebel up in a tree. Seeing the movements up there through the leaves, Howard sent after a couple of his sharpshooters. They took in the situation. Mr. Rebel kept very still, thinking perhaps he might not be discovered, but our boys got a bead on him. They let go their sharpshooting rifles. There was an "Oh!" and a scrambling and a shaking of the leaves and branches, and finally down comes the rebel's gun and next himself. Upon examination it was found that he had tied his arm with his handkerchief to a limb of the tree so as to steady himself while he was taking aim. The handkerchief became loose in the struggle, but remained around his arm as he fell.

As we advanced through those natural breastworks of rocks some of our men that were killed were lying just at the opposite side of the rock from the rebels and were stripped of their clothing. When we were advancing on this rocky mountain the rebs pried loose a great many of those large rocks and started them rolling down on us, but we went up another direction, and marched about a week, picketing and skirmishing until the rebels made a stand at Resaca, which was a very hard fight. We advanced in line of battle to within a short distance of the rebels' breastworks, where we halted. There were two cedar rail fences, ten rails high with a stake and rider, right alongside of each other. It was evident that the owners of the land disputed the boundaries, or would not join fences with each other, consequently each one built and maintained his own fence on his own land, just inside the line. We took advantage of that piece of contrariness, however, and soon pulled down both fences and piled them up into one. They made us a fine breastwork. We were in close quarters to the rebels; we could see them plainly and they could see us. I remember in the part of the breastwork where I was we had a thin cedar rail on top. Two rebel bullets struck that rail and went through it and dropped down just as I raised my head from it to fire--a very close call for me. It was very wet weather. The ground was uneven and rough, all mud and slush. When firing ceased at night some of us lay down to sleep, while others stayed on duty in the breastworks. I rolled two dead comrades together where I wanted to lie down and another who was not quite dead was rolled crossways over their heads for a pillow. I slept very comfortably, with the exception of being disturbed once in a while from a hiccough or movement of muscles or peculiar noises coming from my pillow. On the right of us the battlefield took fire and burned a great many of our men, dead or wounded, that were lying there. It was a piece of open land where the grass was very thick the year before, and was neither pastured nor cut off.

A few days previous to going into this fight we went through a very plentiful country. We halted for camp one evening. Some from every command, the same as usual, struck off foraging. They commenced coming in after a while with hams and chickens. I remember by brother Dan and myself asked some one about the hams, and they said you might as well have one, they will be all gone anyway. And so we struck out and soon found the smoke-house. I made a rush in. There was just one shoulder left. I grabbed it, and in going by the house the woman was standing at the door crying, and said that was the last piece of meat, and what would she and her children do now. Brother Dan and I agreed to give it to her. She put it under her bed. We went to camp empty-handed; had plenty to eat of government rations and felt and slept better than if we had taken the meat from the widow.

We had a hard march the next day. When we camped that evening my feet were very painful, with scalding blisters, and as I was very tired I went down to a stream near by, took off shoes and socks, rolled my pants above my knees, sat down on the bank of the stream and placed my feet in the cool, running water. Oh, but it did feel refreshing. I lay down on my back with my feet in that position, placed my hands under my head and fell asleep; was in that position until the cool of the morning began to break on me. I woke up much refreshed and no pain or soreness in my feet.

I remember in marching through Huntsville, Alabama, about 11 o'clock A. M., our band struck up the tune of "Away Down South in Dixie." The regiment was at a right shoulder shift arms, with fixed bayonets. The sergeants walked on the sidewalks, marching right in front, every man keeping perfect step. A woman was sitting on her door step with her elbows on her knees, and holding a pan of potatoes in her hands that she had just strained the water from preparatory to putting them on the fire to cook for dinner. I noticed they were a different kind of potato from what I had ever seen, and politely asked her, "Please, madam, what do you call those potatoes?"

She made answer in a very sarcastic manner, saying, "I don't call them at all; they come without calling." The next sergeant to me, Charles Powers by name, a big, able fellow about six feet two inches in height, raised his right foot, and never losing his step to the music, hit the pan a kick, and pan and potatoes flew out on the street on top of the regiment, at the same time saying, "Now, damn you, see if they'll come without calling." The regiment charged on the potatoes and came to right shoulder arms again with a potato on top of their bayonets, and not one potato was lost. We marched into camp and cooked them, and Charley said to me, "Ford, you are a hell of a man to let that rebel talk to you in that way."

"Well, how could I prevent her talking? I didn't know what she was going to say; but I'll tell you, Charley, I am mighty glad I didn't get that kick."

We were going into camp one evening, and in passing by a farm-house our Chaplain noticed a lot of nice chickens. He called his servant--Sandy was his name for short. "Sandy, here is a quarter, go over there to that house and buy a chicken; we will have a chicken for supper. If they don't want to sell you any of their chickens don't you gobble any; don't you steal any of their chickens, Sandy."

The Chaplain rode away a short distance and called after Sandy, saying, "Now, Sandy, be sure and have a chicken for supper." It is needless to say Sandy got the chicken and the quarter, too.

This Chaplain resigned. The marching and camping out were too severe on his delicate constitution. He was not a very rugged man. Our next chaplain was a drafted man, a wealthy farmer, one of the first men that had the thoroughbred short-horn cattle imported to this state from England. He created an influence over James T. Lewis, then Governor of Wisconsin, and received from the Governor a commission as Chaplain of the Twenty-fourth Wisconsin. The boys did not appreciate this drafted man as a chaplain, but rather took it as an offense to have a drafted man sent down South to preach to them when he should have been sent with a musket. I will say right here that this man did no more good for the Twenty-fourth Wisconsin than Billy Bray, the jackass who to this day stands on the list of drafted men as forming one of the quota of Maryland. The boys became determined to rout him by scaring him and making him think that they might do him bodily harm. We had a flag pole. We hoisted the flag every day and took it down at night. One morning the Chaplain got up after a very pleasant night's sleep, as he told me when he came to my tent, seemingly under great excitement, telling me that there were burglars in his tent last night, and he never knew it until he awoke in the morning, and found his chair, his table, little writing desk and sheet iron heating stove, pipe and all, had been taken from his tent. Being intimately acquainted with me, having known me since I was a little boy, he asked me if I would go with him in search of his stolen furniture. I did. We went up and down every company street, waking them up and inquiring as we went along, but to no avail. No information whatever could we get of the stolen furniture. We gave up the search and came back by regimental headquarters. In passing by the flag pole--it was early in the morning and the flag hadn't been hoisted yet--I happened to look up, and lo! what was there?

"My God, Chaplain, look. What's on top of that pole? Look at your furniture up there."

He looked up and cried out in solemn and fervent prayer, with hands extended upwards, "Thanks be to God on high that it ain't myself that is hanging up there this morning."

There were no arrests made. The Chaplain sent in his resignation. It was accepted.

This Chaplain introduced prayer meeting in Company D's tent one night. We had fire-places in the tents, with chimneys built of mud and sticks on the outside. You could reach your hand to the top of the chimney from the ground. John Mahan was stretched on his bunk; Andy O'Neil had one leg of his pants off, sewing a rip; he had a very long thread in the needle. The Chaplain knelt down close by Andy and asked Mahan if he would not join in prayer. Mahan said he was tired and wanted rest.

"And don't you want me to pray for you?" asked the Chaplain.

"Oh, yes, pray for me all you have a mind to," said Mahan.

The Chaplain prayed. Each time O'Neil put a stitch in his pants, in drawing the thread its full length brought his hand in close proximity to the Chaplain's face. He was seemingly very much interested in repairing his trousers.

The Chaplain asked, "Now, Andy, don't you feel the spirit of God coming within you?"

"No," said Andy, drawing his thread its full length with his hand against the Chaplain's face, "and I don't think it will come while the devil is so close to me." At the same time the boys outside dropped two or three bunches of cartridges down the chimney into the fire inside. R-r-r-r-rapp-zip-zip-zip, went the cartridges like a volley of musketry. The Chaplain sprang from his knees, made a rush for the door and then outside, saying, "Sure enough, I believe the devil is in that tent."

We drove the Confederate General Anderson across the river at a place called Loudon, Tennessee. He burnt the bridge after his troops and supplies had crossed it. The picket lines of both armies were stationed on both sides of the river. An armistice was agreed upon. Firing ceased, so the boys might go in bathing. Every day we would swim out further, and so would the rebels. We came pretty close together one day, so close that we dashed water into each other's faces and ducked one another under the water, and about faced and swam to shore, when a big rebel dived under the water and came up in our ranks and swam to shore with us. He was taken to General Sheridan's headquarters, naked as he was born. They clothed him and sent him to New York, the only chance he said he ever had to get away. Being down South before the war he was held and forced into the rebel ranks; but that stopped the bathing in the river. The armistice was withdrawn. If you would show your face after that you would hear a bullet whistle.

Captain Parsons had charge of the Twenty-fourth Wisconsin at this place. An order came from headquarters for a sergeant to take charge of a detail of men to be sent out in the country with a foraging train of wagons, mules and drivers and wagon master to gather in all the wheat from the farmers' granaries and haul it to a grist mill that General Sheridan had confiscated to grind flour for his army. The order fell on me, because it was my turn to go on detail. I reported at Sheridan's headquarters, and he himself gave me instructions what to do. My detail of men was soon ready, and we started with our wagons and wagon master out to the mill, and the next day commenced hauling in the wheat. I was very much interested in that business, having been raised on a farm. With some of the farmers we had a great deal of trouble to get them to open their granaries peaceably, especially those who were rebels. We ground forty barrels a day. It was a water-power mill. Every night I was offered greenback money for flour, but never took a cent. They would tell sorrowful stories about their little children starving. I would tell them that their little children were of no consequence when compared with the condition of thirty thousand men stationed in Loudon waiting for this flour. "Go and see Sheridan; he may give you some." The owner of the mill was in the mill office in the daytime when the wheat was brought in. I signed the vouchers for the number of bushels of wheat weighed and ground into flour, and that, with the supplies we had, furnished plenty of food. Every farmer that we took wheat from had the miller's signature and mine attached to his order on General Sheridan, and if he proved his loyalty to the Union he got spot cash, or its equivalent, for his wheat. My work being over, I received an order one morning to report at Sheridan's headquarters. We got into camp in the afternoon and formed a line in front of the General's tent. I found him inside and reported. He said, "You have done very well, sergeant; you deserve a promotion. Have your men break ranks right where they are and go to your respective quarters." I did not think any more about it. I simply was glad that I pleased the General and did my duty. In returning to the regiment I found Col. MacArthur in command. I learned that Capt. Parsons would not give up his command of the regiment to MacArthur until he got orders to do so from General Sheridan, which were promptly given.