CHAPTER III.
That night, as the boys lay in line of battle, they discussed the doings of the day.
“Say, Will, how did you feel to be in battle today?”
“Well, Jim, the greatest strain was waiting in line of battle, either for an advance or to receive the enemy’s charge when I could do nothing, and hearing the booming of cannon and rattle of musketry in other parts of the battle field, I felt as though my heart was in my mouth, and there came a desire to run for a place of safety; but after we got into action, amid the smoke, dirt, excitement and noise, I forgot where my heart was and had no desire to run; fear had been displaced by a savage instinct to inflict injury on the enemy.”
Many have tried to explain the feeling while on the battle field, and it is probable that a battle affects men in different ways. However, wethink Will’s description of the feeling is about right.
Late Saturday night we bivouacked near the firing line without fire and very little to eat. The ground was covered with snow and ice and the weather very cold.
Captain Johnson, of Company F, had his feet frozen so badly he never could wear his boots again, but, instead, wore a pair of large army brogans.
Fatigue parties were detailed to search for and bring in the wounded; this labor extending throughout the night, the surgeons never rested and there was no distinction between the blue and the gray.
As the Union army on this dreary Saturday night rested in bivouac close in front of the enemy’s works, the moans of the wounded could be heard, and here and there flickering lights moved through the woods on errands of mercy.
Mother Bickerdike, a nurse with the Unionarmy, was out on the battle field with her lantern, groping among the dead, stooping down and turning their cold faces towards her, she scrutinized them earnestly, uneasy lest some might be wounded and left to die uncared for. How many poor fellows, sick and wounded, have been ministered to by her loving hands, and the soldiers of the Army of the Tennessee, who loved Mother Bickerdike, have said over and over again, “God bless Mother Bickerdike.”
One incident has come down to us which shows how she loved her boys. One morning, visiting one of the wards in a certain field hospital at about 11 o’clock a. m., she found the poor fellows had had no breakfast; the doctor in charge, had not been present to make out the special diet list for each one, he having been out on a spree the night before. The doctor came in just as Mother Bickerdike learned the facts and she went for him.
“You miserable scoundrel; here these men, any one of them worth a thousand of you, are suffered to starve and die, because you want to be off on a drunk. Pull off your shoulder straps, for you shall not stay in the army a week longer!”
The doctor laughed at her, but within three days she had caused his discharge. He went to General Sherman to be reinstated.
The General said: “Who caused your discharge?”
“Why,” said the doctor, hesitatingly, “I suppose it was that woman, Mrs. Bickerdike.”
“Oh,” said General Sherman. “Well, if it was she, I can do nothing for you; she ranks me.”
During the night, while we boys were trying to keep from freezing and wondering what the morrow would bring forth, the Confederate Generals held another council of war, deciding they could not hold out longer against Gen. Grant’s army, and would surrender.
Colonel Forrest (who commanded the cavalry) during the council arose and said: “I will not surrender my command or myself,” and left the council. During the night, or early morning, he and his command escaped by wading the river on our extreme right, which was unprotected by the Union forces.
Colonel Forrest was a brave man and a terrible fighter, as our troops afterwards learned on numerous occasions.
The two senior Generals of the Confederates turned the command over to Gen. S. B. Buckner, who somewhat scornfully notified his colleagues, that if they proposed to escape they must do so speedily, for after he should open negotiations with General Grant no one would be allowed to leave the fort.
I have always admired General Buckner for declining to leave, claiming as he did, that it was honorable to stay with his soldiers.
During the night or early morning, Gen.Buckner sent a note, under a flag of truce, to Gen. Grant, asking an armistice to arrange terms of surrender.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Gen. Grant wrote the following answer, probably one of the finest specimens of energetic war literature in military history.
“No terms other than an unconditional and immediate surrender can be accepted. I propose to move immediately upon your works.”
Upon the receipt of this, Gen. Buckner promptly returned his answer of acceptance.
From this time on during the war, Gen. U. S. Grant was known as “Unconditional Surrender Grant.”
Will kept a diary and we are permitted to quote from it:
“Soon after daybreak (Sunday, February 16, 1862) we heard great cheering by the troops along the line and presently orderlys came galloping towards us, swinging their caps and proclaimingthe news of the surrender of the fort. Did we shout? Well, if we didn’t use our lungs then we never did. Hip! Hip! Hurrah! from every man in blue. The victory was ours and we rejoiced over the fall of the Confederate stronghold.”
The Union loss was about 2,400, and the Confederate loss was 2,000 killed and wounded, besides 15,000 prisoners and munitions of war.
Presently the order to march was given and we marched into Fort Donelson with bands playing and colors flying. It was a grand sight, as regiment after regiment poured in with their flags floating gayly in the wind, and the brass hands playing, “Hail Columbia,” “Yankee Doodle,” etc., in such style as the gazing captives had never heard even in the palmy days of peace.
The Confederates were drawn up in line with their guns thrown down, and with a woebegone, sullen, downhearted look they watched our parading.
Charge of the 8th Missouri and 11th Indiana Regiments, led byGeneral Lew Wallace, at Fort Donelson
A few of them told us they were forced into the army and did their fighting unwillingly. We did not believe a word of it. We marched to the large fort next to the river and planted our colors upon the ramparts and then camped inside the fort. The prisoners were very anxious to know what their fate was to be. They were assured they would be taken north and kept as prisoners of war until exchanged.
Gen. Lew Wallace was the first inside the works, and going to the Confederate headquarters was met by Gen. Buckner, who invited him to breakfast, which invitation was accepted, the bill of fare being coffee and corn bread.
The fall of Fort Donelson was the first great and valuable victory won by the Union armies during the war. When the news flashed through the loyal states, the people went wild with enthusiasm. Salutes were fired, joy bells rung, flags displayed everywhere, and the people asked one another: “Who is this Grant,and where did he come from?” Before the war closed the people found out who Grant was and what was in him.
There were others in the battle of Donelson, who, afterwards became famous. There was our gallant Illinois soldiers, Colonel John A. Logan, the “Black Eagle” of Egypt; the bluff old Colonel Richard Oglesby, both of whom became Major Generals, and after the war served in the United States Senate from the State of Illinois. Then Gen. Lew Wallace, of Indiana, the noted author of “Ben Hur,” and Colonel John A. Rawlins, of Galena, Ill., chief of staff of Gen. Grant, who, afterwards became Secretary of War under Grant, and many others.
In speaking of Colonel Oglesby, we must give you an old story about him which happened while he was in command of the 8th Illinois Regiment. One day while the regiment was in camp, two of the drum corps went into thewoods to practice, and, while practicing, a nice fat pig came nosing around. The temptation to the drummers was too great; the pig was caught and slaughtered, but now the thought came to them: “How shall we get into camp without discovery.” A happy idea, “Let’s put him in the big drum.” So the head of the drum was taken off and Mr. Pig safely stowed away, and they arrived at camp. The regiment was on dress parade when they arrived at camp. The Colonel was vexed at their absence, and as soon as he saw them, sternly ordered them to take their places with the music. The drummers did not know what to do, but one of them went up to the Colonel, and, in an under tone, told him the situation, winding up with, “We ’low, Colonel, to bring the best quarter over to your mess.” The Colonel thundered out: “Sick, hey! Why didn’t you say so at first. Go to your quarters, of course. Battalion right face, to your quarters, march.” The Colonel had fresh pork for supper.
After the fall of Fort Donelson, the people of the North believed that it would be but a short time until the rebellion would be put down, and we boys could go home. Captain Johnson wrote home: “I believe it won’t be over three months now until the rebellion will be squelched and we shall be permitted to go home.”
Yes, we boys thought then that we had broken the backbone of the rebellion, and that the war would soon be over. How badly mistaken we were history proves. It was but the beginning of a terrible four years of battle and bloodshed ere the end came.