We crossed the Cumberland Range. The patient mule. Seeing a railroad
engine with a train of cars make a dive. The siege of Knoxville. “Will
you lend me my Nigger, Colonel?” Re-enlistment. Recrossed the
Mountains, returning to Kentucky on the way home, on our re-enlistment
furlough.
We remained in camp near the Lexington cemetery at Lexington, just
one month, until August 12, 1863, when we made our first start for
Tennessee. We took train for Nicholasville, then marched to Camp
Nelson, where we went into camp, and stayed another month having a
delightful time in that most healthy and beautiful place.
September 12. We started in good earnest on our march over the
mountains but went only as far as Camp Dick Robinson. As we went into
camp we were drenched by a fearful thunder storm, hailstones falling
the size of marbles. The next day we made a good day's march passing
through the town of Lancaster. The 14th we passed through the village
of Crab Orchard, camping for the night a little way beyond the town.
The 15th we remained in camp, but the 16th we moved on a good
distance in spite of the dreadful roads, along the sides of which lay
numerous wrecks of army wagons, dead mules, etc. We were then getting
into the foothills of the Cumberland range, and also into the abode of
the rattlesnake, a number having been seen the last day or two. Colonel
Hawks made an interesting discovery as he started to retire last night.
He found a rattlesnake about two feet and a half long comfortably
coiled up in his blankets, that was not the kind of bedfellow the
colonel was looking for, and he was despatched at short notice. The
17th we met a lot of Confederate prisoners being taken to the rear.
They had been captured at Cumberland Gap. They were about the dirtiest
and most repulsive looking lot of men I have ever seen. We climbed
Wildcat Mountain, a hill so steep it did not seem as if the trains
could ever get up it; but by going slow and with a good deal of pushing
and pulling by the boys they did succeed in reaching the top without
accident. We passed through the town of Loudon and Barboursville, and
September 21st crossed the Cumberland River at Cumberland Ford.
September 22. We passed through Cumberland Gap. Two days' march
brought us to the Clinch River, which we forded. Fording rivers and
some of them pretty deep ones, was a new experience for us, but before
we left East Tennessee we had learned that lesson,—if experience will
teach a lesson,—pretty thoroughly.
September 25. We crossed the Clinch range, the descent from which on
the south side was dreadfully steep. Ropes were tied to the wagons and
they were held back by the boys and prevented from tipping over. Thus
they were eased down and reached the foot of the hill safely. Along the
foot of the hill lay wagons and dead mules by the dozen, a whole line
of them extending all along around the foot of the hill.
September 26. Lunched at the famous and glorious Panther Spring.
What a spring! The water is as clear as crystal and enough of it to
make a river ten feet wide and three feet deep. We continued our march
through Newmarket and Strawberry Plains, reaching the immediate
vicinity of Knoxville the 28th.
A word must be said right here about the unpretending,
never-flinching army mule. I do not believe we shall ever know how much
we owe to that toughest and most patient creature. We had seen the mule
at his ordinary army work in Virginia, which was well nigh play
compared with the work he was called upon to do, the hardships he was
obliged to endure and the sacrifices he was forced to make in that
advance over the mountains into Tennessee.
His rations were always short, his load a heavy one, and he was
asked to haul it over roads, the wretchedness of which can not be
described nor can it be imagined by any one who has not been in a
similar place. It is almost literally true that the whole line of march
from Camp Nelson to Knoxville was strewn with his dead comrades; what
one of the boys said in that connection as we reached Knoxville was not
wide of the mark, namely, that he could in the darkest night smell out
his way back to Camp Nelson by the odor of the dead mules lying along
the way. Granted he had his peculiarities, so had Caesar his. His voice
was peculiar, he was very handy with his heels, but he could make a
supper out of a rail fence, a breakfast out of a pair of cowhide boots,
and pull his load along through the day without a murmur. To me he was
as near being the martyr of the Tennessee campaign as the men who
fought the battles.
We had been at Knoxville but a few days when news came in that the
Rebels were advancing from the northeast from the vicinity of Lynchburg
down the valley, thus threatening our communications in the vicinity of
Morristown, and Cumberland Gap. On the 4th of October we took the train
for Morristown. From there we marched to Blue Springs, where we had a
little brush with the Johnnies October 10th. They were soon put to rout
and we started back to Knoxville. We were sixty miles from Morristown,
but in three days we were back there again and took train to Knoxville,
where we arrived the 15th. In this campaign we saw plenty of marching
but no real fighting, and got well soaked two different times. We
remained quietly in camp at Knoxville until October 22nd. Then,
however, prospects suddenly became good for an active campaign.
Longstreet, with an army of 20,000 men, one of the fine army corps of
the Army of Northern Virginia, was approaching Knoxville from
Chattanooga and in the evening we took train and went down the valley
as far as Loudon to meet him and dispute his advance. We reached Loudon
about midnight and bivouacked in a large meadow on the south side of
the Holston River. Before morning a cold rain-storm came on, making
life for a couple of days about as miserable as it could well be. Our
tents arrived the 24th, when we crossed to the north side of the river
and went into camp.
The 28th, the Johnnies made a spirited attack on our boys, driving
in the pickets. We took up the pontoon bridge and fell back to Lenoir.
What a job we had carrying those great heavy boats to the railroad
station a good fourth of a mile. Government mule-teams were there by
the dozen, still we were called upon to lug those boats such a
distance. While we were moving the pontoon boats, an interesting thing
occurred. A railroad train that had been captured was run off a wrecked
railroad bridge into the Holston River. The bridge was a high one,
thirty or forty feet, and it was an interesting sight to see the train
make the plunge and disappear entirely from view in the river.
November 10. I commenced building winter quarters. A number of the
boys had begun to cut logs for the same purpose, as it was thought we
might stay at Lenoir through the winter. The 11th we marched back to
Loudon and covered the laying of the pontoon bridge, returning to
Lenoir in the evening. At daybreak, the morning of the 14th, we were
routed out, struck tents and formed line in the quickest possible time.
Our outposts were being driven in and we could hear the crack of the
rifles and see the smoke from them out on the meadow as we moved out of
camp. The Johnnies' line of battle came into view directly and we
realized we were in for some fighting at short notice; we had not been
badly surprised, but dangerously near it.
At this time the climax was reached in an experience we had with a
recruit that came to us during the Maryland campaign about the time of
the Battle of South Mountain, I think. He was a deacon in the Baptist
church. Two or three times during the campaign, when we were in camp,
the evening being quiet and favorable, our newcomer would kneel down in
his tent and make a prayer. He would pray for the nation, for the cause
for which we were fighting, for the President and for all the boys. At
such times the boys would keep very quiet and be very respectful.
Everything went along all right until the Battle of Fredericksburg,
when we did picket duty among our dead the second day after the battle.
It was discovered that our friend, the deacon, came off the field that
night with his pockets full of watches he had taken from our dead
comrades. Now there was an unwritten law in the army that no man should
rifle the pockets of our own dead; he might take all he could get from
the enemy's dead, but our own dead were sacred, and inviolate, and any
man found breaking that law was despised. The deacon, however, felt
himself pretty independent. He was well-to-do; he always had money and
received many useful things from home—like gloves, socks, fine high
boots, and he had a set of false teeth set in a gold plate. He did not
make any prayers for the public benefit for quite a while after the
Fredericksburg affair, but when he did make one, the company street for
a minute or two was as quiet as death; then all at once the old truck
began to arrive on the deacon's tent. Empty tin cans, tin cups, empty
whiskey bottles, old shoes, anything in the way of rubbish that could
be found, suddenly found its way to the deacon's tent. Well, that
prayer was brought to a very sudden close and it was never repeated. As
we moved out at daybreak, the morning of November 14th, things looked
about as dark as most of us cared to have them. But some of those boys
were never disturbed at anything, and remembering the deacon one of
them piped up, “I say, Billy, if old blank should get hit now, what
should you go for?” “I should go for his teeth,” said Billy. “What
should you go for, Tom?” “I should go for his boots.” “What should you
go for, Gus?” “I should go for his gloves?”—this at a time when most
of the boys felt funny if they ever did, the deacon right among the
very fellows who were ready to pick his bones. We succeeded in stopping
the Johnnies. Indeed, that attack proved to be only a feint and during
the day our trains and artillery started towards Knoxville. Not until
the evening of the 15th did we start back, then during one of the
darkest nights and over one of the muddiest roads imaginable, we
floundered along, reaching Campbells Station a little before morning.
At dawn we were thrown out on to the Kingston road. We were there none
too soon. Within a half hour after we were in position, Longstreet's
advance came in sight. Longstreet's feint at Lenoir was evidently made
in the hope of holding us there until he could reach Campbell's
Station, thus placing himself between Burnside and Knoxville. We
changed position twice during the day, but did little fighting in
either. The fighting was done in the beginning by the cavalry and later
by the artillery, we falling back from ridge to ridge and keeping
pretty well out of it. That night was cold and rainy and as dark as a
pocket, and it was a difficult matter to make a thirteen-mile march.
However, we reached Knoxville in the early morning of the 17th, and
immediately set to work throwing up fortifications.
Knoxville is located on the north bank of the Holston River, on high
ground elevated about one hundred feet above the general level of the
valley. It was thus easily defended with a small force and our water
supply was secure. The location of the 21st during the siege was on the
north side of the city. We were a little short of rations; indeed, we
were on half rations the whole time. However, I was a very good forager
and managed to have enough to eat most of the time. One time I
succeeded in picking up a pair of geese out in the country. At another
time I got a tub of lard and a fine smoked ham. On another raid I got a
barrel of flour. To cook the flour I was obliged to pay $2.00 for a
package of baking powder worth ordinarily fifteen or twenty cents. The
following story was brought over from the 51st New York one day during
the siege. The regimental teams had been out foraging two or three days
before. Some negroes belonging to Miss Palmer had deserted their
mistress and followed the teams back to camp. A few days later Miss
Palmer rode into camp and inquired for the colonel. The colonel
appeared, tipped his hat politely and placed himself at her service.
“Colonel,” said she, “your men have been over to our town and stole all
my niggers and I have just ridden over to camp to see if you will be
kind enough to lend me my blacksmith to shoe this horse.” The colonel
assisted her in alighting, had her boy hunted up, and set him to work
shoeing her horse.
While in a store a day or two ago, buying a pair of gloves, the cry
of fire was heard outside on the street, and going to the door there
could be seen smoke issuing from the windows on the opposite side of
the street and soon the flames burst forth. The fire spread to other
buildings and it looked for a short time as if nothing could save the
city. A New York regiment chanced to be near by and went to the
assistance of the fire department. That regiment contained a large
number of firemen from New York City. They knew how to fight a city
fire and in a very short time the fire was under control. In the
afternoon as our relief picket, to which I belonged, was on the way to
its post, we passed through the town, I saw one of our boys who was
enjoying General Pope's General Order No. 10 to the full. He was
floating along down the street still able to keep his feet, but not his
balance. He had on a white masonic apron and a bright red scarf under
his belt. As we passed him he halted, faced to the front and presented
arms with so much swiftness he lost his balance and went sprawling out
on the sidewalk. Poor fellow, he meant all right; he wanted to be very
respectful and very military, but was a little too top-heavy to carry
the thing out well. He had, I expect, been to the fire. When out
foraging on the south side of the river one time, I came across in one
of the huts of the negro quarters, quite a handsome young mulatto woman
with her children. They were all quite well dressed. The children,
however, were noticeably lighter in color than their mother. She was
evidently the favorite domestic of the house and was as bitter a Yankee
hater as any of the white women. She declared the colored people did
not want to be niggers for the Yankees. I wondered if I could not
understand why she was content with her life there.
There was picket firing most of the time and two hot engagements
during the eighteen days of the siege. On November 17th, General
Sanders was heavily engaged on the extreme left over next to the river.
November 29th, Longstreet attacked Fort Sanders furiously. That fort
was only a little way round to our left but we were not engaged. The
Johnnies got something of a surprise in that attack. When the siege
begun it was all wood in front of the fort; but by the time of the
attack the trees had all been cut down, leaving the stumps three to
four feet high, then telegraph wire was strung from stump to stump all
along the front. When the Johnnies reached that part of the field they
were very badly broken up and lost much of their force. That was the
first place where telegraph wire was used as an obstruction to an
advancing column, so far as I know. Eight or ten months later at
Petersburg barbed wire was used extensively, and in the present war in
Europe we hear a great deal about its being used.
The night of the 23d, our boys were driven from their rifle pits
down in front of the main line of fortifications. The next night about
three o'clock we were routed out and went down to the left of the rifle
pits, and at daylight made a charge and took them back again. There was
another regiment went with us on that charge. The rifle pits had been
taken possession of by a regiment of South Carolina sharpshooters, and
if they had been able to hold them they could have raked the edge of
the city and two or three streets.
December 3. The scouts brought in word that Longstreet had given up
the siege and was preparing to withdraw from our front; and the next
day it was reported that the Johnnies were really moving off to the
right up the valley. On the 5th, a party of us boys went over and took
a look at the Johnnies' camp and works. There was a good deal of camp
refuse lying around. The weather was getting very cold.
The 7th. We started after Longstreet, going toward Morristown. We
marched up to the vicinity of Blaine's cross-roads and stayed there
until we re-enlisted. It was a cold, hard time we had those days. My
feet were cold all the time. I was not comfortably warm for a number of
days, and rations were dreadfully short. Some of the time we had
nothing to eat but corn on the cob. We roasted that and eat it and it
kept us from starvation. The 9th, I helped to catch a pig, but it was
very small. There was not much meat on it.
December 24. The order concerning re-enlistment was read to a part
of the regiment, the other part of the regiment was off on picket duty.
When the question of re-enlistment was put to the boys there was a good
deal of hesitation. A few only put up their hands. The idea of going
home on a furlough for thirty days was a strong inducement, but the
conditions under which we were living at the time were unfavorable.
December 26. Our supply train was captured out in the vicinity of the
gap with all our hardtack, sugar and coffee, etc. Re-enlistment was
growing popular. I re-enlisted to-day. The temperature hovered around
the freezing point. One hour it rained, another hour it snowed or the
moisture fell in a sort of sleet. We were camping in a little hollow in
the wood sloping towards the south.
December 28. It was reported that two-thirds of the men of the
regiment had re-enlisted. That proportion was sufficient to enable the
regiment to go home, as a regiment, on veteran furlough. It was
reported about camp that the 21st was the first regiment in the 9th
Army Corps to report thus re-enlisted.
January 6, 1864. Orders came directing that we be in readiness to
start for Camp Nelson and the north at once, and in the afternoon of
the 7th we set out. About two hundred Confederate prisoners were to be
taken along. My shoes were in pretty good shape, but those of some of
the boys were very poor. The 8th we made an early start. The air was
clear and cold and we made a good day's march. The 10th, we reached
Cumberland Gap—were disappointed not to get any rations, but after
passing the gap and marching a few miles beyond, we came on to a supply
train and drew two full days' rations. What a treat to have a meal of
good fresh hardtack and a cup of good coffee again. The 11th, we did
not get far, we were delayed by the train. The roads in the mountains
were something terrific. In many places we were obliged to cut ruts in
the ice for the wheels of the wagons to go in. Forded the Cumberland
River at Cumberland Ford. Pretty cold business fording large rivers in
midwinter with the temperature down to 15 degrees above zero.
January 12. Waited until noon for the train to come up. The train
has delayed us all along the way. The roads are so very bad. Came upon
a supply train and drew two days' rations.
We reached Loudon, Kentucky, January 14. Here, some of the boys were
able to get new shoes, to their great relief. It snowed all day the
15th and at night we camped in deep snow. The next day the roads not
having been broken out, we lost our way and floundered around all the
forenoon.
January 16. The home stretch. Made a long march of twenty-five or
thirty miles in the rain, reaching Camp Nelson just before dark. Found
our old Adjutant, Theron E. Hall, detailed there in command of the
post. He put us in a big empty storehouse where we had a fine night's
sleep.
From the 17th of November to January 18th, a period of two months
and one day, was a period in which we suffered more from privation and
exposure than any other period of the same length during the war.
During the siege we were under fire and short of rations all the time.
The next period up in the vicinity of Morristown and Blaine cross-roads
we were on duty nearly all the time. It was very cold. We were very
short of clothes and had almost nothing to eat. Then the tramp over the
Cumberland mountains through the snow, with almost nothing to keep us
warm for eleven days, was something terrific. The fact that we were on
our way home was the only thing that buoyed us up during the last part
of it. I am writing this at seventy-four years of age, and as I go over
that march through the snow, fording great streams in midwinter on that
trip across the mountains, I am entirely unable to comprehend how we
were able to endure it. We had a very good opportunity to observe the
Johnnies we were taking along at short range, and to get their
viewpoint of the war. They were from Longstreet's command and while
they had nothing but good to say of old Pete, Stonewall Jackson was
their idol. He had been killed at Chancellorsville only a little while
before and they felt his loss deeply. “Stonewall did a heap of
praying—he do 'specially just before a big battle,” said one. Another
lean old fellow: “'Lowed Stonewall was a general, he war. If you-uns
had a general like him, ar reckon you-uns could lick we-uns.” One of
them lamented that, “It was no use to fight, now old Stonewall war
dead.” One I asked what he was fighting for. “'Cause I don't want to be
licked. What you-all come down here for—to invade our country and run
away with our niggers? You-uns must have a powerful spite against
we-uns-all.” In stature they averaged much smaller than our men, and
they were very ignorant; I doubt if one out of ten of them could write
his name.
January 19. We remained at Camp Nelson; drew clothing, ate hardtack
and drank coffee to our heart's content and were as happy a lot of
mortals as ever walked the earth. The next day we marched to
Nicholasville and took a train for Covington. There was a hole in one
of my teeth that had added measurably to my misery on the trip over the
mountains. As we passed through Nicholasville, I saw the sign of a
dentist. I walked in and sat down in the dentist's chair and told him I
wished he would pull that tooth. He pulled it without any ceremony.
When he put the forceps on to it, it rebelled fiercely, gave one final
gasp and the maddening pain was ended.
We were put into some very comfortable barracks at Covington and
stayed there until the 29th while the necessary re-enlistment papers
were being made out. I bought a very slick military jacket to wear
home. We were paid off, and so started for home with a pocket full of
money.