As soon as it was light enough, the opposing forces drew nearer one another, and the battle commenced in dead earnest. The crash of musketry was terrific. The rebels strove again and again to break through our thin lines, but the Union forces stood their ground with firmness, repelling every onset of the rebels till re-enforcements came back over the pontoon bridge to our aid. The rebels, who had in vain attempted for three long hours to break down the colored men of Kansas, next brought a battery of artillery to bear upon them, and opened fire. When Col. Crawford saw this, he ordered the brave young men to charge upon the guns with the bayonet, and led the charge himself. All the gun-carriage horses were killed but two; the gunners were killed, wounded or had fled; the intrepid and heroic Kansas colored boys took possession of the rebel battery, and brought them over to our side! Truly, this was a brave deed! (Zabulun and Naphtali were a people who jeopardized their lives unto the death upon the high places of the field). When the Second Kansas returned with the rebel guns, the officers and men, in the midst of the battle, gave them a glorious salute, waving their swords in the air, and tossing up their caps on the points of their bayonets, whilst our devoted braves smiled with pleasure. After this successful capture of the guns, the Second Kansas was moved into the centre of the line; a charge by the entire Union forces was made along the whole line, and now the rebels everywhere gave away, and the victory was complete. The Second Kansas was the first to begin the battle, and they were the last to leave the field.
Thus the war went along the Western frontier. There were no great battles, as was the case in the East. But here was plenty to do for all that, and it was done well. There were at times great hardships to endure—long, weary marches, cold, and the want of all things; but such is the life of the soldier, and such is war. We must take the rough with the smooth. Upon the whole, the Western men fought bravely and successfully, and mightily helped to pull down the rebellion.
The present generation have very little idea of the excitement that prevailed all over the country during the long war. Where all our regiments did so well—indeed, covered themselves with honor—it would be ridiculous to make any distinction, and place one before another. But I may at least make a selection at random, and single out the 54th Regiment of Massachusetts, in March, 1863, who fought with unsurpassed valor until the close of the war—yea, after the close of the war! I followed the career of that devoted regiment as if I had been one of the brave fellows! Well, how they did fight, to be sure! They fought at James Island, at Fort Wagner, at Olustee, at Honey Hill, and at Boykin's Mill, after the war was over, because they had not heard that Lee had surrendered!
This Boykin's Mill was a few miles from Camden, South Carolina. The Fifty-fourth Regiment had fought every step of the way from Georgetown to Camden, and the rebels made a last desperate, but unsuccessful stand at Boykin's Mill. It was a splendid place for the defense, as there was no other way of approaching it except by a narrow embankment about two hundred yards long, where only one man could walk at a time. The rebels had torn up the planks of the bridge over the mill-race, thus compelling the men of the Fifty-fourth to cross over on the timbers and cross-ties, and all this under a fatal fire of musketry, which swept the embankment and the bridge, and made it little better than a "forlorn hope" to pass over. But the Fifty-fourth did not falter. They had fought at Olustee and Fort Wagner, so they charged over the dreadful way in single file. The first men to advance were all shot down, but the rest of their comrades advanced over their prostrate bodies, till the enemy became so panic-stricken at the sight that they gave up the fight, abandoned their position at the mill, and fled. There seems to have been a poet in the regiment—Mr. Henry A. Monroe, of New Bedford, Massachusetts, who was the drummer-boy of Company C, of the Fifty-Fourth. He thus describes the fight at Boykin's Mill:
One wailing bugle note—then at the break of day,
With martial step and gay the army takes the way
From Camden Town.
There lay along the path, defending native land,
A daring, desperate band entrenched on either hand
In ambuscade.
A low and dark ravine beneath a rugged hill,
Where stood the Boykin Mill spanning the creek, whose rill
Flows dark and deep.
Only a narrow bank where one can scarcely tread;
Thick branches meet o'erhead; across the mill-pond's bed
A bridge up-torn.
One single sharp report:—A hundred muskets peal,—
A wild triumphant yell, as back the army fell
Stunned, bleeding, faint.
As when some mighty rock, obstructs the torrent's course;
After the moment's pause, 'twill rush with greater force,
Resistless on.
A moment's pause, and then our leader from his post,
Viewing the stricken host, cried, "Comrades!—all is lost
If now we fail!"
Forming in single file, they gaze with bated breath;
Around,—before,—beneath,—on every hand, stern death
His visage showed.
"Forward!"—They quickly spring with leveled bayonet;
Each eye is firmly set upon that pathway, wet
With crimson gore.
That Balaklava dash!—Right through the leaden hail,
O'er dyke and timbers frail, with heart that never fail
They boldly charge.
Facing the scathing fire without a halt or break,
Save when with moan or shriek in the blood-mingled creek
The wounded fall.
What could resist that charge?—Above the battle's roar
There swells a deafening cheer, telling to far and near,
The Mill is won!
Anecdotes of deeds of bravery and devotion kept cropping up all through the war. During the early part of the war on the Lower Mississippi, a former slave assisted in bringing in a lot of prisoners, and he himself actually drove his former owner before him into the Union camp! "Old Master" assumed bullying airs to induce him to let him escape, but the soldier pointed his gun at him repeatedly, saying, "Go on, sir, or I'll shoot!" So he brought him into the camp, all radiant with smiles, and who can blame him for smiling at such a time as this?
At Marion, Tennessee, there were many incidents of personal bravery, of which this was one. A colored soldier had got a tree stump close to the rebel line, and in spite of all efforts to dislodge him, he still stuck to his post, and picked off their men. The rebels charged on the stump, but when the Union line saw the movement they concentrated their fire on the advancing men, and drove them back. Then there followed long and loud cheering for that brave and lonely soldier, who still stuck to his stump and kept firing away with a regularity that was truly wonderful. The stump was riddled with bullets, but he still stuck to it, although at times he was nearer to the rebel lines than to the Union ones.
A great many war incidents were recorded in the annals of the fighting in Mississippi between Union General Sturgis and the rebels there under General Forrest. Here are a few of them. A corporal in one of the colored regiments was ordered to surrender. He allowed his would-be captor to come up close to him, when he struck him down with the butt end of his gun. Whilst the regiment was fighting in a ditch, and the order came to retreat, the color-bearer threw out the flag, intending to jump out and get it, but the rebels made a rush for it, and in the struggle one of our men knocked down with his gun the rebel who had the flag, and caught it and ran. A rebel, with an oath, ordered one of our men to surrender. He thought the rebel's gun was loaded, and dropped his own gun; but when he saw his enemy commence loading, our colored soldier made a sudden spring for his own gun, and struck the rebel dead. One of our captains was surrounded by about a dozen of the enemy, when he was seen by one of our own men, who called several of his companions to his side, when they rushed forward together and fired, killed several of the rebels, and rescued their captain at once. A rebel came up to one of our men, and said, "Come, my good fellow; go with me, and wait on me." In a second our Union soldier shot his would-be master dead. Once when our men made a charge on the enemy they rushed forward with the cry, "Remember Fort Pillow!" when the rebels called back to them and said, "Lee's men killed no prisoners!" One of our men in a charge threw his antagonist to the ground, and pinned him fast there, but when he tried to withdraw his bayonet it came off the gun, and as he was very busy just at that time, he left it behind him, still transfixed to the ground. Another soldier killed a rebel by striking him with the butt end of his gun; the gun broke, and as he was unwilling to stop his work just then, he kept on loading, and fired three times before he could get a better gun. The first time, as he was not very cautious, the rebound of his gun cut his lip badly. When the troops were in the ditch, three rebels came upon one man and ordered him to surrender. But as his gun was loaded he shot one of them and bayoneted the other; but forgetting in his haste that he could bayonet the third he turned the butt end of his gun and knocked him down. (The above are a few incidents culled from the annals of the fighting done by our men in Northern Mississippi.)
A great many good stories have been related in connection with the Army of the Cumberland. Here is one that refers to an incident when that army was in Tennessee. Early one morning, as a company of white soldiers were about to resume their march, a Kentucky lieutenant rode up to the commanding officer, saluted, and said he had some runaway slaves under his charge, whom he had arrested for the purpose of sending them back to their masters; but as he had been ordered away from there just then, he turned them over to this officer in command. (At that time rewards could be claimed for returning fugitive slaves to their masters). So the officer took charge of them, and purposely assuming a stern air and manner, which he did not feel at all, he said:
"Where are you going?"