Part 12 (1/2)
I will now resume the account of what occurred after we reached the blockhouse. It will be brief. We formed in line with the reinforcements that had come from Murfreesboro, and advanced toward the train. We encountered no opposition; the enemy had set fire to the cars, and then had hastily and entirely disappeared.
I have recently discovered in a modern edition of the Reports of the Adjutant-General of Illinois, (the date on the t.i.tle page being 1901,) that in the revised sketch of our regiment a recital has crept in stating that in our subsequent advance we ”recaptured the train in time to prevent its destruction.” How that statement got into the sketch I do not know, and I am sorry to be under the necessity of saying that it is not true. When we got back to the scene of the fight the train was a ma.s.s of roaring flame, the resulting consequence being that every car was finally consumed. No matter how much it may hurt, it is always best to be fair, and tell the truth.
[Ill.u.s.tration: J. B. Nulton Major, 61st Illinois Infantry (later Colonel).]
In the course of the day our troops all returned to Murfreesboro. Maj.
Nulton, who was now our regimental commander, gave us of the 61st permission to march back ”at will.” That is, we could start when we got ready, singly or in squads, and not in regimental formation. So Bill Banfield and I started out to get something to eat, as we were very hungry. Since leaving Stevenson on the morning of the 14th, we had had no opportunity to cook anything, and had eaten nothing but some hardtack and raw bacon. Then that night we had left our haversacks on top of the cars when we got off the train to skirmish with the enemy, and never saw them again. And this was a special grievance for Bill and me. We each had a little money, and on the morning we left Stevenson had gone to a sutler's, and made some purchases to insure us an extra good meal when we got back to Murfreesboro. I bought a little can of condensed milk, (having always had a weakness for milk in coffee,) while Bill, with a kind of queer taste, invested in a can of lobsters.
One time that night, while sitting on the ground, in the cold and dark, tired, hungry, and sleepy, waiting while our engineers patched a break in the railroad, Bill, with a view, I reckon, to cheering us both up, delivered himself in this wise: ”This is a little tough, Stillwell, but just think of that bully dinner we'll have when we get to Murfreesboro!
You've your can of condensed milk, and I've mine of lobsters; we'll have coffee with milk in it, and then, with some hardtack, we'll have a spread that will make up for this all right.” But, alas!
”The best laid schemes o' mice and men Gang aft a-gley.”
My precious condensed milk, and the crustaceans aforesaid of Bill's, doubtless went glimmering down the alimentary ca.n.a.l of some long-haired Texan, to his great satisfaction. My wish at the time was that the darned lobsters might make the fellow sick,--which they probably did.
So Bill and I were now at the burning train, looking for something to take the place of our captured Belshazzar banquet. We found a car that was loaded with pickled pork in barrels, and getting a fence rail, we finally succeeded, after some peril and much difficulty, in prying off one of the barrels, and it fell to the ground, bursting open as it did so, and scattering the blazing pieces of pork all around. We each got a portion, and then sat down on a big rock, and proceeded to devour our respective chunks without further ceremony. The outside of the meat was burned to a coal, but we were hungry, all of it tasted mighty sweet, and we gnawed it just like dogs. At the close of the repast, I took a look at Bill. His face was as black as tar from contact with the burnt pork, and in other respects his ”tout ensemble” ”left much to be desired.” I thought if I looked as depraved as Bill certainly did it would be advisable to avoid any pocket looking-gla.s.s until after a thorough facial ablution with soft water and plenty of soap. Dinner over, we were soon ready for the march to camp, (there being no dishes to wash,) and started down the railroad track for Murfreesboro. We took our time, and didn't reach camp till about sundown. We were the last arrivals of Co. D, and, as there were all sorts of rumors afloat, we afterwards learned that Capt. Keeley had become quite anxious about us.
As we turned down our company street I saw the Captain standing in front of his tent, looking in our direction. After the affairs of the 4th and the 7th, I had taken much satisfaction, in speaking to him of those events, in adopting the phraseology of the old chaplain, and had expressed myself several times in language like this: ”And we smote them, hip and thigh, even as Joash smote Boheel!” But it was now necessary to amend my boastful statement, so as I approached Capt.
Keeley, and before anything else had been spoken, I made to him this announcement: ”And they smote us, hip and thigh, even as Joash smote Boheel!” Keeley laughed, but it was a rather dry laugh, and he answered: ”Well, I'm glad they didn't smite you boys, anyhow--but, great G.o.d! go wash your faces, and clean up generally. You both look like the very devil himself.” We pa.s.sed on, complied with the Captain's directions, and then I curled up in my dog tent and slept without a break until next morning.
[Ill.u.s.tration: Lorenzo J. Miner 1st Lieutenant Co. B, 61st Illinois Infantry.
Died December 19, 1864, of a wound received in a fight on the railroad, near Murfreesboro, Tenn., December 15, 1864.]
In concluding my account of this affair it will be stated that the most of our boys who were captured in the fight, and (I think) all the line officers who had the same bad luck, made their escape, singly, or in little parties, not long thereafter. Their Confederate captors, on or about the day after our encounter, had hurriedly joined the army of Gen. Hood, taking their prisoners with them. In their retreat from Tennessee on this occasion, the Confederates had a hard and perilous time. The guards of the captured Yankees were probably well-nigh worn out, and it is likely that, on account of their crus.h.i.+ng defeat at Nashville, they had also become discouraged and careless. Anyhow, the most of our fellows got away while Hood was yet on the north side of the Tennessee river. He crossed that stream with the wreck of his army on the 26th and 27th of December, and fell back into Mississippi.
CHAPTER XXIII.
MURFREESBORO. WINTER OF 1864-1865. FRANKLIN. SPRING AND SUMMER OF 1865.
After the retreat of Hood from Nashville, matters became very quiet and uneventful with us at Murfreesboro. The regiment s.h.i.+fted its camp from the inside of Fortress Rosecrans out into open ground on the outskirts of the town, and proceeded to build winter quarters. These consisted of log cabins, like those we built at Little Rock the previous winter, only now the logs were cedar instead of pine. There were extensive cedar forests in the immediate vicinity of Murfreesboro, and we had no difficulty whatever in getting the material. And we had plenty of nice, fragrant cedar wood to burn in our fire-places, which was much better than soggy Arkansas pine. And I remember with pleasure a matter connected with the rations we had in the fore part of the winter. For some reason or other the supply of hardtack became practically exhausted, and we had but little in the line of flour bread, even for some weeks after Hood retreated from Nashville. But in the country north of Murfreesboro was an abundance of corn, and there were plenty of water-mills, so Gen. Rousseau sent out foraging parties in that region and appropriated the corn, and set the mills to grinding it, and oh, what fine cornbread we had! We used to make ”ash-cakes,” and they were splendid. The method of making and cooking an ash-cake was to mix a quant.i.ty of meal with proper proportions of water, grease, and salt, wrap the meal dough in some dampened paper, or a clean, wet cloth, then put it in the fire and cover it with hot ashes and coals. By testing with a sharp stick we could tell when the cake was done, then we would yank it from the fire, sc.r.a.pe off the fragments of the covering and the adhering ashes,--and then, with bacon broiled on the cedar coals, and plenty of good strong coffee, we would have a dinner better than any (from my standpoint) that Delmonico's ever served up in its palmiest days.
On February 4th, 1865, the non-veterans and recruits of the regiment came to us from Arkansas, and so we were once more all together, except a few that were in the Confederate prisons down South. We were all glad to see each other once more, and had many tales to ”swap,” about our respective experiences during our separation.
On February 10th, Lieutenant Wallace resigned, and returned to his home in Illinois. The chief reason for his resignation was on account of some private matter at home, which was giving him much anxiety and trouble. Further, the war in the region where we were was practically over, and there was nothing doing, with no prospect, so far as we knew, of any military activity for the regiment in the future. Wallace's resignation left Co. D without a second lieutenant, as we then did not have enough enlisted men in the company to ent.i.tle us to a full complement of commissioned officers, and the place remained vacant for some months.
On March 21st, we left Murfreesboro by rail and went to Nashville, and thence to Franklin, about twenty miles south of Nashville, and on what was then called the Nashville and Decatur railroad. A desperate and b.l.o.o.d.y battle occurred here between our forces under the command of Gen. Schofield and the Confederates under Gen. Hood, on November 30th, only two days after our arrival at Murfreesboro. I have often wondered why it was that Gen. Thomas, our department commander, did not send our regiment, on our arrival at Nashville, to reinforce Schofield, instead of to Murfreesboro, for Gen. Schofield certainly needed all the help he could get. But it is probable that Gen. Thomas had some good reason for his action.
When we arrived at Franklin we relieved the regiment that was on duty there as a garrison, and it went somewhere else. It was the 75th Pennsylvania, and the officers and men composing it, so far as I saw, were all Germans. And they were fine, soldierly looking fellows, too.
From this time until we left Franklin in the following September, our regiment comprised all the Union force that was stationed at the town.
Maj. Nulton was in command of the post, and, subject only to higher authorities at a distance, we were ”monarchs of all we surveyed.” When we came to Franklin the signs of the battle of November 30th were yet fresh and plentiful. As soon as time and opportunity afforded, I walked over the whole field, (in fact, several times,) looking with deep interest at all the evidences of the battle. I remember especially the appearance of a scattered grove of young locust trees which stood at a point opposite the right center of the Union line. For some hours the grove was right between the fire of both the Union and the Confederate lines, and the manner in which the trees had been riddled with musket b.a.l.l.s was truly remarkable. It looked as if a s...o...b..rd could not have lived in that grove while the firing was in progress.
General William A. Quarles, of Tennessee, was one of the Confederate generals who were wounded in this battle, and after incurring his wound was taken to the house of a Tennessee planter, Col. McGavock, about a mile from Franklin, near the Harpeth river. Two or three other wounded Confederate officers of less rank were taken to the same place. When the Confederates retreated from Nashville, Gen. Quarles and these other wounded officers were unable to accompany the army. They remained at McGavock's, and were taken prisoners by our forces. They were put under a sort of parole of honor, and allowed to remain where they were, without being guarded. They had substantially recovered from their wounds at the time our regiment arrived at Franklin, and not long thereafter Capt. Keeley came to me one day, and handed me an order from Maj. Nulton, which directed me to take a detail of four men, with two ambulances, and go to McGavock's and get Gen. Quarles and the other Confederate officers who were there, and bring them into Franklin, for the purpose of being sent to Nashville, and thence to the north to some military prison. I thereupon detailed Bill Banfield and three other boys, told them what our business was, and instructed them to brush up nicely, and have their arms and accouterments in first cla.s.s condition, and, in general, to be looking their best. Having obtained the ambulances, with drivers, we climbed aboard, and soon arrived at the fine residence of old Col. McGavock. I went into the house, met the lady of the establishment, and inquired of her for Gen. Quarles, and was informed that he was in an upper room. I requested the lady to give the general my compliments, and tell him that I desired to see him. She disappeared, and soon the general walked into the room where I was awaiting him. He was a man slightly below medium stature, heavy set, black hair, piercing black eyes, and looked to be about thirty years old. He was a splendid looking soldier. I stepped forward and saluted him, and briefly and courteously told him my business. ”All right, sergeant,” he answered, ”we'll be ready in a few minutes.” Their preparations were soon completed, and we left the house. I a.s.signed the general and one of the other officers to a seat near the front in one of the ambulances, and Bill Banfield and I occupied the seat behind them, and the remaining guards and prisoners rode in the other conveyance. There was only one remark made on the entire trip back to Franklin, and I'll mention it presently. We emerged from the woods into the Columbia pike at a point about three-quarters of a mile in front of our main line of works that had been charged repeatedly and desperately by the Confederates in the late battle. The ground sloped gently down towards the works, and for fully half a mile was as level as a house floor. I noticed that at the moment we reached the pike Gen. Quarles began to take an intense interest in the surroundings. He would lean forward, and look to the right, to the front, to the left, and occasionally throw a hasty glance backward,--but said nothing. Finally we pa.s.sed through our works, near the historic ”cotton-gin,” and the general drew a deep breath, leaned back against his seat, and said: ”Well, by G.o.d, the next time I fight at Franklin, I want to let the Columbia pike severely alone!” No one made any response, and the remainder of the journey was finished in silence. I duly delivered Gen.
Quarles and his fellow-prisoners to Maj. Nulton, and never saw any of them again.
Early in April, decisive military operations took place in Virginia. On the 3rd of that month our forces marched into Richmond, and on the 9th the army of Gen. Lee surrendered to Gen. Grant. At Franklin we were on a telegraph line, and only about twenty miles from department headquarters, so the intelligence of those events was not long in reaching us. I am just unable to tell how profoundly gratified we were to hear of the capture of Richmond, and of Lee's army. We were satisfied that those victories meant the speedy and triumphant end of the war. It had been a long, desperate, and b.l.o.o.d.y struggle, and frequently the final result looked doubtful and gloomy. But now,--”there were signs in the sky that the darkness was gone; there were tokens in endless array”; and the feeling among the common soldiers was one of heart-felt relief and satisfaction. But suddenly our joy was turned into the most distressing grief and mourning. Only a few days after we heard of Lee's surrender came the awful tidings of the foul murder of Mr. Lincoln. I well remember the manner of the men when the intelligence of the dastardly crime was flashed to us at Franklin. They seemed dazed and stunned, and were reluctant to believe it, until the fact was confirmed beyond question. They sat around in camp under the trees, talking low, and saying but little, as if the matter were one that made mere words utterly useless. But they were in a desperate frame of mind, and had there been the least appearance of exultation over the murder of Mr. Lincoln by any of the people of Franklin, the place would have been laid in ashes instanter. But the citizens seemed to understand the situation. They went into their houses, and closed their doors, and the town looked as if deserted. To one who had been among the soldiers for some years, it was easy to comprehend and understand their feelings on this occasion. For the last two years of the war especially, the men had come to regard Mr. Lincoln with sentiments of veneration and love. To them he really was ”Father Abraham,” with all that the term implied. And this regard was also entertained by men of high rank in the army. Gen. Sherman, in speaking of Mr. Lincoln, says this:
”Of all the men I ever met, he seemed to possess more of the elements of greatness, combined with goodness, than any other.”
(Memoirs of Gen. W. T. Sherman, revised edition, Vol. 2, p. 328.)