Chapter L: C. Gause. 21 (2)

October 9th we marched fifteen miles and passed Harrodsburg. On the 10th we marched sixteen miles to Camp Dick Robinson. Here a council was held while General Bragg gave his wagons time to go South. It was the greatest wagon train ever seen in the army; was three days passing at one point. Here George Thomas and I each bought three yards of undyed jeans to make ourselves some trousers when we got back South.

The defeat at Perryville and the failure of the Kentuckians to join us as we had hoped, made our campaign anything but a brilliant success from a military point of view, notwithstanding our victories at Mumfordsville and Richmond.

But we had captured six thousand men, we had secured arms and ammunition which were sorely needed, we had gotten enormous quantities of supplies which were a great help to the Confederacy, and the men who did get back were tough as whit-leather, ready for anything.

October 13th we marched twenty-three miles, passing through Lancaster, October 14th we marched seventeen miles, going through Mount Vernon, and halted a little before dark.

Dr. Arnold and I went down to a creek about a mile from camp, and there in a field we found a fine pumpkin. He said if I would help him cook it I might help him eat it. He said it would have to cook until one o’clock to be well done. I told him I would help take it to camp but I’d be dinged if I’d stay up until one o’clock to cook it. I was too nearly dead for rest and sleep. We got it to camp, cut it up, put it in the famous old army camp kettle and Doc began the Herculean task of staying awake to cook his pumpkin. He did stay awake until one o’clock and got it nicely done, but was afraid to eat it at that unusual hour, as he might have cramp colic. He found an old fashioned oven with a lid, put his pumpkin into it, fastened the lid, placed the oven under the knapsack beneath his head and went to sleep. But first he took the trouble to wake me and tell me I should not have a bite of his pumpkin because I would not stay up to help him cook it.

When reveille sounded he woke up and began to guy me, saying “You shall not have a bite.” He took up his knapsack and behold, the oven, pumpkin and all, was gone! Oh, he was furious, and fairly pawed the ground. He thought I had taken it for a joke, but soon found that to be a mistake. We decided that some soldier had stolen and eaten it. If he had found the man he would have fought him to a finish. He never did see the joke.

October 19th we marched eleven miles. We passed over a battlefield, where General Buckner had fought, and crossed Wild Cat River. We marched thirteen miles and passed through Barkersville. This was a strong Union town in the mountains. The “Jay Hawkers” shot at us from the top of the mountains; women and boys pelted us with stones, shouting, “Hurrah, for the Union.” As they were women and children, we had to take it.

Once we were marching on a road cut out of the mountain side. On one side was a cliff of solid rock, on the other a deep precipice. The command to halt was given and the men fell down to rest, completely filling the road. Arnold and I were in the rear, and one of the ambulance drivers, seeing the crowded condition of the road, told us to get up with him, which we did. There was a trail just wide enough for the horsemen, single file, and along this trail rode General Hardee looking after his men. When he reached this ambulance he stopped opposite Arnold and said to him, “Are you sick?” “No, sir.” “Well, get down off that wagon.”

“Are you sick?” he called to me, but by that time I was out on the ground. Then he said to the driver, “Let no soldier ride unless he is sick or wounded.”

A Kentucky Colonel brought with him his five hundred dollar carriage, and had his negro drive it at the rear of the regiment. In his rounds General Hardee had found some sick men and told them to get into that carriage. The negro and rear officers explained whose carriage it was, but the General only said, “No use going empty when it can serve so good a purpose. By tomorrow perhaps none of us will need it.”

So the umbrella man, Arnold and myself were not the only ones upon whom General Hardee kept an eye.

October 19th we marched fourteen miles, crossed Cumberland River, then on through Gibraltar, Cumberland Gap, and on across Powell River into Tennessee. We marched past Taswell, crossed Clinch River at Madisonville, and, on October 24th, camped about six miles from Knoxville. Here we were given time to wash and dry our clothes. On this raid we had only one suit and to get it clean meant to strip, wash, let the clothes dry on or hang them on bushes to dry, while we waited. With our battles and forced marches we could not stop for that; so creeping companions were large and furious, and made deadly war. But at Knoxville everybody got busy, went into warfare with our creeping enemy, and the thousands destroyed in that fierce combat will never be known.

George Thomas and I brought out our white jeans which we had bought in Camp Dick Robinson, and had carried all these miles. We got some copperas from a kind old rebel lady, took walnut hulls and dyed our cloth. It was a good job too.

The boys were getting short on tobacco, and it looked as if the whole army would be forced to reform on this line. But they borrowed Dr. Ashford’s horse and sent me to buy tobacco, chewing tobacco, smoking tobacco, hand tobacco, giving me plenty of Confederate currency.

I rode into the beautiful town which I had not seen since we were flying into Virginia. Then we wore good clothes and had Sunday Soldiering. Now we were soldiers with the dust of a thousand mile march, ragged and unkempt, bleeding from the wounds of two hard-fought battles and numerous skirmishes. Then we were raw, undisciplined troops, now we were seasoned veterans. Such was the change in a few short months.

Riding to a drug store, I hitched my horse, went in, and bought my wholesale bill of tobacco. When I came out again to the sidewalk I saw a policeman leading off my horse. I yelled at him to stop, but he went on, I rushed up and grabbed the reins. He told me it was against the law to hitch a horse to a post in that city. About that time twenty of our boys came running to my rescue. They lined up and told the policeman to turn the horse loose. He did the wise thing, or there would have been a “hot time” right there. I took the horse and I made a bee-line for General Braggs’ Brigade, and took joy and delight to my tobacco-starving friends.

November 2nd we passed through Knoxville and camped on the railroad. At daylight the 154th Regiment Band awoke us with the sweetest music I ever heard. It brought back such poignant memories of home, of the boys and girls around the piano, of charming plantation melodies.

But the next tune was not so sweet. It came to the tune of orders to “cook three days’ rations, and be ready to move at a moment’s notice.” We rode cars to Chattanooga, from there on November 10th we went to Bridgeport, Alabama. From Bridgeport we crossed the Tennessee River, marched fifty miles and camped at Alisonia. November 24th we marched twenty miles, passing through Tullahoma; November 25th we marched fifteen miles and camped on Duck River at a short distance from Shelbyville. At this time the Medical department decided to give all the one-course Medical students then in the army a chance to pass the examination for promotion to assistant surgeon. Dr. Arnold was one of these one-course students and decided to try the examination. We diked him out in the best clothes we could get together in the company. I contributed my white shirt, other boys brought him hat, coat, shoes, and collar. When he stood before us for inspection he could have passed for a lawyer or preacher just from town. With his book, “Smith’s Compends,” he walked twenty miles to the Board of Examiners, stood before the “saw-bones,” shook and answered questions. Perhaps his borrowed plumage helped him, at any rate he passed, and was given a certificate. He walked back, changed from the rank of a private to that of a captain! When he came in sight two hundred braves met him; when shown his certificate they rode him on a rail and kept up a rough house for an hour or two. He had no horse, no money, and no books except his Smith’s Compends, but the older doctors helped him, and soon he was fully up in medical affairs and made a good surgeon too.

December 8th we marched twenty miles and camped at Eaglesville. From there we marched to College Hill.

December 28th we marched to Murfreesboro, and camped on Stone River within cannon shot of the town. Here we prepared to meet Rosecrans with his army, forty-five thousand in number. We were in line of battle on the extreme right. After dark on the thirtieth, still in line of battle, we moved our position to extreme left and camped, without fire, in a cedar rough. Our orders were to advance as soon as it was light enough to see. At dawn, December 31, we moved promptly on the enemy, advancing through an open field. The enemy, protected by a fence and the trees, received us with deadly fire and our loss was great. But we flew after them and our work was just as disastrous to them. Dead bluecoats were thick in every direction. We soon had them on the run.

Our company Color Bearer William Mathews, the same who had defied the Yankee fleet on the Potomac, had been ill and this was his first fight. As we followed the fleeing Yanks he said, “Boys, this is fun.” One of the men answered, “Stripes, don’t be so quick, this is not over yet; you may get a ninety-day furlough yet.” In twenty minutes Mathews’ arm was shot to pieces.

George Thomas was in front of all the company. He had killed two men and was pulling down on the third, when one, but a short distance away, shot him, wounding him in the arm. But George spotted the man who shot him and wanted to go on with one good arm. However, he was taken off the field and sent to the hospital.

We drove the enemy three miles. The fire all along the line was terrific. The cannonading could be heard for miles. The rattle of small arms was continuous. Our line on the left was pressing on over a terrible cedar rough. Anyone who understands a cedar rough can understand what that means. Limestone rocks, gnarly cedar trees, stub arms sticking out of the ground, make it almost impassable at best. How much more difficult with an enemy in front concentrating his fire upon us. We pressed on through rocks and thicket. One of our brave boys, Arthur Green, was struck by a cannonball and torn all to pieces. Other parts of the line were as hot as ours. We got possession of the thicket but could not get the cannon through it; so we hardly got a man of their line.

When we got through, we found the Yanks with sixty cannon in line fronting the cedar rough. Our ranks were so depleted we could not charge two lines of infantry and sixty cannon. There was nothing to do but hold our position and await re-inforcements.

We lay in line all night. Orders were sent to the quarter-master to send rations, if he had any. Two negroes, belonging to two of the officers, arrived, bringing food for their masters.

As all was quiet then, and it was raining, they decided to sleep by the fire until daylight. To keep off the rain they drove forked branches into the ground, laid a brace across them, stretched their blankets over all, and pegged them to the ground at the four corners. Before long hard firing was heard on the outpost. Bullets rained on their tent, struck the logs of the fire, cut loose the corners of the blankets, letting the rain on their faces. When they saw the flying bullets, they awaited no instructions from their masters. With eyes popping out of their heads, they grabbed their blankets and set out for the wagon train. They were not long in getting there.

Next day the struggle was renewed with fearful carnage.

Each side fought with grim and settled purpose, finally a fierce onslaught scattered our forces. In twenty minutes we lost two thousand men, and the day was lost. Orders for retreat were given.

General Braggs’ loss was about ten thousand men, while Rosecrans reported his at twelve thousand.

In the battle our Lieutenant Colonel Don McGregor was mortally wounded. When he was taken to the hospital, his faithful old Samuel was by his side. The Colonel’s sister, who lived a few miles from Murfreesboro, had come to relieve the suffering and nurse the wounded. (Ah, those brave, never-to-be-forgotten daughters of the South!) When she drove up to the hospital in her carriage she found Sam waiting with his own and his master’s horse saddled ready for the trip to her home. When we retreated General Rosecrans’ men came in, and his guard took the two horses, and drove off in the carriage. What could be done? Samuel said, “I will get them back.”

At this particular time of the unpleasantness, the Yankees were burning with sympathy for the poor, oppressed negro, and negroes were permitted to do pretty much as they pleased. Samuel went to Rosecrans’ headquarters, told him the horses were his, that he had a wounded friend in the hospital and he wanted a pass to the country. All his requests were granted. He drove the Colonel and his sister to her home, and nursed his master until he died.

After Colonel McGregor died Samuel got a pass through the lines and returned to our camp. He delivered the Colonel’s horse but kept his own and asked our Regiment Colonel for a pass to Arkansas. He then told the boys to write to their fathers, mothers and sweethearts, as he was going back home to see his mistress. We received answers to these letters, showing that Samuel had made the journey safely, faithful to the end.

We retreated by night. We were nearly starved. It was raining, cold, cold rain, and we were wet to the skin. We were so sleepy that if we stopped for a moment we would go to sleep. We had gone almost as far as human nature could go.

One of the boys thought he would rest a few moments beside a fire left by some wagons. He took pine boughs and laid them on the wet ground, dropped down with all his accoutrements, and went to sleep. General Hardee came up, spied him, called to his Adjutant, “Roy, come here; here is a fellow who has gone regularly to bed.”

About then the soldier woke up very much frightened. He thought he would be shot. He got away from there in a hurry, and was with his command before his absence was discovered.

January 5th, 1863, we marched forty-two miles to Manchester. January 6th we marched eighteen miles to Alisonia. From Alisonia we marched to Tullahoma, and there we camped for the winter.

We were in General Hardee’s Division. We had tents and were comfortable. We drilled four hours a day, and by way of diversion General Hardee had contests in drilling. We become so expert that we could have made the Virginia Cadets ashamed of themselves. Our company was third best and that took good practice. A Louisiana company was ahead of us. It beat us in quickness at “trail arms”, “lie down”, at “double quick.” At walking or running none excelled us at any army maneuver. We had other amusements, too. We played “town ball” and “bull pen” and had some lively games. We dressed up the smaller fellows as girls and we danced. Joe Hamilton, Dick Hayden, Sam Shoup and Bill Barnes were the musicians. Bill Shackleford was ready to play pranks, and made fun for the crowd. Now and then we got a pass and sent our best foragers out for “fancy grub” and vegetables. Then we would have a big dinner and a big day.

April 23rd, real fun began again, but we were alive, active, young, healthy, well-drilled, well-disciplined—in perfect fighting trim. For fear we would forget how to march a walking track was opened up from Tullahoma, and we marched daily five, ten, eighteen, twenty, thirty miles, making expeditions to all the surrounding towns—Wartrace, Bellbuckle, Hoover’s Gap, Duck River, Bridge, Railroad Gap, Manchester. Manchester was a nice little town in the hills, where there were numerous springs and streams in which we could swim. June 22nd we went there to relieve a Louisiana Regiment. When we arrived they were on dress parade, eleven hundred strong and their drill was simply fine, but they had never smelt powder nor marched at all. They wore nice caps, fine uniforms, white gloves, fine ——shop-made laced high shoes. They carried fat haversacks and new canteens, fine new fat knapsacks with lots of underclothing and even two pairs of shoes. They laughed at us in our shabby dress, with our dirty haversacks and no knapsacks. We had one suit of underwear wrapped in our blankets and our accoutrements were reduced to the lightest weight possible. They said we were too few to meet the enemy, but we told them we would stay with any who came to engage us. We also told them that they couldn’t get through one week’s campaign with such knapsacks. Some of the boys said, “We will follow in your wake and replenish our wardrobes.”

This was a sad camp to us. One of our men, Garret, got angry with Mr. Bragden, the Beef Sergeant, who divided the company rations. Taking his gun, he went to Bragden’s tent where he was unarmed and shot him like a dog. Garrett would have been lynched if the officers had not hurried him off to another part of the army.

June 27th we marched to Wartrace, June 29th to Tullahoma, June 30th we were deployed to build breastworks, but we retreated at eleven o’clock at night to Alisonia on Elk River.

July third, we camped in the Cumberland Mountains, near the school which had been established by General Polk and the Quintards. It was an ideal place for a school and I am glad to say it bears, today, an honored name among educators as the University of the South.

We had marched all day in the hot July sun, clouds of dust had parched our throats, and we were almost perishing for water when we reached the spring. As we rested at the side of the road whom should we see but our crack Louisiana Regiment—the one we had relieved at Manchester only ten days before. They were dusty, dirty, lame and halt, with feet sore and swollen in their tight shoes, a bedraggled and woe begone set of youngsters. How we joshed them.

“Don’t cry, mama’s darling;” “Straighten up and be men;” “Brace up like soldiers, so the army won’t be ashamed of you.” These were some of the commands we hurled at them. They would have fought us if they could have stopped, but a soldier cannot break ranks.

July 4th, 1863, we camped in the valley on the Tennessee River. Then we crossed the River at Kelly Ford to Lookout Valley. July 9th we marched through Chattanooga and camped at Turner’s Station.

August 17th we marched to Graysville. Here Dr. T. R. Ashford got a four days’ furlough. Dr. Ashford had married in Georgia and had gone with his bride to Arkansas and established himself as a physician. When the war broke out he joined the army from his adopted home, going out as assistant surgeon in our regiment. His wife returned to her mother in Georgia and he had not seen her for two years. As Graysville was near her home, she came to visit him and there they had a happy meeting.

Dr. Ashford, always kind and sympathetic, was a great favorite with the boys. Highly educated and a fine surgeon, he was modest and unassuming, a sincere Christian gentleman. After the war he settled in Georgia. Dr. Ashford, Dr. Arnold and I were close friends through those long dreadful years.

August 21st we camped at Harrison on the Tennessee River. On August 23rd we marched fourteen miles and camped at Gardner’s Ferry.

Here several of the boys went foraging and got some nice green apples. George Thomas, Captain Shoup and others made apple dumplings and put them in a large camp kettle to cook.

They were standing around the fire, with mouths watering, thinking every minute an hour, when the Yankees on the other side of the river began to shell the camp. They had run up four globe-sighting 16 shotguns to the top of a small hill. We were too far from our guns and there were no orders given to shoot, so they shelled us a plenty.

While the boys were watching the kettle a cannon ball struck the fire, upset the kettle, passed between the legs of one of the men and exploded a little farther on. This did not seem to cause any alarm. They had heard cannon balls explode before, but a mighty wail went up over the loss of the apple dumplings. The air was blue around there, and at that particular moment the boys would have charged the enemy joyously.

I was with the doctors that day. They had a negro who was a fine forager. He even brought us fried chicken. We had a royal spread in front of the doctors’ tent and were consuming the good things with great relish, when a cannon ball went through the tent! It looked like it was going to smash us to smithereens, grub and all! We got away from there. We grabbed the grub and, went down the line where we finished our meal. Not royally as we would have done, but hastily and stealthily.

But our sharp-shooters in the dumps on the river got even with them. The Yanks drove out into the field with two six-mule wagons to get some fine rebel fodder. There were about thirty men in all, teamsters and guards. Some of them stood on the rail pen surrounding the fodder, others climbed on the shock to begin at the top. Our sharp-shooters shot the mules first, then the men, and few lived to tell the tale. Sherman said, “War is Hell.” In this case it was hell to them.

September 10th we marched down the valley toward Lafayette. As the dust was a foot deep and water scarce we moved slowly and we went into camp about ten o’clock.

Dr. Scott of our Division, was sent for to see a citizen who was very ill. He went and relieved him, and left medicine, not asking pay for his services. After he had returned to camp a negro brought him a huge tray heaped with good things to eat. The doctor looked at the pile of grub, and said, “You boys must dine with me today, I can’t eat all of this.” We needed no further urging for our blue beef and water corn-dodger was rather poor fare. We lit into it, and as hungry wolves devour a sheep, so we devoured that pile of grub. Then the darkey took his tray and departed with a note of thanks. Our gratitude was truly sincere.

September 19th battle was on hand. We were in General Polk’s Brigade, to which the Hardee Corps had been transferred. When orders were read we found ourselves named as reserves. Cannonading began on our right, and we were moved quickly to the sound of the shot, about three miles. As we drew nearer to it we were ordered to double-quick. When we came to Chickamauga Creek we began to pull off our shoes to wade when General Cleburne came along saying, “Boys, go through that river, we can’t wait.”

Through the creek we went, and were among the first to be engaged instead of being reserves. When our line was deployed and ordered forward we were the very first. We struck stubborn western troops who knew how to fight. The conflict was terrific and raged all day. When night fell the engagement was stopped. Throwing out skirmishers we found that the lines were mixed up terribly. We were among the Yankees and they were calling, “What command is this?” It was midnight before the lines were reformed. Then we had a night’s sleep on the ground, knowing that on the morrow some of us would fall in defense of our country—some of us would never see home and mother again. General Longstreet arrived in the night with re-inforcements, bringing a division from Virginia. At daybreak the struggle was renewed. On both sides was the determination, “God being our helper, we will win this day.” Wave after wave of deadly lead was sent against those Western troops, who contested every inch of the ground, who would stand a charge, and stay on the field. But our blood was hot, we fought for home, and against an invading foe and we could not give up at all. At the end of two days a battle of battles had been fought and won for the Confederate cause. But alas, how many Southern boys had bitten the dust. The field was so thickly strewn with dead we could scarcely walk over it without stepping on the corpses. Our Regiment lost 42 killed and 103 wounded, and of the 120,000 men engaged on both sides, 28,000 were killed and wounded.

Longstreet’s men said to us, “Boys, you have tougher men to fight than we.”

If we had followed up our victory and had Forrest cut off the enemy’s supplies what a difference it would have made. We might have stretched our lines to the Kentucky border. Such are the mistakes of war.

At this battle one of the boys captured two horses and gave them to Dr. Arnold. He said he would draw feed for them and on the march I could ride one of them. I named my horse “General Thomas” but before we left our first camp the assistant surgeons could draw feed only for one horse so I was afoot as I had been for two years.

We established a line of breastworks on Missionary Ridge and held Lookout Mountain, a mountain over a mile in height, and, as we thought, commanded Chattanooga.

The Yankees saw that something must be done or things would be booming in Dixie. They brought to the front Dutch, Irish, Hottentots and all kinds of troops, and by the last of October the Sequatchie (?) (Wauhatchie?) Valley was swarming like a beehive.

Once a Dutch corps of 15,000 went down the valley through a gap to reach our rear. Bragg sent to meet them about 15,000 troops, placing them arrowed in front. He had a line under General Hindeman with orders, at a certain signal, to rush across, cutting them off entirely from the main army. The signal was never given and we do not know why to this day. At that signal we were to follow across the valley at double-quick but Mr. Dutch discovered he was in a trap and he marched out again.

There was a Union man living on the route of this Dutch Devil, who had not joined either army. He had lived on his farm unmolested by the Southern troops, and supposed that of course he would be protected by the Northern troops. As the Dutch marched down to attack us they stopped at this man’s home, searched the place, insulted his wife and knocked him down. As they came running back they had no time to tarry, but one at a time, a straggler, would drop into his smokehouse to see if there was one ham left. The Union man took a long, keen bowie-knife and stood in the dark corner of the smokehouse; when only one man entered he stabbed him to the heart and put his body into the well. He killed three men. Next morning, he with his wife and children, walked into our camp. He said he was ready to fight to the bitter end. He took his family South and came back and made a bad soldier for them.

November 23, 24 and 25 we fought the “Battle Above the Clouds,” the terrible conflict of Lookout Mountain and Missionary Ridge. We were fighting continuously during those three days. We were in breastworks on the ridge near Lookout Mountain, but when the fighting was fiercest we were sent to relieve the commands at the extreme right of the Yankee army. They came in solid front five columns deep and charged our breastworks but were driven back hour after hour with terrible slaughter. Late in the afternoon they made a concentrated attack on our center and drove our men out of line. We had to give up Lookout Mountain and we retreated to the Ridge about midnight. Throughout the night Sherman’s troops were coming up, and next day we were attacked in front and flank. Our breastworks were of no use as Lookout Mountain commanded the Ridge, so in spite of desperate struggles we were ordered to retreat.

At Chattanooga it had been agreed that there should be no firing on the line of pickets without notification. Here between the picket line and the main line of battle our sporting boys sought “sheckle luck,” those who were fortunate enough to have a few sheckles of Confederate money. One day when General Hardee was officer of the day he ordered a regiment deployed around the gamblers, but soldiers from all parts of the field yelled to the boys to run, and run they did. General Hardee did not get many.

In our company was a Kentucky lad named Barnett who had a brother in the Union Army. They got permission to spend the day together. When the day was over they separated, each going back to his command. That was a war! Brother against brother, father against son, arrayed in deadly combat.

We went to Dalton, marching all night. As we crossed the river it seemed the coldest night our thinly clad men had ever experienced. Our corps under Hardee was the rear guard. General Cleburne’s Division was immediately in the rear. General Polk was our Brigadier General. About two o’clock we passed General Cleburne. [ . . . ] mountain, looking and thinking.

“Something is going to happen” I said to the boys.

“Why?”

“Look at General Cleburne, don’t you see war in his eyes?”

We had crossed Ringold Mountain, but we were sent back to take the horses from the cannon, put men in their places, and pulled it quickly to the top of the mountain, so to the summit over rocks and between trees two pieces were carried. Our regiment was sent to the top with them. Two minutes more would have been too late. Not fifty yards away on the other side of the hill were Yankees climbing for the same goal. Then the firing began. We had the advantage in having a tree to use as breastworks, and in being able to see them. Whenever one stepped aside from his tree to shoot our men got him. Captain Shoup and John Baird rolled rocks down the hill and when a Yankee dodged the other boys shot him. We picked off dozens. When the cannon was got ready and began shelling the woods, breaking the trees, tearing up rocks and showering them on the lines below, they had to break and retreat in haste down the hill.

If we had not got there as soon as we did our line would have been the one to retreat.

General Cleburne took us next to Ringold Gap, a gap dug by the railroad through the mountain. He made a talk to the boys, telling us that we were there to save the army, which was five miles away and could not possibly get help to us. Our task would require nerve and will of which he knew we had plenty. We were to form two lines of battle across the gap and were not to fire until he gave the signal, (by signs, as commands would not be heard in the roar of guns.)

The Yankees having failed to break our line on the mountain had massed their forces at the gap, determined to break Cleburne’s line, when the rest would be easy for them.

They came on seven columns deep to our two. We watched them advance and seconds seemed hours. We felt they would be on us before Cleburne ever gave the signal. Would he never give it? At last when the time was ripe, he, who knew the art of war so well, gave the signal to fire, and such deadly work did we perform as was not surpassed in the whole four years of war. We let loose on them four pieces of cannon. The command to stop firing was not given until the number of dead in our front was greater than our Brigade. This fight showed strategy and bravery. It checked the advance of an army five times greater than our Division, and it proved to General Hardee that he had one man who could plan and execute a battle with any adversary. Ever after, Cleburne with his Arkansas, Tennessee and Texas men was placed in the hottest part of battle. Our loss was 88 killed, 23 wounded, and their loss was reported in Northern papers as 2,000 killed, wounded and captured.

We went into winter quarters at Dalton, our regiment being in front of the general army. We camped near Tunnel Hill. We had good foraging ground and could get chickens, eggs, butter, so we lived high. John Loftin was captain of the foragers and he was a good one too. He only got caught once but he lied out of that. Two negroes, who belonged to two doctors of our Brigade, went to Dalton one night to see the sights and buy half-moon pies, big sorghum ginger-bread, and other things. Coming home at midnight they were crossing a railroad trestle when two robbers called on them to halt. Sam began to parley with them when whack! they hit him over the head, and told him to give up his money. He yielded up his shin-plasters, all he had. They then took Tom’s can. He did not have much so they told him to pull. He was a good runner especially when scared, and he lit out over rocks and brush, beating his partner to camp. With eyes as big as saucers he related his exploits to his master. They did not visit Dalton at night again. We used to go over there to see the girls and have parties and sorghum “candy pulls.” It was a great diversion, and between the lines, when the guards were on to it they would arrest, but the boys could usually outgeneral them.

From this camp I was sent on a three days’ furlough to Augusta to buy some drug supplies not to be found in Atlanta. When I reached Atlanta whom should I meet but George Roberts, one of my old mess-mates who had been transferred to Morgan’s Cavalry. Morgan had been captured, and all that was left of the command was at Macon re-organizing. George was buying horses. He was flush and wanted me to take a thousand dollars, but I had lots of money, at least for these days. He went to the depot to see me off. Robert was a fine fellow. He was a regular city rat. We country boys used to get him to pilot us around the city. He would know all the streets in a day and could take us anywhere we wanted to go. After the war he settled in Texas, where he was cashier of a bank. He died several years ago.

In Augusta I met Colonel Snyder of the Eighth Arkansas. He was from Pocahontas, Ark., and was then on a furlough. I also met Ed M. Dickinson, Thad Kinman and Ben Adler. They belonged to the quartermaster’s department under Captain Bridewell and Major Moon. They kept books as big as a dining table. As they belonged to this particular department they helped me to draw a new jacket suit. They lived in a fine city and fared sumptuously, so knowing all the ropes they made it mighty pleasant for me. Through Ed I met an uncle whom I had not seen before. It was on a crowded street in the city, but I knew him at once from his resemblance to my father. When I accosted him he was very dignified and seemed to doubt me until I told him the names of the whole family. Then he insisted upon me going to his home. He had an interesting family. My grandmother died at his home and was buried in a cemetery in Augusta. I got back to camp on time. After living off the fat of the land our regular diet of blue beef and corn bread somehow failed to tickle the palate. George Thomas, who had been wounded at Murfreesboro, got back to us at this camp.

We were waiting to move on the checkerboard. Jeff Davis, General Bragg, Johnston and all were calling for the troops to have a decisive battle hereabouts, but there was a difference of opinion between Davis and the commanding generals. Our Brigade was ordered, I suppose to Mississippi. We went by rail to Montgomery, were halted there, and were sent back to Dalton and went into camp again.

May 8th, 1864 we began the famous Dalton campaign, under the leadership of the superb General Joseph E. Johnston. He had between forty and fifty thousand men divided into three corps, commanded respectively by Generals Hardee, Hood and Polk. He was opposed by Sherman with about 100,000 well drilled seasoned soldiers [ . . . ] by Generals Thomas, McPherson and Schofield, but Johnston was equal to the campaign.

May 8th we were menaced by the enemy in front and flank. May 9th we moved our position two miles to the left and on May 10th we moved rapidly back to the top of the mountain. We had no tents nor protection of any kind. We slept on the ground among the rocks. Although it rained in torrents, we were so dead tired from our 33 mile march, we did not know it was raining until we were wet through. At daybreak we were again on the march and went to Snake Creek Gap, then three miles to the left and built breastworks. From there we marched to Resaca. May 15th we had heavy fighting and were forced from our position. The retreat was covered by Hardee’s corps. Our engineers had to build, under fire, a bridge for the army to cross the Costenaula. In fact from Dalton to Atlanta we had a continuous battle. We moved back slowly, and only when flanked and outnumbered. When we adopted a new line a few miles back, we built breastworks. Thus marching, battling, building works, in rain and mud, with no camp, no tents and but little food, the campaign went on. But in all our skirmishes and engagements we used every advantage to their great loss. We fell back to Calhoun, then to Adairsville. We were the rear guard on that road. After we had crossed a creek and marched to the top of the hill, (our Cavalry to the rear), the Yankees moved opposite and opened up a battery. We were ordered to lie down and not to fire until told to do so. General Polk and General Jackson rode in front of us and the sharp-shooters and artillery of the enemy made it hot for them, bullets going through their hats and clothes. General Jackson would dodge, but General Polk would sit as straight as an arrow and never move a muscle. I heard him when he told General Cleburne and asked permission to advance on the enemy. When the courier returned General Cleburne himself came to see the fun. From our hill could be seen fifty thousand Yankee troops—Infantry, Cavalry and Artillery. For our Brigade to advance against such a force was a visionary idea, and the permission was not given.

We moved on to join our main army which was a few miles in front drawn up in line of battle near Cassville. Our line was in open field, five miles long. Each man had forty cartridges and knew how to use them. General Johnston rode along the line and told the men he was going to give battle. The soldiers threw their caps into the air and shouted themselves hoarse with joy at the thought of going into a fight which they felt in their souls would be successful. It was inspiring to see such enthusiasm in battle scarred veterans who knew what fighting meant. It was not theory with them, it was knowledge gained in bloody experience. I was glad I was on that field and saw that flashing of Southern bravery. Such patriots are born only of liberty-loving people, born of God. That confidence of success, that confidence in their leader was what Joseph E. Johnston had looked for, had prayed for. He knew his position to be the best he had ever had. He now knew the temper of his men. Nothing could have checked them. It would be the biggest battle of the war and his success.

When this great battle was formed in Johnston’s brain and the Generals ordered to occupy the ground assigned them, who was the first to say he could not hold his position? Who, but General Hood! Histories love to state that these generals led their men, but here was a time when the general did not lead into battle the bravest men in the world who were clamoring for the fight.

General Polk also expressed his disapproval of the movement. When his two generals went back on him, Johnston was paralyzed and could not or did not attempt to carry out his plan. Unlike Albert Sydney Johnson at Shiloh, who, when his plan was disapproved of, and obstacles thrown in his way, arose like the giant hero he was and said “You who are true, go to your commands. The battle will begin at daybreak.” If he had lived a few hours longer he would have won that battle beyond a doubt.

If Joseph E. Johnston had said something like this the men would have done the rest, but when he ordered the line under the skirmish fire to retreat they obeyed like true soldiers. It was a bitter disappointment, but their trust in the great commander was firm. He hoped that other opportunities would offer but when the time came he was relieved and the command given to that General who had thwarted the greatest battle of the Confederacy.

Johnston’s plan of campaign was the only one possible for us, fighting against such odds. I am not a general, nor the son of a general, but having been right on the ground for four years, feel that I am entitled to an opinion. And so with all the men who composed Company G, First Arkansas Regiment, Hardee Corps, Govan Brigade, Cleburne Division. The verdict of these men who helped make history is that if Johnston’s [ . . . ] had prevailed the Confederacy would have had a different tale to tell at Atlanta.

Tacticians now agree that Johnston’s success in preserving his army almost entire was an achievement of the greatest military science.

May 19th we left Cassville. We marched mostly by night, built breastworks, and by daybreak were ready for the contest. On May 26th the heaviest assault on our works took place. On our skirmish line, a short distance in front of our works we had dump holes dug in the ground, the dirt thrown out facing the enemy. Thirty men stayed in the dumps until the main line came up. Then they opened fire and checked the advance. When they could no longer do this, they ran back to the line behind the breastworks.

At New Hope Church the enemy made a seven line concentrated assault on our line. Our men were cool and steady, and all were splendid shots. We waited until they were very near, then sent forth a sheet of fire and lead that could not be withstood. The number of their dead was enormous, and our own loss was considerable. We lost our first lieutenant, Alley Walthall, here. He was a distant relative of General Walthall, and as brave a man as ever lived on earth.

A lieutenant of another company was killed also. He was in one of the dumps with one of the sixteen rifles. He had seen four Yankees fall under his well-directed fire, but at last was mortally wounded. He backed out of the dump and into a hollow where the enemy could see him fall. His comrades went out and brought him behind the breastworks. As he lay on the ground he conversed with his friends urging them to become Christians. Sending for the Colonel, he told him that he (the colonel) was a wicked man, and must lead a better life. By way of comfort one of the boys told him how many Yankees he had killed in the assault. The lieutenant said, “Yes, I killed three. But, my brother, don’t gloat over it. Do your duty, but don’t gloat over it.” After sending many loving messages home he passed away.

Meanwhile Sherman was receiving re-inforcements, and on June 9th moved against our intrenchments along Lost Mountains. In this region there was fighting for several days in the midst of almost incessant rain. General Polk was killed during this engagement. June 15–17 we abandoned both mountains and fell back to the great Kennesaw overlooking Marietta.

June 20th two of us got a permit to go to Marietta for tobacco and other supplies. As we were passing through the residence part of the city a kind-hearted lady invited us into the house to eat raspberries with her family. We did not have the heart to refuse her hospitality, so we went in. We had raspberries, cream and cake. Think of it, rebel soldiers regaled with such delicacies! When we got back to camp we told the boys about it and they said we lied! But the memory of that kind act to strangers and common privates will last as long as life itself.

On the 27th after a furious cannonading for hours by the enemy he made a general advance in heavy columns. Their assault in seven lines deep was vigorous and persistent on Cheatham’s and Cleburne’s Divisions of Hardee’s Corps, the Confederates being covered by strong rifle pits which could not be carried by front attack, coolly and rapidly pouring a murderous fire into the massed Federals, causing losses entirely out of proportion to those inflicted upon the Confederates. The loss of the enemy in front of Cleburne’s Division was one thousand deaths. After the repulse of the second desperate assault the dry leaves and undergrowth in the forest before Cleburne’s Division were set on fire by the shells and gun wadding, and began burning rapidly around the Federal wounded and dead, exposing them to a horrible death. This danger was observed by the Confederates who were ordered instantly to cease firing and Lieutenant Colonel Martin, First Arkansas Regiment of Cleburne’s Division, called to the Federals that as an act of humanity his men would suspend further battle until the assailants could carry off their dead and wounded who were liable to be burned alive. This offer was accepted by the Federals and in this work of mercy the Federals were joined by the Confederates who leaped their head logs and helped to carry off their dead and wounded. This occurrence is perhaps unparalleled in the annals of war. In this great struggle the Federal army numbered about or over one hundred thousand and Confederates numbered fifty thousand and in this Kennesaw battle our loss was eight hundred and eight the Federal loss about five thousand.

July 4th was celebrated by skirmishing all day. Sherman hoped to catch us and administer a fatal blow before we could cross the Chattahootchee, but we threw up strong intrenchments so quickly, and guarded the rear so skillfully that the army was all across the river July 5th without having been molested.

But speaking of the Fourth of July. At this time Colonel Fellows, who had been with our command on our first trip to Richmond, was in prison at Johnson’s Island together with about three thousand other officers. The rebels gained permission for Colonel Fellows to speak on the stand used by the guards as a watch tower. As he poured forth his thoughts, turning the Fourth of July to the glory of the South even the Yankee guards, who had stopped to listen were spellbound by his eloquence. He had it all his own way and the rebels were shouting like mad. The officer of the day finally awoke to the situation, took a file of soldiers, and brought the speech to a close. At another time in the same prison Lincoln’s Proclamation was read, offering pardon and freedom to all rebel prisoners who would take the oath of allegiance. The officers lined up in the barracks and announced that any man who wished to take the oath might step over to this line, give his name and be free. When Colonel Fellows was called he made a five minute talk in which he declared death was preferable. One of our boys, Shannon Logan of Co. G, First Arkansas Regiment, eighteen years old, was captured. He was a relative of General Logan and when his name appeared General Logan’s family drove down to the prison with the papers necessary for his release. They asked to see him and were shown a dirty, greasy, lousy private. Through the grime they recognized a fine boy with a noble face. They took him home, bathed him, clothed him, fed him, then told him to be their boy thenceforth. If this lonely boy, away from home, away from comrades had taken the oath he would have been free, with loving kinsmen, with luxury and riches, but he said “No, no! I will die first.” So for him it was back to the filthy prison among the vermin and the rats.

Now living at Paragould, Ark., where he was sheriff for ten years.]

This, one of the many instances of the loyalty displayed by the rank and file, should be told to coming generations that they may know how the Southern private never faltered, but was true to the core.

July 12th we crossed the Chattahootchee near Atlanta. July 18th we marched four miles and built breastworks. July 20th there was hard fighting at Peach Tree Creek in which we lost heavily. Our noble Captain Shoup was wounded and the command devolved upon Second Lieutenant Clay Lowe. He and John R. Loftin were the only commissioned officers we had left.

July 22 we marched ten miles to the right of Atlanta. Hardee had attacked the enemy in the rear and there had been a terrible struggle which lasted for hours. Toward evening we heard the Yankee Bands playing and the soldiers shooting and cheering and we knew they had won.

While Johnston was in command he had preserved his army, and inflicted upon the enemy a loss almost equal to our strength when we began the campaign. Our loss had been about nine thousand, which had been filled by the return of the wounded and furloughed men, so that General Hood received an army fully as strong as it was at Dalton. We were as ready to fight as ever although certainly disappointed at the loss of Johnston. We felt that no other general could do what he had done.