Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Documents and Narratives, Volume 8.
Frank Moore, Ed.

[251] profitless, or fail to follow up the strategy in his usually prompt and effective fashion. We can hold our own until he is ready. This week will decide Longstreet's destiny and ours. We do not permit ourselves to doubt.

Captain Poe is performing prodigies of industry, with marvellous skill. Rifle-pits appear as if by magic. Every house-top of the vast semicircle around Knoxville, from Temperance Hill to Rebel Point and College Hill, is frowning with cannon and bristling with bayonets. It will be difficult for the rebels to gain a position near the city, unless on the right or left. All is quiet to-night. The immense basin formed by the surrounding hills is alive with animal life. Our vast trains, cattle, herds, hogs, and horses cover the valleys and hill-sides in inconceivable numbers. Standing on Temperance Hill, and looking toward the town, the innumerable campfires, like myriads of fiery stars, the piteous shrieks of a thousand famishing mules, the distant murmur of the bands of music, the hum of the camps, intermingled with the occasional sharp crash of musketry in front, make one pause and gaze upon the weird reality as upon some horrible phantasm, some fanciful horror conjured up here in the middle of the nineteenth century, as a terrible reproach to the boasted ages of progress and civilization. One can scarcely realize that those thousands of forms shivering around the scant fires in the chill mist are men, who have left comfortable homes, domestic joys, and useful duties of life, and have exposed themselves to all the vicissitudes and hardships of savages. That, over beyond our furthermost lines of fires, lie other thousands in a similar condition of discomfort, and that these, on the morrow, will use their God-given powers of courage, endurance, and intellect, to slaughter each other. Alas! that new commandment, “that ye love one another,” has not been much practised by man, although professedly the life-guidance of civilized nations for eighteen hundred years. Society is a fearful tyrant, and its decrees are despotic; its differences of opinion are decided by war, revolutions are the rearrangement, renovation, and reorganization of dilapidated social institutions. When we out-grow or tire of them, the old-time irrepressible conflict between servile and free labor could scarce be settled, probably, but by the sword, and we can only hope that, when the tempest has passed over, coming generations may rest in the peaceful atmosphere of justice, and the new command possibly possess some significance to a regenerated race. To-morrow will be an eventful day. We do not desire it; we do not avoid it; we do not seek it; we do not dread it. We await it with strong hopes and determined wills, to do our duty.

Wednesday, November 18.--A busy, glorious, sad day has passed. We are proud of the gallant deeds of our brave boys. To have belonged to the command of Sanders during this day's fight will be fame enough for one short life. The One Hundred and Twelfth Illinois, Forty-fifth Ohio, Third Michigan, and Twelfth Kentucky have borne their country's cause alone, and nobly and grievously have they suffered. Early this morning, the angry crash of musketry was heard on our left, in front of Cottage Hill and Rebel Point, on the west side of the town. The pallid faces of women, the anxious looks of non-combatants, and the busy bustle of orderlies riding to and fro, gave token that the conflict was beginning in earnest. Heavy skirmishing commenced along our left. General Sanders, with part of Wolford's brigade of his division, was in front. The fire was unceasing for three hours. The ambulances, about ten o'clock, commenced their unhappy work, and were observed busily plying to and fro on the Lenoir road. Wounded men were seen walking and riding in, their numbers increasing hourly. At eleven o'clock, General Ferrero, in command of the earthworks at Rebel Point, opened his cannon upon Armstrong's house, behind which the enemy were discovered planting a battery. The enemy were baffled. Our boys made a charge, and were repulsed. The conflict raged hotter and more intense. A general officer, said to be General Warfield, headed an impetuous charge upon our line of skirmishers, and riding up to our boys, demanded the instant surrender of the “d — d Yankees,” and fell pierced by a score of balls. Again our boys advanced, and were beaten back by overwhelming odds. Man after man was carried to the rear. The leaden hail poured in increasing torrents upon them. No respect was had to circumstance or condition. The rebel sharp-shooters were untiring and vigilant. Of two men, carrying a wounded comrade, one was killed, the other wounded, and the wounded man again shot by these miscreants. Balls whistled over the fort into the hospital. Nothing was sacred or secure. Sanders was ubiquitous; his gallantry and daring became infectious. Each man of his command emulated his comrade in deeds of bravery. These men, for four days and nights, had stood in the front at Campbell's, and now here, without sleep and almost without food, yet hour after hour unrelieved. They stood up like heroes, every man of them, and amid that hell of shot, gave blow for blow and shout for shout. The old mountain wolf, Colonel Wolford, with his grim and stolid courage, was there. Colonel Bond, at the head of his glorious regiment. the One Hundred and Twelfth Illinois, with his smiling, earnest face, was where the conflict raged the fiercest, encouraging his men, if possible, to deeds of still greater daring; and Captain Taylor, with the fragments of the Forty-fifth Ohio, was there with his gallant boys. It was sublime. The skirmish grew almost to the dignity of a battle, Foiled at all points, the enemy vindictively burled upon our wearied and battle-torn lines fresh and overwhelming numbers. And here, at about four P. M., the gallant Sanders fell, it is thought mortally wounded. Courage and physical endurance