“While I hope ever to rely on Him who controls all things, and to say from my heart, ‘Not unto us, but unto thee, O Lord, belongs the glory,’ yet I feel bad at the result of our attack on Fort Donelson. To see brave officers and men, who say they will go where I lead them, fall by my side, it makes me sad to lead them to almost certain death.”
“While I hope ever to rely on Him who controls all things, and to say from my heart, ‘Not unto us, but unto thee, O Lord, belongs the glory,’ yet I feel bad at the result of our attack on Fort Donelson. To see brave officers and men, who say they will go where I lead them, fall by my side, it makes me sad to lead them to almost certain death.”
So passed Friday. The gunboats were disabled. No impression had been made on the fort. General Grant determined to place his army in position on the hills surrounding the fort, throw up intrenchments, and wait till the gunboats could be repaired. Then there would be a combined attack, by water and by land, which he hoped would reduce the place.
On Friday evening there was a council of war at General Floyd’s head-quarters in the town. General Buckner, General Johnson, General Pillow, Colonel Baldwin, Colonel Wharton, and other commanders of brigades were present. General Floyd said that he was satisfied that General Grant would not renew the attack till the gunboats were repaired, and till he had received reinforcements. He thought that the whole available force of Union troops would be hurried up by steamboat from St. Louis, Cincinnati, and Cairo; and that when they arrived a division would be marched up the river towards Clarksville, above Dover, and that they in the fort would be starved out and forced to surrender without a battle. It was very good and correct reasoning on the part of General Floyd, who did not care to be taken prisoner after he had stolen so much public property. It was just what General Grant intended to do. He knew that by such a course the fort would be obliged to surrender, and he would save the lives of his men.
General Floyd proposed to attack General Grant at daylight on Saturday morning, by throwing one half of the Rebel army, under Pillow and Johnson, upon McClernand’s division. By making the attack then in overwhelming force, he felt pretty sure he could drive McClernand back upon General Wallace. General Buckner, with the other half of the army, was to push out from the northwest angle of the fort at the same time, attack General Wallace, and force him back upon General McClernand, which would throw the Union troops into confusion. By adopting this plan he hoped to win a victory, or if not that, he could open a way of escape to the whole army. The plan was agreed to by the other officers, and preparations were made for the attack. The soldiers received extra rations and a large quantity of ammunition. The caissons of the artillery were filled up, and the regiments placed in position to move early in the morning.
General B. R. Johnson led the Rebel column, and Colonel Baldwin’s brigade the advance. It was composed of the First and Fourteenth Mississippi and the Twenty-sixth Tennessee regiments. The next brigade was Colonel Wharton’s. It was composed of the Fiftieth and Fifty-first Virginia. McCousland’s brigade was composed ofthe Thirty-sixth and Fifty-sixth Virginia; Davidson’s brigade was composed of the Seventh Texas, Eighth Kentucky, and Third Mississippi; Colonel Drake’s brigade was composed of the Fourth and Twentieth Mississippi, Garven’s battalion of riflemen, Fifteenth Arkansas, and a Tennessee regiment. Hieman’s brigade was composed of the Tenth, Thirtieth, and Forty-eighth Tennessee, and the Twenty-seventh Alabama. There were about thirty pieces of artillery, and twelve thousand men in this column.
McArthur’s brigade of McClernand’s division was on the extreme right, and a short distance in rear of Oglesby. The Rebels moved down the Union Ferry road, which leads southwest towards Clarksville, which brought them nearly south of Oglesby and McArthur. Oglesby’s regiments stood, the Eighth Illinois on the right, then the Twenty-ninth, Thirtieth, and Thirty-first, counting towards the left. Schwartz’s battery was on the right and Dresser’s on the left. Wallace’s brigade was formed with the Thirty-first Illinois on the right, close to Oglesby’s left flank regiment, then the Twentieth, Forty-eighth, Forty-fifth, Forty-ninth, and Seventeenth Illinois. McAllister’s battery was between the Eleventh and Twentieth, and Taylor’s between the Seventeenth and Forty-ninth. Colonel Dickey’s cavalry was in rear, his horses picketed in the woods and eating corn. North ofthe Fort Henry road was Colonel Cruft’s brigade of General Lewis Wallace’s division, the Twenty-fifth Kentucky having the right, then the Thirty-first Indiana, the Seventeenth Kentucky, the Forty-fourth Indiana, with Wood’s battery.
These are all the regiments which took part in the terrible fight of Saturday forenoon. They were unprepared for the assault. The soldiers had not risen from their snowy beds. The reveille was just sounding when the sharp crack of the rifles was heard in the thickets on the extreme right. Then the artillery opened. Schwartz’s, Dresser’s, McAllister’s, and Taylor’s men sprang from their blankets to their guns. It was hardly light enough to see the enemy. They could only distinguish the flashes of the guns and the wreaths of smoke through the branches of the trees; but they aimed at the flashes, and sent their shells upon the advancing columns.
The Rebel batteries replied, and the wild uproar of the terrible day began.
Instead of moving west, directly upon the front of Oglesby, McArthur, and Wallace, the Rebel column under Pillow marched down the Union Ferry road south a half-mile, then turned abruptly towards the northwest. You see by the accompanying diagram how the troops stood at the beginning of the battle. There is McArthur’s brigade with Schwartz’s battery, Oglesby’s brigadewith Dresser’s battery, Wallace’s brigade with McAllister’s and Taylor’s batteries,—all facing the town. Across the brook, upon the north side of the ravine, is Cruft’s brigade. You see Pillow’s brigades wheeling upon McArthur and Oglesby, and across the Fort Henry road, coming down from the breastworks, are General Buckner’s brigades.
The Attack on McClernand.The Attack on McClernand.
1McArthur’s brigade.4Cruft’s brigade.2Oglesby’s brigade.5Pillow’s divisions.3W. H. L. Wallace’s brigade.6Buckner’s divisions.
1McArthur’s brigade.4Cruft’s brigade.2Oglesby’s brigade.5Pillow’s divisions.3W. H. L. Wallace’s brigade.6Buckner’s divisions.
Schwartz, Dresser, and McAllister wheel their guns towards Pillow’s column. The Rebels open with a volley of musketry. The fire is aimed at the Eighth and Twenty-ninth Illinois regiments, which,you remember, are on the right of Oglesby’s brigade. The men are cold. They have sprung from their icy beds to take their places in the ranks. They have a scant supply of ammunition, and are unprepared for the assault, but they are not the men to run at the first fire. The Rebel musketry begins to thin their ranks, but they do not flinch. They send their volleys into the face of the enemy.
Another Rebel brigade arrives, and fires upon the Thirtieth and Thirty-first Illinois,—the two regiments on the left of Oglesby’s brigade. Colonel John A. Logan commands the Thirty-first. He told the Southern conspirators in Congress, when they were about to secede from the Union, that the men of the Northwest would hew their way to the Gulf of Mexico with their swords, if they attempted to close the Mississippi. He is not disposed to yield his ground. He encourages his men, and they remain immovable before the Rebel brigades. Instead of falling back, he swings his regiment towards the Rebels, and stands confronting them.
But while this is going on, the Rebel cavalry have moved round to the rear of McArthur. They dash down a ravine, through the bushes, over the fallen trees, and charge up the hill upon the Ninth and Eighteenth regiments of McArthur’s brigade. They are sent back in confusion, but the onset hasbeen so fierce and the charge so far in the rear, that McArthur is compelled to fall back and form a new line. The Rebels have begun to open the door which General Grant had closed against them. The brigades in front of Oglesby are pouring murderous volleys upon the Eighth and Twenty-ninth. The falling back of McArthur to meet the attack on his rear has enabled the enemy to come up behind these regiments, and they are also compelled to fall back.
The Rebels in front are elated. They move nearer, working their way along a ravine, sheltered by a ridge of land. They load their muskets, rush up to the crest of the hill, deliver their fire, and step back to reload; but as often as they appear, McAllister and Dresser and Taylor give them grape and canister.
The Eleventh and Twentieth Illinois, on the right of Wallace’s brigade, join in the conflict, supporting the brave Logan. Colonel Wallace swings the Forty-eighth, Forty-fifth, and half of the Forty-ninth round towards Pillow’s brigades, leaving the other half of the Forty-ninth and the Seventeenth to hold the line towards the Fort Henry road. If you study the diagram carefully, you will see that this manœuvre was a change of front. At the beginning the line of battle faced northeast, but now it faces south.
There is a ridge between Wallace’s brigade andthe Rebels. As often as the Rebels advance to the ridge, Taylor and McAllister with the infantry drive them back. It is an obstinate and bloody contest. The snow becomes crimson. There are pools of clotted blood where the brave men lie down upon the ground. There are bayonet-charges, fierce hand-to-hand contests. The Rebels rush upon McAllister’s guns, but are turned back. The lines surge to and fro like the waves of the sea. The dying and the dead are trampled beneath the feet of the contending hosts.
Wallace hears a sharp fire in his rear. The Rebels have pushed out once more towards the west and are coming in again upon the right flank of the new battle line. McClernand sees that he is contending against overwhelming numbers, and he sends a messenger in haste to General Lewis Wallace, who sends Cruft’s brigade to his assistance. The brigade goes down the road upon the run. The soldiers shout and hurrah. They pass in rear of Taylor’s battery, and push on to the right to help Oglesby and McArthur.
The Rebels have driven those brigades. The men are hastening to the rear with doleful stories. Some of them rush through Cruft’s brigade. Cruft meets the advancing Rebels face to face. The din of battle has lulled for a moment, but now it rolls again louder than before. The Rebels dash on, but it is like the dashing of thewaves against a rock. Cruft’s men are unmoved, though the Rebels advance till they are within twenty feet of the line. There are deafening volleys. The smoke from the opposing lines becomes a single cloud. The Rebels are held in check on the right by their firmness and endurance.
But just at this moment General Buckner’s brigades come out of their intrenchments. They pass in front of their rifle-pits at the base of the hill, and march rapidly down to the Dover road. Colonel Wallace sees them. In a few minutes they will pour their volleys into the backs of his men. You remember that the Seventeenth and part of the Forty-ninth Illinois regiments were left standing near the road. You hear from their muskets now. They stand their ground and meet the onset manfully. Two guns of Taylor’s battery, which have been thundering towards the south, wheel round to the northeast and sweep the Rebels with grape and canister.
Three fourths of the Rebel army is pressing upon McClernand’s one division. His troops are disappearing. Hundreds are killed and wounded. Men who carry the wounded to rear do not return. The Rebels see their advantage, and charge upon Schwartz’s and McAllister’s batteries, but are repulsed. Reinforced by new regiments, they rush on again. They shoot the gunners and the horsesand seize the cannon. The struggle is fierce, but unequal. Oglesby’s men are overpowered, the line gives way. The Rebels push on with a yell, and seize several of Schwartz’s and McAllister’s guns. The gunners fight determinedly for a moment, but they are few against many, and are shot or taken prisoners. A Mississippi regiment attempts to capture Taylor’s guns, but he sweeps it back with grape and canister.
Up to this moment Wallace has not yielded an inch. Two of Oglesby’s regiments next to his brigade still hold their ground, but all who stood beyond are in full retreat. The Rebels have picked off a score of brave officers in Oglesby’s command,—Colonels Logan, Lawler, and Ransom are wounded. Lieutenant-Colonel White of the Thirty-first, Lieutenant-Colonel Smith of the Forty-eighth, Lieutenant-Colonel Irvin of the Twentieth, and Major Post of the Eighth are killed. The men of Oglesby’s brigade, although they have lost so many of their leaders, are not panic-stricken. They are overpowered for the moment. Some of the regiments are out of ammunition. They know that reinforcements are at hand, and they fall back in order.
To understand Wallace’s position at this stage of the battle, imagine that you stand with your face towards the south fighting a powerful antagonist, that a second equally powerful is coming upon your right hand, and that a third is giving heavy blows upon your left shoulder, almost in your back. Pillow, with one half of his brigades, is in front, Johnson, with the other half of Pillow’s command, is coming up on the right, and Buckner, with all of his brigades, is moving down upon the left.
Wallace sees that he must retreat. The Eleventh and Thirty-first—Ransom’s and Logan’s regiments—are still fighting on Wallace’s right. There is great slaughter in their ranks, but they do not flee. They change front and march a few rods to the rear, come into line and fire a volley at the advancing Rebels. Forest’s cavalry dashes upon them and cuts off a few prisoners, but the line is only bruised, not broken. Thus loading and firing, contesting all the ground, the troops descend the hill, cross the clear running brook, and march up the hill upon the other side.
But there are some frightened men, who fling away their guns and rush wildly to the rear. An officer dashes down the road, crying: “We are cut to pieces! The day is lost!”
“Shut up your head, you scoundrel!” shouts General Wallace.
It has had an effect upon his troops. They are nervous, and look round, expecting to see the enemy in overwhelming numbers. General Wallace sees that there has been disaster. He does not wait for orders to march.
“Third brigade, by the right flank, double-quick, Forward, March!” Colonel Thayer commanding the brigade repeats the order. The men break into a run towards the front along the road. General Wallace gallops in advance, and meets Colonel Wallace conducting his brigade to the rear.
“We are out of ammunition. The enemy are following. If you will put your troops into line till we can fill our cartridge-boxes, we will stop them.” He says it so coolly and deliberately that it astonishes General Wallace. It reassures him. He feels that it is a critical moment, but with men retiring so deliberately, there is no reason to be discouraged.
He leads Thayer’s brigade up to the crest of the hill, just where the road begins to descend into the ravine, through which gurgles the clear running brook.
“Bring up Company A, Chicago Light Artillery!” he shouts to an aid. A few moments, and Captain Wood, who commands the battery, leads it along the road. The horses are upon the gallop. The teamsters lash them with their whips. They leap over logs, stones, stumps, and through the bushes. They halt at the crest of the hill.
“Put your guns here, two pieces in the road, and two on each side, and load with grape and canister.”
The men spring to their pieces. They throw off their coats, and work in their shirt-sleeves. They ram home the cartridges and stand beside their pieces, waiting for the enemy.
The battery faces southeast. On the right of the battery, next to it, is the First Nebraska, and beyond it the Fifty-eighth Illinois. On the left of the battery is Captain Davison’s company of the Thirty-second Illinois, and beyond it the Fifty-eighth Ohio. A few rods in rear is the Seventy-sixth Ohio and the Forty-sixth and Fifty-seventh Illinois.
McArthur, Oglesby, Wallace, and Cruft have all fallen back, and their regiments are reforming in the woods west of Thayer’s position, and filling their cartridge-boxes.
The Rebels halt a little while upon the ground from which they have driven McClernand, rifling the pockets of the dead and robbing the wounded. General Pillow feels very well. He writes a despatch, which is telegraphed to Nashville,—
“On the honor of a soldier, the day is ours!”
Buckner unites his brigades to Pillow’s, and they prepare for a second advance. It gives General Wallace time to perfect his line. Willard’s battery, which was left at Fort Henry, has just arrived. It gallops into position in the woods west of Thayer’s brigade. Dresser and Taylor also come into position. They are ready.
The Rebels descend the hill on the east sideof the brook, and move up the road. They are flushed with success, and are confident of defeating General Grant. General Floyd has changed his mind; instead of escaping, as he can do by the road leading to Nashville, he thinks he will put the army of General Grant to rout.
The Second EngagementThe Second Engagement.
1Thayer’s brigade with Wood’s battery.3Cruft’s brigade.2McClernand’s brigades.4Rebels.
1Thayer’s brigade with Wood’s battery.3Cruft’s brigade.2McClernand’s brigades.4Rebels.
The advancing columns step across the brook, and begin to ascend the hill. The artillery opens its fire. The Rebel batteries reply. The infantry rolls its volleys. The hill and the hollow are enveloped in clouds of smoke. Wood’s, Dresser’s, Willard’s, and Taylor’s batteries open,—twenty-four guns send their grape and canister, shrapnel and shells, into the gray ranks which are vainly endeavoring to reach the top of the hill.The Rebels concentrate their fire upon Wood’s battery and the First Nebraska, but those hardy pioneers from beyond the Missouri, some of them Rocky Mountain hunters, cannot be driven. The Rebels fire too high. The air is filled with the screaming of their bullets, and a wild storm sweeps over the heads of the men from Nebraska, who lose but ten men killed and wounded in this terrible contest. The Nebraska men are old hunters, and do not fire at random, but take deliberate aim.
The Rebels march half-way up the hill, and then fall back to the brook. They have lost courage. Their officers rally the wavering lines. Again they advance, but are forced back by the musketry and the grape and canister.
They break in confusion, and vain are all the attempts of the officers to rally them. General Floyd’s plan, which worked so successfully in the morning, has failed at noon. General Pillow’s telegram was sent too soon by a half-hour. The Rebels retire to the hill, and help themselves to the overcoats, blankets, beef, bread, and other things in McClernand’s camp.
General Grant determined to assault the enemy’s works. He thought that the rifle-pits at the northwest angle of the fort could be carried; that then he could plant his batteries so near that, under their fire, he could get into the fort. GeneralSmith’s division had not been engaged in the battles of the morning. His troops had heard the roar of the conflict and the cheers of their comrades when the Rebels were beaten back.
They were ready for action. They were nerved up to attempt great deeds for their country. The Rebels had been repulsed, and now they could defeat them.
General Grant directed General Wallace to move forward from his position, across the brook, drive the Rebels back, and then assault their works. A large body of Rebels still held the ground, from which McClernand had been driven.
General Wallace placed Colonel Morgan L. Smith’s brigade in front. There was contention between the Eighth Missouri and Eleventh Indiana, for each wanted the honor of leading the assault. The Eleventh yielded to the Eighth, with the understanding that in the next assault it should have the advance. Thus with generous rivalry and unbounded enthusiasm they prepared to advance.
The Eleventh followed the Eighth. Colonel Cruft’s brigade, with two Ohio regiments under Colonel Ross, completed the column. Colonel Cruft formed in line of battle to the right of Colonel Smith. They crossed the brook. It was a dark and bloody ravine. The Rebel dead and wounded were lying there, thick almost as thewithered forest-leaves. The snow was crimson. The brook was no longer a clear running stream, but red with blood.
General Wallace was aware of the desperate character of the enterprise. He told his men what they were to do,—to drive the enemy, and storm the breastworks.
“Hurrah! that’s just what we want to do. Forward! Forward! We are ready!” were their answers. They could see the Rebel lines on the hill. The Rebels knew that they were to be attacked, and were ready to receive them.
Colonel Smith moved up the road. His point of attack was clear, but Cruft’s was through brush and over stony ground. A line of skirmishers sprang out from the Eighth Missouri. They ran up the hill, and came face to face with the Rebel skirmishers.
They fought from tree to tree, firing, picking off an opponent, then falling upon the ground to reload.
The regiments followed. They were half-way up the hill, when a line of fire began to run round the crest.
“Down! down!” shouted Colonel Smith. The regiments fell flat, and the storm swept harmlessly over their heads. The Rebels cheered. They thought they had annihilated Colonel Smith’s command. Up they rose, and rushed upon theenemy, pouring in their volleys, falling when the fight was hottest, rising as soon as the Rebels had fired. Thus they closed upon the enemy, and pushed him back over all the ground he had won in the morning, driving him into his works.
General Wallace was preparing to assault the works, when an officer dashed down the line with cheering news of success upon the left.
Returning now to General Smith’s division, we see him preparing to storm the works near the northwest angle of the fort. Colonel Cook’s brigade is directed to make a feint of attacking the fort. Major Cavender brings his heavy guns into position, and opens a furious cannonade, under cover of which Colonel Lauman is to advance upon the rifle-pits on the outer ridge. If he can get possession of those, Cavender can plant his guns there and rake the inner trenches.
Colonel Hanson’s brigade,—the Second Kentucky, Twentieth Mississippi, and Thirtieth Tennessee, are in the rifle-pits. There are six pieces of artillery and another brigade behind the inner intrenchments, all ready to pour their fire upon the advancing columns. Colonel Hanson’s men lie secure behind the trunks of the great forest oaks, their rifles thrust through between the logs. It is fifteen or twenty rods to the bottom of the slope, and there you find the fallen trees, with their branches interlocked, and sharp stakes driveninto the ground. Beyond is the meadow where Lauman forms his brigade. The Rebels have a clear sweep of all the ground.
General Smith leads Lauman’s men to the meadow, while Colonel Cook moves up on the left and commences the attack. The soldiers hear, far down on the right, Wallace’s brigades driving the enemy from the hill.
The Charge of Lauman’s Brigade.The Charge of Lauman’s Brigade.
1Lauman’s brigade.4Rebel rifle-pits.2Cook’s brigade.5Rebel inner works.3Cavender’s batteries, with infantry.
1Lauman’s brigade.4Rebel rifle-pits.2Cook’s brigade.5Rebel inner works.3Cavender’s batteries, with infantry.
It is almost sunset. The rays of light fall aslant the meadow, upon the backs of Lauman’s men, and into the faces of the Rebels. The advancing brigade is in solid column of regiments,the Second Iowa in front, then the Twenty-fifth Indiana, the Seventh and Fourteenth Iowa,—four firm, unwavering lines, which throw their shadows forward as they advance. Birges’s sharpshooters, with their unerring rifles, are flung out on each flank.
The brigade halts upon the meadow. General Smith rides along the line, and informs them that they are to take the rifle-pits with the bayonet alone. He sits firmly on his horse, and his long gray hair, falling almost to his shoulders, waves in the evening breeze. He is an iron man, and he leads iron men. The Rebel cannon cut them through with solid shot, shells burst above and around them, with loud explosions and terrifying shrieks from the flying fragments, men drop from the ranks, or are whirled into the air torn and mangled. There are sudden gaps, but not a man flinches. They look not towards the rear, but towards the front. There are the fallen trees, the hill, the line of two thousand muskets poised between the logs, the cannon thundering from the height beyond. There is no whispering in those solid ranks, no loud talking, nothing but the “Steady! steady!” of the officers. Their hearts beat great throbs. Their nerves are steel, their muscles iron. They grasp their muskets with the grip of tigers. Before them rides their General, his cap upon his sword, his long hairstreaming like a banner in the wind. The color-bearer, waving the stars and stripes, marches by his side.
They move across the meadow. All around them is the deafening roar of the conflict. Cavender is behind them, Cook is upon their left, the enemy is in front, and Wallace away upon their right. They reach the fallen trees at the foot of the hill. The pile of logs above them bursts into flame. A deadly storm, more terrible than the fiercest winter blast, sweeps down the slope into their faces. There are lightning flashes and thunderbolts from the hill above. Men drop from their places, to lie forever still among the tangled branches. But their surviving comrades do not falter. On,—on,—creeping, crawling, climbing over the obstructions, unterrified, undaunted, with all the energy of life centred in one effort; like a tornado they sweep up the slope,—into the line of fire, into the hissing storm, up to the logs, into the cloud, leaping like tigers, thrusting the bayonet home upon the foe. The Rebels reel, stagger, tumble, run!
“Hurra——h!”
It is a wild, prolonged, triumphant shout, like the blast of a trumpet. They plant their banners on the works, and fire their volleys into the retreating foe. Stone’s battery gallops over the meadow, over the logs, up the hill, the horsesleaping and plunging as if they, too, knew that victory was hanging in the scale. The gunners spring from their seats, wheel their pieces and throw their shells, an enfilading fire, into the upper works.
“Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!” rings through the forest, down the line to Wallace’s men.
“We have carried the works!” “We are inside!” shouts an officer bearing the welcome news.
The men toss their caps in the air. They shake hands, they shout, and break into singing. They forget all their hardships and sufferings, the hungry days, the horrible nights, the wounded and the dead. The success is worth all the sacrifice.
Allthrough the night the brave men held the ground they had so nobly won. They rested on snowy beds. They had no supper. They could kindle no fires to warm the wintry air. The cannon above them hurled down shells, and sent volleys of grape, which screamed above and around them like the voices of demons in the darkness. The branches of the trees were torn from their trunks by the solid shot, and the trunks were splintered from top to bottom, but they did not falter or retire from that slope where the snow was crimsoned with the life-blood of hundreds of their comrades. Nearly four hundred had fallen in that attack. The hill had cost a great deal of blood, but it was worth all it cost, and they would not give it up. So they braved the leaden rain and iron hail through the weary hours of that winter night. They only waited for daybreak to storm the inner works and take the fort. Their ardor and enthusiasm was unbounded.
As the morning approached they heard a bugle-call.They looked across the narrow ravine, and saw, in the dim light of the dawn, a man waving a white flag upon the intrenchments. It was a sign for a parley. He jumped down from the embankment, and descended the hill.
“Halt! Who comes there?” shouted the picket.
“Flag of truce with a letter for General Grant.”
An officer took the letter, and hastened down the slope, across the meadow, up to the house on the Dover road, where General Grant had his head-quarters.
During the night there had been a council of war at General Floyd’s head-quarters. Nearly all the Rebel officers commanding brigades and regiments were there. They were down-hearted. They had fought bravely, won a victory, as they thought, but had lost it. A Rebel officer who was there told me what they said. General Floyd and General Pillow blamed General Buckner for not advancing earlier in the morning, and for making what they thought a feeble attack. They could have escaped after they drove McClernand across the brook, but now they were hemmed in. The prospect was gloomy. The troops were exhausted by the long conflict, by constant watching, and by the cold. What bitter nights those were to the men who came from Texas, Alabama, and Mississippi,where the roses bloom and the blue-birds sing through all the winter months.
What should be done? Should they make another attack, and cut their way out, or should they surrender?
“I cannot hold my position a half-hour. The Yankees can turn my flank or advance directly upon the breastworks,” said General Buckner.
“If you had advanced at the time agreed upon, and made a more vigorous attack, we should have routed the enemy,” said General Floyd.
“I advanced as soon as I could, and my troops fought as bravely as others,” was the response from General Buckner,—a middle-aged, medium-sized man. His hair is iron gray. He has thin whiskers and a moustache, and wears a gray kersey overcoat, with a great cape, and gold lace on the sleeves, and a black hat with a nodding black plume.
“Well, here we are, and it is useless to renew the attack with any hope of success. The men are exhausted,” said General Floyd,—a stout, heavy man, with thick lips, a large nose, evil eyes, and coarse features.
“We can cut our way out,” said Major Brown, commanding the Twentieth Mississippi,—a tall, black-haired, impetuous, fiery man.
“Some of us might escape in that way, but the attempt would be attended with great slaughter,” responded General Floyd.
“My troops are so worn out and cut to pieces and demoralized, that I can’t make another fight,” said Buckner.
“My troops will fight till they die,” answered Major Brown, setting his teeth together.
“It will cost the command three quarters of its present number to cut its way through, and it is wrong to sacrifice three quarters of a command to save the other quarter,” Buckner continued.
“No officer has a right to cause such a sacrifice,” said Major Gilmer, of General Pillow’s staff.
“But we can hold out another day, and by that time we can get steamboats here to take us across the river,” said General Pillow.
“No, I can’t hold my position a half-hour, and the Yankees will renew the attack at daybreak,” Buckner replied.
“Then we have got to surrender, for aught I see,” said an officer.
“I won’t surrender the command, neither will I be taken prisoner,” said Floyd. He doubtless remembered how he had stolen public property, while in office under Buchanan, and would rather die than to fall into the hands of those whom he knew would be likely to bring him to an account for his villany.
“I don’t intend to be taken prisoner,” said Pillow.
“What will you do, gentlemen?” Buckner asked.
“I mean to escape, and take my Virginia brigade with me, if I can. I shall turn over the command to General Pillow. I have a right to escape if I can, but I haven’t any right to order the entire army to make a hopeless fight,” said Floyd.
“If you surrender it to me, I shall turn it over to General Buckner,” said General Pillow, who was also disposed to shirk responsibility and desert the men whom he had induced to vote to secede from the Union and take up arms against their country.
“If the command comes into my hands, I shall deem it my duty to surrender it. I shall not call upon the troops to make a useless sacrifice of life, and I will not desert the men who have fought so nobly,” Buckner replied, with a bitterness which made Floyd and Pillow wince.
It was past midnight. The council broke up. The brigade and regimental officers were astonished at the result. Some of them broke out into horrid cursing and swearing at Floyd and Pillow.
“It is mean!” “It is cowardly!” “Floyd always was a rascal.”
“We are betrayed!” “There is treachery!” said they.
“It is a mean trick for an officer to desert his men. If my troops are to be surrendered, I shall stick by them,” said Major Brown.
“I denounce Pillow as a coward, and if I evermeet him, I’ll shoot him as quick as I would a dog,” said Major McLain, red with rage.
Floyd gave out that he was going to join Colonel Forrest, who commanded the cavalry, and thus cut his way out; but there were two or three small steamboats at the Dover landing. He and General Pillow jumped on board one of them, and then secretly marched a portion of the Virginia brigade on board. Other soldiers saw what was going on, that they were being deserted. They became frantic with terror and rage. They rushed on board, crowding every part of the boat.
“Cut loose!” shouted Floyd to the captain. The boats swung into the stream and moved up the river, leaving thousands of infuriated soldiers on the landing. So the man who had stolen the public property, and who did all he could to bring on the war, who induced thousands of poor, ignorant men to take up arms, deserted his post, stole away in the darkness, and left them to their fate.
General Buckner immediately wrote a letter to General Grant, asking for an armistice till twelve o’clock, and the appointment of commissioners to agree upon terms by which the fort and the prisoners should be surrendered.
“No terms, other than unconditional and immediate surrender can be accepted. I propose to move immediately upon your works,” was General Grant’s reply.
General Buckner replied, that he thought it veryunchivalrous, but accepted the terms. He meant that he did not think it very honorable in General Grant to require an unconditional surrender. He professed to have a high sense of all that was noble, generous, honorable, and high-minded. But a few days before he had so forgotten those qualities of character, that he took some cattle from Rev. Mr. Wiggin of Rochester, Kentucky, one of his old acquaintances, and paid him with a check of three hundred dollars on the Southern Bank at Russelville. When Rev. Mr. Wiggin called at the bank and presented the check, the cashier told him that General Buckner never had had any money on deposit there, and the bank did not owe him a dollar! He cheated and swindled the minister, and committed the crime of forgery, which would have sent him to the state-prison in time of peace.
The morning dawned,—Sunday morning, calm, clear, and beautiful. The horrible nights were over and the freezing days gone by. The air was mild, and there was a gentle breeze from the south, which brought the blue-birds. They did not mind the soldiers or the cannon, but chirped and sang in the woods as merrily as ever.
I saw the white flag flying on the breastworks. The soldiers and sailors saw it, and cheered. GeneralGrant had moved his head-quarters to the steamboat Uncle Sam, and, as I happened to be on board that boat, I saw a great deal that took place.
The gunboats, and all the steamboats, fifty or more, began to move up the river. Dense clouds of smoke rolled up from the tall chimneys. The great wheels plashed the sparkling stream. Flags were flying on all the staffs. The army began its march into the fort. The bands played. How grand the crash of the drums and the trumpets! The soldiers marched proudly. The columns were winding along the hills,—the artillery, the infantry, the cavalry, with all their banners waving, and the bright sunshine gleaming and glistening on their bayonets! They entered the fort, and planted their standards on the embankments. The gunboats and the field artillery fired a grand salute. From the steamboats, from the hillside, from the fort, and the forest there were answering shouts. The wounded in the hospitals forgot, for the moment, that they were torn and mangled, raised themselves on their beds of straw, and mingled their feeble cheers in the universal rejoicing!
Thirteen thousand men, sixty-seven pieces of artillery, and fifteen thousand small arms were surrendered. A motley, care-worn, haggard, anxious crowd stood at the landing. I sprang ashore, and walked through the ranks. Somewere standing, some lying down, taking no notice of what was going on around them. They were prisoners of war. When they joined the army, they probably did not dream that they would be taken prisoners. They were to be victorious, and capture the Yankees. They were poor, ignorant men. Not half of them knew how to read or write. They had been deluded by their leaders,—the slaveholders. They had fought bravely, but they had been defeated, and their generals had deserted them. No wonder they were down-hearted.
Their clothes were of all colors. Some wore gray, some blue, some butternut-colored clothes,—a dirty brown. They were very ragged. Some had old quilts for blankets, others faded pieces of carpeting, others strips of new carpeting, which they had taken from the stores. Some had caps, others old slouched felt hats, and others nothing but straw hats upon their heads.
“We fought well, but you outnumbered us,” said one.
“We should have beaten you as it was, if it hadn’t been for your gunboats,” said another.
“How happened it that General Floyd and General Pillow escaped, and left you?” I asked.
“They are traitors. I would shoot the scoundrels, if I could get a chance,” said a fellow in a snuff-colored coat, clenching his fist.
“I am glad the fighting is over. I don’t want to see another such day as yesterday,” said a Tennesseean, who was lying on the ground.
“What will General Grant do with us? Will he put us in prison?” asked one.
“That will depend upon how you behave. If you had not taken up arms against your country, you would not have been in trouble now.”
“We couldn’t help it, sir. I was forced into the army, and I am glad I am a prisoner. I sha’n’t have to fight any more,” said a blue-eyed young man, not more than eighteen years old.
There were some who were very sullen and sour, and there were others who did not care what became of them.
I went up the hill into the town. Nearly every house was filled with the dying and the dead. The shells from the gunboats had crashed through some of the buildings. The soldiers had cut down the orchards and the shade-trees, and burned the fences. All was desolation. There were sad groups around the camp-fires, with despair upon their countenances. O how many of them thought of their friends far away, and wished they could see them again!
The ground was strewed with their guns, cartridge-boxes, belts, and knapsacks. There were bags of corn, barrels of sugar, hogsheads of molasses,tierces of bacon, broken open and trodden into the mud.
I went into the fort, and saw where the great shells from the gunboats had cut through the embankments. There were piles of cartridges beside the cannon. The dead were lying there, torn, mangled, rent. Near the intrenchments, where the fight had been fiercest, there were pools of blood. The Rebel soldiers were breaking the frozen earth, digging burial-trenches, and bringing in their fallen comrades and laying them side by side, to their last, long, silent sleep. I looked down the slope where Lauman’s men swept over the fallen trees in their terrible charge; then I walked down to the meadow, and looked up the height, and wondered how men could climb over the trees, the stumps, the rocks, and ascend it through such a storm. The dead were lying where they fell, heroes every one of them! It was sad to think that so many noble men had fallen, but it was a pleasure to know that they had not faltered. They had done their duty. If you ever visit that battle-field, and stand upon that slope, you will feel your heart swell with gratitude and joy, to think how cheerfully they gave their lives to save their country, that you and all who come after you may enjoy peace and prosperity forever.
How bravely they fought! There, upon thecold ground, lay a soldier of the Ninth Illinois. Early in the action of Saturday he was shot through the arm. He went to the hospital and had it bandaged, and returned to his place in the regiment. A second shot passed through his thigh, tearing the flesh to shreds.
“We will carry you to the hospital,” said two of his comrades.
“No, you stay and fight. I can get along alone.” He took off his bayonet, used his gun for a crutch, and reached the hospital. The surgeon dressed the wound. He heard the roar of battle. His soul was on fire to be there. He hobbled once more to the field, and went into the thickest of the fight, lying down, because he could not stand. He fought as a skirmisher. When the Rebels advanced, he could not retire with the troops, but continued to fight. After the battle he was found dead upon the field, six bullets having passed through his body.
One bright-eyed little fellow, of the Second Iowa, had his foot crushed by a cannon-shot. Two of his comrades carried him to the rear. An officer saw that, unless the blood was stopped, he never would reach the hospital. He told the men to tie a handkerchief around his leg, and put snow on the wound.
“O, never mind the foot, Captain,” said thebrave fellow. “We drove the Rebels out, and have got their trench; that’s the most I care for!” The soldiers did as they were directed, and his life was saved.
There in the trenches was a Rebel soldier with a rifle-shot through his head. He was an excellent marksman, and had killed or wounded several Union officers. One of Colonel Birges’s sharpshooters, an old hunter, who had killed many bears and wolves, crept up towards the breastworks to try his hand upon the Rebel. They fired at each other again and again, but both were shrewd and careful. The Rebel raised his hat above the breastwork,—whi——z! The sharpshooter out in the bushes had put a bullet through it. “Ha! ha! ha!” laughed the Rebel, sending his own bullet into the little puff of smoke down in the ravine. The Rocky Mountain hunter was as still as a mouse. He knew that the Rebel had outwitted him, and expected the return shot. It was aimed a little too high, and he was safe.
“You cheated me that time, but I will be even with you yet,” said the sharpshooter, whirling upon his back, and loading his rifle and whirling back again. He rested his rifle upon the ground, aimed it, and lay with his eye along the barrel, his finger on the trigger. Five minutes passed. “I reckon that that last shot fixed him,” said the Rebel. “He hasn’t moved this five minutes.”
He raised his head, peeped over the embankment, and fell back lifeless. The unerring rifle-bullet had passed through his head.
If you could go over the battle-ground with one of those sharpshooters, he would show you a little clump of bushes, and some stumps, where three or four of them lay on Saturday, in front of one of the Rebel batteries, and picked off the gunners. Two or three times the artillerymen tried to drive them out with shells; but they lay close upon the ground, and the shells did not touch them. The artillerymen were obliged to cease firing, and retreat out of reach of the deadly bullets.
Some of the Rebel officers took their surrender very much to heart. They were proud, insolent, and defiant. Their surrender was unconditional, and they thought it very hard to give up their swords and pistols. One of them fired a pistol at Major Mudd, of the Second Illinois, wounding him in the back. I was very well acquainted with the Major. He lived in St. Louis, and had been from the beginning an ardent friend of the Union. He had hunted the guerillas in Missouri, and had fought bravely at Wilson’s Creek. It is quite likely he was shot by an old enemy. General Grant at once issued orders that all the Rebel officers should be disarmed. General Buckner, in insolent tones, said to General Grant that it was barbarous, inhuman, brutal, unchivalrous,and at variance with the rules of civilized warfare! General Grant replied:—
“You have dared to come here to complain of my acts, without the right to make an objection. You do not appear to remember that your surrender was unconditional. Yet, if we compare the acts of the different armies in this war, how will yours bear inspection? You have cowardly shot my officers in cold blood. As I rode over the field, I saw the dead of my army brutally insulted by your men, their clothing stripped off of them, and their bodies exposed, without the slightest regard for common decency. Humanity has seldom marked your course whenever our men have been unfortunate enough to fall into your hands. At Belmont your authorities disregarded all the usages of civilized warfare. My officers were crowded into cotton-pens with my brave soldiers, and then thrust into prison, while your officers were permitted to enjoy their parole, and live at the hotel in Cairo. Your men are given the same fare as my own, and your wounded receive our best attention. These are incontrovertible facts. I have simply taken the precaution to disarm your officers and men, because necessity compelled me to protect my own from assassination.”
General Buckner had no reply to make. He hung his head in shame at the rebuke.
Major Mudd, though severely wounded, recovered,but lost his life in another battle. One day, while riding with him in Missouri, he told me a very good story. He said he was once riding in the cars, and that a very inquisitive man sat by his side. A few rods from every road-crossing the railroad company had put up boards with the letters W. R. upon them.
“What be them for?” asked the man.
“Those are directions to the engineer to blow the whistle and ring the bell, that people who may be on the carriage-road may look out and not get run over by the train,” the Major answered.
“O yes, I see.”
The man sat in silence awhile, with his lips working as if he was trying to spell.
“Well, Major,” he said at last, “it may be as you say. I know that w-r-i-n-g spells ring, but for the life of me I don’t see how you can get an R into whistle!”
The fall of Fort Donelson was a severe blow to the Rebels. It had a great effect. It was the first great victory of the Union troops. It opened all the northwest corner of the Confederacy. It compelled General Johnston to retreat from Bowling Green, and also compelled the evacuation of Columbus and all Central Tennessee. Nashville, the capital of that State, fell into the hands of the Union troops.
On Sunday morning the Rebels at Nashvillewere in good spirits. General Pillow had telegraphed on Saturday noon, as you remember, “On the honor of a soldier, the day is ours.” The citizens shouted over it.
One sober citizen said: “I never liked Pillow, but I forgive him now. He is the man for the occasion.”
Another, who had been Governor of the State,—a wicked, profane man,—said: “It is first-rate news. Pillow is giving the Yankees hell, and rubbing it in!”[6]It is a vile sentence, and I would not quote it, were it not that you might have a true picture from Rebel sources.
The newspapers put out bulletins:—