It seemed to be the object of General Sherman to put the 4th Corps in on the left, find the right flank of the enemy, "catch it in air," if possible, bring on a general engagement, destroy the rebel army, and thereby end the campaign. It was the fortune of Company B, which I commanded, to be ordered to the skirmish line, with other portions of the brigade, and which line in front of our division was in command of Major Williston, of the 41st O. V. I. Very many times that day we moved to the front, but always found the enemy in very strong works, and then we would withdraw and move by the left flank still further to the left. Late in the afternoon we came near the Pumpkinvine creek, and found the rebels without works. This fact was immediately reported to division headquarters. We drove the rebel skirmish line back on his line of battle. Colonel Payne sent me an order to force the skirmish line well to the front, and word was sent back that we were fighting the main line of the enemy, not one hundred feet away. The rebel line was on the top of a ridge that runs along the valley of the creek, and is naturally a very strong position. Soon the brigade came up and charged the hill, but was unable to go beyond our skirmishers. Later on General Howard put in General Wm. H. Gibson's brigade, the general leading the charge on foot. Never did I see men show more courage than did Gibson's brigade in this charge, but all was unavailing. The rebels reinforced their line with General Pat. Cleburne's division, and thereby far outnumbered the men we had engaged in the action. Had an entire division been put in between our left and Pumpkinvine creek mill pond, early in the afternoon, I believe the result would have been different. As it was a brigade was fought at a time, on a very short line where the hill was steepest, and the enemy's position the most unassailable. The result was that our brigade was the worst cut up of all the battles in which we were engaged. We fought in this position until dark, and then what was left of the two brigades, that had been put into this slaughter pen, withdrew to the other side of the valley. I have said that my company was on the skirmish line and opened the battle, and fought with the main line when the same came up. About four o'clock in the afternoon I went over to the left of the line to see how the battle was progressing in that quarter, and met Lieutenant Stedman where an old road comes winding down the hill. I made some inquiry as to how the boys were getting on, and he told me Adam Waters had been killed. Adam Waters was one of the best men of our company. He also informed me that a great many others of the company and regiment were badly wounded. He said: "Captain, we can hold this position until reinforcements come up, can we not?" I replied, "I think so, but what we want is to carry this hill." I was facing up the hill, and he stood with his face toward me, and so near that I could have laid my hand on his shoulder. All at once a great stream of blood spouted from his left breast. He gave me one look, as much as to say "my time has come," and sank in my arms, dead. I moved his body out of the road, and folded his arms across his breast. I took his watch and memorandum book, and laid his new and beautiful saber on his body, marked the tree under which he laid with my knife, so I could find the spot again, and amid the thunders of battle I left him reposing on the loving breast of mother earth, while sadly I left for another part of the field. There on that lone hillside was sacrificed one of the very few absolutely brave men I ever knew. I moved over to the right of the line, and there I saw Captain John Irving, sitting up, his body reclining against the body of a small sapling, smoking his pipe, his face as white as the driven snow. I said: "Captain are you wounded?" "Yes, it is all day with me," he replied. I asked him where he was wounded, he pointed to his right groin. I learned from him that Lieutenant Colonel Pickands and Captain Wm. Wilson were also wounded. Captain John Irving died at the hospital at Chattanooga some weeks afterward. I think the 124th O. V. I. never had a line officer that was held in higher respect, for his great bravery, soldierly conduct, as well as social qualities, than Captain John Irving.
CAPTAIN JOHN B. IRWIN.
It was now quite dark, and the firing had ceased all along the line. The few men that came out of the battle together gathered around Colonel Payne. He was all alone. His gallant major had been killed early in the day, and his lieutenant colonel had been dangerously wounded. Of course, we had hopes that many more would come in during the night, as we were withdrawn from the field in squads, and without any word of command that all could hear, and the men were coming in all night.
The night was very dark, and I proposed to Sergeant Orson Vanderhoef of our company, that if he and two others would volunteer to go with me we would go over to the hillside and bring off the body of Lieutenant Stedman. Ort. was made of the best of stuff, and with two others, as good, we started. Never saw I such a scene before. The old dead pine trees standing on the ridge had taken fire from the bursting shells and cast a weird and gloomy light over the battlefield. When we came to the old road we followed it up and soon came to the tree under which the body of the dead lieutenant lay. Some one had taken his saber that I so much wanted to send home to his only child, at that time a small boy, but we searched in vain for it. I never can forget the terrible sounds that filled our ears. When the wounded men discovered that some one was there they began such piteous appeals for help. "For God's sake can't you give me a drop of water?" "Can't you help me off the field, so I may not be captured?" The memory of that dread scene haunts me still, and I suppose will as long as I can turn in fond recollection to those brave men that were so ruthlessly sacrificed at the battle of New Hope Church. Would it not be the proper thing for General O. Howard (between his prayers) to explain why he left that hillside with its great number of wounded men to fall into the hands of a merciless enemy, when a good skirmish line could have held it, at least until the wounded could have been removed? I would not have propounded this inquiry had I not seen some of his war articles in a popular magazine. But I must return to my sad story. I said to Sergeant Vanderhoef that he and I would take the shoulders, and the others might divide the balance of the burden, as Ort. and I were a little the more muscular of the party. We had just stooped down to raise the body of our loved comrade when there rang out the silvery notes of a bugle, so clear and soft one might have mistaken it for some night bird's call. Ort. said: "Captain, what's that?" I said: "I guess that is some artillery call. It is certainly not an infantry call." Ort. said: "By G—d, it's the rebel forward, I've heard it many a time on picket, and we'd better be getting out of here pretty G—d d—d quick." Just at this instant a rebel skirmisher stepped into the old road, and the blaze of his musket went away past where we stood. I whispered to separate instantly, and away we went down the hill. The firing had now become general all along the line, telling the story only too plainly that the field, with all of its wealth of dead and wounded comrades, had been abandoned to the tender mercies of one of the most cruel enemies that ever fought a battle. Common humanity would have dictated that a fresh line should have been established on that field, and maintained there until the last wounded union soldier had been tenderly borne back to the field hospital. The only reason the rebels charged over that battlefield that night was because they knew no line of union skirmishers was there to oppose them, and they could plunder the brave dead and wounded without danger of molestation.
As soon as one was away from the light of the burning pines it was so dark one could not see a hand before him, and the first thing that I realized I was up to my neck in Picket's mill pond; but, being a Baptist, that did not astonish me to any alarming extent. I groped around in the darkness not knowing whether my wandering steps were bearing me into our lines or the rebels'. At length, about three o'clock a. m., I came upon a group of men and asked who they were. One replied they were General Howard and staff. I told them my name, rank, company and regiment, as well as brigade and division, and asked for directions. None of them could give any and I was about to leave when it occurred to me that was the corps commandant, and I, as an officer, had a duty to perform. I addressed the general, begging his pardon for the intrusion, and told him that I had been driven off the battlefield, and that there was not so much as a union picket between our lines and the rebels. You might have supposed that he thanked me for the information, and that he would have said "that he would have the matter looked into," but on the contrary his reply was: "There is not a word of truth in your story, sir. Go away from here, this is my headquarters." I went immediately away reflecting how it was possible for a man to be such a devout Christian and a corps commander, and still be so little of a gentleman.
When I found the regiment they were intrenching, and I worked with them until daylight, when we found our works faced to the rear. We soon put out a skirmish line, reformed our works, and this battle under the different names of Picket's Mills, Pumpkinvine creek and New Hope Church, was the last engagement in which our brigade took part on the rebel position known as Dallas.
In this battle of New Hope Church, just described in the poor way that a line officer has of seeing such a conflict, our regiment lost very heavily in officers and men. I see by a note I made at the time that the brigade in this action lost five hundred and sixty men. We remained in this position for a number of days, skirmishing and fighting, somewhere, almost constantly. It was at this position that we had the benefit of a lesson and example from the regular brigade. On this line the regulars joined us on the left. The rebel skirmish line ran along by the edge of a wood, while from our line to theirs the ground was open and comparatively level. To avoid losing men, we put our skirmishers out before daylight in the morning, avoiding any formal "guard mounting," and relieved them after dark at night. The regulars took the regular regulation way. At nine o'clock every morning they had "guard mounting," omitting no formality of the same. The rebel skirmish line, safe in their pits, firing into them all the time. The new line going out under fire, and the relieved one coming back under the same conditions. This occurred every morning as long as we remained in this position. I am not certain whether this fact ever came to the knowledge of the general officers or not, but the fact became so notorious that the men from all along our brigade were in the habit of coming in behind our works to witness the "regular guard mounting." They used to lose from two to five men every morning. The boys used to call it the "regular slaughter pen."
We remained in this position until the fifth of June, when we found that Sherman's flanking process had done its work and the rebels had abandoned their position, and we moved to the left to within three miles of Ackworth. From this time until we again struck the rebel position, the twenty-second of June, it was march, skirmish and intrench. This gave us but little rest, and the boys were looking haggard and careworn. This constant skirmishing, this no place of safety, this constant alarm, and night work on intrenchments, seemed to fatigue and wear out men more than fighting hard battles, followed by security and rest.
We had now pushed our line as far south as Marietta, a beautiful town, situated just north of the Chattahoochee river, and just south of Kennesaw mountain. This country of central Georgia is somewhat peculiar in its formation. There are no distinct mountain ranges south of the Allatoonas, but here and there a beautiful little mountain rises all alone above the surrounding country, that seems very much like table-land, though not level enough to bear that appellation. Among these solitary mountains, the names of which I remember, are Pine, where the rebel general, Bishop Polk, was killed before we reached our present position, Kennesaw mountain, Lost mountain and Stone mountain. All these little mountains were taken advantage of, as defensive positions, by the enemy; and here at Marietta the rebel line ran over the north side of Kennesaw, making an admirable position for its right flank. Here we forced our way very close to the enemy's works and in some places our works approached theirs to within two hundred feet, so that neither army could have a skirmish line beyond its works. When we were coming into this close position, the rebels made a charge and were repulsed with great slaughter; and their dead lay there unburied until after they abandoned this line. Some of us went over this portion of the line, and it was with difficulty that we picked our way among the rebel dead. I never saw the dead lie thicker, save at Chickamauga; and it took a strong man to stand the terrible stench that arose from that field in this almost tropical climate. I think this position of the enemy was the strongest of any we had encountered, and for the benefit of those that were not there I will describe these rebel works and defenses. In the first place there was the timber, the trees were felled and the tops turned outward, the small branches all trimmed off and the large ones sharpened. These trees, so trimmed, were placed contiguously to each other, and the buts staked down with heavy stakes driven deep into the ground. This first line of rebel defenses was about shoulder high to an ordinary man, and could only be cleared away by axmen. Their second line was constructed in this wise: A ditch was dug about four feet deep, pine poles from three to four inches in diameter were cut and sharpened to a point, set about four inches apart at an angle of about forty-five degrees, facing outward, and coming up about breast high. This ditch was filled with earth, and tamped solidly, then near the ground these sharpened stakes were woven together with withes. A more formidable defense could hardly be invented. Their third line of defense required more labor. They cut pine logs about twelve inches in diameter, and bored them through the center at right angles, with three inch augers; these holes were filled with pine poles six feet long sharpened at each end, and driven through the log just halfway. These logs were halved together and pinned, and the splices wrapped with telegraph wire, thus making a continuous line. This defense is what the French call Chevauxdefrise, and is just as formidable one side up as the other, and cannot be gotten over without axmen. Finally, the rifle pits, with head-logs thereon, leaving a space of about three inches, through which an infantryman could aim and fire in comparative safety, the head-logs fully protecting the head above the line of sight. These defenses were placed and constructed about fifteen rods apart, and all within the deadly range of the Enfield rifle with which our mother country had armed the confederacy; and a more accurate, longer range muzzle-loader was never invented. A portion of the enemy's line, with defenses just as I have described above, General Sherman tried to carry by assault the twenty-seventh day of June, and lost three thousand men in fifteen minutes, General Newton making the assault with the first division of the 4th corps. Our brigade was in position to support the assaulting columns and we saw the disastrous charge, but the charge failing we were not put in. Here the brave young General Harker was killed, while leading one of the assaulting columns. That the charge would fail was inevitable. A single line of battle of the enemy, armed as they were, inside of such defenses, could repulse any mass of men that could be sent against them. It would require a man without a musket and accouterments, armed with a good ax, from five to ten minutes to cut through these three outer lines of defenses, and the idea of assaulting such a position without first having these defenses cleared away, was entirely preposterous. It would have cost the killing or wounding of one thousand axmen to have cleared the way for a regimental front to charge. After the terrible disaster of the twenty-seventh of June, 1864, General Sherman came out in a long general order, which was in fact a very weak excuse for this disastrous blunder, and winding up in substance as follows: "My soldiers must learn that they must charge in all places, and that we cannot depend at all times upon flank movements."