My Days and Nights on the Battle-Field

by Charles Carleton Coffin

“I denounce Pillow as a coward, and if I ever meet 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 very unchivalrous, 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. General Grant 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. Some were 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.