Soldier's Stories

[ewc]

From the reminiscences of Sergeant Charles A Frey, of Company D, 150th Pennsylvania Infantry, part of Stone's Brigade (2nd Brigade, 3rd Division) of the I Corps, Army of the Potomac, which fought on McPherson's Ridge, the first day at Gettysburg, 1st July, 1863, a position overrun by the Confederates.

"The loss in my own company was very heavy and a few days after [the battle], while following up the retreating enemy, I met my regiment. (Sgt. Frey had been on detached service at division headquarters.) They were a sad looking set of men. There were only about one hundred twenty-five left, and my own company, which went into the fight with fifty-two men, was reduced to twelve or fifteen... Eight of my company were left dead upon the field, twenty were wounded and five taken prisoners. A few were absent on 'French Leave.'

"Of two brothers, Corporals Samuel and Joseph B Ruhl, one was killed in the battle, and the other had to march away leaving him upon the field. Word was sent to the family that Joseph was killed. His sister, Sarah, on receiving the sad news, said she would go and bring him home. Ordering two horses hitched to a spring wagon, she started on her mournful journey, and by night of the same day on which she received the new of his death she was many miles on her way towards Gettysburg. Reaching the battlefield, she began to search for his body, or rather, his grave, as he had been buried in the meantime. After a long search, she found it, had the body unearthed, and placing it in a coffin, conveyed it home, where it was laid to rest in the quiet graveyard by the side of the fields through which he roamed in boyhood days."

Sarah was in fact fortunate to find the remains of her brother, as that part of the field had been occupied by the Confederates during the battle, and their internment of the dead had been hurriedly done, with little to no identification of the dead. Most of these men were never identified and those found were removed to the National Cemetery and interred as Unknowns}.

[thea_447]

Letters:
Privates John (Co K) & James (Co B) Adkinson
95th Illinois

Natchez August 26 1863

My dear father and mother I am happy to inform you that I am well at presant and hope this will find you all the same. I am sorry to inform you that johnny is drowned in the river. he was - him and five or six of the other boys to take the things off the boat that was brought down from Vicksburg and he came to his diner and was all right and went back again and the boys seen him about three o'clock and then did not see him after that. they hunted all through the boat and could not find him. this was on the 24 aug and i was on picket that day and dident know anny thing about it until the next day and then I hunted all over for him and could not find him and the next morning he was found. he floated ashore and we got him out. all his pockets was picked. He had about twenty four dollars in his pocket but it was all gone and we cant tell wether he fell over board himself or wether some body knocked him over but we buried him the best we could. the boys all feels bad about it and i feel bad but you know mother we cant help it and it dont do anny good to grieve about it as it would do you harm. I send my love to you all. Write as soon as you get this.
From your son James to my dear father and mother Joseph and Mary Adkinson.

(John was 19 years, 10 months and 6 days old when he drowned.
James died of dysentery at the regimental hospital in Vicksburg on December 21st, 1863 - 4 months later.)

[ewc]

Cannoneer Augustus Buell here relates the ability of the fighting man to comprehend the peculiar circumstances of his environment and the great regard these men felt for their kind. This account tells of the early morning march of Reynolds' I Corps to Gettysburg and a very fateful day:

'We were turned out the next morning about daybreak [July 1, 1863], harnessed up, and, after crossing the creek, halted to let the infantry of Wadsworth's Division file by. There was no mistake now. While we stood there watching these splendid soldiers file by with their long, swinging 'route-step', and their muskets glittering in the rays of the rising sun, there came out of the northwest a sullen 'boom! boom! boom!' of three guns, followed almost immediately by a prolonged crackling sound, which, at that distance, reminded one very much of the snapping of a dry brush-heap when you first set it on fire. We soon reasoned out the state of affairs up in front. Buford, we calculated, had engaged the leading infantry of Lee's army, and was probably trying to hold them with his cavalry in heavy skirmish line, dismounted, until our infantry could come up. They said that the enemy had not yet developed more than a skirmish line, because if he had shown a heavy formation, Buford would be using his artillery, of which he had two or three batteries, whereas we had thus far heard only the three cannon shots mentioned. These apparently trifling incidents show how the men in our Army were in the habit of observing things, and how unerring their judgment was, as a rule, even in matters of military knowledge far beyond their spheres of control.

'But my eyes were riveted on the infantry marching by. No one now living will ever again see those two brigades of Wadsworth's Division- Cutler's and the Iron Brigade- file by as they did that morning. The little creek made a depression in the road, with a gentle ascent on either side, so that from our point of view the column, as it came down one slope and up the other, had the effect of huge blue billows of men topped with a spray of shining steel, and the whole spectacle was calculated to give nerve to a man who had none before. Partly because they had served together a long time, and, no doubt, because so many of their men were in our ranks, there was a great affinity between the Battery and the Iron Brigade, which expressed itself in cheers and good-natured chaffing between us as they went by. "Find a good place to camp; be sure and get near a good dry rail fence; tell the Johnnies we will be right along," were the salutations that passed on our part, while the infantry made such responses as "All right; better stay here till we send for you; the climate up there may be unhealthy just now for such delicate creatures as you," and all that sort of thing. It was probably 8 o'clock when the last brigade had passed, and then we got the order to march, moving with Doubleday's Division. As we moved up the road we could see the troops of the next division coming close behind. By this time the leading regiments of Wadsworth's infantry had got on the ground, and the sounds of battle were increasing rapidly...'

[thea_447]

Gallotin, Tenn. July 25, 1864.

Dear Miss,

I again take the opportunity of Droping you a few lines in answer to your kind letters which I recieved a few days ago one bearing date June "23" the other June the "24" it was a plesure to me to have the honor to recieve a letter from as charming a young girl as the one whos name was asscirbed at the bottom of each of them I was glad to hear that you was well but I was more glad to hear you express your mind as fully as what you did this note leaves me well and I truly hope that this will find you in good health I can't say anthing to you by letter more than what you have heard from my letters before + Jane I hope the time will soon come when I can get to see you again I can write many things to you but if I could see you I could tell you more in one minute than I can rite in a week The letters that you wrote to me has proved verry satisfactory to me if you will stand up to what you told me in your letters I will be satisfied which I have no reasons to Doubt but what you will but if you was to fail it would allmost break my heart for you are the girl that I am Depending upon and if it was not for you I would not be riting by my candle to night as you wrote to me that many miles seperated us in person if my heart was like yours we would be united in heart you kneed not to Dout Though we are fare apart at present my heart is with you every moment for I often think of you when you are alseep when Travailing the lonesom roads in middle Tenn The thought of your sweet smiles is all the company I have I trust that you are cinsere in what you have wrote to me. Your sparkling blue eys and rosey red cheeks has gaind my whole efections I hope for the time to come when we shall meet again then if you are in the notion that I am we can pass off the time in plesure My time has come for sleep and I must soon close I want you to rite to me as soon as you can for I will be glad to hear from you any time. Direct your letters as before and dont forget your best friend so I will end my few lines but my love to you has no End remember me as ever your love and friend. Excuse bad riting.

William F. Testerman to Miss Jane Davis

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The following is a letter by Private C. J. Munroe to his sister Margart. Private Munroe was in the 25th Alabama Infanty / Deas Brigade / johnson's Division of Stephan D. Lees Corps.

The Same brigade that my 3rd great grandfather was in from Shiloh to bentonville.

This letter was printed in the Western Enterprise at Anson, Texas on September 12, 1913.

The newspaper states; "We herewith copy a letter written by our fellow townsman, Judge C.J. Munroe, to his sister Mrs. Margaret Munroe, while he was busily engaged entertaining the Yanks during the war"


In camp near Nashville, Tenn.
December 6th, 1864

Miss M.C. Munroe,
Beloved Sister:

We received your kind letter yesterday. I was glad to hear that you were all in tolerable health, but I was sorry to hear that our neighbors boys were doing so bad. Margaret, in this letter I have to communicate the very sad and heart rendering intelligence of Williams death. He was killed on the night of the 30th November whit noble battling for his country's rights. In the sorrow and distress that will prevade his as well as our home, let me console you by saying that he died at his post. He had charged and taken one line of the enemy's breastworks, when they fell back to another line about 40 yards in the rear; the order was given to charge, when William, Bud, and myself and Robt. Street was all of our company that crossed the breastworks. We crossed over into the ditch, and seeing that no person else was coming, we was obliged to sit down in the ditch to protect ourselves, but the ditch was not deep enough to shelter us. He was struck just under the right eye, the ball ranging down and coming out between his shoulders. He did not speak when he was shot. I did not know that he was killed for sometime after it was done. Our color bearer was the only man between me and him, but it was very dark and I could not see. After it was done, I sat in the ditch and shot for some time. I then crawled back across the breastworks, when I met up with Bud, and he told me of it. As soon as I could, I crawled back to where he was and straightened him out. I got all of his things that I could carry. This was done about midnight, and we buried him the next day at 10 o'clock. We did the best for him that we could.

I will now attempt to give you a description of our travel since we left Florence, Ala.. Nothing worth noting occured until we got to Colombia, Tenn., 25 miles from this place. There we encountered the Yanks about 20 thousand strong, but made a flank movement, there by causing them to retreat without a fight. From there they fell back to Franklin, where they made another stand. We came up about two hours by the sun on the evening of 30th Nov. The line was formed in a few minutes. Bates' Division, French's Division, and Cleburne's Division led the way. Our Division was to support Bates. We drove them from one line of works and had charged them in the second line, but his ammunition being exhausted, we was ordered up to take his place. We rushed upon them and drove them from their position. It was then that William was killed. We lay there and fought them about 2 hours when they took advantage of the darkness and withdrew their force in the direction of Nashville. We lost a good many men, but not as many as the enemy. We also captured a great amount of prisoners. We lay there until the 2nd day of Dec., when we moved up and formed around Nashville. We have very good works here. I think it we fight here we will do it in our own way. The Yanks are shelling us all the time, but are doing no damage. We are living very well at the present time, getting plenty of pork and bread, turnips and cabbage, this is undoubtly the best country I ever saw. The people live better here than they ever did in our county.

I forgot to say that William Harrell was slightly wounded in the hand. Powell Smith was wounded in the hip, but not severe, William Lowery in the hand. Our regiment lost only one killed and thirteen wounded.

I have stood our march very well; a great deal better than I expected to. Bud stands it extremely well.

If you see any of Hutchington's people, you can tell them that Press is well; he is with us now.

Margaret, I will close. Write often, for it gives us great pleasure to hear from you. Kiss the children for me, I remain your loving brother.
C.J. Munroe

P.S. Bud sends you some Yankee needles, which was captured at Franklin.

I know this is not a story from the civil war. Yet deep in my heart I know it is a tale played out countless times through the millennia. Ever since wars have been fought and men have experienced comradery, love and respect in battle. While it may not be strictly a CW soldier's story, I believe the spirit is still true. The story is a report written by the greatest of WW2 correspondents, Ernie Pyle.

You can listen to an audio here
http://www.journalism.indiana.edu/ne...le/waskow.html




THE DEATH OF CAPTAIN WASKOW
By Ernie Pyle


AT THE FRONT LINES IN ITALY, January 10, 1944 — In this war I have known a lot of officers who were loved and respected by the soldiers under them. But never have I crossed the trail of any man as beloved as Capt. Henry T. Waskow of Belton, Texas.
Capt. Waskow was a company commander in the Thirty-Sixth Division. He had led his company since long before it left the States. He was very young, only in his middle twenties, but he carried in him a sincerity and gentleness that made people want to be guided by him.

"After my own father, he came next," a sergeant told me.

"He always looked after us," a soldier said. "He'd go to bat for us every time."

"I've never knowed him to do anything unfair," another one said.

I was at the foot of the mule trail the night they brought Capt. Waskow's body down. The moon was nearly full at the time, and you could see far up the trail, and even part way across the valley below. Soldiers made shadows in the moonlight as they walked.

Dead men had been coming down the mountain all evening, lashed to the backs of mules. They came lying belly-down across the wooden packsaddles, their heads hanging down on the left side of the mule, their stiffened legs sticking awkwardly from the other side. bobbing up and down as the mule walked.

The Italian mule-skinners were afraid to walk beside the dead men, so Americans had to lead the mules down that night. Even the Americans were reluctant to unlash and lift off the bodies at the bottom, so an officer had to do it himself, and ask others to help.

The first one came early in the morning. They slid him down from the mule and stood him on his feet for a moment, while they got a new grip. In the half light he might have been merely a sick man standing there, leaning on the others. Then they laid him on the ground in the shadow of the low stone wall alongside the road.

I don't know who that first one was. You feel small in the presence of dead men, and ashamed at being alive, and you don't ask silly questions.

We left him there beside the road, that first one, and we all went back into the cowshed and sat on water cans or lay in the straw, waiting for the next batch of mules.

Somebody said the dead soldier had been dead for four days, and then nobody said anything more about it. We talked soldier talk for an hour or more. The dead men lay all alone outside in the shadow of the low stone wall.

Then a soldier came into the cowshed and said there were some more bodies outside. We went out into the road. Four mules stood there, in the moonlight, in the road where the trail came down off the mountain. The soldiers who led them stood there waiting. "This one is Captain Waskow," one of them said quietly.

Two men unlashed his body from the mule and lifted it off and laid it in the shadow beside the low stone wall. Other men took the other bodies off. Finally there were five lying end to end in a long row, alongside the road. You don't cover up dead men in the combat zone. They just lie there in the shadows until somebody else comes after them.

The unburdened mules moved off to their olive orchard. The men in the road seemed reluctant to leave. They stood around, and gradually one by one I could sense them moving close to Capt. Waskow's body. Not so much to look, I think, as to say something in finality to him, and to themselves. I stood close by and I could hear.

One soldier came and looked down, and he said out loud, "God **** it." That's all he said, and then he walked away. Another one came. He said, "God **** it to hell anyway." He looked down for a few last moments, and then he turned and left.

Another man came; I think he was an officer. It was hard to tell officers from men in the half light, for all were bearded and grimy dirty. The man looked down into the dead captain's face, and then he spoke directly to him, as though he were alive. He said: "I sure am sorry, old man."

Then a soldier came and stood beside the officer, and bent over, and he too spoke to his dead captain, not in a whisper but awfully tenderly, and he said:

"I sure am sorry, sir."

Then the first man squatted down, and he reached down and took the dead hand, and he sat there for a full five minutes, holding the dead hand in his own and looking intently into the dead face, and he never uttered a sound all the time he sat there.

And finally he put the hand down, and then he reached up and gently straightened the points of the captain's shirt collar, and then he sort of rearranged the tattered edges of his uniform around the wound. And then he got up and walked away down the road in the moonlight, all alone.

After that the rest of us went back into the cowshed, leaving the five dead men lying in a line, end to end, in the shadow of the low stone wall. We lay down on the straw in the cowshed, and pretty soon we were all asleep.

Madison County, Va.
May 28th, 1862
Sister Mary,
This evening, the 20th of May, affords me the delightful pleasure of writing to you all at home. Home. Home. How much pleasure there is in that word home? There is more than tongue can express. How oft have I thought of home. That place that I formerly so little appreciated. And to think of those that are there. The kind Father, the indulgent Mother to which I have been so disrespectful in days gone by. The fond sisters that I have so oft mistreated. Oh, that I could have my time over again how different I would live.
One may imagine something as to the ties that home has. Though, it is nothing compared to realizing the true state of things. I will tell you how much I think of home. That delightful home I have so often thought of the greater portion of my day in quietude enjoying the pleasures and comforts of life, and those that are dear to me. I think just enough of home to spend the remnant of my days, though they may be long, or short, in difference. There is of home a delightful place where one can have peace, and just rights with it. But, without those two items death is far preferable. I will stay in the field forever before I will have my country invaded. I will submit to the toils and hardships of camp. I will be found traversing the snow-clad cliffs of the Thoroughfare and the Blue Ridge Mountains first. I will endure the toil, forbear the pain produced thereby, before thinking of submitting to such tyrannical vandals as those negro-thieving, undermining, careless, unprincipled band of demons, which are really beneath the notice of the Devil himself.
I say and speak from my heart that life is sweet, though give me death before submitting to any such. Never has history, even in the days of uncivilization, not even the heathen when committing their brutal acts regardless of care, or Gospel, had to disgrace her pages with such detestable, disgraceful, disdainful, unprincipled stuff as the present in stating the whys and wherefores of this war, if it is truly accounted for. If it doesn't prove a disgrace to the Federals in the estimation of all nations, I can't see why. In short, to this end give me liberty, or give me death.
I have no message of much importance to communicate to you. I have not heard from Gen. Beauregard for several days. The last account from Richmond, they were sick of fighting, as few expected a general engagement shortly. Gen. Jackson had a skirmish with the Feds the other day. He took 2000 prisoners, saying nothing of killed and wounded. Our loss was 100 killed and wounded. The enemy totally routed, we captured five car loads of coffee, all of their commissary stores, and also their artillery. What I have stated as to this fight is true, for the man I am staying with saw them with his own eyes, as they came with them from Richmond. Since that time, they have captured 4000, including 1000 cavalrymen, horses and all. If this be true, I say glory to God for it. I have great faith in Jackson and Beauregard, but not so much in Johnson as the others.
I can't think of anything else that will interest you. My health is fairly good at this time. You will right to me immediately to tell all you know of about Joseph and Isaac. I have not heard much from home in three months. Direct your letters to Oak Park, Oak Park, Madison County, Va. They will be forwarded from there to me. Write immediately.
Nothing more remains,

your warrior brother, until death


Then

Man is a tender, transient flower,
That even in blooming dies,"
"That once loved form, now cold and dead,
Each mournful thought employs:
We weep our earthly comforts fled,
And withered all our joys."

Died at the "Wayside Home," Augusta, Georgia, on the 6th of April, 1864, Thomas D. Newton, of Co.H., 8th Louisiana Regiment, in the 24th year of his age. He had remained nearly two months in a hospital at Lynchburg, Va., and it is supposed, having partly recovered, had obtained a furlough, and was on his way home, when he had a relapse and died; yes, died away from home and friends, doubtless for want of attention. No brother near to cheer and comfort him, while enduring the pain that has laid him low; no mother to administer the cordials that are so necessary and refreshing in the hours of affliction; no sister to smooth his pillow, and wipe the dews of death from his noble brow, whilst that Monster was performing his mighty task; and no friend or acquaintance to follow him to his last resting place--a cold, cold grave. But being a good and devoted Christian, a member of the Baptist Church from his early youth, he was not alone when;

"They laid thee in thy quiet grave,
Few mourners 'round thy tomb,
And few the pitying friends that near
Disturbed with faltering sigh or tear
The graveyard's silent gloom."

It is thus that another heroic spirit has taken its flight to a new and untried existence, another sacrifice has been offered on the alter of our country. Among the brave, he was the bravest; fearing nothing in defense of his country, in whose service he lost his own life with hope that she might one day be free. From his early youth he was deeply impressed with a love of freedom, his country, and his home. When war was proclaimed he was traveling in Louisiana for his health, which was very bad; although his constitution was greatly debilitated by previous sickness, yet the first sound of the drum, calling our men to arms, aroused him, and he went with the motto, " Conquer or die." With his immortal leader "Stonewall," he often, cold, hungry, and fatigued, traversed the mountains and valleys of Virginia; invaded Maryland and Pennsylvania, and participated in every battle fought by that army except the first Manassas, Richmond, and Fredericksburg, being absent then on account of sickness.
While fighting he displayed that coolness and intrepidity which in times of battle are the handmaids of success; and Rome or Greece cannot boast a braver or more daring soldier. His military career has been a bright, glorious one, and reflects high honors upon his friends and country. While the first battle of Winchester was raging, the ball and grapeshot as thick as hail, the regiment to which he belonged was ordered to charge a battery. He being in front, with all the intrepidity of Col. Cilley of the Revolutionary struggle, and at imminent risk of his life, mounted a cannon. With his bowie knife alone, he maintained his position, killing one of the enemy, and wounding another before he received any assistance. He was once taken prisoner and gave up arms. About that time a shower of shot flew over him, when he, ever ready to take advantage of the enemy, fell as if he had been killed. In that position he remained perfectly motionless, until a proper opportunity opened a way for his escape. He then rose and returned to camps as fast as his feet could carry him, and was the only one of his company that escaped either death, or captivity.
As a soldier he was gallant and intrepid, never swerving in the least from the paths of duty and honor. He evinced a high regard of truth, justice, and mercy, and an utter contempt for all that is low and degrading. In him were united those high characteristics which make the fond, obedient son; thee tender, loving brother, the kind, generous friend, and the brave undaunted soldier. But oh! He is gone, gone forever! Wail, Alabama, wail! You have lost one of your firmest defenders. But you can never call him back.
We can say to his weeping parents, brothers, sisters, and friends, "Grieve not for your dear Thomas: Our Heavenly Father has taken him from this cold, cruel world, for a good and wise purpose; and to his will we must submit. So farewell dear Thomas, farewell! We will think of them and love thee, though the portals of the tomb open wide, received thy loving form, and enveloped it in its dark bosom." But,

While the dreams of love still thrill the soul,
With mingled bliss and pain,
Or summers dying leaves can bring
Regrets o'er lifes fast fading spring
Thy memory must remain.

One That Knew And Loved Him

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Excerpt from a letter from John Kennerly Ferris, surgeon, Army of Tennessee, to his wife in Coffee County
Camp Before Chattanooga
Wednesday, November 11, 1863

* * * *

We are camped in sight of Chattanooga & the Federal camp & right at the foot of Lookout Mountain. Our pickets & the Federal pickets stand in sight & speaking distance of each other but never molest each other, but on the other hand are as friends as though they belonged in the same Army & now & then trade with each other, exchanging coffee for tobacco; & they would be carried on extensively, but it is against orders for them to talk to each other. So they have to be a little sly. There is no fighting going on except shelling, which is carried on to a limited extent every day. Our men throw shell into the Enemy Camp [sic] & into Chattanooga from the top of the Mountain [sic] & the Enemy in return throw shell into our batterys. [sic] Besides, both sides now & then shell each other’s pickets.
Food & clothing are both pretty scarce with the Army now, & I fear we shall suffer for both before very long. In fact, we do to a limited extent now. We can buy nothing at all to eat, & all are very scarce of clothing, especially shoes, socks & blankets. There are a good many men in the Army now without the sign of a shoe on their feet, & I know of but few who can say they sleep warm; & if things do not get better, I know a great many will desert this winter, & some are now deserting.

* * * *

We have not drawn any meat of any kind since day before yesterday, & Sam is cooking some peas without any grease for dinner or supper, just as you choose to call it, for we only eat twice a day. I am nearly barefooted both for shoes & socks, but I think I will get shoes before long &, as for socks, I have no idea when I will get any, & I only have one pair, which are cotton & full of holes & heels & toes all gone.

This is rather hard, but I would not mind it if it was not for your., I could bear anything cheerfully if I knew you was [sic] comfortable & happy, but this I do not know. I fear you are all liveing [sic] had & having a troublesome time with troublesome Yankees. I wish I could hear from you & know how you are getting along, just as to seeing your, I do fear & expect it will be a long time for just now the prospect for us getting Middle Tenn. back seems very gloomy. Yet I cannot help but hope for the better, if I am disappointed.

The Civil War Diary of John Kennerly Farris, entry for November 11, 1863.

[thea_447]

This letter was written by Henry Kneip of Creuzbauer’s battery, 5th Texas Artillery. His brother, William, was killed in action in the battle, and the author gives details of the fatal wounding, as well as the actions of the contending forces.

William Kneip, who was about 24 years old at the time of his death, is buried on the battlefield that is now the site of an abandoned graveyard.

The Kneip brothers were natives of Germany. Their family settled in Round Top, Fayette County, Texas, in 1852. On the 1860 census of Fayette County, Henry was listed as 23 years old; William was 20. Two younger brothers, Adolph and Ferdinand, apparently twins at 17, served in another Confederate unit, Waul’s Texas Legion. The two younger brothers survived the war.

The letter was handwritten in old German script and had to be translated into English. Christie Patterson, a great-great-granddaughter of Henry Kneip, had the letter translated and brought it to the attention of historians.

Here are the contents of the letter, courtesy of the Jefferson County Historical Commission:

Our Battle at the Calcasieu Pass

Documented For Our Children.

We, half of the Creuzbauer Comp., were stationed at Sabine Pass. The other half was with our horses at Industry Camp. On 4th May 1864 we received orders to get ready to go to Calcasieu Pass the following day, about 30 miles from there in Louisiana, in order to take 2 enemy war ships, which lied there with the intent to plunder cattle and other things.

On the 5th, we, including our cannons and carronades, were loaded onto a steam boat and taken up the Johnson Bayou to a stop place, about halfway, where we unloaded again in order to continue marching from there. We departed then and marched on until we reached another Bayou in the evening which we had to cross.

Its bridge across, however, had been burned down by the

Yankees. Consequently, another bridge had to be built across, during the course of the night, and therefore we put up camp until the bridge was completed. When the bridge was completed, we started up again, and arrived on the battle field before day break.

Prior to that, however, we had a touching experience. Our escort men, about 150 infantry men, had departed before us; however, before we reached the battle field, we caught up with them again. There all of them, following the command to kneel down for prayer, were kneeling down in order to pray. That was a prayer and by all means moving to watch as the wild cowboys were praying, because everyone could expect this to be his last prayer.

Yes, everyone could imagine that it would be a hard battle. There the black monsters were lying in front of us with 16 black cannons of the latest construction, and we were supposed to fight against them with our tiny 4 cannons: 2, 12 & 2, 6 pounders. Nevertheless we went up to 1000 yards distance in battery and opened fire.

The 1st and 2nd cannons took aim on the Granite City, the 3rd and 4th on the Wave. The Yankees did not waste any time and started firing on us. The first was calamity for us, it hit my brother Wilhelm beneath his hip, and tore off his leg, and killed some of our horses. That was a hard blow, but after we had laid Wilhelm to the side, and he, in spite of his serious injury, encouraged us to “give it to them,” we began firing with vehemence as fast as it was possible to do: load ready fire, load ready fire until we got orders to move forward.

When, beforehand, I looked after Wilhelm one more time, my poor brother was dead. We moved forward then, up to about half of the distance and gave fire with the same speed as before, and fired our balls, shot after shot, into the Granite City. Finally it raised a white flag and surrendered. The Wave, however, kept on fighting, but now we united the 1st and 2nd cannons, our fire, with both ... against the Wave.

Until after some time again orders were given to move forward to the shore. The orders were followed and we moved forward and we moved forward to the shore and opened up fire again. Here where we had the ships close before us and were able to have a closer look at them. I said to Walter v. Rosenberg who was in charge of the aiming, “Look at the funnels, and aim somewhat behind them, there the boilers should be located.”

Whether he had listened to me or whether it was by accident, when the cannon ball hit, the entire ship became filled with steam, everywhere steam came streaming out, then a white cloth was blowing on the Wave, as a sign that they surrendered. We ceased fire accordingly, expecting them to send a boat so that we could take possession of the ship, but everything remained quiet. Nothing stirred on the ship.

When this took too long for us, we fire another shot, which resulted in the white flag being hoisted up at the flag pole. Following our demand they found a boat and we took over the ship. Now victory was ours, now we had time to look around, before we had not. Now, we realized the bad condition we had been in.

Our cannon the 1st was the only one that had forged ahead to the shore and that was still in battle.

The 2nd one had sunk into a soft area in the ground during the last advance. Our drivers: Fr. Koetz & Fr. Kiel were Texas boys, who had already driven on the road, and they knew the soft places and avoided them, those from the 2nd cannon were Maxmilianer and did not know it.

The 3rd cannon was without horses and men but one of 2 men and had to stay with the 2nd position where also the 4th cannon was shot to pieces and apart of the company fatally injured. We had gained a glorious victory but it was bought with a high, a very high price.

The men of the 1st cannon were: Alex v. Rosenberg, Wm. v. Rosenberg, H. Kneip, W. Kneip, Wm. Peters, Wm. Yurs (or Schurs) & Winn and the two above mentioned drivers.

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http://docsouth.unc.edu/leon/menu.html
"Diary of A Tar Heel Confederate Soldier",L.Leon: concerns a boy who joined up April 25, 1861. He belongs to the Charlotte Grays, Company C, First North Carolina Regiment. His company is commanded by Capt. Egbert Ross and is made up of boys between the ages of eighteen and twenty-one.