In Front of Chattanooga.
Early on the morning of the 22d we were ordered forward towards Chattanooga, the right wing having gone the day before. On nearing the city, we were shelled by batteries posted on the heights along the way and from the breastworks and forts around the city. It was during one of the heavy engagements between our advanced skirmish lines and the rear guard of the enemy that one of the negro cooks, by some means, got lost between the lines, and as a heavy firing began, bullets flying by him in every direction, he rushed towards the rear, and raising his hands in an entreating position, cried out, "Stop, white folks, stop! In the name of God Almighty, stop and argy!"
In moving along, near the city we came to a great sink in the ground, caused by nature's upheaval at some remote period, covering an acre or two of space. It seemed to have been a feeding place for hogs from time immemorial, for corn cobs covered the earth for a foot or more in depth. In this place some of our troops were posted to avoid the shells, the enemy having an exact range of this position. They began [287] throwing shells right and left and bursting them just over our heads, the fragments flying in every direction. At every discharge, and before the shell reached us, the men would cling to the sides of the sloping sink, or burrow deeper in the cobs, until they had their bodies almost covered. A little man of my company, while a good soldier, had a perfect aversion to cannon shot, and as a shell would burst just overhead, his body was seen to scringe, tremble, and go still deeper among the cobs. Some mischievous comrade took advantage of his position, seized a good sound cob, then just as a shell bursted overhead, the trembling little fellow all flattened out, he struck him a stunning blow on the back. Such a yell as he set up was scarcely ever heard. Throwing the cobs in every direction, he cried out, "Oh! I am killed; I am killed! Ambulance corps! Ambulance corps!" But the laugh of the men soon convinced him his wound was more imaginary than real so he turned over and commenced to burrow again like a mole.
Rosecrans having withdrawn his entire force within the fortifications around Chattanooga, our troops were placed in camp, surrounding the enemy in a semi-circle, and began to fortify. Kershaw's Brigade was stationed around a large dwelling in a grove, just in front of Chattanooga, and something over a mile distant from the city, but in plain view. We had very pleasant quarters in the large grove surrounding the house, and, in fact, some took possession of the porches and outhouses. This, I think, is the point Grant stormed a few months afterwards, and broke through the lines of Bragg. We had built very substantial breastworks, and our troops would have thought themselves safe and secure against the charge of Grant's whole army behind such works.
If those who are unfamiliar with the life of the soldier imagines it is one long funeral procession, without any breaks of humor, they are away off from the real facts. The soldier is much the same as the schoolboy. He must have some vent through which the ebullition of good feelings can blow off, else the machinery bursts.
While encamped around this house, a cruel joke was played upon Captain—well we will call him Jones; that was not his name, however, but near enough to it to answer our purpose. Now this Captain Jones, as we call him, was engaged to be married to one of the [288] fairest flowers in the Palmetto State, a perfect queen among beauties—cultured, vivacious, and belonging to one of the oldest families in that Commonwealth of Blue Bloods. The many moves and changes during the last month or two considerably interrupted our communications and mail facilities, and Jones had not received the expected letters. He became restless, petulant, and cross, and to use the homely phrase, "he was all torn up." Instead of the "human sympathy" and the "one touch of nature," making the whole world akin, that philosophers and sentimentalists talk about, it should be "one sight of man's misery"—makes the whole world "wish him more miserable." It was through such feelings that induced Captain I.N. Martin, our commissary, with Mack Blair and others, to enter into a conspiracy to torture Jones with all he could stand. Blair had a lady cousin living near the home of Jones' fiancee, with whom he corresponded, and it was through this channel that the train was laid to blow up Jones while said Jones was in the piazza engaged in a deeply interesting game of chess. Martin was to be in the piazza watching the game, when Blair was to enter reading a letter. Then something like the following colloquy took place:
"Well, Mack, what is the news from home?"
"Nothing very interesting," replies Blair. Then, as a sudden recollection strikes him, "Oh, yes, there is to be a big wedding at Old Dr. Blanks."
"You don't say so?" (The game of chess stands still.) "And who is to be married, pray?" innocently enquires Martin.
"Why it will surprise you as much as it did me, I suppose, and I would not believe it, only Cousin Sallie says she is to be bride's maid." [289] (Jones ceases to play and listens intently.) "It is nobody else than Mr. —— and Miss 'Blank.'"
Now, this Miss "Blank" is Jones' intended. Jones is paralyzed. His face turns livid, then pale, now green! He is motionless, his eyes staring vacantly on the chessboard. Then with a mighty exertion Jones kicked the board aside and sprang to his feet. Shaking his trembling finger in the face of Blair, his whole frame convulsed with emotion, his very soul on fire, he hissed between his teeth: "That's an infernal lie, I don't care whose Cousin Sallie wrote it."
Jones was nearly crazed for the balance of the day. He whistled and sang strange melodies while walking aimlessly about. He read and re-read the many love missives received long ago. Some he tore into fragments; others he carefully replaced in his knapsack.
But those evil geniuses were still at work for further torture, or at least to gloat over Jones' misery. It was arranged to formally bury him, allegorically. At night, while Jones was asleep, or trying to sleep on the piazza, a procession was formed, headed by Major Maffett, who was to act as the priest, and I must say he acted the part like a cardinal. We had a little rehearsal of the part each was to play, and those who "couldn't hold in" from laughing were ruled out, for it was expected that Jones would cut some frightful antics as the ceremony proceeded. I was not allowed to accompany the procession, as it was decided I could not "hold in," and under no condition was there to be a laugh or even a smile; but I took up position behind the balusters and watched events as the shadows were cast before. Major Maffett was dressed in a long dark overcoat, to represent the priestly gown, with a miter on his head, carrying Hardee's Tactics, from which to read the burial service. All had in their hands a bayonet, from which burned a tallow candle, in place of tapers. The procession marched up the steps in single file, all bearing themselves with the greatest solemnity and sombre dignity, followed by the sexton, with a frying-pan as a shovel, and took their places around the supposed corpse. Maffett began the duties by alluding to that part of the service where "it is allotted that all men shall die," etc., waving his hand in due form to the sexton as he repeated the words, "Earth to earth and dust to dust," the sexton following the motions with the frying pan.
I must say, in all truthfulness, that in all my life I never saw a graver or more solemn set of faces than those of the would-be mourning procession. Captain Wright appeared as if he was looking into his own grave, and the others appeared equally as sorrowful. Major Maffett gave out in clear, distinct tones the familiar lines of—
"Solemn strikes the funeral chime,
Notes of our departing time."
Well, such grotesque antics as Jones did cut up was perfectly [290] dreadful. He laughed, he mimicked the priest, kicked at the mourners, and once tried to grab the tactics. The Major and his assistants pitched the tune on a high key. Captain Wright braced it with loud, strong bass, while Martin and Sim Pratt came in on the home stretch with tenor and alto that shook the rafters in the house. Then all dispersed as silently and sorrowfully as they had come.
In a few days Jones got a letter setting all things straight. Martin and Blair confessed their conspiracy against his peace of mind, and matters progressed favorably thereafter between Jones and Miss "Blank," but Jones confessed afterwards that he carried for a long time "bad, wicked blood in his heart."
But soldiers have their tragedies as well as their comedies in camp. It was here we lost our old friend, Jim George, the shallow-pated wit—the man who found us the flour on the Potomac, and who floundered about in the river "for three hours," as he said, on that bitter cold night at Yorktown. It was also told of Jim, that during the first battle he was loading and shooting at the wounded enemy for all his gun was worth, and when remonstrated with by his Captain, Chesley Herbert, telling Jim he "should not kill them," Jim indignantly asked, "What in the hell did we come to the war for, if not to kill Yankees?" But this, I think, is only a joke at Jim's expense. Nevertheless, he was a good solider, of the harmless kind, and a good, jolly fellow withal, taking it as a pleasure to do a friend a kindness.
As I have said, however, Jim was a great boaster and blusterer, glorying in the marvelous and dangerous. Had he lived in the heroic age, I have no doubt he would have regaled the ears of his listeners with blood curdling stories of his battles with giants, his fights with dragons and winged serpents. He claimed to possess a charm. He wore an amulet around his neck to protect him against the "bullets of lead, of copper, or of brass" of his enemies, through which, he said, nothing could penetrate but the mystic "balls of silver," the same with which "witch rabbits" are killed. He would fill his pockets, after battle, with spent and battered bullets, and exhibit them as specimens of his art in the catching of bullets on "the fly."
He professed to be a very dangerous and blood-thirsty individual, but his comrades only laughed at his idiosyncrasies, knowing him as they [291] did as being one of the best and most harmless soldiers in the army. He often boasted, "No Yankee will ever kill me, but our own men will," his companions little dreaming how prophetic his words would prove.
One night while Jim, in company with some companions, were on a "foraging expedition," they came to a farm house on Missionary Ridge and ordered supper. A cavalryman was there, also, waiting to be served. A negro servant attending to the table gave some real or imaginary affront, and the soldiers, in a spirit of jest, pretended as if they were going to take the negro out and flog him. Now Jim, as well as the cavalryman, thought the midnight revelers were in earnest, and Jim was in high glee at the prospect of a little adventure. But nothing was further from the thoughts of the soldiers than doing harm to the negro. When they had him in the yard the cavalryman came on the porch, and in an authoritative manner, ordered the negro turned loose.
This was a time Jim thought that he could get in some of his bullying, so going up on the steps where the cavalryman stood, jesticulating with his finger, said, "When we get through with the negro we will give you some of the same."
In an instant the strange soldier's pistol was whipped out—a flash, a report, and Jim George fell dead at his feet, a victim to his own swagger and an innocent jest of his companions. So dumbfounded were the innocent "foragers," that they allowed the cavalryman to ride away unmolested and unquestioned.
The bones of the unfortunate Jim lie buried on the top of Missionary Ridge, and the name of his slayer remains a mystery to this day.
While in Tennessee our diet was somewhat changed. In the East, flour, with beef and bacon, was issued to the troops; but here we got nothing but corn meal, with a little beef and half ration of bacon. The troops were required to keep four days' rations cooked on hand all the time. Of the meal we made "cart wheels," "dog heads," "ash cakes," and last, but not least, we had "cush." Now corn bread is not a very great delicacy at best, but when four days' old, and green with mold, it is anything but palatable. But the soldiers got around this in the way "cush" was manipulated. Now it has been said "if you want soldiers to fight well, you must feed them well;" but this is still a mooted [292] question, and I have known some of the soldiers of the South to give pretty strong battle when rather underfed than overfed.
For the benefit of those Spanish-American soldiers of the late war, who had nothing to vary their diet of ham and eggs, steak, pork, and potatoes, biscuits, light bread, coffee, and iced teas, but only such light goods as canned tomatoes, green corn, beans, salmon, and fresh fish, I will tell them how to make "cush." You will not find this word in the dictionaries of the day, but it was in the soldier's vocabulary, now obsolete. Chip up bacon in fine particles, place in an oven and fry to a crisp. Fill the oven one-third or one-half full of branch water, then take the stale corn bread, the more moldy the better, rub into fine crumbs, mix and bring the whole to a boil, gently stirring with a forked stick. When cold, eat with fingers and to prevent waste or to avoid carrying it on the march, eat the four days' rations at one sitting. This dish will aid in getting clear of all gestion of meat, and prevent bread from getting old. A pot of "cush" is a dish "fit for a king," and men who will not fight on it would not fight if penned.
The forest and farms around abounded in sheep and hogs. In fact, Tennessee and North Georgia were not the worst places in the South in which to live through a campaign. We had strict orders to protect all private property and molest nothing outside of camp requirements, but the men would forage at night, bring in a sheep or hog, divide up, and by the immutable law of camps it was always proper to hang a choice piece of mutton or pork at the door of the officers' tent. This helped to soothe the conscience of the men and pave the way to immunity from punishment. The stereotyped orders were issued every night for "Captains to keep their men in camp," but the orders were as often disregarded as obeyed. It was one of those cases where orders are more regarded "in the breach than in the observance." Officers winked at it, if not actually countenancing the practice, of "foraging for something to eat." Then again the old argument presented itself, "If we don't take it the Yankees will," so there you were.
Most of the soldiers took the opportunity of visiting Lookout Mountain and feasting their eyes upon the finest scenery of the South. While they had crossed and recrossed the Blue Ridge and the many ranges of [293] lesser note in Virginia, Maryland, and Pennsylvania—had gazed with wonder and admiration at the windings of the Potomac and Shenandoah from the Heights of Maryland overlooking Harper's Ferry—yet all these were nothing as compared to the view from Lookout Mountain. Standing on its brow, we could see the beautiful blue waters of the Tennessee flowing apparently at our feet, but in reality a mile or two distant. Beyond lay the city of Chattanooga, nestling down in the bend of the river, while away in the distance occasional glimpses of the stream could be had as it wound in and out around the hills and mountains that lined its either side, until the great river looked no larger than a mountain brooklet. From the highest peak of Lookout Mountain we catch faint streaks of far away Alabama; on the right, North Carolina; to the north, Tennessee; and to the south and east were Georgia and our own dear South Carolina. From this place many of our soldiers cast the last lingering look at the land they loved so well. On the plateau of the mountain was a beautiful lake of several acres in extent, surrounded by lovely little villas and summer houses, these all hurriedly deserted by the necessities of war—the furniture and fixtures left all in place as the owners took their hastened departure. In one house we visited was left a handsome piano, on which those who could perform gave the soldiers delightful music.
There was a roadway winding around the base of the mountain and gradually up its slopes to the plateau above, where wagons and other vehicles passed to the top. Most of the soldiers who wished to visit this beautiful and historic place passed up this road way, but there was another route—just a foot-path—up its precipitous sides, which had to be climbed hundreds of feet, perpendicularly, by means of ladders fastened to its sides. After going up one ladder, say fifty or seventy-five feet, we would come to a little offset in the mountain side, just wide enough to get a foot-hold, before taking another ladder. Some of the boldest climbers took this route to reach the summit, but after climbing the first ladder and looking back towards the gorge below, I concluded it was safer and more pleasant to take the "longer way round." It certainly takes a man of stout heart and strong nerves to climb those ladders up to the "lands of the sky."
The scenery in and around Chattanooga and Lookout Mountain is grand, far beyond pen picturing. The surroundings had a kind of buoyancy even to the spirits of the badly clad and badly fed soldiers, which caused their stale bread and "cush" to be eaten with a relish. The mountain homes seemed veritable "castles in the air." Looking from the top of Lookout Mountain—its position, its surroundings, its natural fortresses—this would have made an old Feudal lord die of envy. Autumn is now at hand, with its glorious sunsets, its gorgeous coloring of the leaves and bushes away to the right on Missionary Ridge, the magnificent purple draperies along the river sides that rise and fall to our right and left, its blue waters dwindling away until they meet the deeper blue of the sky—are all beautiful beyond description. Lovely though this scenery may be in autumn, and its deeper coloring of green in the summer, how dazzled must be the looker on in beholding it in its tender, blushing mantle of spring?
For quite a time rumors came of Burnside's advance through East Tennessee and of Longstreet's detachment from the army to meet him. The troops were kept in constant expectation, with the regulation "four days" cooked rations on hand. It is not our purpose to criticise the acts of Generals, or the schemes and plans of the Southern Government, but future historical critics will not differ as to the ultimate results of the East Tennessee move. That Longstreet's advance to East Tennessee was without results, if not totally disastrous, all will agree. To divide an army in the face of an enemy, is dangerous at best, and, with few exceptions, has been avoided by Generals and commanders of all time. Lee could afford it, because he was LEE and had a JACKSON to execute the movements, but on occasions when the enemy in front are more numerous and commanded by the most able and astute Generals of the time, the movement is hazardous in the extreme. Lee and his Lieutenants had already "robbed the cradle and the grave" to replenish their ranks, and what real benefit would accrue to the South had Longstreet captured the whole of Burnside's Army, when the North had many armies to replace it? The critics of the future will judge the movement as ill-timed and fraught with little good and much ill to the Confederacy. However, it was so ordered, and no alternate was left the officers and soldiers but to obey.
On the 9th of October President Davis came out to Chattanooga to give matters his personal attention and seek, if possible, some "scape-grace" upon which to saddle the blame for not reaping greater fruits of the battle, and to vindicate the conduct of his commander in chief.
General Bragg had already preferred charges against Lieutenant General Polk, commander of the right wing of the army, for his tardiness in opening the battle of the 20th, and General Hindman was relieved of the command of his division for alleged misconduct prior to that time. Many changes were proposed and made in the corps and division commanders, as well as plans discussed for the future operations of the army. All agreed that it should be aggressive.
Major General Cheatham was temporarily placed in command of Folk's Corps after the downfall of that General, and he himself soon afterwards superseded by lieutenant General Hardee. President Davis had thought of placing Pemberton, who had capitulated to Grant at Vicksburg, but who had been exchanged, in command of the corps; but the officers and troops demurred at this, and public opinion was so outspoken, that Mr. Davis was forced to abandon the idea. It was, therefore, given to Hardee. For some offense given by Major General D.H. Hill, who commanded the right of the right wing on the 20th, he was relieved of his command and his connection with the Army of Tennessee. Major General Buckner, commanding the divisions on the left of Longstreet's wing, also came under the ban of official displeasure and was given an indefinite leave of absence. There was wrangling, too, among the Brigadiers in Hood's Division, Jenkins, Law, and Robertson. Jenkins being a new addition to the division, was senior officer, and commanded the division in Hood's absence by virtue of his rank. Law had been in the division since its formation, and after Hood's disabilities from wounds, commanded very acceptably the balance of the days at Gettysburg. For this and other meritorious conduct, he thought the command should be given to him as senior in point of service with the division. Robertson had some personal difficulty with General Longstreet, which afterwards resulted in a call for a courtmartial. The advanced ideas and undisguised views of Longstreet himself were considered with suspicion by both the President and the [296] General commanding the army, and had it not been for the high prestige and his brilliant achievements in the East, the unbounded love and devotion of his troops, the loyalty and confidence of General Lee in the high military ability of the old War Horse, his commander of the First Corps, in all probability his official head would have fallen in the basket. But President Davis was strong in his prejudices and convictions, and as usual, tenacious in his friendship and confidence towards his favorites. Bragg, in President Davis' estimation at least, was vindicated, but at the expense of his subalterns, and was, therefore, retained in command in the face of overwhelming discontent among the Generals and the pressing demands of public opinion for his recall from the command of the army.
General Lee in the meantime had sought to relieve the pressure against Bragg as much as possible by making a demonstration in force against Meade, forcing the Federal Army back behind Bull Run, thereby preventing a further reinforcement of Rosecrans from the Army of the Potomac.
I digress thus far from the thread of my story, that the reader may better understand the conditions confronting our army—the morale, and esprit de corps of the officers and troops composing it.
On the 19th of October General Rosecrans was superseded by Major General George B. Thomas, in command of the Union Army, with Grant, who was rapidly climbing to the zenith of this renown, marching to his relief as commander of the department.
A considerable commotion was caused in camp about the last of October by the news of a large body of Union soldiers making a demonstration against our left flank and rear. It seems that a body of troops had embarked on board pontoon and flat boats in Chattanooga, and during the night had floated eight miles down the river and there were joined by a similar body marching over land on the north side. This formidable array was crossed over to the south side and moved in the direction of our rear and our line of communication under cover of the hills and mountain ridges. Jenkins' and McLaw's Divisions were ordered to intercept them and drive them off. A night attack was ordered, but by some misunderstanding or disobedience of orders, this movement on the part of the Confederates miscarried, and was abandoned; not, [297] however, until General Bratton, of Jenkins' old Brigade, came up and attacked the rear guard with such vigor that the enemy was glad enough to get away, leaving their wounded and dead upon the field. No further movements were made against the army until after our removal to East Tennessee.
About the first of November orders were issued for the transfer of Longstreet to begin, and on the 5th and 6th the greater part of his army was embarked on hastily constructed trains at Tyner's Station, some five or six miles out on the E.T. & K.R.R. The horses, artillery, and wagon trains took the dirt road to Sweetwater, in the Sweetwater Valley, one of the most fertile regions in East Tennessee.
Longstreet's command consisted of Kershaw's (South Carolina), Bryan's and Wofford's (Georgia), and Humphreys' (Mississippi) Brigades, under Major General McLaws; Anderson's (Georgia), Jenkins' (South Carolina), Law's (Alabama), Robertson's (Arkansas and Texas), and Benning's (Georgia) Brigades, under Brigadier General M. Jenkins, commanding division; two batteries of artillery, under General Alexander; and four brigades of cavalry, under Major General Wheeler.
General Hood had been so desperately wounded at Chickamauga, that it was thought he could never return to the army; but he had won a glorious name, the prestige of which the war department thought of too much value to be lost, but to be used afterwards so disastrously in the campaign through Middle Tennessee. General Hood was, no doubt, an able, resolute, and indefatigable commander, although meteoric, something on the order of Charles, the "Madman of the North;" but his experience did not warrant the department in placing him in the command of an expedition to undertake the impossible—the defeat of an overwhelming army, behind breastworks, in the heart of its own country.
The movement of Longstreet to East Tennessee and Hood through Middle Tennessee was but the commencement of a series of blunders on the part of our war department that culminated eventually in the South's downfall. But it is not our province to speculate in the rosy fields of "might-have-been," but to record facts.
General Longstreet had of all arms fifteen thousand men, including [298] teamsters, guards, medical and ambulance corps. General Burnside had an army of twenty-five thousand men and one hundred pieces of artillery, and this was the army Longstreet was expected to capture or destroy.
General Grant was marching from Mississippi with a large portion of his victorious troops of the Vicksburg campaign to reinforce Rosecrans, Sherman coming down through Tennessee, and Meade was sending reinforcements from the East, all to swell the defeated ranks of Rosecrans. With the knowledge of all these facts, the department was preparing to further reduce the forces of Bragg by sending Longstreet up in East Tennessee, with soldiers badly clad, worse equipped, and with the poorest apology of camp equipage, for an active and progressive campaign.
Both governments were greatly displeased with the results of the battle of Chickamauga—the Federals at their army failing to come up to their expectations and gaining a victory, instead of a disastrous defeat; the Confederates at their commanders in not following up their success and reaping greater results. Under such circumstances, there must be some one on whom to place the blame. General Rosecrans censured General McCook and General Crittenden, commanders of the Twentieth and Twenty-first Corps, and these two able soldiers were relieved of their commands, while General Rosecrans himself was severely censured by the department in Washington, and soon afterwards relieved of his command.
The regiments of the brigade were now all short of field officers—the Seventh and Battalion with none, and the Eighth and Fifteenth in charge of Majors. However, Colonel W.G. Rice joined us on the way to East Tennessee and took command of his battalion.
After a stay of a week in the beautiful Valley of Sweetwater, we were moved to Loudon, the railroad crossing of the Tennessee River, the railroad bridge having been burned by the enemy. The country in East Tennessee was greatly divided in sentiment, some for the Union cause and some for the Confederate cause. Rumors of outrages and doings of desperadoes were rife, and the soldiers were somewhat dubious in going far into the country, for fear of running up against bushwhackers, of which the country was said to be full.
While one train with the Third was being pulled over the East Tennessee Railroad towards Sweetwater by a strange engineer over a track long unused, and cars out of repair, an occurrence took [299] place which might have ended more seriously than it did under the circumstances. The train, composed of box cars, one company inside and one on top, was running along at a good, lively rate. A stampede took place among the troops on top, who began jumping right and left down a steep embankment and running with all their speed to the woods in the distance. It was just after daylight, and those inside the cars not knowing what the trouble was, and a great many on the top being roused from their slumbers and seeing the others leaping in great disorder, and hearing the word "bushwhackers" being called out, threw their blankets aside and jumped likewise. Soon the cars were almost empty, those above and within all thinking danger was somewhere, but invisible. Just then a train of passenger cars, containing General McLaws, General Kershaw, their staffs, and others, rounded the cut in our rear, and was running at break-neck speed into the freight train in front. Those in the passenger cars seeing those from the train in front running for dear life's sake for the woods, began to climb through windows and off of the platforms, the engineers and firemen on both trains leaping like the men. So we had the spectacle of one train running into another and neither under control, although the levers had been reversed. In a moment the rear train plunged into the front one, piling up three or four cars on their ends. Fortunately, only one or two were hurt by jumping and none by the collision. It seems almost miraculous to think of two car loads of soldiers jumping from trains at full speed and on a high embankment and a great many from top, and so few getting hurt.
General Longstreet's plan of campaign was to move up the east side of the Holston, or, as it is now called, the Tennessee River, pass through Marysville, cross the river in the vicinity of Knoxville with his infantry, the cavalry to take possession of the heights above and opposite the city, thus cutting off the retreat of the Federals in front of Loudon, and capture the garrison in the city of Knoxville. But he had no trains to move his pontoon bridge, nor horses to pull it. So he was forced to make a virtue of necessity and cross the river just above the little hamlet of Loudon in the face of the enemy. On the night of the 12th the boats and bridge equipment were carried to the river, the boats launched and manned by a detachment of Jenkins' [300] South Carolina Brigade, under the command of the gallant Captain Foster. This small band of men pushed their boats across the river under a heavy fire of the enemy's pickets, succeeded in driving off the enemy, and took possession of the opposite side. The boats were soon joined together and the bridge laid. The troops then began to cross rapidly and push their way out far in advance. By morning the greater part of the army was on the west side of the river.
General Wheeler, with his cavalry, started simultaneously with the infantry, but on the east side, with the view of taking possession of the heights around Knoxville, which he partly accomplished after several severe engagements with the Union cavalry, in which the young Confederate cavalier came off victorious.
The next morning after our crossing the enemy showed some disposition to attack our lines, but did no more than drive in our skirmishers, and then began to fall slowly back. Longstreet remained near the river constructing some defensive earthworks to protect the bridge, and to allow the supply train, which had been out on a foraging expedition, time to come up. By his not making as rapid advance as was expected, the enemy again, on the 14th, returned to feel our lines and to learn the whereabouts of his foe.
On the morning of the 15th, just at daylight, we took up our line of march through a blinding mist or fog, our skirmishers not being able to see an object fifty paces in front. Our line of advance was along the dirt road, on the west side of the little mountain range, a spur of the clinch, while the main body of the enemy kept close to the railroad, on the east side, and between the mountain range and the river, traversing a narrow valley, which gave him strong positions for defensive battle. The mountain was crossed in several places by dull roads and bridle paths, and it was the intention of the commanding General to take possession of these passes and turn the enemy's flank, or to move around the head of the mountain, where the two roads followed by the armies came together on converging lines, then to either close him in between the mountain and the river and give battle, or fall upon his rear and crush him. Some few miles out Jenkins' skirmishers came upon those of the enemy and a running fight [301] took place, the Federals retreating through the mountain gap to the east side.
Jenkins kept up his advance (not following the enemy, however, over the mountain), with Alexander's Battalion of Artillery, while McLaws followed closely, with Leydon's Battery as a support. Thus the march was continued all day, taking up camp at night far in advance of the enemy on the other side o: the mountain. Jenkins was ordered at midnight, with a part of his command, to take possession of a gap in the mountain, and at daylight throw himself across the line of the enemy's retreat. But for some unforeseen circumstance, or treachery or ignorance in Jenkins' guide, he failed in his undertaking, and the enemy passed in safety during the night beyond our lines to a place of comparative security.
Early next morning the army was in motion, but instead of an enemy in our front we found a park of eighty wagons, well laden with supplies of provisions, camp equipage, tools, etc., deserted by the retreating column. The horses had been cut loose, still this capture was a very serviceable acquisition to the outfit of the army, especially in entrenching tools. Jenkins followed close on the heels of the retreating army, occasionally coming to a severe brush with the enemy's rear guard, using every exertion to force Burnside to battle until McLaws, with Hart's Brigade of Cavalry, could reach Cambell's Station, the point where the two converging roads meet. McLaws marched nearly all day in full line of battle, Kershaw being on the left of the main thoroughfare and under a continual skirmish fire. But all too late. The wily foe had escaped the net once more and passed over and beyond the road crossing, and formed line of battle on high ground in rear. Longstreet still had hopes of striking the enemy a crushing blow before reaching Knoxville, and all he desired and all that was necessary to that end was that he should stand and give battle. The attitude of the Union Army looked favorable towards the consummation of the Confederate leader's plan. Our troops had been marching all the forenoon in one long line of battle, near a mile in length, over ditches, gullies, and fences; through briars, brambles, and undergrowth; then again through wide expanse of cultivated fields, all the while under a galling fire from the enemy's batteries and sharpshooters, and they felt somewhat jaded and worn out when they [302] came upon their bristling bayonets, ready for combat. A great number of our men were barefooted, some with shoes partly worn out, clothes ragged and torn, not an overcoat or extra garment among the line officers or men throughout the army, as all surplus baggage had been left in Virginia. But when the battle was about to show up the soldiers were on hand, ready and willing as of old, to plunge headlong into the fray. McLaws was on the left wing and Jenkins on the right.
Preparation for a general engagement was made. McLaws was ordered to throw forward, Wofford on his extreme left, supported by cavalry, while Jenkins was to send two of his brigades, under General Law, far to the right, on the flank and rear of the enemy's left. Law was first to make the attack on the enemy's flank, then the columns in front were to advance and make direct assault. But the "best laid plans of mice and men oft' gang aglee." Law missed his line of direction—failed to come upon the enemy's flank, night was upon us, and it must be remembered that all these movements took time, thus giving the Union Army an opportunity, under the sable curtains of night, to "fold their tents and gently steal away."
General Longstreet, in his book written nearly thirty years after the occurrence of Cambell's Station, severely criticises General Law, who commanded the two flanking brigades, and in withering and scathing terms directly charges him with the loss of a great victory. He quotes one of his staff officers as saying that it was the common camp rumor that General Law had made the remark "that he could have made a successful attack, but that Jenkins would have reaped the credit of it, hence he delayed until the enemy got out of the way." This is unjust and ungenerous to a gallant and faithful officer, one, too, who had, by his many and heavy blows in battle, added largely to the immortal fame of Longstreet himself. That there was a laudable ambition and rivalry among all officers and men in the Confederate Army, there can be no question—an ambition to outstrip all others in heroic actions, noble deeds, and self-sacrificing, but jealously never. As for treachery, as General Longstreet clearly intimates in the case of General Law, why the poorest, ragged, starved, or maimed soldier in the South would not have sold his country or companions for the wealth of the Indies, nor would he have unnecessarily sacrificed [303] a life of a comrade for the greatest place on this continent, or the fairest crown of Europe. It must be remembered in this connection that there were personal differences between the corps commander and General Law at times, and with one of his division commanders, all during our Western campaign. That General Law was obstinate, petulant, and chafed under restraint, is true, but this is only natural in a volunteer army, and must be expected. And had General Longstreet, so rigid a disciplinarian as he was, but a breath of suspicion at the time of disobedience, lack of courage, or unfaithfulness in his subaltern, General Law would have been put under immediate arrest, and a courtmartial ordered. The old General, in several places in his memoirs, makes uncomplimentary remarks and insinuations against some of his old compatriots in arms, but these should not be taken seriously. It will be remembered by all the old Confederates in this connection that during the period just succeeding the war mighty social convulsions took place in the South—political upheavals, whereby one party was as bitter against the other as during the mighty struggle of the North against the South, and that General Longstreet, unfortunately for his name as a civilian, aligned himself along with the party whom the whites of the South acknowledged as antagonistic to their welfare and interest. This roused the ire of all his old army associates, and many of his former friends now began to hurl poisoned and fiery shafts at the old "War Horse" of the South, and no place so vulnerable as his army record. This, of course, was resented by him, and a deadly feud of long standing sprang up between Generals Longstreet, Mahone, and a few others, who joined him on the one side, and the whole army of "Codfederate Brigadiers" on the other. This accounts, in a large measure, for many of Longstreet's strictures upon the conduct of officers of the army, and, no doubt, a mere after thought or the weird imaginations of an old and disappointed politico-persecuted man.
No, No! The officers and men of the Confederate Army were patriots of diamond purity, and all would have willingly died a martyr's death that the Confederacy might live.