Transcriber's Note:

The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.

COLONEL OLIVER H. PAYNE.

THE
Campaigns of the 124th Regiment
OHIO VOLUNTEER INFANTRY,
WITH
ROSTER AND ROLL OF HONOR.

BY

G. W. LEWIS,

MEDINA, O.

MANUFACTURED BY

THE WERNER COMPANY,

Akron, O.

LIEUTENANT COLONEL JAMES PICKANDS.

DEDICATION.

To all the noble men of the One Hundred and Twenty-Fourth Regiment, Ohio Volunteer Infantry, living, and to the memory of those dead, who counted as nothing all of sorrows, dangers, marches, battles, wounds and death, that our common country might not perish, and that liberty might be proclaimed to all the inhabitants thereof, this unworthy record of their glorious deeds is dedicated by the

Author.

MAJOR JAMES B. HAMPSON.

CONTENTS.

SURGEON JAMES W. SMITH.

INTRODUCTION.

The campaigns of the One Hundred and Twenty-fourth Regiment, Ohio Volunteer Infantry, if written at all, should have been written nearer the close of the war, while the stirring scenes and events of those years of daring, duty and glory were vivid in the mind of the writer. The "Campaigns" should have been written by one that had intended to write them from the first, and had made such due and proper preparation during the time the same were going forward as would enable him to collect the necessary data for a correct and valuable history of the men, the companies and the regiment as an entirety. The "Campaigns" should have been written by one that had as full knowledge of the entire regiment as the author of these imperfect sketches had of the company he commanded during the service. Some of these campaigns were written for the purpose of preserving the events therein narrated, and by solicitation were delivered before the "permanent organization" of the regiment at its annual reunions, held from time to time, in the vicinity where the regiment was organized. Some, by mere chance, were published in the soldier papers of the country, and copied into others; but not until very recently did their author contemplate putting them into their present form, and only after a very strong desire had been expressed by the regiment, at one of its reunions, that some attempt should be made to preserve the deeds of the heroic men, living and dead, that composed one of the truest and best regiments that ever marched beneath the colors of the republic, did the author determine to undertake the work that is now consummated.

It is the opinion of the author, in putting this book into the hands of those who did so much to make the history it seeks to perpetuate, that the most striking thing about it is its imperfections, its inaccuracies. And this, to a certain extent, needs be so, as the events it commemorates were written, almost altogether, from memory, and that after more than twenty-five years after the facts narrated took place; and many a time, while recalling those marches, battles and sufferings of those brave men that struggled "to keep the flag in the sky during all those dark years," it occurred to the author—could he only have the memory of each of the survivors of that grand body of men, how much more complete, accurate and interesting his work would be to them for the perusal of whom it is intended. And again, the experiences of a modest, but quite busy, professional career, for many years, has taught the author that the same event is never seen by all alike, never remembered by all alike, and could not be written by all alike, though all were equally desirous to tell nothing but the truth.

In these "Campaigns" there has been no desire to gloss over the mistakes and imperfections of the actors of the greatest drama that was ever enacted in the world's history; but in the criticism of them the author has had continually in mind the fact that, generally, all was done with the best endeavor, with a purpose and patriotism that has not a parallel in history. And sometimes it seems to be better to note a few faults, that the work may seem real, not fabulous; that we write of men, not of angels.

It was the original purpose to present engravings from portraits of the field and staff, the original captains of the companies and some others, but too much time had run to carry out, entirely, this design. We could not publish engravings of each member of the regiment, though we are aware that nearly all are worthy of such honor, and we thought to be content with publishing engravings of the representative men of the regiment, but in this we have succeeded only in part.

The "Roster and Roll of Honor" attached to the "Campaigns" is the one published by the direction and authority of the State of Ohio. It is far from being perfect, but the best that could be furnished, under all the circumstances, and is worth a great deal more to each member of the regiment in the form presented herein, than it is as published by the authority of the state.

And now we say, go, thou little imperfect production, into the hands and homes of those with whom we served, suffered, and still love. If this poor souvenir of so good a service, and so many and great sacrifices, revives the memories and stirs those brave hearts to whose services no pen and no tongue can do justice, our desires are accomplished.

G. W. Lewis,

Major 124th Regiment, O. V. I.

Medina, O., February 17, 1894.

SURGEON DEWITT C. PATTERSON.

The Campaigns of the 124th Regiment,

OHIO VOLUNTEER INFANTRY.

FROM CLEVELAND, OHIO, TO MANCHESTER, TENN.

The One Hundred and Twenty-fourth Regiment, Ohio Volunteer Infantry, was born of the great impulse of patriotism that swept over the country in the latter part of the summer of 1862, occasioned by the necessity for the "300,000 more" to put down the slaveholder's rebellion. The greater part of the regiment volunteered without the aid of a recruiting officer. Company A was raised in Cuyahoga county, and the patriotic and earnest William Wilson, afterwards its captain, seconded by that most enthusiastic of men, Cleveland Van Dorn, afterwards captain of Company D, were the leading spirits around which the brave men, that afterwards were mustered into the service of the United States as Co. A, 124th O. V. I., gathered, and became in fact what they were by letter, the first of the regiment. Company A was organized with the intention of becoming a part of the 103d O. V. I., but on going into camp, Captain Wilson found that regiment already full, and finally determined to join his fortunes, and that of his noble men, with those of the 124th O. V. I., to which regiment Oliver H. Payne had been commissioned as lieutenant colonel, and James Pickands, formerly of the 1st O. V. I., as major.

Company B was organized, almost exclusively, from the young men of the western townships of Medina county. Spencer township furnished the greater number, some forty enlisting from that township in one day, August 12th. Litchfield township furnished a goodly number, while Homer, Harrisville, Chatham, La Fayette helped to swell the ranks, while a few came from Wayne, some from Lorain, and later the youngest member, John M. Bowman, was consigned by his patriotic mother, residing in Cleveland, to the care of Company B. This company, or rather body of men, was sent into Camp Cleveland by order of the Military Committee of Medina county, composed of Judge Samuel Humphreville, John B. Young, Esq., and Mr. John Rounds. This body of men, by the intercessions of the committee with Governor Todd, was suffered to elect its commissioned officers, and, as the result, George W. Lewis was chosen captain, John Raidaie, first lieutenant, and Charles M. Stedman, second lieutenant. When this company came to be mustered into the service of the United States, it had so many men that a number of them had to be mustered in other companies, and were afterwards transferred back to the company in which they had enlisted. This was also the experience of Company A.

Company C was mostly raised in Cuyahoga, and Robert Wallace, afterwards its captain, and John O'Brien, afterwards its second lieutenant, seemed to be the nucleus around which the good men of Company C appeared to form. Many of them were from the "Emerald Isle," and proved their honor and daring on many hard fought fields of the campaigns of the regiment in after days.

Company E came in from Lorain county, and John W. Bullock was made its captain. But time and space forbid a more extended notice of the different parts of an organization that was first-class, singly, or as a whole, more than to say that Company D was brought into camp by Captain George W. Aumend, the company being raised mostly in Henry county. Company F was raised from the northern part of the state, and was commanded by Captain Horace E. Dakin. Company G had many men from Cincinnati, but was, in fact, recruited from all parts of the state. Captain William A. Powell was its first captain. Company H was recruited, mostly, in Cleveland, and its first captain was that accomplished officer, Eben S. Coe. Company I was largely from Cincinnati, with the late lamented James H. Frost as its first captain, while Company K seemed to be a sort of an overflow from almost anywhere. Hiram H. Manning was its first captain, and he was not mustered as such until November 10th, 1863. It seemed for a long time to be a sort of "motherless colt" of the regiment, and fared accordingly, but it never failed in action, if it did not always have the care a company should have.

In Camp Cleveland we took our first lesson as soldiers. Here the "Awkward Squad" might have been seen, at almost all hours of sunlight, being drilled by one a very little less awkward than themselves. The "halt," "right-dress," "forward," "steady there," "eyes right," "eyes left," "right wheel," etc., etc., given in the tones of a Stentor, might have been heard on the parade grounds of Camp Cleveland, in season and out of season, during all the fall and early winter of 1862. We were not well up in the manual of arms here, as I do not remember that we had muskets for all the men in this camp.

Camp Cleveland, during the time our regiment was there, was a hard place for the young volunteer. Calls were constantly being made by the relatives of the volunteers, and visits were constantly being solicited and made to the old homes, so that, in time, the best officer(?) was the one that granted the greatest number of "leaves of absence." Under such circumstances, anything like the discipline necessary to perfect the raw but patriotic volunteer into the well drilled and efficient soldier was out of the question, and many a line officer was relieved of a very heavy burden when January 1st, 1863, came, and our regiment was furnished transportation toward the seat of war. None of the living members of the 124th will have forgotten the terrible snowstorm at Elizabethtown, Ky.

About the first of February, 1863, it seems a large number of regiments were assembled at and near Louisville, Ky., to be forwarded to augment the Army of the Cumberland, under the then victorious, and very popular, General Rosecrans. Our regiment was paid off before we started on that ever memorable expedition "down the Ohio," and up the Cumberland river to Nashville, Tenn. Those were the times that tried the souls of the company commandant. We had never been mustered for pay, and without anyone, at first, to instruct us, that which afterwards seemed very simple, was then a mountain of responsibility and worry. The captain that could not get his muster rolls so they would pass the inspection of that prince among gentlemen, Paymaster Major John Coon, could not have his company paid, and anxiety is never a very great auxiliary to the completion of a new and hard task. But those of us that looked upon this financial officer in a sense akin to dread, found him a genial schoolmaster, and he not only instructed us in our duties, but followed us down the river until the last company of our regiment had received its pay. The larger share of this money was sent home to wives and children, and friends (some to creditors) in our own Ohio.

I have often wondered why the government did not march this force, that was assembled at Louisville, to Nashville. The distance was one hundred and eighty miles, connected by one of the best macadamized roads in the country; and could we have been permitted to make the march by easy stages, we would have been half soldiers by the time we reached Nashville, and in a condition of health and soldierly prosperity very much to be desired. But the way we were sent by the old stern-wheelers, it occupied eleven days to make the trip, with no fire to keep us comfortable or for cooking our rations, while the nights were spent in shivering on the cheerless decks of those old wheezy and stinking boats, which to all appearances had not been cleaned since the carpenters laid their keels. Many a man was lost to the service of his country from this method of his transportation, and many a man dates the loss of his health from those eleven days of suffering and exposure. But whoever writes of wars must write of mistakes; but we will think that everything was intended for our good, by those that had the good of the country in their keeping. The night we approached Nashville, we heard heavy firing up the river, and found the next morning on coming up to the site of Fort Donelson, that a portion of Wheeler's command had made an attack upon the small garrison, and had been repulsed with a very severe loss, considering the number engaged.

We went ashore and saw the dead confederates lying all about a piece of artillery, that it seems they had endeavored to take by charging the same; but the gun manned by the brave Illinoisans that composed the garrison, made fearful havoc in the ranks of Wheeler. The officer that lead the charge, Col. Overton, lay dead near the piece, and we were told he was the same man that owned the estate where we first made our camp in Tennessee. The killed of the garrison had been gathered under a shed, and were composed in what seemed to me to be a long row, and as I looked upon their upturned faces, pallid in death, and ghastly with wounds, I thought I had already seen enough of war. We returned to our boat, and steamed slowly up to Nashville. Going from Donelson to Nashville we saw the river gunboat, Concord. It was claimed that this boat had taken part in the fight of the day before, and we looked upon it, not only with curiosity, but with admiration, it being the first specimen of Uncle Sam's navy that many of us had ever seen. On arriving at the levee at Nashville, we disembarked, and forming the regiment in column of company front, with our band playing, and colors flying, we marched through the principal street of the city. But how different from Cleveland, O. Not a friendly face greeted us. Hardly a citizen was to be seen on the streets, and not a salute nor a shout welcomed us to this one of the most treasonable cities of the confederacy. We now, for the first time, realized that we were in the land of the rebellion. We moved that evening out to Overton Heights on the Franklin pike, and went into camp on the very spot where the same regiment, as veteran soldiers, on the sixteenth day of December, 1864, scattered the last of Hood's infantry on the memorable field of Nashville.

In a few days we marched to the village of Franklin, eighteen miles by the pike from Nashville. This march was a very trying ordeal for us green soldiers. The most of the men carried luggage enough to overload a mule, and such knapsacks as the men staggered under in this little march, would have been a matter of amusement later in the war.

On arriving at Franklin, we went into camp on the north side of the Harpeth river, that forms the northern boundary of the village, and commenced soldier life in earnest. This place was occupied as an outpost of General Van Dorn's division of Bragg's army, but what few rebels were on duty here did not seem to care to try titles with us. Here, our major, James B. Hampson, came to us, and being a member of the old Cleveland Grays, and also having seen service in one of the earlier regiments of the Ohio troops, was a very valuable acquisition to us in the way of an instructor. His soldierly bearing and pleasant manner won all our hearts. He instructed us in the "manual of arms," taught us the "load in nine times," while in regimental and brigade drill he was a regular God-send to the ignorant officers of the line, that the most of us were. Here we had to attend the "school for the officer" and recite from Casey's Tactics to our young colonel, and many the hour we spent with him, ere the, to us, at that time, mysterious positions in which a regiment could be formed were thoroughly mastered. Some of our officers could learn nothing from books; but for school-teachers, like Captain Van Dorn, and preachers, like Captain Stratton, it was nothing but fun to repair to the Colonel's quarters to recite to one that had an earnest desire to make capable officers of us all. We were now in the presence of the enemy, and Forrest's cavalry used often to lope up to our pickets to see what we looked like; and it was no infrequent occurrence for the dreaded "long-roll" to call us from our slumbers to stand at arms for an hour on the regimental parade ground. I remember one morning that we were thus called out, and Company C, under Lieutenant O'Brien, was a little late in taking its place in the line. Soon we heard it coming on the double quick, while the "rich Irish brogue" of the lieutenant in getting his company into line attracted our attention more than any advance of the enemy that we apprehended (for by this time we had discovered that this standing at arms was a scheme of old granny Gilbert to give our hospitals practice); finding his place in the line, in some way, his last command was, "Sthand fast company say, and I'll lay me bones wid ye."

In the school of the officer, I remember his attempt at recitation that ran something like this: "The ordly sagint thin advances tin paces, surrur! nah!—two paces—I don't know, surrur." The big-hearted Irishman, that did the fine work on the Perry monument, cutting the guard chain of his watch out of the solid marble, at last learned that he was not intended for an officer, though brave and patriotic, tendered his resignation, and that was the last we ever saw or heard of Lieutenant John O'Brien.

But while instructions in the movements of the company and regiment were necessary, and we all tried to profit by the same, facility in recitation did not necessarily make the valuable officer. As an instance, our Methodist minister, Captain Daniel Stratton, was Wonderfully fluent at the recitations, and became quite well drilled, but at our first great battle, Chickamauga, he deserted his company, as we were coming into the action, in the face of the enemy, and was saved from the fate of his conduct by the great heart of Colonel Pickands. He said to the colonel, "when I thought of my wife and dear children at home I could not advance a single step towards the front." But he advanced pretty well towards the rear, for after two days of dreadful fighting and the third day in offering battle to an enemy, nominally victors, but thoroughly whipped (save the magazine writers), we came to Chattanooga and found our preacher in very comfortable quarters, with his resignation ready written out, which was accepted by our regimental commandant. Could our Irish lieutenant have done worse? The march, the campaign, the skirmish line, the picket duty, the battle, after all, were the true tests of soldierly qualities. Many a man, many an officer, arose in our estimation, after we saw him tried in the ordeal of battle, for whom we entertained but very little respect before.

At Franklin we had to do picket duty by company out south of the village, our line running along near the residence of one of the high-toned families of the town, by the name of Atkinson. At his residence our reserve post was established, and we posted a guard to protect the family, which consisted of the old gentleman, quite aged, his wife and a beautiful daughter, bearing the common but genial name of Sally. There were two sons, but both were serving in General Frank Cheatham's division of the rebel army. Sally was quite an expert singer, and played the piano reasonably well, and, to entertain us, she was kind enough to sing some of the war songs of the confederacy. I remember pieces of those songs to this day; one went like this:

"Hurrah, hurrah, for southern rights hurrah,

Hurrah for the bonny blue flag, that bears the single star."

And another:

"No northern flag shall ever wave

O'er southern soil and southern graves,

Look away, look away, look away, Dixie land,

In Dixie land we'll take our stand,

And conquer peace for Dixie."

These rebel war songs and others might have been heard floating out on the soft evening air, near the old locust grove, and no one of the brave men that did duty there thought any the less of the pert and plucky rebel girl. We laughed at her wit and the raillery that she heaped on us, calling us invaders. But the colonel of the 125th was one day on duty as officer of the day, and hearing of the rebel girl and her songs, reported the matter to old granny Gilbert, who issued an order that had the effect of an injunction, and we heard no more of the sweet voice of Sally Atkinson while we did duty at Franklin. Colonel Opdyke was an excellent officer in many respects, but a pronounced martinet, and had not a particle of humor in his composition. There was a rumor in the regiment that our Colonel Jim, as we sometimes called him, was a little sweet on Sally, but I think there was nothing of it, and for the sad fate of Sally and her two brothers, see the last campaign of this book.

We had not been long in Franklin before our experience in transportation, heretofore referred to, began to have its deadly effect. The typhoid fever and camp diarrhœa became alarmingly common. Our men sickened and were sent to the general hospital at Nashville, where very many died, and many were discharged, as unfit for further military duty. Not any one of the hard fought battles of our campaigns so depleted our ranks as our stay at Franklin. The water was of the limestone formation, and did not seem to agree with those that were comparatively well, much less those that were sick. I think that every old soldier will agree with me that the march, while more fatiguing, is more healthful than the camp.

While at Franklin we had the misfortune to be under the command of one General Gilbert, a regular army officer. A man that the government had educated at great expense at West Point, and had kept in service for years after, and yet had no process of determining that he had no sense.

This man, that might possibly have commanded a company under a careful colonel, was placed in command of all the forces around Franklin. I am sorry to say it was under the command of this imbecile that we first met the enemy. Colonel Coburn's brigade, which was composed of the 85th and 33d Ind. V. I., the 19th Mich. V. I., the 22d Wis. V. I., the 2d Mich. Cav., a part of the 4th Ky., and a part of the 9th Pa. Cav., with a light battery of six guns and a small train of wagons for forage, was ordered in the direction of Columbia. Our regiment accompanied the expedition as train guard. We moved a short distance the first day out and went into camp, having seen a few rebel cavalry, and having received the fire from a rebel gun or two that did no damage to us, save the breaking a musket stock for one of our men. The next morning we moved out of camp, and I remember watching the 19th Mich., it was such a large, fine looking body of men, and moved down the pike toward Thompson Station. Colonel Coburn soon developed the enemy in force, and so reported to General Gilbert, who sent back an order for him to advance and engage the enemy, intimating that the commander of the brigade was a coward. Colonel Coburn then advanced and engaged the rebels, but his little force was outflanked on either side by the superior numbers of the enemy, and though fighting heroically, were soon surrounded and captured, save the battery that ran over the rebel infantry, and a small part of the 22d Wis., a part of one company, the cavalry force; and had it not been for our good luck in being on duty with the wagons, we would also have been taken. As it was, nothing saved us but the best of running, and in a long race at that. We came into camp that night badly used up, and very much disgusted with our old granny Gilbert, having seen and run away from the battle of Thompson Station. The government expended Colonel Coburn's brigade and the lives of many brave men to learn, what every soldier about Franklin knew from the first, that Gilbert was not fit to be in the command of anybody.

While at Franklin we built a very fine fort, situated northwesterly of the village, and near our camp. The fort was built of earth, regularly laid out with angles, and a deep moat surrounding the entire work. The embrasures were well protected with gabions made of cane bound in bundles, and in the center a fine magazine was constructed.

Heavy guns were brought from Nashville, and mounted en barbette. Why the fort was built none could tell. The chances that it would ever be of use to the cause of the Union were one thousand to one against the proposition, but at the battle of Franklin, November 30, 1864, it paid large interest on the investment. Those big smooth-bore guns shelled the cotton field, south of the village, over which the rebels charged, in a manner which was fearful to behold. We that had worked so many days on that fort, felt that we were well repaid for our toil.

While the fort was building, it occurred to Colonel Payne that the "contraband of war" might be useful in this work, so he ordered Lieutenant Raidaie to take a detail of men, and go forth and bring in such of the bondmen as he could find that were able to do the work required. So the lieutenant sallied forth in the direction of Roper's Knob, and he was rewarded by finding large numbers of the aforesaid "contraband," as the slave owners of Kentucky had sent their slaves into Tennessee, to keep them as far away as possible from the union lines. These slaves we kept in camp until the fort was completed, and all that desired were permitted to return to the places from whence they were taken; but many of the younger ones stayed with us, and engaged themselves as servants to the officers. But it was wonderful with what alacrity these poor ignorant colored people performed the work required of them. They seemed to realize that they were working for themselves.

March 9th, 1863, we left our camp at Franklin, General Gordon Granger in command, and marched to within about a mile of Spring Hill, passed by and over the battle field of March 5th, Thompson Station, but saw no evidences of the late unequal, but sanguinary contest, save a few broken guns and some dead horses. We went into bivouac at night, having no tents with us. We marched thirteen miles. The next day it commenced raining and we were all wet to the skin, but nothing daunted, we went at work and fixed up shelter, and at about ten a. m. we had marching orders. We marched about three miles, it raining all the time. Company B received a detail to furnish twenty-five men for picket duty, which was filled with healthy men, and quite a number of sick men in camp, and the number ailing in the regiment was far from being inconsiderable. But we found the next day that this movement toward Columbia did not mean anything, and we were ordered back to Franklin, which was only a march of seventeen miles, but we came into camp that night as stiff and sore as foundered horses. We had no battle, we had lost no men, but take it all in all, we were the better soldiers for the experience we had gained.

We had now been in Franklin three months, and had put in the time in all the ways in which a soldier's life is made up. Now, hardly a day went by that the rebel cavalry did not appear at our picket line, and frequently a lively skirmish would occur between our cavalry and a detachment of that of our enemy. The losses of the rebels were always enormous(?) while ours were entirely insignificant. The early part of April the rebels made a raid on our rear, and destroyed a bridge on the railroad about six miles north of Franklin, which caused us very much annoyance, for at that period in our history, as soldiers, we thought we were badly treated if we did not get our letters regularly from home.

June 2d, 1863, was our last at the camp at Franklin. Here, we had learned very much of the duties of the soldier. We had not been slack in our work, and had become quite proficient in the company, regimental, and brigade evolutions. Here we had bidden good-bye to very many of our men, and our companies were small compared to what they were when we came to this camp; but our colonel consoled us by insisting that the fighting number of one hundred men, for all causes, was about sixty, and we found afterwards that the estimate of our young colonel was not far from the mark. This day we struck our tents, and marched to Triune, a distance of but thirteen miles, but the weather was so excessively hot that our men suffered a great deal; but we had learned some wisdom from our former experience, for our knapsacks were not nearly as large as when we left Nashville. We remained in Triune until the twenty-first day of June, during which time we were stirred up by skirmishes very frequently, but the skirmishing was done mostly by the cavalry, on the respective sides, and the usual large stories were told in camp of our immense superiority over the enemy. While at Triune, one of our fellow citizens from Ohio, C. L. Vallandigham, was sent through our lines "to his friends in the south," as Mr. Lincoln humorously put it. We were usually very glad to see anyone from home, but we were not at all proud of this representative from Ohio.

We now saw what we regarded as indications of a general advance on the position of the enemy, and it seemed to be our fate to be compelled to march to the extreme left of the army to join the brigade to which we had been assigned while at Triune. We were assigned to what was called Hazen's brigade, composed of the 41st O. V. I., the 9th Ind. V. I., the 93d O. V. I., the 6th Ky. V. I., and our regiment, commanded by General Wm. B. Hazen, the first colonel of the 41st, an officer in every way qualified for the command assigned him. This day we marched over the battle field of Stone river, through the dense cedars that figure so conspicuously in the descriptions of that terrible engagement of the closing year of 1862. We marched through the village of Murfreesborough, and out one and one-half miles east of the town, and went into camp, having come that day a distance of twenty-two miles, with less fatigue and suffering than any we had formerly made. The next day we marched to Readyville, a distance of twelve miles, and found our brigade. Here we fixed up a nice camp, and were informed we would stay for some time. This was as desolate a part of the south as it was ever our fortune to tread over. It did not seem to be inhabited to any great extent, and was as woodsy as Ohio seventy-five years ago. On the twenty-fourth of June we broke up our camp and marched directly south through Bradyville, a city consisting of three houses. We saw the burning of a great amount of provisions before leaving Readyville that we concluded had to be abandoned for lack of transportation. We marched this day about seven miles in a very severe rainstorm. We were now informed that we were after General Bragg, and we might expect a general engagement at any time. The next day we marched not to exceed six or seven miles, and came to a very long, steep hill that gave our artillery and train great difficulty in the ascent. The roads we came over this day were the worst we had so far encountered, but when we were on the top of this hill we were on a broad shelf or table-land lying directly west of the Cumberland mountains that seemed good for nothing, save to illustrate the great variety of the works of Almighty God. The next day we stayed in camp all day, waiting for our train to come up. It rained almost all day long. The next day, June 27th, company B was detailed to help the train along. They came to what is called the Long Branch of the Duck river, and the men had to build a brush bridge across the stream, and after getting mired in the quicksands time and time again, they finally succeeded in getting the train over. This company did not get in to join the regiment until the next morning, and then came wet, weary, and not in their usual sweet temper.

The next day, Sunday, we marched but four miles and camped in a wood (I do not remember of seeing any fields); but one thing justice requires to be said for this table-land country, the water was simply exquisite. We were now reported to be within forty-two miles of Manchester, and we were informed that we were now making a grand flank movement that was to cut off the retreat of Bragg, and by which we were to capture his entire army, and, in fact, we were making this grand flank movement at the rapid(?) rate of from seven to ten miles per day. On the twenty-ninth we crossed the east branch of Duck river and did little but get our train over this miry stream. This same weary marching continued until the fourth day of July, and finds us on the Elk river, at Morris Ford, awaiting the arrival of the pontoons. It had rained almost incessantly for the last fourteen days, and very many of us had not had our clothing dry in that time, but the weather was warm and none of us seemed to take cold; I remember one day of this march that it was so very hot that the men fell out in great numbers, and when we halted at night, no company of the regiment could show more than one stack of muskets; but before morning the good faithful boys came in, and the next day were ready to resume their arduous duties. On July the 8th we arrived at Manchester, and found that General Bragg had escaped us, and had crossed the mountains into the valley of the Tennessee. We had not seen a rebel since leaving Triune, and owing to the condition of the country and roads, if we had seen one he must have been dead, for we did not move fast enough to overtake a live one. No battle had been fought, though one day we heard heavy firing in the direction of Tullahoma.

And so ended the summer for the 124th O. V. I., and also, in fact, for the Army of the Cumberland. Although General Rosecrans had not succeeded in bringing Bragg to an engagement, he had driven him from middle Tennessee, the great rebel recruiting ground for men, animals, and supplies, and while the victory was bloodless, it was in no small sense important to the union cause. The unionists of east Tennessee saw in it their coming deliverance, while the depressing effect of a retreat told upon the confederate forces. Since leaving Franklin our regiment had marched over one hundred and fifty miles, which, considering the weather and the state of the roads, was an accomplishment that had a tendency to increase our confidence, and prepare us for the more arduous duties that fell to our lot after we crossed the great mountains and commenced operations in the valley of the Tennessee—the key to the conquest of the confederacy.

QUARTERMASTER WILLIAM TREAT.

SOME RECOLLECTIONS OF THE CAMPAIGN OF CHATTANOOGA
AND THE BATTLE OF CHICKAMAUGA.

If you ask, to-day,[^[1]] the young man of twenty-five years, married and his little ones growing up in health and peace about him, what he recollects of the war for the suppression of the rebellion, his answer must be "nothing." He will say, "I was not born until after the war had been on one year. I remember nothing about the war, as you call it, for the suppression of the rebellion."

[1]. Written in 1887.

If you ask the man of thirty years, in full business life, a leader of society, the same question, his answer will be undoubtedly, "I remember but little about the war; I was but four years old when the war broke out. I remember sometime during the war seeing the soldiers, in their blue coats and bright buttons and arms, as they marched along to the station to go to the front, as they said. I remember hearing the drumbeat, I recollect feeling the heart-throb, as I saw the flag which they bore aloft. I was but nine years old when the war ended. I remember that when the boys came back, battered and scarred, in their dirty and faded uniforms, their flag in tatters, their faces bronzed and burned by the southern sun, that of them that met them at the station many wept, because so many that went away with them returned not."

And so, to the majority of those to-night, the war is but a matter of history and legend of story and of song.

The recollections of those years from 1861 to 1865 are, in many minds, as indelible as though graven on brass, or chiseled in marble.

Those of you who have personal recollections, as well as those familiar with the history of those times, will remember that the summer of 1863, so far as the Army of the Cumberland was concerned, was spent (as was at one time said of the Army of the Potomac) in "masterly inactivity;" and although after the battle of Stone river the army occupied a line as far south as Franklin and Murfreesboro, Tenn. And though the army, under the now immortal Grant, had captured one entire rebel army, and had opened the "Father of Waters," so long closed at Vicksburg; and though the gallant Meade had met the invaders at Gettysburg and hurled him back, in defeat and confusion, to his old lair beyond the Potomac, the Army of the Cumberland, under General Rosecrans, as late as August had barely gained the foothills of the Cumberland mountains.

The Cumberland mountains run in a direction south of west and north of east, and for most of the way are composed of two considerable ridges, some two thousand feet above the valley of the Tennessee. These ridges are broken at Chattanooga by the Tennessee river, and so bold and abrupt is Lookout mountain on the south side of the river, that one can almost conclude that some great convulsion of nature had reft it asunder from its corresponding ridge on the north side.

This chain of mountains, this deep and broad river, lay between our army and that of the enemy when the march commenced southward in August, 1863.

The corps to which my regiment was attached, the 21st, under General Crittenden, and the 14th Corps, under General George H. Thomas, crossed the mountains above Chattanooga, while General McCook's Corps, and the Reserve Corps under General Gordon Granger, crossed at and below Chattanooga.

And while in the effort of crossing this great mountain range and river, the right and left wings of the army must have been seventy-five miles apart, and neither near enough to aid the other in case of an attack. I am almost at a loss to know how the Army of the Cumberland was put south of mountains and river; whether by the ability of Rosecrans, or the stupidity of Bragg, the feat was accomplished.

And while there was many a mountain defile that would have answered for a modern Thermopylæ, happily for us the three hundred Spartans seemed to be wanting.

The early part of August, 1863, found us encamped at Manchester, Tenn., at or near the head waters of the Duck river after the close of the Tullahoma campaign, if it is proper to call that a campaign, that was simply a retreat on the part of the confederates, and pursuit on the part of the federal forces.

Manchester is situated on what is known as the table-lands of Tennessee, and though high and supplied with the most delightful water, very many of our men were sick by reason of the exposure on the campaign just closed, and had to be sent back to hospitals or sent home on furlough, which latter was very seldom done; and when accomplished costing great pains and anxiety. If our national policy had been to furlough our worthy sick, instead of sending them off to the inhospitable hospitals, to be experimented upon by the graduates, fresh from our medical colleges, to pine away with homesickness, be crowded together in great numbers "into the wards of the whitewashed halls, where the dead and dying lay," when a few days and weeks at home with its cheering influences and home diet, something mother could fix up, would have restored, without doubt, thousands of brave men to health and duty, that by reason of the narrow, niggardly, treat-every-man-as-a-coward policy of the government, went down to needless and untimely graves.

I have read accounts of the neatly arranged graves of these men with the beautiful marble headstones, furnished at the expense of the government, in our great national cemeteries; but I never think of those great armies of the dead but I think, how many might have been saved. Very many of those headstones are more monuments to the lack of good sense on the part of the government, than a noble and patriotic generosity. Nearly all of our soldiers that died of disease in hospitals, could and should have been sent home and saved. I remember very well it was never any trouble to procure a leave of absence for a sick or wounded officer, but to procure one for a poor private in the ranks was altogether a different matter.

It may not be out of place for me to give you a brief account of an effort that I made to procure furloughs for three most worthy sick men, while at Manchester, just before we started on the Chattanooga campaign.

These men were afflicted with that terrible disease, that with the aid of the government and its surgeons has slain its tens of thousands, known as camp or chronic diarrhœa. I made out an application for furloughs for these men, knowing full well that the time was very brief, that we must leave these brave men to the care of entire strangers—men that did hospital duty, as they did any other, because they were ordered to; and knowing full well that, in all human probability, they would never return to the regiment if they were sent to the hospital, I determined to make a great effort to save them. I procured a very earnest indorsement from our regimental surgeon, Major Dewitt C. Patterson, than whom a more competent or kinder hearted surgeon never had the health of a regiment in charge, also the very favorable indorsement of our colonel; but he refused to give me leave to carry the application to brigade headquarters, for good reasons, no doubt, as he informed me that the application must go through the regular channel. I told him "the application might get back in time to attend the funeral, but never to do these men any good." I immediately went to the headquarters of the brigade commandant; he examined carefully the application, wanted to know the urgency of the matter, and after I had explained to him all I could, and after I had urged everything I could think of that I thought would help the case of the sick men, he coolly took the application from my hands, indorsed it "disallowed," and ordered me to my regiment, saying, "we are not granting furloughs on the eve of starting on a campaign."

I was somewhat disheartened, but not altogether discouraged. I immediately repaired to General Palmer's headquarters, who commanded the division. The general treated me with great politeness, heard all I had to say, and then informed me that no furloughs were being granted; said "he would excuse me for bringing up the application without leave," kindly ordered me to my regiment, and advised me "give up the enterprise, if I wished to save myself from the disgrace of a court-martial," which, as we soldiers all know, is a court organized to convict.

I then turned my steps toward the headquarters of General Crittenden, commanding our corps; he treated me with great brusqueness, not only refusing the indorsement I so much desired, but severely censured me for not sending the application through the regular channel. He gave me the usual complimental (?) order, "Immediately repair to your regiment, sir!" I was "cast down, but not destroyed;" I had just one ground of hope left me, and that was centered in "Old Pap Thomas."

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.

ADJUTANT SHERBURN B. EATON.

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.

SERGEANT MAJOR JOHN S. NIMMONS.

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."

COLOR-BEARER SERGEANT LLOYD A. MARSH.

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.

CORPORAL WILLIAM ATKINS.
The first man of the 124th O. V. I. killed. "See Captain, I am not
much hurt, I want to give them another." Page [58].

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.

After this charge, in which General Johnson drove Longstreet's line back to and across the river nearly a mile and a half from where we had engaged him, we had time to look after our wounded men. I received permission to go out to the place where we had fought on the skirmish line. Seeing that all the wounded men were carefully removed to the rear, I hastened back to join my company. If I was filled with terror on going into the battle, I was doubly so now. To be lost from one's command in time of action is hard to explain, and a situation for which, among soldiers, there is ever exercised very little charity. I inquired of some wounded men the direction my regiment had taken, and hurrying on, fear lending wings to speed, I halted near a log cabin in a small opening where a six gun battery stood, and to the guns of which the men were attaching long ropes known as prolongs. I soon came upon my company and regiment lying flat on the ground, and evidently waiting orders. I took my position in the company, thankful that the regiment had not been engaged in my absence. In our immediate front all was still. The ground ascended in a gentle elevation, thickly covered with brush but here and there a tree. All at once there arose one of those terrible yells that only a mass of rebels could produce, and on looking to the front, I saw coming down the hill a solid mass of confederate infantry; their stars and bars flaunting gaily, as the color-bearers came dancing on. All at once the right of our line began falling back without firing a shot, until all had commenced retiring to the right of our company. I was chagrined at what seemed an ignoble retreat, leaving the battery I had passed to certain capture. The rebels had began firing, but seemed to fire far above us, as the leaves and small branches of the trees fell thickly about us. As they came nearer, their marksmanship seemed to improve, and several of my men were wounded, among the number was Lieutenant Charles M. Stedman, who, though badly wounded in the shoulder, refused to leave the company until the battle was over. He afterward laid his young life on the altar of his country at the battle of New Hope Church, May 27th, 1864. He was one of the very few absolutely brave men, I ever knew. I turned to watch the advancing rebel hosts and to see what would become of the battery when their six guns opened one after another in rapid succession, and I saw lanes and alleys open in the solid ranks of confederate gray. This was repeated as rapidly as the guns could be worked and never an over-charged thundercloud seemed to strike more rapidly, than that grand old United States battery poured its double-shotted canisters at half distance into the now panic-stricken and flying rebel horde.

A lone battery with no infantry support on its left, with the infantry support on its right, for, to me, some unaccountable reason, retreating without firing a shot, fighting and repelling an entire brigade of confederate infantry. I never saw it repeated. I never heard of its being repeated in all of my experience in the war, thereafter. I don't know what battery it was, I never could find out with any certainty, but better work was never done by any of those brave men that worship their brazen guns more than did ever heathen devotee the molten image he calls his God.

I saw Colonel Beebe of General Hazen's staff after this eventful day, and he informed me that his duties called him over this portion of the field, and it was with difficulty he rode his horse among the dead.

Not thicker do lie the ripened sheaves in the harvest field, where nature has been most generous, than did the confederate dead on that lone hillside.

That night we marched to a new position and went into bivouac in line of battle. The night was cold and frosty, and as we were not permitted to have much fire and had left our knapsacks behind, we suffered from the cold; but "tired nature's sweet restorer" overcame all difficulties, and we lay down and slept among the dead as sweetly as though we had been bidden "good-night" in our own northern homes.

Thus ended the nineteenth day of September, 1863, and something of what I recollect of the campaign of Chattanooga and the first day's battle of Chickamauga.

Sunday morning, September 20th, dawned cold and cheerless on the waiting armies. The line had been reformed in the following order:

The 14th Corps occupied the extreme left, then came our corps, the 21st, with McCook on the right and the Reserve Corps not yet up. All felt that this Sabbath day would decide the fate of the army, as well as determine the result of the campaign, for good or ill, to the cause of the Union. Early in the morning we were ordered to construct such works along our line as the material at hand would admit of, for at that time in the war we had not learned the value of the pick and shovel. It is wonderful what men can do when in extremity, or when their own safety or that of the cause for which they battle, requires the exercise of ingenuity or industry. Soon old logs, fence rails and everything else that could stop a bullet, were being brought to the line. And by eight o'clock a line of works was constructed that, while not any defense against artillery, furnished quite a sufficient protection against small arms. My company was again ordered out as skirmishers into the woods in front of the brigade. We had not been on the line more than an hour when the rebels advanced their line of skirmishers, and the firing began.

My orders were to keep the line well out, and to retire only on the line of battle when the enemy advanced in force. It was soon evident to all that the rebels designed to force the fighting for we could see his charging lines rapidly advancing. We then fell back to our line of log and rail works, and in doing so had to run the gauntlet of the fire of excitable men of our line that could not be controlled.

Once over the works, and in position in the line, we had not long to wait for the onset. The eagerness of the enemy in following the skirmishers soon brought them into rifle range. Our Colonel Payne had been very severely wounded early the day before, and the command of the regiment devolved upon Major James B. Hampson, who afterwards gave his life to his country at Dallas, Ga. With the coolness and bearing of an old veteran he ordered our regiment to hold its fire until the rebels were within close range of our works, then, all at once, we arose and poured a well-aimed volley into their ranks. The 41st O. V. I., directly in our rear and forming a second line, then gave them a volley and their charge was ended. Three times that morning the enemy charged our position, only to be beaten back in disorder and confusion.

About this time occurred that terrible mistake in the battle that caused the panic and rout of a portion of McCook's Corps, and which carried our commanding general out of the fight and back to Chattanooga, leaving General Thomas to fight the battle alone. It was here that General Thomas received the title of the "Rock of Chickamauga;" and it was from this field that General Rosecrans was retired—never to be heard from again during the war.

About eleven o'clock a. m. the confederates commenced a most determined onset on the 14th Corps at our left. It soon became evident that the enemy was gaining ground, as the firing came nearer and nearer, and the left kept falling back until the cannon shot from the enemy cut the limbs from the trees above us, and we expected every moment to hear the order "change front to rear." The corps to our left had fallen back to nearly at right angles with our line, and we could plainly see the wounded men being borne back or slowly straggling to the rear. There are times in the life of almost anyone when the circumstances with which he is surrounded are burned into his memory as though graven with a pen of fire. So on this occasion, although the enemy had been badly beaten in our front, we saw our line of battle momentarily crumbling away on our left. Visions of Libby, Salisbury and Andersonville came before us, and it did seem as though our fate was destruction or captivity. While intensely watching the progress of the battle on our left, all at once we saw the front of a column of men coming on the double-quick out of the woods in our rear. They advance nearly up to our position, they halt, and face to the left. We saw an officer on a white horse ride up to a color bearer. He takes the standard out of his hand, and with the grand old stars and stripes in one hand, his sword in the other, he gallops to the front; the ranks of blue follow fast their intrepid leader. Then was battle on in all the grandeur of its pomp and circumstance. No one single musket could be heard, but as some vast storm that comes sweeping on from the northwest with a roar that is appallingly sublime, mingled the volleys of the contending hosts, while the salvos of the artillery cause the earth to tremble as in the throes of an earthquake. Our line swings back, like a gate on its hinges, to its former position. But where is that glorious spirit that led that gallant charge that has saved us from capture and our army from certain defeat? An orderly is seen leading back the white horse "that carried his master into the fray," but no rider is there. "Wounded, but not mortally" is the word that is passed from lip to lip. And that brave Polish officer, General Turchin, still lives to receive the thanks and honors of his adopted countrymen. This was the same officer that rebelled against the old world tyranny and, in 1848, with Sigel, Willich, Schurz, Austerhause and many others, fought for liberty in the fatherland until fighting was hopeless; and for the liberty they could never win in their country came to ours; but, strange to say, not one of them ever drew his sword in the cause of the slaveholder's rebellion. Very many of them, as some one has truly said, "wrote their naturalization papers in their blood."

About two o'clock p. m. our brigade was relieved from the line where we had fought in the morning, and held in reserve, ready to be taken to any point on the line where our services might be most needed. The enemy, by the mistake that I have referred to before, had driven a portion of McCook's Corps from the field and entirely out of the battle, and had extended its left so far to the rear as to cut us off from a large spring that had furnished us with water the day before. From the time of this calamity in the morning we had no water, and the air was thick with the sulphurous smoke that created an intense thirst. The men were clamoring and insisting that someone should go for water. There was one member of our company, George Benton, that by his kindness of heart, and implicit and cheerful obedience to orders, had won the respect and confidence of his officers and the hearts of his fellow soldiers. In speech, modest and kindly, yet in the battle he had shown himself as brave as the bravest. George came to me loaded down with canteens, and asked permission to go to the rear and try to find water. I, with some emphasis, refused. The men at that set up a clamor, and insisted that they were suffering for want of water. I explained the hazardous nature of the enterprise. I assured them from the firing that our right was well turned, and that anyone going back, alone and unattended, was liable to be killed, wounded, or captured, which all dreaded more than death or wounds by reason of the inhuman treatment our soldiers received while in rebel prisons. I said to George, "I am afraid you will never come back." With a smile of determination lighting up that noble young face, he replied, "I will come back, captain, or I will be a dead Benton." I was not quite strong enough for the emergency. I made a mistake. That mistake cost George Benton his life. He never returned. Whether he fell by a stray bullet, in those deep woods and thickets, or whether he was captured and murdered in prison, I know not. The records of Salisbury and Andersonville were searched, after the war, but on none could the name of George Benton be found. After we had fallen back on Chattanooga letters came from his father and sisters, inquiring concerning the fate of son and brother. No one can know with what bitterness I reproached myself for allowing myself to be persuaded against my better judgment; and learning by that sad lesson—no member of company B was ever again reported "missing in action." I saw the father and sisters when we came back from the war, and told them what I had already written them before of the way George was lost; but "hope, like an anchor to the soul, sure and steadfast," would not suffer them to give up their dear boy as lost. They hoped that some day, like a lost mariner, he would come from perhaps captivity and sickness, to gladden their hearts and relieve the suspense that was crushing their lives. But twenty-seven autumns have returned since that brave boy was lost to sight in the smoke that covered that dread field of Chickamauga, but no tidings ever came of that one, who was gladly willing to risk his life to alleviate the sufferings of his comrades, and was permitted to do so by the weakness of his commanding officer.

At about four o'clock p. m. our attention was drawn to the heavy firing on our extreme right, and we conjectured that our Reserve Corps was being brought into action. It proved to be true. General Granger came up and with his corps that had known but little, if anything, of the disasters of the day, charged the enemy with the force and effect of victors.

But it seemed it was not the purpose of General Thomas to contend for the field of battle, and to General Granger's Corps was assigned the duty of covering the retreat of the balance of the army.

It was Wellington (whom his comrades loved to call the "Iron Duke") that said at the battle of Waterloo, "would that sundown or Blücher had come." And never did sundown hang his somber curtain over a more grateful body of men than those that remained of the Army of the Cumberland. Just as the sun began to cast the long shadows to the eastward our brigade was retired to the west for about half a mile, still in order of battle; but any one could discern that a general retreat was to be commenced as soon as the friendly darkness should cover us from the view of the enemy. While in this position we heard cheers from what seemed to be a great body of men, and the rumor was at once out that General Burnside had reinforced us from Knoxville. We answered the cheers as heartily as our tired bodies and depressed spirits would permit, and the sky was ablaze with the rockets that shot up from the direction from which we had heard the cheering. Mendenhall's battery of Rodman guns was at that time just in our front. He ordered his men to load with canister, and then I heard him remark "that is the last round of ammunition this battery has."

Some one out toward the skirmish line heard the order "Ninth Louisiana, forward, double-quick, march," and pretty effectually dispelled the delusion that the cheering and rocket party were our friends under General Burnside. It was now quite dark, and tired, depressed and supperless, we commenced the march that meant that the battlefield, with all its treasures of our dead heroes, was to be abandoned to the tender mercies of an enemy that looked upon us as invaders and destroyers of their rights and liberties. It was, indeed, a sad hour. Two days before we had gone into this conflict with full ranks and high hopes of victory. Now we were "silently stealing away" under cover of the darkness, like dastardly assassins, when, in fact, we were there in the holy cause of liberty for all men, and for the union of the states as against rebellion and treason. We were leaving our beloved dead, uncomposed, unburied, with nothing to mark the spot where they fell, with no place of sepulture, with no requiem, save the soughing of the south wind through the banners of the majestic pines, or the nightly songs of the sweet voiced southern mocking bird.

"We carved not a line, we raised not a stone,

But we left them alone in their glory."

We drew away into the defiles of the hills, and the glad sound of the splashing of the horses' hoofs in the little streams that trickled from the hillsides, then the scraping of the tin cups could be heard (the efforts of the boys to get a drink of the muddy hoof-trodden water); but straining it through the teeth, no nectar quaffed by the fabled gods of old ever tasted so refreshing as did that grand beverage of nature to those battle-stained soldiers that night.

Of the route we marched that night I never had the least information; but when the sun arose over the mountains of North Carolina, the twenty-first day of September, it looked down upon the old army in order of battle on the summit of Missionary Ridge. All day we kept this position, but the confederates wanted no more fighting on this occasion, and, you can believe me, they had my entire sympathies.

Some have said that both armies retreated from the field of battle, and had our army stayed on the field the night of the twentieth, no confederate army would have confronted it on the morning of the twenty-first. But this story, though I am told it has gone into history, I never believed to be true. In the first place, the confederate general, Bragg, had, when the campaign commenced, an army nearly equal in numbers to our own, with no rear to take care of and guard. Secondly, after he crossed the mountains he was reinforced by General Longstreet's Corps from the army of northern Virginia. And, thirdly, he had at his command (but not called into the battle to any extent) a large force of Georgia state militia.

Then again, the second day of the battle McCook's Corps was largely cut to pieces and destroyed for fighting business. The 14th and 21st Corps were badly cut up in the two days fighting, and at the close of the second day almost destitute of ammunition. And finally, there was the movement of men before sundown to inform that we were abandoning the field. So it never seemed credible that the confederates were retreating the night of the twentieth as well as ourselves.

The night of the twenty-first we fell back and entrenched a position just outside of the then small village of Chattanooga. The victorious confederates occupied the whole extent of Missionary Ridge, and soon appeared in force on the summit of Lookout.

So I have given you, in great weakness and imperfection, some of my recollections of the memorable campaign of Chattanooga and the battle of Chickamauga. I have read no book or history giving an account of the campaign and battle. Being simply an officer in the line my chances for observation were very limited, and very many of my conclusions are, without doubt, inaccurate. The plans of a battle, always an interesting feature of history, I have, as a matter of course, been compelled to omit.

PRIVATE GEORGE BENTON.
"I will come back or I will be a dead Benton." Page [69].

But if this unworthy effort has revived patriotic memories in the minds of those of you who can remember the war, or revived the recollections of my old comrades in arms, or given some faint idea to those that have come after us of what was attempted and suffered by those that strove "to keep our flag in the sky" in all those dark years, I have been amply rewarded for the attempt.

Chickamauga was in one sense a battle lost; but by it we won the campaign, and from the ground beyond the mountains and beyond the river that we had crossed, the invincible Sherman led his victorious legions into and through the very vitals of the confederacy.

It was one of those grand struggles between brave men that has marked the progress of liberty and right in all ages; that has cemented us firmly in the bonds of Unity and Fraternity and made us in arms invincible as against the world.[^[2]]

[2]. First delivered before the River Styx Literary Society, March 12th, 1887.

THE SIEGE OF CHATTANOOGA, THE BATTLE OF LOOKOUT
MOUNTAIN, AND THE STORMING OF
MISSIONARY RIDGE.

The battle of the nineteenth and twentieth of September, 1863, had resulted in disaster instead of victory. The Army of the Cumberland had been forced to retire, to abandon Missionary Ridge, and to fortify a line running through the outskirts of the village of Chattanooga from Cameron Hill, near the river below to the river above.

The victorious rebels came on and took possession of the entire length of Missionary Ridge, fortifying the same with strong parapets of earth, while one hundred pieces of artillery soon found position on the Ridge from right to left.

General Bragg also took possession of Lookout mountain, and planted some very heavy guns near the summit, just above the palisades. I never knew why those guns did not render our position around Chattanooga entirely untenable, unless it was the poor quality of the guns or lack of ammunition. All the execution that I ever heard of those guns doing was to kill a mule that would have died of starvation later on. Those hundred-pounders that were planted on the summit of Lookout were, for some reason, only fired a few times, and not for weeks prior to the time the siege was raised.

Never in the history of the Army of the Cumberland had the spirit of its officers and men been more depressed. The battle of Chickamauga had not only been fought and lost, but we also lost what was more than losing a battle. We had lost confidence in our commander.

And I think when the order came relieving General Rosecrans and placing General Grant in command of the Army of the Cumberland, there were few regrets expressed, even among those that had theretofore given General Rosecrans the title of "Hero of Stone River." But, in my humble judgment, one thing, and one thing only, saved the Army of the Cumberland. If General Rosecrans had shown himself incompetent to command the army at the battle of Chickamauga, the rebel general, Bragg, was possessed of a stupidity that more than overbalanced the incompetency of Rosecrans.

Just for one moment view our situation. Almost surrounded. No railroad communications over which to supply rations or ammunition. No transportation whatever, save one wagon road over Raccoon mountain, and that so exposed in places to the rebel sharpshooters that the teamsters (though in a sense noncombatants) were constantly exposed to the fire of an enemy they could neither see nor reply to. Then the road itself was simply horrible. When not bounding over ledges of rocks that nothing but an army wagon could withstand, they mired in the quicksand holes with which the way abounded, so that at times an empty wagon was more than a load for a six mule team. Then, this only road was constantly exposed to the raids of troops of the rebel mounted infantry. It was of this road a story is told of a teamster that was stuck with a load of ammunition in one of those miry places, and while he was waking the mountain echoes with his black whip and profanity, was overtaken by an "army chaplain," just fresh from some theological seminary of the north, and had not made the acquaintance of the army mule driver. Hearing the terrible profanity of this Jehu stuck fast in the mud, thought this a fitting opportunity to "sow the good seed," and riding up to the disgusted M. D. said, "My friend, do you know that Christ died for sinners?" The M. D., with a glance at the new and dazzling uniform of the chaplain, sang out, "Look a yer stranger, do you think it's any time for conundrums when I'm stuck fast in the mud and the rebels not a quarter of a mile in the rear?" Whether the chaplain thought his "ground was stony," or that the rebels were too near, he abandoned his theological lesson and left the M. D. to his fate.

In this situation of transportation, with no country on which to forage or draw any supplies whatever, with the Tennessee river behind us, with the Cumberland mountains beyond the river, with more than two hundred miles from the nearest reinforcements, what but the stupidity of Bragg saved us from destruction while in that position.

But, instead of striking us while depressed by defeat, he suffered us to select our position, and before ten days had elapsed our line was bristling with forts of no mean dimensions and strength, putting our capture beyond the possibility of being accomplished by assault.

The siege of Chattanooga proper began about the twenty-fifth of September. It was not long after this before a flag of truce was sent to General Bragg's headquarters on Missionary Ridge, asking the privilege of going out to the Chickamauga battlefield to bury our dead. It had been so slightly done that in some instances not enough dirt had been thrown over the sleeping braves to cover their uniforms. This last sad office was tenderly and carefully performed; and in all instances where there was anything to identify the dead soldier, his name, company, and regiment were marked on rude headboards that could be improvised on the spot. But alas! the fact that we, as an army, could not collect our dead after the battle, caused thousands to sleep in nameless graves.

After the war this army of known and unknown dead was carefully removed to the National Cemetery at Orchard Knob, near the base of the ridge, and buried; all the known neatly marked; but how frequently the word unknown occurs in that beautiful home of the dead soldier.

One good result, besides the decent interment of our dead, was the fact that all of our wounded that were not able to be removed to southern prisons were paroled and sent into Chattanooga. One of our men, Arthur Budlong, had lain upon the battlefield until our boys found him and brought him in under the flag of truce. Thus were the severities of war somewhat modified by the humanity of man that not even the unseemly war-cloud could altogether overshadow.

The monotony and dreariness of a siege can be appreciated only by those that have taken part therein. Language fails me to give you anything like an adequate idea of its listless torments. While on the march the scenery is constantly changing. The exercise of marching keeps one healthy, and keeps one's mind employed and the banishment from home and loved ones does not occupy so much of one's thoughts. The skirmishing and fighting, while dreadful in consequences and results, has on the soldier, to a certain extent, an exhilarating effect; and the hours spent thereafter, in the tales of personal adventure and experience, while causing one sometimes to think that the tribe of "Ananias" was not extinct, yet these tales of personal valor and daring helped to cheer and while away many an idle hour; and, as a rule, no one was deceived "by the tales they told us there." But in the siege every day was like all the others; and from the time we fell back on Chattanooga until operations began about the twentieth of November, the sky was cloudless. And while the long Indian summer period of southern Tennessee, so delightful to the citizen in time of peace, to us soldiers (to a certain extent in captivity) it seemed to breed melancholy and homesickness. We did all we could to avert this trouble. We played seven-up until we almost wore the spots off the cards. We smoked and "jawed." We criticised the plans of campaigns and battles. We decided the merits of brigadier and major generals until, could you have heard us, you would have thought we were writers formulating articles for the Century Magazine instead of besieged soldiers trying to drive away enui. Oh, if baseball had been invented then what regimental, brigade and division clubs we could have organized, with hospitals handy to care for the wounded. If we had only known the silly but fascinating game of lawn tennis our sick list would have been shortened.

But these were not all of our troubles. Our commissary department began to get hard up and threatened suspension. Now, for the purpose of being understood by the Sons of Veterans and the young people that hear me, suffer me to explain. A ration is an allowance, issued by the commissary department, of the various things on which soldiers are fed, to-wit: hard bread (called hard-tack), bacon (sometimes called sow-belly), fresh beef, beans, rice, coffee, sugar, salt and pepper, and sometimes, under favorable circumstances, soft bread. Now a full ration is ample for three meals, and sometimes a little to spare when full. We had not been in a state of siege long (owing to the defective transportation of which I have spoken) before we were put on half rations, that is, one-half of three meals or one and one-half meals a day; and before many days after we were put on quarter rations, that is, three-fourths of one meal a day. Now any of you that have tried to live on less than enough for one meal a day (and are no relation to Dr. Tanner) will realize the situation we were in. While our rations were short and, in fact, fast growing less, the health of the men was materially impaired. The truth is, as a rule, while in camp soldiers eat too much, and exercise too little. The quarter rations were helped out by stealing corn from the famishing mules, which the soldiers parched and ate. The mules and horses that were not sent to the rear died of starvation, so that, at the time the operations began against the position of the enemy, we had not a horse to move a gun. Could we have moved our light batteries on to the Ridge, immediately after the assault, the loss to the enemy would have been much more severe. But while the starvation, the enforced fast that we suffered, may have been beneficial to the health of the men, their morals seemed to decrease in a corresponding ratio. Stealing whatever one could get his hands on to eat became not only prevalent, but popular. The brigade commissaries had to be guarded to keep them from being plundered, while not infrequently the guards proved to be simply cappers for the hungry thieves of the regiments from which they were respectively detailed. Officer's mess-chests were raided; and one could not get up in the night without seeing some adventurous fellow slipping through the rows of tents with a box of hard-tack on his shoulders. Holes were excavated under the floors of the tents, and used as storing places for the plunder obtained by these nocturnal adventures. I now distinctly remember one "Israelite, in whom there was no guile," of company I, that the boys for short called "Jew Jake," that more than kept his mess in hard bread during that time of scarcity. But the sad part of the whole business was that, while the raiders and plunderers had all and more than they needed in the way of bread, the honest ones had comparatively less, as the commissary department distributed with absolute fairness the scanty rations it had to issue. And for once there was no favoritism shown to the officers. An officer could not buy more than was issued for a ration to a private soldier. But I am, as I remember it from this great lapse of time, in no situation to be very hard upon those volunteer commissary sergeants that were so willing to help issue rations, even if they had to go on night duty, for, as I now remember it, Jew Jake was a great friend to the mess of which I was a member. And when the time was that the new white hard-tack looked brighter and better than silver dollars to a people's party man, no questions were asked as to how they were issued.

But the day of our deliverance was fast approaching. Above the village and on the river, inside of our lines, was an old steam sawmill that probably had not turned a wheel since the war began. This was discovered by some one, put in order by some soldier (for we had plenty of soldiers in our ranks that could repair and put in running order, anything from a watch to a locomotive), and, on taking a stroll in that direction one day, I saw a gang of soldiers sawing two-inch planks. These planks were slipped into the river, and landed further down town for further use in the great drama that we were preparing to enact. We had not been penned up long in Chattanooga before the country became aroused at the danger to the Army of the Cumberland. Luckily for us almost everyone saw our danger save General Bragg, and he seemed to have no hostile designs on our army. Truly, it seems to me, General Bragg was the General McClellan of the confederate army, without McClellan's powers of organization and his delight in grand reviews.

As I have stated before, the authorities superseded General Rosecrans, and put the Army of the Cumberland, and all other forces to be assembled, in command of the "Hero of Vicksburg," "the silent conqueror of rebel armies and strongholds." But that was not all; the government, by the aid of the matchless executive ability of Edwin M. Stanton, President Lincoln's war secretary, withdrew the 20th Corps, commanded by General Joe Hooker, from the Army of the Potomac, transferred them by rail and put them into camp at Bridgeport, on the Tennessee river about fifty miles below Chattanooga, in seven days' time. This was the most rapid movement of troops ever known in the world's history. In the meantime General Sherman with his western veterans was on the long march from the Mississippi, headed for Chattanooga. I remember one night the rumor came by "the grapevine telegraph," "Hooker was at Bridgeport, Ala.," and soon the shout "Hooker has come—Hooker has come—Hooker's at Bridgeport" ran along our lines. Even the never ending seven-up was abandoned, and the men gathered in squads to inquire and discuss our prospectively bettered condition and situation, while the officers hastened to headquarters, anxious to have the rumor confirmed. It was not long before an officer from the 20th Corps was seen in Chattanooga, and then the enthusiasm of the Army of the Cumberland knew no bounds. But Lookout valley was in the possession of the enemy, and it was the purpose of General Grant to lodge General Hooker's Corps in that valley, preparatory to swinging it around the north side of Lookout mountain.

Day after day the sound of the ax and the hammer might have been heard at the steamboat landing in front of the village. It was the building of boats from the material sawed at the mill above. The boats were constructed on the pontoon pattern, not deep, but wide, and if the rebels took notice of the work they would have been justified in believing from appearances, that our intention was to construct a pontoon bridge across the river from Chattanooga. But that was not the intention. One day there came an order from General Hazen, who commanded our brigade, to furnish so many men, picked men, on account of their known bravery and soldierly character. Also, a certain number of officers to be selected for the same qualities. We furnished the requisite number from company B, and so did each company of the regiment, but the name of your unworthy speaker was not on the list of officers. He was not either among those called or chosen. Of course, I did not know that our gallant Colonel Pickands considered me worthy for the expedition at hand; but I did know that my saber had been hanging idly in his tent "for low, these many days," and being there duty was not for me until I was again put in possession of the same. So I stayed in camp with Captain Powell of company G and some other officers and men; because, while all were brave enough, all could not be chosen. I think the number selected from our brigade was three hundred, commanded by that prince among fine officers, the late lamented General Hazen.

That night the detail were all gotten ready and down to the landing; and at midnight, when the young moon had hidden its bright crescent behind the Cumberlands, and the fog from the river had wrapped the base of old Lookout in an impenetrable cloud of mist, the "three hundred" embarked silently, and the current of the river bore them down to the point where the work was to be done. They swept along without accident; and not even the sleepless rebel pickets, that lined the left bank of the river, discovered their presence. Just before the sun began to chase away the darkness from the east they halted at Brown's Ferry, the place of their destination. Their boats were hastily shoved ashore and the skirmish line formed, and before the rebels in Lookout valley knew what was going forward, the "three hundred" of our brigade awoke them from their dreams by the crack of their muskets, as they scattered the rebel picket line posted along the river, and before the sun was up Hooker's legions were pouring into the valley and on their way to the north base of Lookout, and by the time the sun had set that day Hooker's skirmish line was in sight of Chattanooga.

This signal success at Brown's Ferry, more remarkable for the boldness of its plan and the daring with which it was executed than anything else, did not cost our brigade the loss of a man, either killed or wounded, but it gave Hooker a foothold in Lookout valley whereby he swept it of rebels and opened up our cracker line, as the boys called it, and in a few days we had full supply. From the date of the expedition to Brown's Ferry whatever there was of the siege of Chattanooga was raised.

THE BATTLE OF LOOKOUT MOUNTAIN.

Not many days after the capture of Lookout valley by Hooker the head column of General Sherman's troops came up on the west side of the river and commenced laying a pontoon bridge across, and soon the western boys, all dusty and begrimed by their long march, came filing through our camps. To say they received a hearty welcome from the Army of the Cumberland is drawing it mildly. They were no paper collar soldiers. They not only had the bearing of veterans, but victors. They marched out east of town and went into camp near Tunnel hill. Even soldiers often have but little idea of the time it takes to move a great army of men from one position to another. It consumed an entire day for General Sherman's army to pass out to their camp.

The twenty-third day of November, 1863, the Army of the Cumberland moved out late in the afternoon, none of us knowing the purpose. We formed in a continuous line of battle with a heavy skirmish line well in the front. At the word of command we all moved in the direction of the ridge.

Before the rebels seemed to be aware of what was intended we had come up to our picket line, and that also advanced with our skirmishers, when the rebel outposts in most places gave way without showing much resistance. But where the rebel line crossed Orchard Knob they had quite respectable rifle pits which they defended with some spirit, causing the 41st O. V. I. some trouble in dislodging them, and thereby we had some few men wounded in our brigade. This line, formerly occupied by the rebel outposts, we at once commenced fortifying by throwing up strong rifle pits of earth and stone. We then advanced our skirmish line well out toward the base of the ridge. One of the prisoners that we captured said: "Weuns thought youns was coming out for a review, we didn't think youns was coming out to fight weuns." We informed the Johnny that General Grant was commanding us, and he was not a review general. That night we bivouacked on the line, working on the rifle pits by details. It might be well enough to here remark that the saber of the subscriber, that had so long hung in the tent of Colonel Pickands, was shortly before this forward movement returned, owing to the fact that the little unpleasantness that had occurred with General Willich had fallen into the condition of "inoxous disuetude," and your humble servant was permitted to carry that then and now totally useless appendage of an officer until the muster-out man relieved him therefrom.

For fear some of you may think my offense was more serious than it was, and that all may know just how severe army discipline was in those times when men for the good of their country submitted to the petty tyranny and whims of their superiors, I have concluded to relate the experience I had of being under arrest. It was one of those beautiful Indian summer days when, under conditions of peace, bare existence is a luxury, I had command of the reserve post in front of Fort Wood. To relieve the tedium of the hour, myself and three non-commissioned officers on duty with me were engaged in the army orthodox game of "seven-up." On looking to the eastward I saw a general officer and his staff approaching as they came over the top of a hill. I immediately turned out the reserve, and when the cavalcade rode up I gave the order "present arms," which was obeyed in good style, but instead of General Willich and his staff riding away with a kind good morning, he said, "Captain, you report mit your Colonel under arrest," and without telling me what the "head and front of my offending" consisted of, I started back to the headquarters of my regiment. I deposited my cheese knife with the Colonel, and he directed me to report to the brigade commander, and he directed me to report to General Willich, whom I found in an old log house. I made known to him my business. After producing a snuffbox as large as an army frying pan, and after filling very well his nasal appendage, commenced in about this style: "Cap'n, you blay cards mit your men. I blay cards. I blay cards mit officers, but not mit men. You blay cards mit your men—mit your enlisted men. Your men not have respect mit you. Then when you come mit the battle, you lose control mit your men, you company preaks, the regiment preaks, and the brigade goes to the tyfle. You go mit your quarters, I prefer charges mit you." Here was a splendid Prussian officer that at this late period of the war had not learned the value of the volunteer soldier and that it was perfectly safe to treat him when off duty like any other gentleman of equal merit. This fact was known in our regiment from the start, and the difference between the officer and the enlisted man was never asserted only for the purpose of duty—the good of the service. The charges of the brave Prussian officer were preferred in due time, and, before this movement that I have described, were withdrawn at the instance of General Wm. B. Hazen, and that was the last that was ever heard of the charges of "blaying cards mit your men."

November 24th the mist hung heavy on the summit of Lookout and almost hid the monarch of the Cumberlands from our view. Nothing occurred to break the monotony of the soldier's life until about half past ten o'clock a. m. a heavy firing commenced on the other side of Lookout from us, and rumor (the soldiers telegraph) said "that Hooker was advancing up the west and north sides of the mountain." This did not long lack confirmation, for our fort on Cameron Hill soon commenced shelling the woods that covered the mountain, save a cleared field just below the palisades, in a very spirited manner. This fire was returned by the big rebel guns mounted on the summit of Lookout, just above the palisades, but for some reason seemed entirely ineffective.

How many of those present ever heard a vigorous cannonading in a mountainous country? Of course, nearly all the old soldiers present to-day have. The mountain ridges were so situated around Chattanooga that a single discharge of a cannon would be repeated by the echo five and six times, the second and third nearly as loud as the first discharge.

You can therefore imagine the grandeur of an artillery duel in these mountains. General Grant ordered a battery down near Chattanooga creek, that runs between the town and the base of the mountain, which did effective work in shelling the woods all day, and must have been most terribly annoying to the rebels. It was not long before we could tell by the firing coming nearer that Hooker's veterans from the east were driving the rebels before them, and soon the lines of blue smoke could be seen rising above the trees. All eyes were now centered on Lookout, and in a short time we could see the rebels had fallen back to the open field below the palisades, in which at that time stood a farm house.

Presently we could see the lines of blue coming from out the woods into the open field, and from their direction and extension they must have reached from the base of the mountain to the palisades. The fighting seemed heaviest on the east side of the open field; but nothing could withstand the force of the constant charge that Hooker was making, and when the sun went down the rebel line was driven back well along the east side of the mountain and nearly opposite the west end of Missionary Ridge. The skirmish lines kept up a constant fire until after midnight, marking their positions by the continuous blaze of the musketry. Two lines of musketry running up the steep sides of a mountain in plain view, and constantly belching forth their tongues of flame, is a sight most inspiring, and seen only once in a lifetime.

That night the rebels abandoned Lookout, and the next morning we greeted the grand old stars and stripes floating proudly from the summit of that mountain peak, in place of the traitorous emblem that we had been compelled to gaze upon, in disgust, for so many long sad weeks.

THE BATTLE OF MISSIONARY RIDGE.

We fought the battle of Missionary Ridge with the great victory of the battle of Lookout mountain as an inspiration, and the flag the gallant Hooker planted there waiving above us.

Some have supposed that the battle of Missionary Ridge was fought without any definite plan save to find the enemy and fight him, but this is an error. While the battle of Missionary Ridge was a brilliant success, could General Grant's plan have been carried out Bragg's entire army must have been destroyed or captured. Hooker was ordered to withdraw from the mountain early in the morning of the twenty-fifth, cross Chattanooga creek and move up the valley to Rossville, and thereby substantially turn Bragg's left flank. Sherman was to attack his right flank at Tunnel Hill, while Thomas, in direct command of the Army of the Cumberland, was to hold the center, and fall on his rear the moment he saw any indications that Bragg was withdrawing to support his right or left. But it was never intended that the ridge should be climbed in the face of the enemy, without either of his flanks being turned or shaken. No general ever dreamed of the storming of Missionary Ridge before the charge began. The best plans of battles often fail of execution. When General Hooker struck Chattanooga creek he found a stream he could not ford, and was compelled to bridge in face of the enemy and under a heavy fire. And instead of being able to reach Rossville early in the day, as was expected by Grant, he found himself confronted by the enemy more resolute and determined than had opposed him on the mountain the day before.

Sherman opened the battle on our left with great vigor and determination, and from our position we could see his charging columns; but he found the enemy in a very strong position, naturally, improved by very strong works, and he seemed to make little, if any, progress.

Our line ran through the edge of a small growth of timber. To the front there was a soap-stone plateau of about six hundred yards, before reaching the base of the ridge, where ran a line of the enemy's rifle pits well filled with infantry. Our skirmish line covered the entire front of the brigade, and soon after our position had been taken Colonel Pickands came to the officers of the regiment with the order that "at the firing of six guns from Fort Wood, and the sounding of the forward, we must face to the front, and not suffer ourselves to be checked until we put ourselves into the rebel works at the base of the ridge."

No emotion was visible in the soldierly face of our brave colonel, save, perhaps, a little more violent chewing of a large quid of the weed that added rotundity to his bronzed weather-beaten cheek. His further order was that we inform each man in the ranks of what was expected of him. Commanding at the time company B, it was my painful duty to break the news to those that I had known from boyhood, and that I had learned to love as brothers. No one that I communicated the order to, but turned pale.

If the Light Brigade, that Tennyson has immortalized, was ordered "into the jaws of death, into the gates of hell," what was to be our fate when, the moment our line struck the open plateau, one hundred guns would be opened on us from the summit of the ridge; while the infantry, safe in its works at the foot of the ridge, would be in deadly range from the moment we emerged from the little strip of timber that concealed our line. Now there was nothing to do but wait. Now the time hung heavy. Now the soldier's thoughts were filled with home and the loved ones left behind, and what would become of them if he should fall in the terrific charge that he knew would soon have to be made.

It is the dreadful waiting that is more terrible than the shock of battle. When once within the storm of the leaden hail the soldier seems to rise to a higher plane of life; and while his comrades fall around him, the din of battle in his ears, the groans of the wounded and dying, the shouts of defiance of the enemy, and encouragement of his comrades are ringing out on every hand, he feels as much the master of the storm of battle as the eagle of the storm cloud.

But the waiting at last comes to an end. Hooker has found more difficulties in pushing his column to the right of the ridge and in the direction of Rossville, than had been anticipated, and as the sun was slowly sinking toward the crest of Waldron's Ridge the cannon belched forth from Fort Wood.

Every soldier of the 124th was instantly in position, and as the silvery notes of the bugle sounded the forward, and breaking the awful silence after the cannon's reverberations had ceased, the 124th, with clutched muskets, rushed forth to the charge of death. As soon as we emerged from the line of timber the rebel guns opened on us, and the whole ridge from right to left blazed like a volcano. The earth trembled and shook as though in the throes of an earthquake, while grape, canister, shell and shrapnel bounded on the stony plain, like peas on the threshing floor. The rebel infantry at the base of the ridge, seeing the impetuosity of the charge, left their works and fled to their main line at the summit. The terrible order had been obeyed. We had put ourselves into the rebel works at the base of the ridge; and, looking back over the way we had come, we saw the solid ranks of infantry moving toward us. The rebel artillery from the top of the ridge opened terrible gaps and lanes in those ranks of blue; but nothing daunted, onward, with steady step, they come, until they mingle with us at the foot of the ridge. The terrible order had been obeyed, and the mercenary soldier would have been content to have remained in the comparative security afforded by the hill. Not so the grand old Army of the Cumberland; not so the grand old 124th. Without orders the charge was at once resumed. The ridge in our front is eight hundred feet above the level of the Tennessee; in some places almost perpendicular, but in our front not so abrupt, but so steep that the ascent was difficult to one without arms and accoutrements. On rushed the gallant army; on rushed the gallant regiment. Every soldier had all the ardor of a Phil. Sheridan. No opportunity to return the galling fire. Comrades falling at every step, but at last the summit is gained. The enemy completely routed. The guns of the rebels turned. Plenty of ammunition found, but no friction primers. The ingenuity of the 124th is equal to the occasion. A boy shouts "stand back," fires his musket on the breech of the cannon, and the shell goes screeching toward the ranks of the retreating enemy, adding consternation to panic.

On the left of where we broke the line the enemy still held out against the heroic charge of the gallant Willich. Instantly a line of the 124th is formed, the left half-wheel executed, and the rebels, finding their flank attacked, crumble and finally flee in dismay. A battery of artillery is descried in the front, being moved to the rear. Instantly and without orders a few men form a skirmish line and advance, and in a few seconds every horse is shot down. The guns proved to be a part of the celebrated Loomis battery, taken by the rebels at Stone river.

But the red sun had gone down behind the ridge of the Cumberlands. The stars and stripes float proudly from the entire length of Missionary Ridge, where but a few hours before the flag of the traitor floated in defiance of law and right. Then went up such a shout from that mountain-top, as was only heard, "when the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy."

The share of the trophies of the 124th was seven cannon captured, among which was the celebrated Washington Artillery of New Orleans, many hundreds of prisoners, and a great amount of small arms.

The storming of Missionary Ridge is the most remarkable military success that can be found recorded on the pages of history, of either ancient or modern warfare. General Grant, who was an eyewitness of the battle, says in his official report, "the troops rushed forward, drove the enemy from the rifle pits at the base of the ridge like bees from a hive, stopped but a moment until the whole was in line, and commenced the ascent of the mountain from right to left, almost simultaneously, following closely the retreating enemy without further orders. They encountered a fearful volley of grape and canister from one hundred pieces of artillery and musketry from still well-filled pits on the summit of the ridge. Not a waiver, however, was seen in all that line of brave men. Their progress was steadily onward until the summit was in their possession. I can account for this only on the theory that the enemy's surprise at the audacity of such a charge caused confusion, and purposeless aiming of their pieces."

The rebel general, Bragg, in his official report, says: "No satisfactory excuse can possibly be given for the shameful conduct of our troops in allowing the line to be frustrated. The position was one that ought to have been held by a line of skirmishers against any assaulting column. Those who reached the ridge did so in a condition of exhaustion from the great physical exertion in climbing, which rendered them powerless, and the slightest effort would have destroyed them."

Napoleon's veterans charged the muzzle of whole parks of Russian artillery at Borodino, but they had solid columns and the force of great numbers, and no obstacles to overcome in making that world-renowned charge.

The Light Brigade charged the Russian redoubt at Balaklava, only to be swept away by the concentrated fire of the Russian batteries; but they had the impetuosity of a cavalry movement to drive them on en masse, while the storming of Missionary Ridge was the individual heroism of each and every man in that grand Army of the Cumberland, and is only explained by the rebel general substantially calling his brave men cowards, who fought at Shiloh, Stone river, and had so recently been victorious on the dread field of Chickamauga.

The great battle of Missionary Ridge was won by the individual moral force of the volunteer union soldier, never known before to the history of warfare.

That evening the moon rose over the summit of Tunnel hill, and shone smilingly along the bare and desolate side of Missionary Ridge, as though the soil was not wet with the blood of brothers. There, lying close to the rebel parapet, was the young and brave captain, James H. Frost, of Company I, his calm face bathed by the soft moonlight and looking as peaceful as though an angel guarded his slumbers.

Further down the bloody track of the 124th lay twenty-two of its braves, "sleeping the sleep that knows not breaking."

"The tempest may roar,

And the loud cannon rattle,

They hear not, they heed not,

They're free from all pain.

They sleep their last sleep,

They have fought their last battle,

No sound can awake them to glory again."

More than twenty-seven years have passed since that heroic struggle on the steep mountain side of Missionary Ridge. The blue and the gray sleep side by side in the National Cemetery at its base. Chattanooga, then a small war-battered village, has grown, by northern capital and northern industry, to be an important iron manufacturing city. The Tennessee runs its bright and winding way around the proud Lookout, but no rebel yell pollutes the air, and no rebel rag defies the national authority, but all is peace and order, industry and law. And so we bid farewell to the contemplation of one of those great sacrifices that "saved us a nation."

THE EAST TENNESSEE CAMPAIGN, AND THE MARCH
FROM CHATTANOOGA TO KNOXVILLE.

Hooker's victorious legions had descended from Lookout. The battle of Missionary Ridge had been fought and won. General Geary's division of the 20th Corps had followed the beaten and disheartened Bragg to Ringgold, and there attacking the enemy in his entrenched position on the White Oak mountains, had suffered a repulse in which the gallant 7th and 8th Ohio lost severely. It was there that the idols of the 7th, Colonels Crane and Creighton, fell. But our portion of the army advanced no further south at that time, and the 20th Corps went into winter quarters. But no such needed rest and recuperation, after the long time of siege and starvation at Chattanooga, seemed to fall to the lot of the 4th Corps of the Army of the Cumberland.

The twenty-sixth day of November, 1863, the day after the battle of Missionary Ridge, we spent in gathering up our beloved dead from off the mountainside where they had charged so gallantly the day before. We brought each regiment's sleeping braves and composed them in long lines, each company's by itself. I wish those that love war, that are filled with martial ardor, that are hoping that some complication will involve us in a war with Great Britain, could have walked with me along those lines of noble dead. There lay in peaceful slumber all ages, all sizes and forms of men, from the heavy, tall and bearded man of fifty to the smooth-faced lad of fifteen.

O, could we feel the breaking hearts of wife, mother, father, sister, brother, and affianced, when the shouting was over, when the headlines of the great victory had become familiar, when the congratulatory orders and proclamations had been issued and read, and the cold, sad news had been conveyed to each home that claimed a loved one lost in that great victory—then, and only then, could we know and feel the real horrors of war. Then, I am sure, all those that love war and delight in the clash of arms would lift their voices for peace—lasting peace. We soldiers were not the real sufferers—they were the sad, loving hearts at home. But then, as now, duty was not to the dead, but to the living. Their manly forms wrapped in their martial cloaks (the soldier's coarse blanket) were tenderly buried on that beautiful elevation known as Orchard Knob, which was the beginning of that National Cemetery where all the wealth that a grateful nation and a loving people could lavish has made it, in walks, drives, fountains, lawns, marbles, shrubbery and flowers, one of the most beautiful places on earth. Here the name and rank of each soldier is registered, when known, but alas, there are thousands there that fill unknown and nameless graves.

But the news of the siege of Knoxville had come to us from the hundreds of miles to the northward. Longstreet's Corps of the army of northern Virginia had been detached from Bragg's army before the battle of Missionary Ridge; Bragg, relying upon the strength of the natural fortifications that he held, considered that it was only a question of time when the battered remnants of Rosecrans' army, that had been withdrawn from the lost field of Chickamauga, must succumb to want and hunger; and the corps commanded by Longstreet, and some other forces of the enemy in the north and east parts of Tennessee, could soon render the situation of Burnside at Knoxville as helpless as ours at Chattanooga. But the fortunes of war, like all other things, change with time. Rosecrans had been suspended and Hooker had been sent by Scranton to the Tennessee in so short a space of time that the feat was the comment and wonder of the watching world. Grant and Sherman had met.

The greatest living tactician and the most consummate handler of men, were in counsel. Then, as I have stated, Bragg was beaten and driven away, and Sherman marched to relieve Burnside. He was given entire command, and within two days after the smoke of the battle of Missionary Ridge had cleared away from the hilltops and mountains around about Chattanooga, Sherman's army was on the march up the Tennessee river for Knoxville, keeping on the east side of the valley.

The first day our brigade only marched two miles, having to wait for the other brigades and divisions to get out of the way.

We crossed the Chickamauga river a short distance above Chattanooga on a pontoon bridge that had been put down by some brigade of General Sherman's army. The next obstruction that we encountered was a river that comes in from the east, the name of which has slipped my memory. This had to be crossed by the aid of a small river steamboat that had the capacity of taking over not much more than a company at a trip, and we became very impatient waiting this tedious process of transfer. It was a stern-wheel wheezy affair, and I remember the boys rechristened it "The River Snail," and we put in our time making jokes at the expense of the boat and crew, that acted as though the service they rendered was a matter of force, and that they worked neither for love of country nor compensation. At last we were safely across the river, and the old stern-wheeler, years agone, marks some sand bar on the Tennessee or some of its beautiful tributaries. Shortly after this steamboat ride of almost one hundred feet we went into camp; the night was clear and cold, and not being very well supplied with blankets, we had difficulty in getting much sleep from Old Mr. Morpheus, the god that the ancients supposed had charge of that soothing business.

November 29th we passed through the village of Georgetown, and here we saw the stars and stripes first displayed by any citizens of the south. The women came out and waived handkerchiefs and almost anything else they could get hold of, while the "Old Blind Mice"[^[3]] made the air vocal with shouts and cheers for the first people that seemed to love the old flag that we had seen since we left Louisville, Ky. These poor people had had their homes desolated, had been robbed of what few stores they had by the rebel army, and, having the name of being union people, they had been common plunder for every rebel trooper whose rough ride had taken him into their village. No wonder they cheered and threw the old flags they had kept during all those dark years of murder, pillage and rapine to the breeze, when they saw "Uncle Billy" marching northward with his army that would drive the hated rebel from their own beautiful valley.

[3]. The pet name of the 124th.

December 6th found us in the valley of the Little Tennessee river, a beautiful stream of water, clear as cut glass. This valley is one of the most wealthy sections of east Tennessee. It may be rivaled by the Sweetwater valley, perhaps. The inhabitants of these valleys being rich before the war, and slaveholders, showed nothing but rebel proclivities. We marched through what had been once a beautiful village, called Marysville. It must have had at one time some two thousand population, but it was sadly out of repair. There had been a cavalry fight in its streets, and there was not a whole light of glass remaining on the street that we marched through, and the houses showed plainly the marks of the carbine and cannon shot.

It was at about this point that General Sherman issued his famous order, to wit: "That any company, regiment or brigade, that struck the enemy, should open the battle without regard to the position of the balance of the army, and without awaiting further orders." This was conclusive proof we were approaching Knoxville, and must be within the vicinity of Longstreet's army, and we expected to hear the battle open every minute. But the rebel general was, without doubt, well versed in the literature of the nursery, and well remembered "that he who fights and runs away, may live to fight another day. While he who is in battle slain, can never rise to fight again." General Longstreet, hearing of the near approach of Sherman's army, attacked Fort Saunders, was dreadfully repulsed and then abandoned the siege of Knoxville, without one of Sherman's army having the chance to unload a musket at the boasting veterans of the army of northern Virginia.

Monday, December 7th, we marched within two miles of Knoxville and went into camp, having marched from Chattanooga in ten days, over two hundred miles the way we came, having carried our rations in our haversacks, and eighty rounds of cartridges to the man, never having a wagon after we left Chattanooga. Here we met the 103d O. V. I. The major of the 103d was a brother of our Lieutenant Colonel Pickands, and we were well acquainted with many of the boys of that regiment. The greetings that followed were not only cordial and heartfelt, but enthusiastic, and the shouts that went forth when the boys found that Burnside's army had been reinforced by the army that marched fresh from one of the most important victories of the war more than two hundred miles to relieve them, awoke the echoes among the hills of the north.

We were tired and foot-sore and (to be candid about it), even at this late day, I remember that we much preferred being cheered to fighting Longstreet. Those gallant fellows offered us everything they had in the world save something to eat and drink, which they had not.

After a night of rest only known to tired, foot-sore soldiers, "free from war's alarms," Lieutenant Stedman and myself procured passes and went into the city of Knoxville. This was the largest city we had seen since we left Nashville, and had a very neat and healthy appearance, considering that it had been at times the headquarters for both rebel and union armies. This city is situated at the confluence of the French Broad river, that rises in the Blue Ridge mountains of North Carolina, and the Holston, that comes down from the Cumberland mountains of northeast Tennessee and Virginia, forming the Tennessee river that flows past the city in a deep rapid current. The Tennessee river at Knoxville is one of those glorious streams that the lover of nature never views without interest, and usually with delight.

Knoxville, with its beautiful streets, its bright and bounding river, its mountains on the west and north, just near enough to be romantic, with a naturally rich valley flanking it on all sides, must ever remain one of the nicest, and one of the most delightful, towns in the world. I have not been there since the war, but I am told by those that have, that, with its unbounded wealth of iron, coal and marble, as well as its splendid agricultural resources, added a climate that is neither tropical nor northern, but the happy mean between the two, its growth has been great and substantial. I suppose a member of the Blind Mice, finding himself in the Knoxville of to-day, would hardly know it from what he remembers of the Knoxville he marched to relieve in the early winter of 1863-64.

This was the home of the celebrated Parson Brownlow, and I well remember that on going down the main street of the city this day that we first visited Knoxville, of seeing his brave and beautiful daughter, Kate, standing under the flag, bowing and smiling to the union soldiers as they raised their caps to her; all in very great contrast to her demeanor when the rebels held the city and she kept that same flag floating in defiance of the rebel crew that surrounded her on every hand.

We promised her that the rebel foot should never again press the streets of Knoxville save in captivity; a promise that we kept and proved true, but how much our valor contributed to that result we will see further on.

This same Parson Brownlow had two sons in the union army, James and John, commanding at that time east Tennessee regiments.

We went down to the north end of the town and found a barber shop in full blast, and concluded that we would indulge in the benefits conferred by the tonsorial artist; so taking the chair without inquiry as to terms, had our locks put in shape, and our faces made more presentable; but when the time for the settlement came we found the artist only charged fifty cents for hair cutting and thirty cents for shaving, which caused us some surprise.

We next concluded to visit Fort Saunders, that General Longstreet had made up his mind to take a few mornings before we arrived in that vicinity. Of course we did not see the battle, and all I can give you is what we saw after several days had passed. I am not certain, but I should say that Fort Saunders stood northwesterly of the city, and a full mile out from the same. I do not know whether the fort was built by General Burnside or not, but I think it was built by him after he was sent to that department, as the moats and parapets seemed new. There must have been timber standing on the easterly and northerly sides at no very great time before, as the ground was covered with stumps, and they seemed new and strong, as though the timber had been recently cut. General Burnside's men, expecting the assault (as Fort Saunders seemed to be the key to General Burnside's position), had contrived a very ingenious way of defense. They procured a large quantity of telegraph wire, and stretched it from one stump to another about knee high, winding it around each stump a few times to make it secure. This they did with seemingly very great industry, for nearly all the approaches to the fort were a perfect network of wire. They also loaded a large number of shell with fuzes cut at about five seconds, and had them placed handy when the time came for the assault. This I have from one of the defenders of the fort.

Just as the dawn was breaking in the east General Longstreet's assaulting column drove in the pickets, and, with that yell that once heard is never forgotten, came dashing on toward the fort; but when they reached the wire they did some ground and lofty tumbling, mostly ground, and the fort opened a most terrible fire of musketry, shot and shell. But nothing daunted, though their formation was badly broken up, they came on and soon filled the ditches around the fort. Then the shells were lighted and thrown over the parapets into the ditches, making fearful havoc as they exploded among the swarming rebels. I suppose a more determined and bloody charge was never made during the war. The rebels even climbed up the embrasures of the fort, and the cannoneers cut them down with axes.

But the short range shells and the heroic resistance made by the defenders of the fort were too much for the unquestioned heroism of the assailants, and what remained of them straggled back, as best they could, to the main body of Longstreet's army.

I will not attempt to give a description of the scene in the ditches and around the fort. It beggars all the horrors that language can describe. When we visited the fort of course all the dead and wounded had been removed; but when we came to walk along the bottom of the moats that surrounded the fort, the evidences of the sanguinary conflict still remained. Here lay a tongue, there, an ear, and beyond, a jaw bone. I saw a hand lying opposite one of the embrasures of the fort that was cut off as smoothly as though severed with one blow from an ax; but though we rejoiced in a defense that saved General Burnside's army, we were glad to leave this scene of horror and return to camp where the Mice were resting their weary limbs after the terrible march that we had endured.

December 29th, 1863, we moved our camp to the north into a fine piece of woods, and remained there until the year 1863 had gone. What a year of marchings, battles, and sorrow. How many of those that left Camp Cleveland with us—just one year before—now "sleep the sleep that knows not breaking." What a change in our regiment. Our ranks have been thinned, but our effectiveness has been increased. We have been tried in all the sad experiences of war. Patriotism brought to our ranks very many never calculated, either physically or mentally, to make soldiers. Their intentions were high and noble, and they failed by no fault of theirs; their final discharge was a mercy to them, and a blessing to us. Many came home and abandoned army service forever. Many enlisted in other regiments, for shorter terms and less arduous duties; but, as a rule, all did all they could to maintain the integrity of the Union.

January 1st, 1864, opened the most eventful year of the war. Each army had come to its full strength and vigor. "The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot" had long since retired, and we had a man as commander in chief of all the armies that had the correct notion of the way of putting down the rebellion. A man that realized that the theory of conquering rebel territory while the rebel armies remained intact was worse than useless. That if armies are to be destroyed, the quicker it can be accomplished, the more precious lives saved. Great and decisive battles, with all their untold horrors, are angels of mercy compared to the small battle, the skirmish, where a few are lost and nothing accomplished.

But I find myself digressing, by the thoughts that come crowding up, as I contemplate the value(?) of our east Tennessee campaign of 1864.

January 14th we struck tents, and crossing the river marched twenty-two miles to a position known as Strawberry Plains. I never knew why they called it by that name unless it was because it had no appearance of ever having grown any strawberries, or because the foothills of the Clinch mountains were too rough and irregular to be called plains. I guess the fellow that furnished the name had never been away from home.

On this march we saw the gallows where four citizens of east Tennessee were executed. The gallows stood hard by the side of the railroad track. These men were executed for a very heinous crime. It may be briefly stated: They loved their country and their country's flag too well to swear allegiance to the southern confederacy, and so they were put to death.

The next day we marched to Dandridge, a small village situated on the French Broad river, and camped in a beautiful pine woods.

Here we had orders from Colonel Pickands to fix up winter quarters, as we would probably stay right here until the spring campaign opened, and the pine poles were just the material from which to construct winter quarters of the most commodious kind. For the benefit of the Sons of Veterans I will describe the process. You must remember at this time we were soldiers, and soldiers of the Uncle Billy pattern and kind. If we had any shelter, save the starry heavens, we had to carry that shelter on our backs, as well as our camp equipage. Now, at this time, you must also remember that our regiment was divided into messes, and that by the process of natural selection four men would come together and call each other Pard. What there was that kept these messes together I never knew. I said they came together by natural selection for the reason that when we find anything that we cannot explain we call it natural and let it go. These messes of four would sing, quarrel, fight, make-up and divide all they had with each other inside of twenty minutes. Each member of each mess would swear that there were not three as good foragers in the regiment as his three messmates. Somehow or other, a good forager was always held up as a patron saint in the 124th Regiment. Chaplain Hubbard, of the 103d O. V. I., was the "bright and morning star" in this business of all the members of the army of occupation of east Tennessee. I call it the army of occupation because, before I am done, you will see that is all we did. Well, to resume, each one of these four messmates would carry one piece, at least, of shelter tent. Sometimes more could be found, but usually, where more were found, some others had less. This more or less business was a common thing in the army.

Now in the first place the streets were laid out, which streets were the parade grounds of the several companies, where they were formed and marched to the regimental parade ground. The stumps, when we camped in the woods, were carefully dug out of these streets, and the same nicely graded and ditched. Then at the left-hand side looking toward the regimental parade ground the quarters of the messes were erected. This I know will seem very commonplace to the old comrade, but you will bear with me, as I am speaking to-day to many Sons of Veterans and others, that were too young to be with us in this experience. The poles were then cut long enough to cover with two pieces of shelter tent, then laid up, notched at the corners to bring them down quite close, laid up high enough so the soldier could stand upright comfortably. The ends or gables were cobbed up to the peak, or fixed up with the extra tents, poles were fastened on with bark or withes, and the tents make the roof. Then the cracks were stopped with mud. A stick or stone chimney is built in the back end. Two bunks are made, one on either side, with crotches driven into the ground, and small poles laid lengthwise and covered with pine boughs and the U. S. army blanket make the bed. Gun-racks are made above each bunk for two muskets and two sets of accouterments. An extra blanket is hung up for a door, and the house is furnished by the inventive genius of the mess. The bunks during the daytime furnish upholstered seats. This house answers for kitchen, dining room, and dormitory, and a healthier home does not stand in the city of Cleveland. One of the best features of the whole business is, they were not liable to sale under execution, or foreclosure, neither for delinquent taxes. This house I have described was one of a large city our division built at Dandridge. Please note how long they were suffered to enjoy the fruits of their ingenuity and industry.

If I were called upon to organize an army that should accomplish the greatest warlike good (if the word good can be used in connection with the word war), I would start, in our experience as soldiers, where we left off. The government should never build quarters for soldiers, they should build their own. The government should never furnish any transportation for well soldiers, and instead of staying in camp, I would have them move from place to place, thereby avoiding the disease that camps breed. The sooner the soldier becomes self-sustaining, within a certain limit, the better for themselves and the service.

January 16th Colonel Pickands came to my quarters and said he had a soft snap for me; said that I had never had a detail, that I had stayed right with the regiment since we took the field, and he was only too glad to confer this favor. I thanked the genial commander, though I had no desire to leave the Mice in that way; and had but very little confidence in what he said he heard from headquarters, "that we would probably stay where we were for three months." About ten o'clock a. m. the detail was ready, consisting of 149 men. The order was to march to New Market and guard the division stores. We went through a fairly good country, and along in the afternoon we met General Sheridan and staff. He was riding that same black horse that afterward "carried him into the fray from Winchester, twenty miles away." He asked a number of questions. The first was, if I had heard any firing in the direction of Dandridge? This question showed the true instinct of the great general; that he was always looking out for a battle, and had he been in command of the union forces in east Tennessee, the country would have been electrified by the news of a signal victory won, instead of a disastrous retreat from Dandridge, whereby so many of our poor boys were captured, and carried to Andersonville and death. Soon after we bade good-bye to Sheridan and staff one of the Mice, and he must have been one of the kind known as ground mice, found an apple-hole, and before I was aware of what was going on, the Mice were all busy digging out apples. The owner came out and protested; said he was a union man, had been from the start, and his property should be protected. I agreed in all he said, and by the time his protest was fully entered his apples had been transferred to the capacious haversacks of the Mice. Of course I was to blame. I should not have suffered the Mice to gnaw and destroy this good man's apples; but what, I ask you, could I do with 149 men that had not seen or tasted an apple since the fall of 1862? I offered to give him a voucher for the apples, and told him if he was as good a union man as he claimed to be the commissary department at Knoxville would pay him. But he seemed to know what the voucher was worth better than I and declined the same; we marched on to New Market, arriving there after dark, having marched twenty-three miles since ten o'clock.

I soon found nice quarters for my men in the abandoned houses of the village, and my mess arrangements having been broken up, I engaged boarding with an old lady that had two sons in the union army. This was one of the worst battered towns I had seen in the south. The sentiment was about equally divided between union and rebel, and the town had been badly plundered by both sides. The stores were at the station on the railroad, and after relieving the men on duty with a detail of my men, had supper, and being very tired, the old lady showed me a room, and I went to bed between nice white sheets, the first time in more than twelve months. Visions of feather beds, soft bread, pies and cakes, no marching, no picket guard, haunted me until 3 o'clock the next morning, when I was awakened by a loud rapping at my door; on getting out I saw the yellow stripes of a cavalry orderly. He very politely handed me an order directing me to march my detail back to Strawberry Plains, as the army was falling back from Dandridge. I got out to the quarters of the men as soon as I could, aroused the orderly sergeant and the men, called in the guards at the station, and started back on the railway track for the point to which we had been ordered. And that ended the "soft snap."

The winter quarters the Mice had built, the city one day old, was abandoned, and the brigade, wearied out by marching in the deepest mud I ever saw, slept that night under the stars at Strawberry Plains. What became of the stores at New Market I never knew, and why we were ordered back I never knew. All I know about the matter is that Uncle Billy had gone north to meet Grant at Cincinnati, and General Sheridan was not in command.

We lost more men on the retreat from Dandridge than would have been lost in a battle with Longstreet, and we had men enough to have whipped him and driven him out of the state. But "the grand army of occupation" was permitted to do no fighting, and so we wallowed around in the mud of east Tennessee.

In a few days we marched down to Knoxville and below to a place named in honor of one of America's greatest poets, I guess; in any event, it had the poetical name of Lenore, and if not loved, it certainly seemed lost. It may have been found since the war, but it was certainly lost Lenore when we were there.

I suppose no part of the south suffered so much in the way of partisan warfare as east Tennessee. This part of the state owned very few slaves, and the inhabitants were largely true to the union cause. Of course, the wealthy portion of the people were slaveholders, and they were rebels to a man, and middle Tennessee, Georgia, Virginia, and some portions of North Carolina were intensely rebel, and thus you will understand that east Tennessee was surrounded by a disloyal population. Then, again, the Tennessee valley was the principal gateway from Richmond to the southwest and, until the occupation of Knoxville by General Burnside, this valley was continually being overrun by rebel troops of all sorts, from infantry to mounted bushwhackers. The disloyal, when the rebel army was present, informed on their loyal neighbors, and the old men, the women, and the children had to seek safety in the woods, ravines, and caves of the mountains, only to see their dear old homes in flames behind them. Even the learned and respected Judge Baxter, afterwards appointed judge of the United States circuit court, who, before the war, had a fine residence and lucrative practice in the city of Knoxville, was compelled to "lie out in the bush," as they call it, for three months at one time, to save his life; and yet with most remarkable magnanimity, through Judge Baxter's influence, not an acre of rebel land or a rebel home was confiscated in the whole of east Tennessee. While we were in one of the many camps about Knoxville, the two regiments commanded by the Brownlow brothers, James and John, veteranized, and under the order of the government were granted thirty days' leave of absence. I happened to be present at the time they disbanded. One of these brothers made a speech to the two regiments. I don't remember which one, but I never can forget one thing he said: "Take your arms with you; you will not be wanted here for thirty days. Go home and avenge the death of your fathers and brothers." This speech was received by these hardy mountaineers as a license, as it was intended to be, for murder and the desolating torch. Not a night from that time on for thirty days but the heavens were aglare with the flames of rebel homes, and the number of murders committed will never be known "until the sea gives up its dead." But never did the horrors of Indian massacre compare with east Tennessee for deeds of murder and fiendish, remorseless cruelty from 1861 to 1865.

Then on the 17th moved back in the rain and mud, and went into camp; and then on the 23d moved forward again, found no enemy and then back to camp, having marched that day in the rain and mud twenty-eight miles. Then on the 24th we struck tents and marched twelve miles beyond Knoxville to Strawberry Plains again. Then we were up and off to New Market. Then the next day marched to Morristown, eighteen miles from New Market, and occupied the abandoned quarters built by Longstreet's men. Stayed in this camp until March 2d, 1864, and then marched back to New Market. This marching and counter marching is of no particular interest of itself, but I give it to you to show how we put in the time. Of all the campaigning we ever did this of east Tennessee was the most purposeless, seemingly profitless, and dismal. The most of the time we were hard up for rations, and were compelled to forage on a people as friendly as any in Ohio, and that had been robbed by both armies. I never can forget the time we lay at Clinch Mountain Gap, when it was so cold that we had to build log-heaps in front of our tents to keep from freezing, that Colonel Pickands sent Lieutenant Stedman with a file of men and a wagon to try and find something to eat. I was at headquarters when he returned at night. The colonel, with that usual smile, said: "Lieutenant, what success to-day?" Stedman answered: "Nothing." "Why?" remarked the colonel. Stedman replied, with an oath so terrific that I am sure it was heard in Heaven (and which I hope the recording angel has blotted out, and I know he has if he has attended strictly to business), "that he would be —— —— before he would rob women and children." When the recording angel became acquainted with the noble Stedman, fresh from the bloody field of New Hope Church, I am sure the accounts were properly adjusted.

Well, this must end my recollections of the very celebrated march from Chattanooga to Knoxville and the winter campaign of east Tennessee.

General Longstreet finally went back to the army of northern Virginia, not that he was in any danger from us, but simply because he became tired of the scenery and wanted a change, I suppose.

Nothing in history is grander than the relief of Knoxville; nothing tamer and more devoid of sense than the balance of the campaign. Yet we can draw from it all this useful lesson, that those brave spirits, the noble men that endured the march and campaign, had a patriotism and endurance that nothing of storm, of cold, of hunger, of sickness, of bad management could dampen. And though many of that band sleep in southern graves, yet many lived to bring back the stars and stripes in triumph from the greatest conflict of modern times and to see the rebellious states restored to a peaceful and happy union.

LIEUTENANT CHARLES M. STEADMAN.
Killed at Pickett's Mills, Georgia. May 27th, 1864.

THE ATLANTA CAMPAIGN.

The spring of 1864 opened with millions of anxious patriots looking in the direction of our armies.

General Grant had virtually been made commander in chief of all the union forces, with personal direction of the Army of the Potomac.

Every lover of his country had come to understand that the policy of conquering rebel territory and guarding rebel property would never crush out rebellion.

The military policy of General Grant, of making the objective point of campaigns the rebel armies, met the good sense and received the hearty approval of the patriotic people of the United States.

Some raised the cry of "butcher," but every thoughtful man that knew the desperate intentions, the bravery, the skill, and the strong defensive positions occupied by the rebel armies, knew that their destruction meant severe marches, terribly destructive battles, thousands of brave men killed, and vastly more wounded and maimed for life; but in the face of all these mighty sacrifices, that the poverty of language will not enable us to describe, the patriotic people of the north said, "We will sustain the army at all hazards," and the armies responded, "Let us set forward."

It is a well-known fact that in the winter of 1864, at the Burnett House in the city of Cincinnati, Ohio, the two greatest generals developed by the war, Grant and Sherman, met in counsel. Sherman, while a line officer in the regular army, had become most thoroughly acquainted with the topography of the state of Georgia, and it was at this consultation that the campaign from Chattanooga to Atlanta and the grand march "from Atlanta to the sea" were developed and determined upon. It was at this consultation that Sherman said, "The confederacy is a shell and I can march an army through it." It was at this consultation that Grant said, "If you undertake it, I will hold Lee and his armies, that they give you no trouble." At the end of this meeting each of the great commanders repaired to his respective scene of action to carry forward the purposes determined on thereat.

The first of May, 1864, found assembled in the vicinity of Chattanooga, and as far south as Ringgold, Ga., the forces with which General Sherman proposed to crush the shell of the rebellion. It consisted of the Army of the Cumberland, General George H. Thomas in command; the Army of the Tennessee, under the especial command of General McPherson; the 23d Corps, commanded by General Schofield; the 20th Army Corps, still in command of the hero of Lookout mountain, "Fighting Joe Hooker," as he was often called in army circles, and also a brigade of regulars. Then as able lieutenants in command of corps and divisions, Sherman had Logan, Blair, Sickels, Stanley, Wood, Slocum, Osterhaus, and many others, all fighting officers. Sheridan, at that time, had been transferred to the Army of the Potomac by the especial order of General Grant, who witnessed General Sheridan's heroic conduct at Missionary Ridge.

I suppose very few of the people of the north ever had anything like a correct idea of the magnitude of the work undertaken by General Sherman in the campaign of Atlanta. The distance from Louisville to Nashville is stated to be one hundred and eighty-five miles, and from Nashville to Chattanooga it is said to be one hundred and fifty-one miles, and from Nashville to Bridgeport on the Tennessee river, two hundred and eleven miles. This long line of railway from Louisville to Chattanooga, and from Nashville to Bridgeport, Ala., five hundred and forty-seven miles, had to be guarded by military force every mile. For it must be remembered that while the state of Kentucky never went out of the Union and was ostensibly a loyal state, nevertheless, it required more soldiers to look after its disloyal citizens than she furnished to the cause of the Union, not for one moment forgetting that the state of Kentucky furnished some as brave and loyal soldiers as ever sprung a rammer and some as valiant officers as ever drew a saber. Notwithstanding, she had a large population in the aggregate that engaged in that disreputable kind of warfare known as bushwhacking, and very many that did not were ever ready to furnish aid and comfort to our enemy. Again, no portion of Tennessee, save east Tennessee, laid any claim to anything but intense love of the southern confederacy. Blockhouses had to be constructed every few miles of this route and a vast number of soldiers employed in keeping open this line of communications. Nashville was the grand base of supplies, where had been accumulated for many months all kinds of army stores, and from this base General Sherman had to draw supplies of rations, ammunition, and clothing for his campaign in Georgia; while the route from Nashville to Louisville must be kept open to renew the supplies at the base, as well as to send the sick and wounded to the northern hospitals.

It is almost needless for me to state before this intelligent audience that the genius of General Sherman was entirely equal to the emergency. And while the oddities and comical features of great men will usually be better remembered than any others, those of us that participated in that memorable campaign will remember well that no precautionary matter was overlooked by the ever watchful general. If what he really meant by "light marching order" was so difficult to understand that a cavalryman construed it to mean "necktie and a pair of spurs," he was no less exacting of himself and staff and many a night on this campaign he bivouacked as would a picket on an outpost. The thoroughness of his preparation was the sequel of his success. Knowing very well that overrunning rebel territory did not make loyal citizens of its inhabitants, he took the precaution to have his engineers make drawings of every wooden bridge between Louisville and Chattanooga, and between Nashville and Bridgeport. Nor was this all. He had his corps of mechanics construct duplicate bridges for the entire line south of Nashville. He was not satisfied only with his precautions to guard and care for his line of communications to his base of supplies, but he in some manner procured plans of the bridges from Chattanooga to Atlanta, and had bridges constructed and loaded on flat cars ready for use at any time when wanted. It was perfectly astounding the perfect order and dispatch with which he reconstructed the railroads as his campaign progressed, and with such celerity did his engineer corps perform its duty that after the bridge was burned by the rebel rear guards the same would be rebuilt, and the screams of the locomotive would mingle with the rattle of the musketry of the skirmishers just across the river, always reminding us that Uncle Billy's railroad was in good working order and that our "cracker line" was secure. But the vigilance of his preparation was not satisfied with being able to keep up his railroad lines—he had the finest pontoon corps that was ever organized.

Each man was drilled in the movements necessary to put down a pontoon bridge or remove one from the water and replace the same on the wagons as efficiently as an infantryman in the manual of arms or a cannoneer in the handling of a fieldpiece. It was a sight that seemed the perfection of celerity to witness his pontoon corps put down a bridge, and every line of march was thoroughly equipped in this particular.

But what I have heretofore described were not all the obstacles in the way of the making of the Atlanta campaign a success. While we were beyond the Tennessee mountains, while we had crossed the Tennessee river, the country from Ringgold to the south bank of the Chattahoochee river was naturally most admirable defensive ground. Every few miles were high ridges and small mountain ranges remarkably well adapted for defensive military positions; added to this the enemy had no rear that required guarding, had no hostile population to watch and distrust, had the most accurate information as to streams and roads, had swarms of volunteer spies to inform him of our every movement, and finally, had an army of slaves to do his intrenching ready to his hand and use when he was ready to fall back to a new position. This, all this, and more than I have time to describe, must be considered if we would thoroughly comprehend the military magnitude of the Atlanta campaign.

When General Sherman was ready to commence the forward movement, there must have been assembled from Chattanooga to Ringgold between eighty and one hundred thousand men, and on the third day of May, 1864, just as the magnolias were beginning to open their fragrant blossoms to the south wind, and the mocking birds were beginning to make the woods vocal with their songs, our division struck tents and commenced the march southward, and the evening of the fourth found us two and one-half miles from Ringgold confronting the enemy's pickets. From this time until the ninth we made short marches southward, skirmishing with the rebels each day. On the ninth our brigade was composed of the 124th O. V. I., the 41st O. V. I. the 93d O. V. I., the 9th I. V. I., and the 6th Ky. V. I. The brigade was commanded by General William B. Hazen and we had moved as far toward Dalton as a position known locally as Buzzard's Roost, a pass in the White Oak mountains. Here we found the rebels in position, the pass strongly fortified and commanded by a number of heavy guns.

At this position our brigade had an order to charge the mountain at the left of the pass, which order was executed, and we came within two hundred yards of the top of the mountain, where we found it broken off into palisades thirty feet in height. These palisades we had no means of ascending and so the charge ended. Our regiment lost three men killed and ten wounded. This movement was afterwards explained as a demonstration to deceive the enemy, but some of us will always think that we were the ones that were deceived. There was heavy firing on the right of the pass and in the direction of Snake Creek Gap, where a portion of Hooker's Corps fought a severe battle, the 29th O. V. I. losing very heavily. While in this position (Buzzard's Roost) we were terribly annoyed by sharpshooters posted above the palisades, the bugler of the 93d being killed.

All things considered, this position was properly named, and had Dore been there he could, without doubt, within the wilds of that mountain, have found some new illustrations for Dante's Inferno.

Early in the morning of the 13th we found the rebels had abandoned their position, and a party of us, while waiting for orders to move, managed to climb to the top of the mountain. Here we had a splendid view of the scenery of northern Georgia. Away to the north we could see old Lookout towering up, while beyond we could distinctly trace Waldron's and other ridges of the Cumberlands. To the south and west one range of hills after another, with an occasional mountain, as far as the eye could reach, showing us that our way was one of difficulty as well as danger.

About two p. m. we fell into line, marched into and through the pass, and had time to examine the strength of the abandoned rebel works. These works were evidently constructed with the hope that our commander would undertake to force the pass. That afternoon we marched through Dalton, a small village situated near an unbroken forest of pine, a kind from which the inhabitants make turpentine. The country seemed very poor, and from what we could see of the inhabitants we were forced to come to the same conclusion as to them.

The next day, May 14th, we struck the enemy in position at Resaca, and we immediately charged and drove him inside of his works, while our brigade occupied the line of a ridge running from near an angle of the rebel works and within a stone's throw of them. In this charge our young Colonel Payne, then in command of the regiment, just having returned recovered from a very dangerous wound received at Chickamauga that nearly cost him his life, showed consummate bravery, riding his horse in the charge across an open field in a perfect storm of bullets.

It was nearly dusk when we came into position, and before we took the ridge that finally formed our line, had some severe fighting. We had the opportunity of seeing a counter charge against General Willich's brigade on our right. The rebels came at Willich in fine shape, just as he was coming into position, but it seemed they had no real good appetite for an open field fight and got back into their works in the order of "every one for himself." That night we threw up intrenchments on this line and the next morning the enemy still confronted us.

We had orders early in the day that we should be required to charge the enemy's position in our front. In our immediate front there is a deep ravine, and the rebel works ran across this at right angles to our line. Whenever we charged from our works our right flank was exposed to the fire from the rebel intrenchments. At about two p. m. the charge was ordered and our line moved out over our intrenchments. No sooner was it exposed to the flank fire from the enemy behind the works than it went to pieces. Most of the men got back in as good shape as did the rebels that charged on Willich. Some of our regiment got into a position where they could not return with any safety, and stayed out and came in under the cover of darkness. Later in the afternoon the 20th Corps made two or three attempts to break the rebel line, but each time failing, and when the morning of the sixteenth dawned the enemy had abandoned his works and put the little river called Coosa between himself and us.

What good results the battle of Resaca may have had on the campaign I cannot say, but it is certain the enemy was forced back by some movement made by General Sherman on his flanks that would compel him to fight outside of his works. We took a number of prisoners at this position, and our regiment lost quite severely. We marched through the town and found it all knocked into splinters by the shelling it had suffered during the two days' battle. We crossed the river and marched about five miles to the southward that night.

The experience of one day did not vary much from that of another. The seventeenth we marched through a county town called Calhoun, county seat of Gordon county. It was march and skirmish every day. This is a better country than any other we had seen in northern Georgia, but desolation was written all over it after we passed. At almost every plantation we came to the rebels made a stand and the mansion house a fortress from which to fire at our skirmishers, and when we drove them out the house almost invariably took fire, and at all times of day and night the heavens were lurid with the flames of rebel homes. The country from Resaca to the Etowah river was the most absolutely desolated of any that we ever left behind us.

Between Cartersville and Adairsville I picked up a muster roll of a company of an Alabama regiment that had written thereon eighty-four names. Until I found this roll I was not aware the Roman Catholic church was so strong in the south. The four commissioned officers signed the roll by their signatures, but the enlisted men each put the sign of the cross in the place of the signature. On this march one of the boys found a copy of the debates of the Georgia convention, held in the winter of 1860-61, at which the state resolved to go out of the Union.

It contained the speech of Alexander H. Stevens, made in the convention, in which he warned the delegates of the deluge of blood and fire that would be poured down on their fair state by the invading armies of the north. It seemed almost prophetic to us who read this speech in the light of those blazing southern homes, and it also seemed that we were the ones he saw in his prophetic vision. Of course, all the prophetic power he had was the keen intellectual force he possessed, and whether he believed his own prophesies or not, he was afterward chosen vice president of the confederate states and served as such during the life of the rebellion. This book was carried along for days, hoping to save it as a relic of this memorable campaign, but the time comes in the experience of every soldier when a pocketknife seems a burden, and this book, containing all the venom of the southern fire-eaters, couched in language not only learned and chaste in style, but eloquent in diction, had to be thrown away. Stevens, alone, tried to stem the tide of secession, "but it was the voice of a drowning man in the midst of the breakers."

With marching and skirmishing every day the time wore away, and May 23d found us on the north bank of the Etowah, a fine river that comes down from northeastern Georgia, the valley of which seemed very fertile and productive. This river we crossed on one of Sherman's lightning bridges and struck out over what is known, locally, as the burnt hickory district, across the ridges of the Allatoona mountains in the direction of Dallas. Here Hooker's Corps had a heavy battle, but our corps was not engaged.

The next position taken by the enemy was known as Dallas, though the battles along the position were known by different names. I should say before passing that we were now in what (before the discovery of gold in California) was known as the gold region of Georgia. Our boys brought in from time to time, while in this position, some beautiful specimens of gold bearing and crystallized quartz, but I suppose they had to be thrown away to lighten the burden of the soldier when the time comes that one has to give thought and close attention to be able to put one leg before the other. This seems hardly probable to my young friends here to-day, so full of health and activity, but how many times have we heard the dear boys say, "Captain, I cannot take another step to save my life." Often we would pull out of the road and go into camp near some clear mountain stream, and you would see the boys pulling off their shoes and stockings and holding their blistered feet in the cool water by the half-hour, before making any preparations for supper or sleep. But what pen will ever be able enough, what tongue will be eloquent enough, to portray the trials and sufferings of the march and battlefield, to say nothing of sickness, death and wounds.

May 26th our corps found the enemy in position at what was known as Dallas. That night the rebels attacked General Logan's Corps and were badly repulsed. This was the only serious night attack I ever knew in all my army experience. All have known more or less firing at night, but this was the first and only charging column that I ever knew to be sent off at night. There seems to be too much uncertainty about it to favor nocturnal battles.

Early the twenty-seventh we were on the move, my company on the skirmish line. About ten o'clock we heard that our beloved major, James B. Hampson, who was on staff duty with General Wood, commanding division, was killed. This was very sad news, indeed, as the major was idolized by the regiment, and we all recognized the fact that he had done so much to make soldiers of us. He was one of the most intelligent, soldierly and brave officers in the 4th Army Corps. One thing was a little strange, the major always insisted that he would be killed in the service. Early in the war the major was a member of the Cleveland Grays, and belonged to that splendid organization for many years before. He was, without doubt, the best drilled man in the 3d Division.