Soldier's Stories

[thea_447]

From "Swann's Prison Life at Fort Delaware", Capt. John S. Swann, C.S.A., edited by Elizabeth Commetti, Volume 2.

PRISON LIFE, OUR FOOD


I will now resume my narrative in which the curious may find something to reflect on, the fanatic something to cavil about and the partisan something to doubt. As stated we reached the Fort at night. On the next morning I found myself very hungry. I was up early and walked around the prison grounds observing and hearing what I could. Presently a bell or something I forget what, gave the breakfast signal. We formed in line and marched to the mess hall, in which were several long rows of plank tables with pieces of bread and meat arranged along the sides at intervales (sic) of some two feet. When we were in place each prisoner took one ration. The bread was made of rye and wheat flour, well cooked, but the piece very small, about half enough for a well man. The meat a small chunk of beef. Occasionally all sinew or mostly bone. It was cut up very carelessly and very small, not half a ration. Some days the bread was substituted with crackers, and these were hard days on us. We were permitted to take these rations to our bunks. I ate mine but remained very hungry. When dinner came the same thing was repeated, except there was occasionally a tin cup of what was called corn soup very tasteless and insipid, with little or no grease.

MURDER AND DANGER


After my first breakfast about 9 A.M. I walked along the plank way to the retreat built over the bay. (I will here remark there were plank ways around the prison bysected (sic) by other plank walk ways, made essential by the damp earth.) Crossing the bridge over the ditch to my right as I was returning the same say, the sentinel over the resort hailed "go to the right." I did not understand him at the moment and stopped. He repeated the order in a rough way. One of the prisoners passing pointed to the left plank way and said "go that way." This was on my right as I was returning. I returned to the prison yard and this prisoner coming up said, "You were in danger just now." I said "How?" "Why," said he, "Coln -- was shot and killed where you were the other day for not coming out the left way promptly when ordered to do so." I said, "And what was done with the sentinel?" He replied, "He was promoted." The same thing I heard from others.19 They said the Coln: was afflicted, I forget how, and was slow in obeying the order, and shot in the act of turning to go to the right.20 I will say that going to the right was essential to prevent confusion.

Some days after, learning that two of my lieutenants were in the prison, I went to see them. I found them sitting together on a bunk, badly off for clothing and in a sad plight, dejected and quite as hungry as myself. One of them was writing in his diary, in which he wrote every day while in the army. I said, "Thomas, how did you manage to keep that diary?" He replied, "I concealed it in my bosom." "Well," said I, "Every man has his hobby, I expect you will take it with you into the world of spirits." He said, "I will hold on to it in this world any how." The other lieutenant, Snyder, said, "Captain if you will cut your bread into small pieces, put water on it and boil it, it will fill you up and you wont be so hungry." I said, "I have no pan and no wood to make a fire." He said, "I will borrow a pan for you, and you go down where they are cooking and somebody will let you put it over his fire."


PRISONERS COOKING


I got the pan, went where they were cooking and found several hundred prisoners, many of them cooking. They had made little holes in the ground, or set up bricks, over which they set their pots and pans. The cut pieces of plank, shingles etc. into shavings with which they kept up a blaze and I was surprised to see how much cooking was done in this way with a very small piece of plank. Some of them were making a sort of soup, by boiling their bread as I had come to do, some who had money or tobacco were making coffee or tea, frying fish, beef etc. or boiling vegetables, some were waiting like myself to get a chance to boil their bread. Some were standing by looking on, tantalized no doubt, but I never knew a prisoner to beg of another, while the great body of them, over 3,000 were in their quarters. I boiled my bread but found it only temporarily allaid (sic) the cravings of hunger. So after a few trials I stoped (sic) it. I will remark that many who had money often gave their rations to others, as well as their old clothes which was a great help to them. I one day enquired of my lieutenants for -- Peal from Rush Cr Kanawha, a brave soldier who was captured with them. They said he was shot on the wharf, I forget where, by a negro soldier. That when the prisoners were landed he went aside a step or too (sic), suffering very much with dysentary (sic), that the guard, a negro, ordered him back into the line, but not rising up promptly he was shot and fell over dead. I said poor Peal was a brave soldier. He has left a widowed mother, his brother George was killed at the battle at the White Sulpher (sic). He was the only man, when a volunteer was called for, that would go for a box of cartridges through the storm of bullets. He was returning with a box of cartridges, and in sight of our lines, when he fell and no one dared go to him. I will remark I happened not long since to be talking about the way the Cols: was killed, as above stated, and some one in the company said, "I know that man, his name is ------- and he lives in a town in Ohio and every body shuns him."

RATS AND RAT EATING


On the raised plank walkway seperating (sic) the two prisons the sargeant (sic) or some other would often appear and call out, "Money or boxes." He would then, when the prisoners came around, give out the names listed and either give them a memorandum of what he had for them, or take them through the gateway etc. These calls were termed "Money calls or box calls" as the case might be. In the banks of the ditches and under the plank walkway were rat holes and numbers of rats. The sargeant (sic) or some one would come around often with a squad of men with force pumps and hose and rat tarriers, sticks etc. The hose would be put in the rat holes, the force pump applied and the rats would run out and be killed. Numbers were sometimes caught in this way. When money or boxes were to be delivered you could hear all over the prison yard "Money call or box call" (I will say comparatively flew ever heard this call for themselves.) Not long after my arrival I heard a cry "Rat call! Rat call!" I went out to see what this meant. A number of prisoners were moving and some running up near the partition, over which a sargeant (sic) was standing and presently he began throwing rats down. The prisoners scrambled for the rats like school boys for apples, none but some of the most needy prisoners, and the needy were the large majority, would scramble for these rats. Of course but few were lucky enough to get a rat. The rats were cleaned, put in salt water a while and fried. Their flesh was tender and not unpleasant to the taste.

[thea_447]

From "Swann's Prison Life at Fort Delaware", Capt. John S. Swann, C.S.A., edited by Elizabeth Commetti, Volume 2.

PRISON LIFE, OUR FOOD


I will now resume my narrative in which the curious may find something to reflect on, the fanatic something to cavil about and the partisan something to doubt. As stated we reached the Fort at night. On the next morning I found myself very hungry. I was up early and walked around the prison grounds observing and hearing what I could. Presently a bell or something I forget what, gave the breakfast signal. We formed in line and marched to the mess hall, in which were several long rows of plank tables with pieces of bread and meat arranged along the sides at intervales (sic) of some two feet. When we were in place each prisoner took one ration. The bread was made of rye and wheat flour, well cooked, but the piece very small, about half enough for a well man. The meat a small chunk of beef. Occasionally all sinew or mostly bone. It was cut up very carelessly and very small, not half a ration. Some days the bread was substituted with crackers, and these were hard days on us. We were permitted to take these rations to our bunks. I ate mine but remained very hungry. When dinner came the same thing was repeated, except there was occasionally a tin cup of what was called corn soup very tasteless and insipid, with little or no grease.

MURDER AND DANGER


After my first breakfast about 9 A.M. I walked along the plank way to the retreat built over the bay. (I will here remark there were plank ways around the prison bysected (sic) by other plank walk ways, made essential by the damp earth.) Crossing the bridge over the ditch to my right as I was returning the same say, the sentinel over the resort hailed "go to the right." I did not understand him at the moment and stopped. He repeated the order in a rough way. One of the prisoners passing pointed to the left plank way and said "go that way." This was on my right as I was returning. I returned to the prison yard and this prisoner coming up said, "You were in danger just now." I said "How?" "Why," said he, "Coln -- was shot and killed where you were the other day for not coming out the left way promptly when ordered to do so." I said, "And what was done with the sentinel?" He replied, "He was promoted." The same thing I heard from others.19 They said the Coln: was afflicted, I forget how, and was slow in obeying the order, and shot in the act of turning to go to the right.20 I will say that going to the right was essential to prevent confusion.

Some days after, learning that two of my lieutenants were in the prison, I went to see them. I found them sitting together on a bunk, badly off for clothing and in a sad plight, dejected and quite as hungry as myself. One of them was writing in his diary, in which he wrote every day while in the army. I said, "Thomas, how did you manage to keep that diary?" He replied, "I concealed it in my bosom." "Well," said I, "Every man has his hobby, I expect you will take it with you into the world of spirits." He said, "I will hold on to it in this world any how." The other lieutenant, Snyder, said, "Captain if you will cut your bread into small pieces, put water on it and boil it, it will fill you up and you wont be so hungry." I said, "I have no pan and no wood to make a fire." He said, "I will borrow a pan for you, and you go down where they are cooking and somebody will let you put it over his fire."


PRISONERS COOKING


I got the pan, went where they were cooking and found several hundred prisoners, many of them cooking. They had made little holes in the ground, or set up bricks, over which they set their pots and pans. The cut pieces of plank, shingles etc. into shavings with which they kept up a blaze and I was surprised to see how much cooking was done in this way with a very small piece of plank. Some of them were making a sort of soup, by boiling their bread as I had come to do, some who had money or tobacco were making coffee or tea, frying fish, beef etc. or boiling vegetables, some were waiting like myself to get a chance to boil their bread. Some were standing by looking on, tantalized no doubt, but I never knew a prisoner to beg of another, while the great body of them, over 3,000 were in their quarters. I boiled my bread but found it only temporarily allaid (sic) the cravings of hunger. So after a few trials I stoped (sic) it. I will remark that many who had money often gave their rations to others, as well as their old clothes which was a great help to them. I one day enquired of my lieutenants for -- Peal from Rush Cr Kanawha, a brave soldier who was captured with them. They said he was shot on the wharf, I forget where, by a negro soldier. That when the prisoners were landed he went aside a step or too (sic), suffering very much with dysentary (sic), that the guard, a negro, ordered him back into the line, but not rising up promptly he was shot and fell over dead. I said poor Peal was a brave soldier. He has left a widowed mother, his brother George was killed at the battle at the White Sulpher (sic). He was the only man, when a volunteer was called for, that would go for a box of cartridges through the storm of bullets. He was returning with a box of cartridges, and in sight of our lines, when he fell and no one dared go to him. I will remark I happened not long since to be talking about the way the Cols: was killed, as above stated, and some one in the company said, "I know that man, his name is ------- and he lives in a town in Ohio and every body shuns him."

RATS AND RAT EATING


On the raised plank walkway seperating (sic) the two prisons the sargeant (sic) or some other would often appear and call out, "Money or boxes." He would then, when the prisoners came around, give out the names listed and either give them a memorandum of what he had for them, or take them through the gateway etc. These calls were termed "Money calls or box calls" as the case might be. In the banks of the ditches and under the plank walkway were rat holes and numbers of rats. The sargeant (sic) or some one would come around often with a squad of men with force pumps and hose and rat tarriers, sticks etc. The hose would be put in the rat holes, the force pump applied and the rats would run out and be killed. Numbers were sometimes caught in this way. When money or boxes were to be delivered you could hear all over the prison yard "Money call or box call" (I will say comparatively flew ever heard this call for themselves.) Not long after my arrival I heard a cry "Rat call! Rat call!" I went out to see what this meant. A number of prisoners were moving and some running up near the partition, over which a sargeant (sic) was standing and presently he began throwing rats down. The prisoners scrambled for the rats like school boys for apples, none but some of the most needy prisoners, and the needy were the large majority, would scramble for these rats. Of course but few were lucky enough to get a rat. The rats were cleaned, put in salt water a while and fried. Their flesh was tender and not unpleasant to the taste.

[thea_447]

From "Swann's Prison Life at Fort Delaware", Capt. John S. Swann, C.S.A., edited by Elizabeth Commetti, Volume 2.

PRISON LIFE, OUR FOOD


I will now resume my narrative in which the curious may find something to reflect on, the fanatic something to cavil about and the partisan something to doubt. As stated we reached the Fort at night. On the next morning I found myself very hungry. I was up early and walked around the prison grounds observing and hearing what I could. Presently a bell or something I forget what, gave the breakfast signal. We formed in line and marched to the mess hall, in which were several long rows of plank tables with pieces of bread and meat arranged along the sides at intervales (sic) of some two feet. When we were in place each prisoner took one ration. The bread was made of rye and wheat flour, well cooked, but the piece very small, about half enough for a well man. The meat a small chunk of beef. Occasionally all sinew or mostly bone. It was cut up very carelessly and very small, not half a ration. Some days the bread was substituted with crackers, and these were hard days on us. We were permitted to take these rations to our bunks. I ate mine but remained very hungry. When dinner came the same thing was repeated, except there was occasionally a tin cup of what was called corn soup very tasteless and insipid, with little or no grease.

MURDER AND DANGER


After my first breakfast about 9 A.M. I walked along the plank way to the retreat built over the bay. (I will here remark there were plank ways around the prison bysected (sic) by other plank walk ways, made essential by the damp earth.) Crossing the bridge over the ditch to my right as I was returning the same say, the sentinel over the resort hailed "go to the right." I did not understand him at the moment and stopped. He repeated the order in a rough way. One of the prisoners passing pointed to the left plank way and said "go that way." This was on my right as I was returning. I returned to the prison yard and this prisoner coming up said, "You were in danger just now." I said "How?" "Why," said he, "Coln -- was shot and killed where you were the other day for not coming out the left way promptly when ordered to do so." I said, "And what was done with the sentinel?" He replied, "He was promoted." The same thing I heard from others.19 They said the Coln: was afflicted, I forget how, and was slow in obeying the order, and shot in the act of turning to go to the right.20 I will say that going to the right was essential to prevent confusion.

Some days after, learning that two of my lieutenants were in the prison, I went to see them. I found them sitting together on a bunk, badly off for clothing and in a sad plight, dejected and quite as hungry as myself. One of them was writing in his diary, in which he wrote every day while in the army. I said, "Thomas, how did you manage to keep that diary?" He replied, "I concealed it in my bosom." "Well," said I, "Every man has his hobby, I expect you will take it with you into the world of spirits." He said, "I will hold on to it in this world any how." The other lieutenant, Snyder, said, "Captain if you will cut your bread into small pieces, put water on it and boil it, it will fill you up and you wont be so hungry." I said, "I have no pan and no wood to make a fire." He said, "I will borrow a pan for you, and you go down where they are cooking and somebody will let you put it over his fire."


PRISONERS COOKING


I got the pan, went where they were cooking and found several hundred prisoners, many of them cooking. They had made little holes in the ground, or set up bricks, over which they set their pots and pans. The cut pieces of plank, shingles etc. into shavings with which they kept up a blaze and I was surprised to see how much cooking was done in this way with a very small piece of plank. Some of them were making a sort of soup, by boiling their bread as I had come to do, some who had money or tobacco were making coffee or tea, frying fish, beef etc. or boiling vegetables, some were waiting like myself to get a chance to boil their bread. Some were standing by looking on, tantalized no doubt, but I never knew a prisoner to beg of another, while the great body of them, over 3,000 were in their quarters. I boiled my bread but found it only temporarily allaid (sic) the cravings of hunger. So after a few trials I stoped (sic) it. I will remark that many who had money often gave their rations to others, as well as their old clothes which was a great help to them. I one day enquired of my lieutenants for -- Peal from Rush Cr Kanawha, a brave soldier who was captured with them. They said he was shot on the wharf, I forget where, by a negro soldier. That when the prisoners were landed he went aside a step or too (sic), suffering very much with dysentary (sic), that the guard, a negro, ordered him back into the line, but not rising up promptly he was shot and fell over dead. I said poor Peal was a brave soldier. He has left a widowed mother, his brother George was killed at the battle at the White Sulpher (sic). He was the only man, when a volunteer was called for, that would go for a box of cartridges through the storm of bullets. He was returning with a box of cartridges, and in sight of our lines, when he fell and no one dared go to him. I will remark I happened not long since to be talking about the way the Cols: was killed, as above stated, and some one in the company said, "I know that man, his name is ------- and he lives in a town in Ohio and every body shuns him."

RATS AND RAT EATING


On the raised plank walkway seperating (sic) the two prisons the sargeant (sic) or some other would often appear and call out, "Money or boxes." He would then, when the prisoners came around, give out the names listed and either give them a memorandum of what he had for them, or take them through the gateway etc. These calls were termed "Money calls or box calls" as the case might be. In the banks of the ditches and under the plank walkway were rat holes and numbers of rats. The sargeant (sic) or some one would come around often with a squad of men with force pumps and hose and rat tarriers, sticks etc. The hose would be put in the rat holes, the force pump applied and the rats would run out and be killed. Numbers were sometimes caught in this way. When money or boxes were to be delivered you could hear all over the prison yard "Money call or box call" (I will say comparatively flew ever heard this call for themselves.) Not long after my arrival I heard a cry "Rat call! Rat call!" I went out to see what this meant. A number of prisoners were moving and some running up near the partition, over which a sargeant (sic) was standing and presently he began throwing rats down. The prisoners scrambled for the rats like school boys for apples, none but some of the most needy prisoners, and the needy were the large majority, would scramble for these rats. Of course but few were lucky enough to get a rat. The rats were cleaned, put in salt water a while and fried. Their flesh was tender and not unpleasant to the taste.

[thea_447]

Oops! Sorry, this posted TWICE!!

[rbenne]

If you are lucky enough to find them, there is a documentary called "Rebel Fire, Yankee Ice" about the conditions of the prison camp at Johnson's Island Ohio. Meant to be the ONE camp for the entire war (all 3 months) it ended up holding officers and political prisoners. Located near Cedar Point in Sandusky there were many depravations there as well.

Not a great film, in spite of the great part played by yours truly in his younger days, it is worth watching.

[scone]

AN INCIDENT AT KENNESAW MOUNTAIN
By Private W.T. Barnes, 1st Arkansas Infantry

It has often been a matter of speculation with me why (in the various
episodes and sketches of the "late unpleasantness") some truthful
account has not been given by the “Northern side of the fence” of the
Federal charge on the Confederate line of works at the battle of
Kennesaw Mountain, June 27, 1864. It appears to me as a climax of that
dreadful and fearful onslaught the Yankees owe the Rebels a debt of
gratitude that for over fifty years has lain dormant without the least
attempt at acknowledgment.

On the evening previous to the Kennesaw fight a battery of light
artillery came up, halting near our command. I should mention that our
line was on the brow of a slight eminence, and the Yankee line was also
on a slight rise, there being a depression and gully between the two
lines, our line and the Federal being in clear view of each other and
but about one hundred yards apart. We were assured there would be a
red-hot mix-up, and we had cut down and placed in our front hundreds
of blackjack saplings as abatis, cutting off the tips of the limbs with
our jackknives and whittling them so sharp and close it would have
been an uphill business for a rabbit to creep through… I should also
mention that in the valley or depression between the lines was a grove
of pine and blackjack, the ground being thickly strewn with leaves and
pine cones, which were like tinder.

About 10:00 a.m. we could see quite a commotion across on the Yankee
side, line after line apparently marching and counter-marching. They
seemed to be assembling mainly from their rear, massing just behind
their breastworks. This meant every man to his place and fix for
business. Line after line of Yanks mounted their works, and
simultaneously their ordnance opened on us. Cannon – big, little, old,
and young – made such a din that their muskets sounded like squibs.

If any command was ever given for us to commence firing, I never heard
it, but I distinctly call to mind we commenced firing and our battery-
gracious Peter! I could have hugged every man in the battery. It
sounded as though we had a hundred cannon instead of eight or ten, and
such regularity one would think they were on parade drill – scattering
canister, grape, shrapnel, and short-fire bombs, and, like our
infantry, shot for execution.

Well, the Yanks got as far as the gully in the ravine, which seemed
at that time the healthiest place. One would imagine Vesuvius had
moved over to the Confederate States of America and opened up for
business on Kennesaw.

As mentioned, our cannon were placed for execution. Their redoubts so
low, the cannon’s mouth nearly on the ground, and at every discharge a
blaze of fire sprang out among the dry leaves, which were soon ablaze
and eating their way towards the gully, which was full of a mass of
human beings, squirming around and still piling on each other. Ah, but
little can a peaceful citizen imagine the horror of war. Just one
glimpse of that seething mass of weltering human beings, the flying,
burning sticks with every discharge, flames leaping from limb to limb,
the everlasting roar of cannon and small arms, not counting our usual
Rebel yell.

At this stage our colonel, William H. Martin, sang out, “Boys, this is
butchery,” and mounting our head logs, with a white handkerchief, he
sang out to the Yankees as well as to our men, "Cease firing and help
get those men."

It is needles to add that the Feds never once refused to comply with
this request. Our men, scaling the head logs as though for a
countercharge, were soon mixed with Yankees, carrying out dead and
wounded Feds with those who, a few minutes previous, were trying to
"down our shanties." Together, the Rebs and Yanks soon had the fire
beat out and the dead and wounded removed to the Federal side of the
fence.

Now, I will say this. The Yankees who were really engaged in this
little matter were fully appreciative of our action, and I can't begin
to mention the nice things they said to us. A Federal officer
presented to Colonel Martin a brace of fine pearl-handled pistols,
making quite a feeling little speech, not lengthy but to the point.

But still, after the war was over, and at a time when the bloody shirt
was flaunted far and near, at every crossroad public speaking,
barbecue, and Sunday school picnic, never once was this little episode
of the battle of Kennesaw Mountain mentioned, or any mitigating
circumstances that it might be possible for any Confederate
to be imbued with human feeling.

How nice it would have been for some Federal soldier, who participated
in the grand charge at Kennesaw Mountain, to have mentioned the
foregoing facts, and not wait for half a century when nearly everyone
familiar with the episode is dead and gone

[scone]

COMPASSION FOR A CONFEDERATE
By Corporal George H. Blakeslee, 129th Illinois Infantry

During the Atlanta campaign in 1864, after a hard battle on the 19th
of June near Kennesaw Mountain, the contending parties struggled until
darkness covered the mountains, a kindly mantle covering the dead and
dying boys in blue and in gray.

Some thousands of us, yet alive, lay there helpless until near morning,
when searching parties, under cover of darkness, moved us to the rear.
With us was carried back to the field hospital a young Confederate
soldier, mortally wounded, and suffering great agony, being shot
through the bowels with a minnie ball, and he was laid on a cot
adjoining mine. He was intelligent and educated. The long campaigns
in which he had been engaged had reduced his wardrobe to a low ebb,
but through the torn and tattered raiment shone the refection of the
gentleman.

In mortal agony, low moans would escape his faltering lips; and,
recovering himself and turning to me, he would apologize for having
disturbed me. At every request I made for the attendant to bring him
some relief he turned gratefully to me with a gentle "Thank you;" for
every cup of water or dose of medication administered the kindly
"Thank you" followed.

Knowing that his time for this earth was short, he gave me his name,
company, and regiment, and requested that I communicate with his
people if I should ever have the opportunity. But before giving their
names and addresses he became flighty, and his mind evidently
wandered back to his home in Tennessee. Again he lived over the old
home life among his kindred and friends; he walked along the shady
paths and over the old fields; again he tasted the cold water which
he dipped up with the old gourd as it flowed over the rocks in the
dear old springhouse; once more he romped with his sisters and talked
with them of father and mother in heaven. Then his mind would revert
to the war, would dwell upon the gathering gloom that was spreading
over his dear Southland, would picture in feeling terms the loss of
some brave comrade and the suffering borne by those who had been
brought up in luxury; but for himself no sigh nor complaint ever
escape him. Again, becoming a suppliant at the home of grace, he
thanked his Heavenly Father that it was his fortune to have fallen
into the hands of those he had looked upon as enemies, but who, in
his adversity, had proven to be friends. He fervently implored God to
be a father to his orphan sisters and protect them in the days to come.
In feeling supplication he asked the Great Ruler to bless his beloved
land and the rulers thereof, and prayed that the days of danger and
trouble would soon end in peace.

Thus the moments slipped away, and during the dark hours of night his
soul went back to God. Thus passed from my presence through the
portals of heaven the immortal spirit of William H. Parks, Company K,
12th Tennessee, CSA.

At my request, young Parks was buried in a shady nook in a grave
separate and apart from all others, and his lonely resting place
marked. I also mapped the vicinity, so that his place of burial could
be found in the future should his friends be discovered. In 1869 his
remains were disinterred, and now rest with his comrades in the
Confederate cemetery at Marietta, Georgia.

Time passed on, and in the spring of 1865 the war was virtually over;
and the government, not being able to patch me up for any further use,
turned me adrift, a physical wreck, to begin life anew.

I endeavored to forget the scenes of those four dark years, and I put
as far away from me as possible all remembrance of those sad times,
till one day, several years later, I came across one of my wartime
diaries. It brought to mind my promise to the dying Confederate.
I wrote letters to a dozen post offices in Tennessee, but could learn
nothing. I resolved to try another method, and advertised in the
newspapers of Memphis and Nashville. In a few days letters began
coming thick and fast from comrades, friends, and relatives. No word
had ever reached them concerning his fate. From these letters I learned
that young Park's home had been in Humboldt, Tennessee, and that his
two sisters, Mrs. M. P. McIntosh and Mrs. S. E. Northway (now of
Waverly Place, Nashville), lived there. A correspondence followed with
one of these sisters that continued through several months, and I
received some beautiful letters expressive of gratitude in the most
devoted Christian spirit for the small service I had rendered.

[scone]

The orginal or a copy of it is in the Carter House Archives - Franklin, Tennessee.

"Keep in mind that when he reports seeing General Cleburne and his horse jump onto the works where horse and rider where shot, he may actually be referring to General Adam's death due to his description and the location of the event"


Private 63rd Indiana Infantry (Siles' Brigade)

During the day, our out of proportion, large horse-drawn supply, ambulance, ammunition, and artillery trains, had all gotten safely across Duck River, a half mile at our rear, leaving unobstructed passage for the infantry and cavalry. Having gotten safely across to the north bank of the river and having been constantly on the march or fighting without rest or sleep for two days and one night, we anticipated a few hours rest. Instead, the order was - Fall in line; Columns Four - Forward, March, which meant another all-night march to Franklin, Tennessee, about twenty miles distant from Columbia, arriving there early on the morning of November 30, 1864.
Here we found General Schofield with his entire headquarters force nicely located in the spacious mansion of a wealthy planter. The mansion surrounded by a beautiful park of several acres, interspersed with marble and bronze statuary, situated at the southern limits of the town of Franklin, surrounded on the east, north and west sides by the Harpeth River. The river in its general course from east to west at this point completing a perfect horseshoe bend to the north.

We also found two or three hundred men under direction of an Army Engineer busily engaged in running a line of infantry earth works across the open space of the horseshoe bend, which line of works passed directly through the park referred to, about one hundred feet in front of the planter’s mansion, enclosing within the horseshoe bend both the town of Franklin and the planter’s mansion and park.

Soon after our arrival, the ditch earth works being completed, we were assigned our positions behind the works. Our regiment was assigned space about one hundred feet in front of the mansion. Seventy five feet in front of our regiment, there was a neatly trimmed Osage hedge four or five feet high; in length, only slightly overlapping the regiment, of such strength as to assure a few minutes protection against a direct charge of the enemy.

About two o’clock P.M., the enemy first came in sight at the ****her edge of the open field at our front. At the first sight of the enemy, General Schofield, with his entire headquarters force, hastily mounted their horses and fled across the river to comparative safety. By this we judged that serious danger was apprehended by him. The river at our rear being unfordable, with only a wagon bridge across it, every man behind our line of earth works knew that our only safety from capture by the enemy depended upon our ability to hold our position against any attack they might make.

We could plainly see they were very deliberately forming three separate lines of battle, any of which was very nearly our equal in number, while the enemy officers were riding up and down their lines giving final orders for the deadly charge. Suddenly within distinct hearing of both armies came floating down the valley soft strains of music. Our division band, located on a distant high ridge, was playing "Just before the battle Mother I am thinking most of you."
During the few minutes the band was playing, the enemy stood at attention, reverential silence pervading both armies. Tears were coursing down the cheeks of many strong men. The intensity of feeling was beyond vocal expression.

The band having stopped playing, the scene was instantly changed. The enemy was advancing upon us. An officer rode in front of our lines cautioning our men not to fire a shot until the order - FIRE - was given. "Let every shot be aimed to kill. At all hazards, you must hold your position."

The enemy’s three lines, now within a hundred and fifty yards, with the usual rebel yell are approaching in a run, bayonets fixed, guns held at a charge. Only a matter of seconds, and they are at the hedge heretofore described as covering the front of our regiment, and our Colonel gives the order - FIRE. Instantly came the roar of nearly a thousand guns, each aimed at an agreed line on the hedge about the height of the enemy’s hips, as they appeared opposite, followed by the order - Load, Fire at Will, until the order - Cease Fire is given; then a continuous roar of musketry, lasting only three or four minutes, the rebels having retreated on our first volley.

Within five minutes, they are again reforming their lines for a second charge. In the second charge, we had lost the protection of the hedge in our front, it being shot to pieces in the first sufficiently to allow free passage of the enemy.

When they, in a deliberate manner, and perfect formation, with their corps and division commanders riding in front, had approached our lines within about three hundred yards, they suddenly sprung to a running charge upon our works. They had scarcely taken the second step when we received the order - FIRE - Load and Fire at Will.

Instantly there was a roar of musketry along our lines from river to river; many rebels falling, killed or wounded, but on they came, and quicker than I can tell it, the fiercest hand to hand battle of the war was on. At the immediate front of our regiment, the slaughter of the enemy was appalling.

The rebel General Cleburne, commander of the enemy forces in our immediate front, riding at the head of his corps, forced his horse to make a flying leap over the works. The horse fell dead with his front feet on top of the works, his head hanging over on the inside. The general, falling off the horse mortally wounded, crawled back on his hands and knees about thirty feet, collapsed and was dead in a few seconds. During the hand to hand combat at the works, my company captured three prisoners, one of which had jumped upon the top of the works, and was in the act of bayoneting the man in his front, Jim Shields, a giant in size and strength, who snatched his gun away from him with one hand, and grabbed him by the hair with the other, slammed him down in the ditch telling him to lay still. He laid still.

Almost at once following the death of General Cleburne, the enemy in our immediate front retreated, and in a few minutes had retreated all along our front from river to river, leaving their dead and seriously wounded where they had fallen. All was quiet for a short time, except the constant agonized cries for help, coming from the wounded and dying scattered over the field in our front.

In about a half hour, they made the third general charge on our lines but retreated on first volley from our guns and in about the same length of time, made the fourth charge with similar results. The fourth charge was late in the afternoon about sunset.

Three additional charges by the enemy in full force were made after dark, each decidedly more vigorous than the last two daylight charges, but at no point along our lines pushing us to a hand to hand fight before retreating.

The last charge by the enemy was made about half past eight o’clock, following and in impressive contrast with the recent destructive roar of musketry. A quiet silence settled over the field; a silence broken only by the extremely distressing cries of the seriously wounded, calling for help and the agonized prayers of the dying. Many in delirium were piteously calling for wife, mother, father, sister or brother to come to them.

Amid the hundreds of dead and wounded confederates, who lay thickly scattered over the field in our front, there were many individual instances which attracted our especial attention. There was one lying in front of my company, only a few feet distant, crying "Mother, dear Mother, you were right, you will never see your boy again; I am dying out here in the dark. Forgive me, Mother, I know you will. You will never know how your boy died. I am bleeding to death, Mother."

As the minutes passed, the boy, continuing in similar appeals to his mother, it was made plain to us the last parting of mother and son, when he left her to join the army. The boy’s voice became gradually weaker and weaker, until we heard it no more - his last was the one word, "Mother".
One of Company F’s new recruits, a mere boy in years, was crying as though his heart was broken. He too was the only son of a widowed mother.

I overheard the conversation of three or four of the company near me, which illustrated the trend of our minds, the feeling of all at that time.

While listening to the boy’s plaintive farewell to his mother, one said "Yes, their mothers are the same to them that our mothers are to us." Another added, "Just think what hopeless sorrow will be brought to thousands of homes all over the land when the news of this battle with a list of the killed and wounded reaches them.

Another fatally wounded rebel soldier lying about a hundred feet from our lines, in his right mind, calling us Yanks, was begging us to bring him a drink of water, saying he was dying for a drink; that he would come to us only that from his hips down, he was totally paralyzed. I judge he had repeated the call "O Yank, please bring me a drink", a hundred times, when one of my boys jumped up on the works, saying he could take it no longer, and away he went threading his way in the dark over the dead and wounded to the man calling for water. Our boy quickly returned, saying he had left his canteen with the reb. Another, evidently a rebel officer in a crazed voice was screaming - "Bully Boys - Go for ‘em, Give ‘em Hell", over and over again as fast as he could say the words.

At ten o’clock, there having been no movement on the part of the enemy for a full hour, indicating another charge on our lines, an order was passed along our infantry lines to prepare for a retreat to the rear, and across to the north side of the Harpeth River; every soldier being especially enjoined to maintain silence during the movement. Our Colonel and Brigadier General Henderson, commander of our Brigade, were standing in front of the regiment; the Colonel asked me to join them. The Colonel advised me that our regiment would in this retreat to Nashville, fifteen miles distant, maintain its position as rear guard of all retreating forces, as heretofore since leaving Atlanta. That my company would maintain its place as special rear guard of the regiment with duties as heretofore. That all stragglers must be kept in line. That the new regiments having joined our army at Cumberland, unused to marching and losing sleep, were exhausted and might cause considerable work. That an ambulance officer would be with me, who on my order would take charge of all soldiers falling by the way, whom I deemed too sick or disabled to march.
We were soon on the march to the river, which we crossed on a temporary bridge, without attack by the enemy or other mishap except that as our company, at the extreme rear of the movement, was passing through the town of Franklin, a woman came running from a house into the street at the rear of our company, screaming at the top of her voice - "The Yanks are retreating" - over and over - "The Yanks are retreating." At once amidst her wild screaming, one of my company, without orders from me or anyone, stepped quickly to her and with the muzzle of his gun within two or three feet of her body, shot her through the heart, returning instantly to his place in the ranks. A very distressing incident - but such is war.

Without a minutes rest after crossing the river, we resumed our march.
I will add here that the battle of Franklin, Tennessee, was not only the fiercest battle fought during the Civil War, but the fact that the percent of killed and wounded in proportion to number engaged exceed that of any war fought anywhere within a period of two hundred and fifty years.

In the night march from Franklin to Nashville, our regiment by reason of its worn out condition and loss of sleep, were entirely unfitted to properly perform the duties assigned it as Rear Guard of our retreating army. We had all we could do to take care of ourselves. With utmost care taken to keep our men on their feet and in line of march, we lost three during the night, who were picked up by the advancing enemy.

To further illustrate our worn-out condition, I must tell one on myself. When we were within about three miles of our destination, Nashville, a slight impediment in the road ahead had caused a halt of not longer than a minute or two. Immediately at my right, there was a rail fence, which in a standing position, I leaned up against. The act of leaning against the fence is perfectly clear in my mind, but right there, memory ceased for a period of a few minutes over two hours. When suddenly awakening, I found myself crouching on the ground in a position just as I had slid down, leaning against the fence. Troops gone, darkness and silence everywhere. At first I was uncertain as to direction to take. I was alive to the fact that one end of the road led to capture by the enemy, and the other to Nashville and safety, except probably a severe reprimand by General Henderson. In a moment, I remembered that I had leaned against the fence at my right, face front, so I hopped off at a lively gait in the direction indicated.

When starting on the road, I noticed what seemed to be a considerable army encamped on a parallel road about a half mile distant in an easterly direction. It was yet dark, but I could plainly see persons standing and moving about their numerous camp fires strung along the road for a distance of three or four hundred yards. I soon determined that they were rebel troops and that their picket lines might command the road I was on, in which case my chance for safe return would be many times lessened.

There being apparently no other course to pursue, I kept right on, and found the way clear, coming up with our forces just at break of day, December 1st, 1864. At this time our regiment (except regimental officers) were without tents, extra blankets, and had not had a change of clothing for over two months. A section of our wagon train carrying these extra supplies having been captured by the enemy and Uncle Sam had not yet given us a re-supply.

The regiment had halted about a hundred feet in front of the union fortifications south of the city, and having had two or three hours rest, were at the time of my arrival mostly engaged in preparing their breakfast, consisting of coffee and crackers. Lieutenant C. N. Scott, my wife’s brother, commander of the company in my absence, had seen me approaching, when two or three hundred yards distant, came to meet me, saying he had given me up as somehow lost during the night, and probably captured by the enemy. He said he had reported my absence to the Colonel, who agreed that such was likely the case. The company regarded it a good joke on me, that having given them such strict orders to keep on their feet and in line of march, had myself disobeyed the order.

The night following our arrival at Nashville, we received an additional blanket, besides the one we carried with us - a blanket of snow over six inches deep had fallen during the night. I was the first one of the company to awaken that morning. Crawling out from under the snow and looking along the line of sleeping soldiers, it was plain that none had moved since the snow had fallen. The thermometer showed a temperature of six below zero, and had it not been for the blanket of snow, we would have suffered with the cold. The warm breath of each had kept a small opening to the surface, making breathing easy.

At this time, our Colonel and Regimental Surgeon, who with other regimental officers had been comfortably quartered during the night inside the fortifications, came. The surgeon had come to investigate the physical condition of the men and the colonel with orders to move the regiment inside the city fortifications. Within an hour, we were comfortably located in barracks situated in the southern suburbs of the city of Nashville, and as quickly as the company officers could complete a list of supplies needed, our quartermaster furnished each company a full military equipment, consisting principally of clothing, blankets, provisions, and culinary supplies. A happy lot we were. For seven months, except two weeks following the capture of Atlanta, we had been continuously in contact with the enemy, marching, fighting, or digging trenches for protection against sudden attack by the enemy. On the following day we were all busy writing to the dear ones at home.

[thea_447]

MOBILE REGISTER AND ADVERTISER, September 1, 1861, p. 2, c. 3

Extract from a Letter of a Volunteer in East
Tennessee to a Friend in Mobile.

Russellville, August 25, 1861.
You see from the date of my letter that we have moved east. We are near Cumberland Gap, and right in a nest of Unionists and abolitionists. We have had no fighting yet, but from present prospects I think we will have some work very soon. This is the poorest, meanest country I ever stopped in, and the people are poorer and meaner than the country. I have been scouting a good many miles from the camp, and find that the further I go the worse they get. The women are large, healthy, strong, ugly and stupid; they wear only one garment, and that sets as close to them as a pair of pantaloons. The men are entirely worthy of the women. How they live here is a mystery to me. I see but a few patches of corn, and that will all be made into whisky. An immense crowd of the nation visits our camp every day, bringing from a quart to a half gallon of buttermilk (from ten miles sometimes), and a dozen or so Irish potatoes, which they sell at famine prices or barter for bacon. We find the latter article a better circulating medium than the Tennessee bills, with which we were paid off at Union City. There is not enough silver in this country to break a ten dollar note. We get rid of our money, however, among ourselves, with the aid of "set back" and "draw poker." Card playing is almost the only amusement we have at present. There has been so much rain lately, that, except when on duty, we are obliged to stick in our tents and play, to prevent death from ennui. To-day is Sunday, and in the distance I hear some psalm singing, and presume from that fact that the chaplain is on duty. That gentleman up to this time has found his office a sinecure. The first two or three times he held forth, quite a crowd went to hear him, but at present, to use the language of a flush messmate of mine, "the thing's played out." . . .
Item.--Two women have just passed through the camp--best I have seen yet--low neck, short sleeve, short frock, (latter too much so by twenty inches.) The weather has cleared up and the sun is coming down at the rate of 99 Fahrenheit. I stopped writing to make a chicken trade with the females I mentioned above. I got ten chickens from the biggest footed one for two dollars and "nine pence." That is the best trade that has been made since we got here. I flatter myself that exterior had a good deal to do with it. I also contracted with her for one gallon of buttermilk and five pounds of butter to be delivered to-morrow at the rate of 50 cents per gallon of milk and 20 cents per pound of butter, (a tip-top contract.) I'd like to have you dine with me to-morrow. At all the places where we have camped the ladies have come in crowds to see us. Many of them have been very kind and have tried to make themselves useful, particularly about the sick, but it's no go. I was a little sick while at Corinth and was visited by some seven or eight, armed with soup, tea, arrow root and other fixings, together with advice, consolation, &c. I can say, from experience, that they did no good on my case. I could not help feeling very much bothered while they were talking to me and of course was too polite to refuse taking anything they offered, and always thanked them profusely. The result is my system is still thoroughly saturated with arrowroot, &c., and I have almost lost all taste for mustard, pepper, salt, &c., from having suffered a great quantity of the former condiment to be extensively used in my case, at the earnest request of some ladies who were treating me. I would not have used any of the stuff, but they promised to call again and I was afraid they would catch me.

[thea_447]

MOBILE REGISTER AND ADVERTISER, October 2, 1861, p. 1, c. 5
Fighting Population of the South.--The New York Herald of the 14th compiles from the United States census of 1860 the number of men in the seceded States between the ages of 18 and 45, which we presume is about correct:
Alabama................................106,000
Arkansas.................................65,000
Florida.....................................16,000
Georgia..................................119,000
Louisiana..................................74,000
Mississippi................................71,000
North Carolina........................132,000
Tennessee...............................167,000
Texas........................................84,00 0
Virginia....................................221,00 0
South Carolina...........................60,000
Total.....................1,116,000