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Mill Springs (Kentucky, United States) (search for this): chapter 1.19
waiting for the other to open the initial fire. Nine o'clock, and even the pickets were quiet. I rode over toward the left, and hearing no firing, I turned my horse's head directly toward the front. Here was Brannan's Division, with its regiments retired one after another as a sort of reserve. My heart sank again as I looked upon the slender regiments. This was the first battle for that division. First commanded by Thomas, three or four of its regiments distinguished themselves at Mill Springs, but after that they missed the great battles of Shiloh and Stone River. Saturday morning they mustered nearly 8,000 bayonets—nearly double the average strength of the division. The next day there were few regiments that numbered 200 men. The day before it was almost a pistol shot from the colors to the flanks. Now a child could have easily spanned the distance with a pebble. Thrice had they driven the enemy, and thrice had they been driven, and the slight—slight lines called a regim
Perryville (Kentucky, United States) (search for this): chapter 1.19
o the right, overrun the charging columns and tear it to pieces. General Lytle had barely fronted his brigade when he was struck by a bullet in the head. His third battle and his third wound! Struck at Carnifex Ferry and grievously hurt at Perryville, on both occasions he had requested those around to leave him, exclaiming that he was mortally hurt. Falling in the arms of one of his volunteer aids, he again begged to be abandoned. Not until the enemy had almost closed around him did the aid obey his desires, and then the General was apparently dead. Heaven grant that as at Perryville he may survive to the country. His brigade, their leader lost and without support on the right, fell back with the rest of Sheridan's Divisions, fighting the while. This was the story I gathered from some of Davis' retreating men, but I could find none of Sheridan's. The rebels cut our army in two, and Sheridan, isolated on the right, is captured bodily, was the only intelligence I could get co
New Orleans (Louisiana, United States) (search for this): chapter 1.19
The battle of Chickamauga. [from the New Orleans (La.) Picayune, November 9, 1902.] An Eyewitness' thrilling story of the great conflict, as seen from the Federal side. The following article was written by a newspaper correspondent present on the Federal side at the battle of Chickamauga, September 19 and 20, 1863. It appeared September 28, 1863, in the Cincinnati Commercial, and is now reprinted as an interesting contemporary historical document, shedding light on the progress of the battle, and proving conclusively that the Army of Tennessee won a great victory on that bloody field. What the result might have been, had the Confederates pressed their advantage, no one can say.—Editor Picayune. Morning broke cold and dim. A rank fog obscured the camp fires and transformed the flitting figures around them into gnomes. The rattling of wagons, the vehement rumbling of caissons, and the low, monotonous word of command were heard in all directions. A heavy white frost—the
West Virginia (West Virginia, United States) (search for this): chapter 1.19
tween the dead soldier's fingers, with leaves as open and blooming as if it loved the cold carcass. Turning again to the rear, I passed into a hospital. Here I found a number of the Woodward boys, one of the first companies to leave Cincinnati. It had taken twenty-eight men into Saturday's fight; of that number two were killed and eleven wounded. There was little Jesse De Beck, who once discharged from service as a minor against his will, ran off from home with his company, went to Western Virginia and re-enlisted. He lay shot in three places—leg, right arm, and a hideous wound through the mouth. He extended his left hand to me, with an apology for not giving me his shattered right—the little hero. I am nearly shot to pieces, ain't I, he said, as well as he could utter the words through his torn palate and jaw, but not a word of complaint, not a sigh of pain or discomfort would he utter. Sorrowfully I turned from the place, and next found myself where Van Cleve was stationed
Missionary Ridge, Tenn. (Tennessee, United States) (search for this): chapter 1.19
Tennessee as rapidly as they could move over the pontoons. About 5 o'clock a courier from General Thomas arrived and reported that he was driving the enemy again. Reinforced by General Gordon Granger, he had turned upon the enemy, who was himself beginning to exhibit signs of grogginess. I felt the thrill of joy at this wholly unexpected announcement. I had thought the destruction of the army inevitable—Thomas, at least, entertained a different opinion. He had taken a position on Missionary Ridge, where he still covered all ingress to Chattanooga. What was left of the 20,000 fighting men in his corps were with him and remnants of other divisions formed on his right. The position was a strong one, and the enemy in vain attempted to carry it. Their efforts were much feebler than in the morning, though there was still danger in them. From this time Thomas, glorious Thomas, baffled them at every point. Charge after charge he rolled off with his troops, reinspired by Granger's
Bull Run, Va. (Virginia, United States) (search for this): chapter 1.19
ly. The streams poured out disorganized, but not aprently alarmed. A moment more, and they seemed to issue by brigades. Great God! was the whole army—the flower of the Yankee service, as its enemies had termed it—to blot history with another Bull Run? The caissons of two more entire batteries were mingling with the retreating army. Down the road the mass pushed, horses and men filling it, and struggling through the open forests on either side. I looked back, and still great waves of menas no panic and but little visible hurry in this broken mass of men. As the line pushed on toward Chattanooga the trains that had been parked along the roadside at different points poured into the throng and took the same direction. Not another Bull Run, after all, I thought, for even the teamsters are collected. For an instant, however, there was a panic. A shrill shout came up from behind and the stragglers scattered from the road, thinking that the enemy's cavalry was upon them. The nex
Mount Nebo (West Virginia, United States) (search for this): chapter 1.19
n men were falling thick—shot down while they were marching. He ordered his second brigade, Colonel Leiboldt, to deploy at the run and charge. The veterans made the charge nobly, but before they can reach the foe a brigade of Davis is in enfiladed, and the men, able to escape only to the right, overrun the charging columns and tear it to pieces. General Lytle had barely fronted his brigade when he was struck by a bullet in the head. His third battle and his third wound! Struck at Carnifex Ferry and grievously hurt at Perryville, on both occasions he had requested those around to leave him, exclaiming that he was mortally hurt. Falling in the arms of one of his volunteer aids, he again begged to be abandoned. Not until the enemy had almost closed around him did the aid obey his desires, and then the General was apparently dead. Heaven grant that as at Perryville he may survive to the country. His brigade, their leader lost and without support on the right, fell back with the
Stone River (Tennessee, United States) (search for this): chapter 1.19
the pickets were quiet. I rode over toward the left, and hearing no firing, I turned my horse's head directly toward the front. Here was Brannan's Division, with its regiments retired one after another as a sort of reserve. My heart sank again as I looked upon the slender regiments. This was the first battle for that division. First commanded by Thomas, three or four of its regiments distinguished themselves at Mill Springs, but after that they missed the great battles of Shiloh and Stone River. Saturday morning they mustered nearly 8,000 bayonets—nearly double the average strength of the division. The next day there were few regiments that numbered 200 men. The day before it was almost a pistol shot from the colors to the flanks. Now a child could have easily spanned the distance with a pebble. Thrice had they driven the enemy, and thrice had they been driven, and the slight—slight lines called a regiment—attested that they were veterans, though fighting their virgin battl<
Gordon Granger (search for this): chapter 1.19
calmly into town on several roads, and thence across the Tennessee as rapidly as they could move over the pontoons. About 5 o'clock a courier from General Thomas arrived and reported that he was driving the enemy again. Reinforced by General Gordon Granger, he had turned upon the enemy, who was himself beginning to exhibit signs of grogginess. I felt the thrill of joy at this wholly unexpected announcement. I had thought the destruction of the army inevitable—Thomas, at least, entertaineded to carry it. Their efforts were much feebler than in the morning, though there was still danger in them. From this time Thomas, glorious Thomas, baffled them at every point. Charge after charge he rolled off with his troops, reinspired by Granger's timely brigades. As the efforts of the enemy grew feebler, he threw forward several brigades and drove him back almost beyond his old position, regaining one of the most important hospitals. I firmly believe that the sudden giving way of t
Picayune (search for this): chapter 1.19
tten by a newspaper correspondent present on the Federal side at the battle of Chickamauga, September 19 and 20, 1863. It appeared September 28, 1863, in the Cincinnati Commercial, and is now reprinted as an interesting contemporary historical document, shedding light on the progress of the battle, and proving conclusively that the Army of Tennessee won a great victory on that bloody field. What the result might have been, had the Confederates pressed their advantage, no one can say.—Editor Picayune. Morning broke cold and dim. A rank fog obscured the camp fires and transformed the flitting figures around them into gnomes. The rattling of wagons, the vehement rumbling of caissons, and the low, monotonous word of command were heard in all directions. A heavy white frost—the first, I believe, of the month—shone icily on the grass, as the glow of the muffled flames touched it redly. The line of battle was fully established by seven o'clock. The divisions were not in the same o<
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