We pushed on to the front and found no enemy, and for some unexplained reason did nothing more that day. If we had advanced in line of battle immediately after the charge in the morning, I am firmly in the belief that there would have been no second day's battle. On the second day we moved to the front early in the morning, and found that the enemy had gathered his scattered ranks, and had taken and fortified a position, his line running across the Franklin pike. Our regiment was at the left of the pike in an open wood. Our regiment was also at the left of the brigade, and joined the right of Stedman's division of colored troops. Colonel Post, by reason of seniority of rank, had command of our brigade, and had been in command since the 89th Ill. had been added to us at Atlanta. It seemed the same tactics were resorted to the second day as the first, and at four o'clock p. m. we could distinctly hear Smith's infantry hammering away directly in the rear of the rebel line. All the afternoon Colonel Post had been soliciting General Wood to order our brigade to charge the rebel position on the Franklin pike, but could not obtain the consent of the old general, as he (Wood) said the charge would result in driving the rebels away, while by waiting we could get all of them without any trouble or loss. This was great big sense, and there was not an officer or man in the brigade, save Colonel Post, that did not realize the fact. But our brigade commander was anxious for a star, and as old Tommy became more spiritually-minded, he consented to let the old second brigade charge. The rebels had good rifle pits, but nothing so strong as on the Atlanta campaign; but near the pike they had a battery of field artillery, some of the guns of which had been disabled early in the day. At the order to charge we moved on in fine form until we came near the works, when the rebels opened on us with canister that momentarily checked our advance. The colored infantry on our left seemed to receive the most of the rebel fire, as Stedman's division was in such a position that as soon as they came in range they were enfiladed for more than three hundred yards of their line, and consequently they suffered much more severely than our brigade. I never saw more heroic conduct shown on the field of battle than was exhibited by this body of men so recently slaves. I saw a color-bearer of one of these regiments stand on the top of the rebel parapet and shake the flag he bore in the faces of the confederate infantry until he fell, riddled with bullets. Soon after this, owing to a slight accident of war, your humble servant was compelled to go to the rear. But I remember (while lying on a stretcher) I heard the shout of the old regiment (that I could tell as I could my mother's voice), as they carried the rebel works.
What I know about the remainder of the battle of Nashville, and the pursuit of Hood, you of the old regiment and brigade know better than I. The rebel infantry ran away, just as old Tommy had said they would. This charge was a terribly severe and useless mistake. We had two brave young officers, Payne[[4]] and Dempsey, killed, and many noble men killed and wounded. And all for what? To gratify the ambition of an officer that desired promotion. "What is ambition? 'Tis a glorious cheat."
[4]. An own cousin of our colonel.
Colonel Post was badly punished for this foolish and needless charge he had gotten us into. He received a canister shot through his right thigh that nearly cost him his life, and in addition to that suffering he was elected to Congress from one of the districts of Illinois.
LIEUTENANT SAMUEL B. PAYNE.
Killed at the battle of Nashville Dec. 16th, 1864.
Hood's army was completely destroyed. When the second day of the battle of Nashville was over, Hood had not a single infantry regiment in organization. Forrest's cavalry was all the soldiers on which he could rely. He lost every piece of artillery, every wagon. Many of his men were recruited in Tennessee and Kentucky, and after the battle was over they threw away their arms and accouterments and went to their homes, never to enter the service again. The war in the west was substantially over. Our regiment never fired another shot after the charge on Overton Heights. They did some marching and quite a considerable traveling, going as far on one occasion as Warm Springs, N. Car. But their fighting service was over, and I believe we never lost a man after Nashville. Corporal Hood, of the confederate army, was never heard from again, and between Nashville and Atlanta there were not troops enough wearing the gray to hinder General Thomas' army for one hour.
While the campaign from Atlanta to Nashville closed with the battle, before ending this very imperfect sketch suffer me to refer to the last scene at Nashville. The spring of 1865 had come. The long bloody, cruel war was over. The wounds had healed. We were in camp in the vicinity of Nashville, knowing we would soon be discharged and go to our own loved Ohio. A grand review of all the troops about Nashville was ordered. It was to be the last good-bye of "Old Pap Thomas" to the brave men he had led so long. Never before was such preparation made for a review. Every piece of leather, every piece of brass and steel, was burnished as bright as time could make it. Never saw I the old regiment turn out in such fine shape. All the remnants of the old bands we had were revived, as far as possible. New sheepskin was in great demand. I cannot now tell whether the wheezy old band that General Hazen had at Manchester was in existence at that time, or whether it had been sacrificed for the good of the service and given harps, as it should have been, long before. The column for review was formed in divisions of regiments, that is, two companies to the division. General Thomas and staff were stationed on a gentle eminence, the bands playing, the old tattered colors flying, and as each regiment came opposite the "Rock of Chickamauga," every hat came off, and such cheers went up as had not greeted the old general since the storming of Missionary Ridge. Just a little drawing about the mouth was all the expression one could discover in the iron face of the grand old Virginian.
A few years afterward I stood by the last resting place of General George H. Thomas in the beautiful cemetery at Troy, N. Y., and while standing there I thought, "here lies the remains of a proud southerner, that 'faithful among the faithless stood,' that loved his native state as well as any, but loved his country better, and few, if any, in life did more to keep the flag of our Union waiving over a free and united country."