The Third Day at Stone's River

by G. C. Kniffin

The writer, returning from a ride along the lines, where he had been under orders to see that all fires were extinguished, came upon a regular battery, in the rear of which, at the bottom of a trench of glowing coals, the artillerists were cooking supper. The savory smell of broiling steak and steaming pots of coffee saluted his nostrils. Dismounting, he was at once invited to partake of a soldier’s hospitality. His tired horse was fed, and in a moment he received at the hands of a grizzly veteran a cup of coffee and a cake of hard bread, covered with juicy steak, tender and succulent. His meal dispatched, he was about to remount and ride back to headquarters, when he was asked if he knew where the steak came from. He said he did not, but that it was the best he ever ate. “Come here, and I will show you,” said the sergeant. He led the way a few yards distant where an artillery horse lay dead, killed by a cannon ball. His flank had been stripped of the skin, and the tender, juicy steak that had contributed to the enjoyment of the writer had been cut from the flesh.

At army headquarters a strange scene, revealing the characteristics of the prominent commanding officers, was presented. With prudent regard for the safety of his supplies, General Rosecrans had ordered the subsistence train back to Nashville, thus enabling him to manoeuver his army without regard to front or rear. There was no indication that Bragg contemplated withdrawal, and the prevailing impression was that a heavy assault would be made upon some point of the Union line early in the morning. Where would the blow fall? Would the line at that point be strong enough to resist it? Has Bragg any troops that have not been engaged? Are reinforcements for him on the way? were questions more easily asked than answered.

Mounting his horse, the commanding general rode to the rear, accompanied by General Stanley and a few staff officers. Past the hospital, to Overall’s Creek, the group of horsemen pursued their way. In the fields on both sides of the road the darkness was dispelled by bivouac fires lighted by the straggling soldiery of the right wing. Along the pike the long supply train moved slowly and steadily toward Nashville, while here and there a few wagons were cut out of it by a faithful commissary, the contents of which, after a hard night’s work, he would succeed in transferring to the soldiers’ haversacks.

Walker’s and Starkweather’s brigades had already passed to the front, where the former bivouacked in close column in reserve in rear of McCook’s left, and the latter, posted on the left of Sheridan, next morning relieved Van Cleve’s division, now commanded by Col. Sam Beatty, which resumed its position in the left wing. Generals Van Cleve and Wood, each suffering from wounds in the foot, were sent in ambulances back to Nashville.

Headquarters were located in a double log house, which then stood on the east side of the turnpike about opposite the lower ford of Stones River. In a room on the left hand, General Thomas sat before a fire, asleep; the officers of his staff, stretched upon the floor, with their feet to the fire, were also asleep. Ready at a moment’s warning to obey any order that might be given him, the old soldier was snatching a brief respite from care, in the friendly arms of Morpheus. To a question of General Rosecrans, earlier in the evening, he had made the characteristic reply: “The question of retiring from the battle-field is one of such delicacy that I am quite willing to leave it to the judgment of the commanding general.” On the right of the passageway a far different scene was presented. General Crittenden paced the floor with quick, impatient stride. “Communication is cut off,” said one. “We must fall back,” said another, and the words were deliberately uttered by a brave man. “My corps is not whipped,” shouted Crittenden, “and we must not fall back.” At this moment General Rosecrans entered the room and caught the expression as it fell from the lips of his heroic commander. “Gentlemen, we fight or die right here,” said the chief as he passed them and took a seat by the fire.

The sun of the New Year rose bright and fair; an occasional gun gave token of the proximity of the two contending armies. During the night Rosecrans retired his left to a more advantageous position, the extreme left resting on Stones River above the lower ford and extending to Stokes’ Battery, posted on a knoll on Rousseau’s right. Beatty’s division was posted across Stones River on the margin of the woodland that covered a gentle slope from the river to an open field in their front. Across the field, the Lebanon road, running nearly at right angles with the front of Beatty’s line, was nearly in sight. Off to their right and front an elevation still held by Hanson’s Brigade of Breckinridge’s division, was crowned by Cobb’s Battery of Artillery. The Confederate line, formed by Polk and Breckinridge on the right and Hardee on the left, extended from the point on Stones River where Chalmer’s Brigade had bivouacked since the 28th, in a direction almost at right angles with its original line.

The body of the brave General Sill was found where it had fallen, and sent to Murfreesboro, where it was buried. At dawn on the 1st of January the right flank of General Polk was advanced to occupy the ground vacated by the left flank of the Union Army. Neither commander deemed it advisable to attack, but each was watchful of every movement of the other. The picket lines of either side were thrust forward within sight of the main lines of the opposing force, on the alert to notify their commanders of any movement in their front. As two gladiators of equal strength, who, having fought until nature is exhausted, stretch their herculean forms upon the earth, each confident that his antagonist is as unable as himself to renew the contest, rise when refreshed and glare upon each other, watchful for advantage, so were these contending armies, drawn up in firm array, weaker in numerical strength, but more compact and infinitely stronger in indomitable will, on the morning of the New Year, each awaiting the order to advance and close in a final struggle. It was the crouching of tigers before the death grapple.

The rest afforded the weary troops of both armies, many of whom were smarting with wounds which were not sufficiently serious to render their removal to the hospital necessary, fell with the grace of a benediction upon the scene of strife. As the ponderous bells of a great city, at stated periods, rising above the hum of traffic fill the air with the uproar of deep, sonorous strokes, and smaller ones fill with their clangor the intervals of sound, so did the artillery ever and anon break upon the silence with sullen roar, while the sharp rattle of picket firing, now on the right, then on the left, recall the terrible strife of yesterday and foretell the impending conflict.

Night came, and the contending hosts sank to rest in the mud, upon their arms, in the rear of the stout picket lines, lulled to sleep by the booming of an occasional gun or the report of an exploding shell. The sun arose upon the second morning of the new year and glowed pleasantly upon Union and Confederate alike. The exercises of the day commenced as usual by picket firing along the lines, and was followed by an artillery duel between Estepp’s Battery of Wood’s division and Scott’s Battery of Cheatham’s division, in front of the Round Forrest, in which Estepp was worsted. Bradley took up the gauntlet and was fast getting the best of it when one of the batteries in his rear undertook to throw grape over his head, when he was forced to retire.

Reinforcements now came to both sides and a spirited contest ensued. Stokes, Loomis, and Guenther each in succession took part in the fight, which was confined exclusively to artillery. Robertson’s Battery of Wither’s division, from its position near the Burnt Brick House, and Semple’s Battery on the left, had accurate range of the Union batteries, and their guns were handled with skill. But the artillery fire soon ceased. Chalmer’s Brigade had advanced early on New Year’s morning, and his skirmishers now occupied the ground which Hazen had so stubbornly contended for on the first day of the battle. Price’s Brigade, which assumed its position in Van Cleve’s division, now commanded by Col. Samuel Beatty, was on the right of the division.