Observations of an Illinois Boy in Battle, Camp and Prisons—1861 to 1865

by Henry Harrison Eby

Going Into Action.

Nothing deranges the perfect operation of the terrific machine. They will dash into the midst of the fight, where the shells are spreading wild havoc and the deadly rifle balls patter like rain, without a thought of their surroundings, and open their volcano on the enemy without making a blunder or missing a motion. A man is torn to fragments by a shell and another instantly steps into his place; a horse is shot down, he is immediately cut out and another hitched in his place. The guns bellow uninterruptedly, no matter what havoc the enemy’s missiles are creating around them. It is the grandest yet most awful spectacle that war affords.

The Confederates made three or four desperate attempts to break this portion of our line, but failed and were repulsed each time, and remained nearly all the balance of the day under cover. During the day the shattered divisions of the Union army from the right were reorganized and were soon ready for action. The day was now far spent and the firing about at an end. The troops were mostly concealed in the woods or behind knolls, so as to be out of reach of the enemy’s fire. Shortly before the sun disappeared in the west I rode out into a small open space where my curiosity led me. Near by was a long line of infantry lying behind the crest of a knoll flat on the ground. When I was within a couple of rods of them two of the men looked around at me and one of them said, “You better get away from there.” He had hardly spoken the words when several bullets from Confederate sharpshooters, who were concealed in a cedar thicket, whizzed uncomfortably close to my ears, and I took the hint, and in a very short space of time I was out of sight in the woods, where a portion of our troops were posted.

The day’s battle was now ended and everything seemed to be quiet along the lines. Darkness soon settled down over the battlefield and we proceeded to get something to eat. This was New Year’s eve, and the army held watch-night, but not in the same style that we do at home. A good portion of the soldiers slept upon their arms. I distinctly remember that night, the moon shone brightly the fore part of the night and all was quiet in our front. All that could be heard was the rumbling of the ambulance wheels rolling over the battlefield, hauling the wounded to the hospital.

The morning of Jan. 1, 1863, dawned drearily upon us, but before noon it cleared off and the sun shone and Nature smiled lovingly upon the field of the previous day’s carnage. The day passed without a general engagement, but the lines of the army were being reformed and preparations were made for another battle the following day.

The Lull in the Fight.

The illustration is full of the spirit of war. It represents the lull which comes after one attack has been repulsed before another is made. The men behind the rude, hastily-constructed but quite formidable defenses, are having a brief respite. They know that it is only a respite, but are making the most of it. They will get what comfort they can in the meanwhile. It is probable they will be attacked again soon, but while they are ready and willing to meet it they are borrowing no trouble about it. They feel that they can repulse it as certainly and easily as they did the other. If the hour has any comfort in it they are going to enjoy it. The squad of prisoners in the foreground is very eloquent. It shows how the Confederate conscription was forcing into the ranks “all classes and conditions of men.”

The capture of prisoners had become so common a thing that the squad hardly excites a ripple of interest among the men. They hardly look up from their cooking or their game to observe the new captures, who simply go to swell the tens of thousands already in our hands.

Jan. 2 opened with some firing along the line, and late in the afternoon became a general engagement on our left, which resulted in a complete defeat of the Confederates. About the time that this battle of Jan. 2 fairly began, Lieut. John H. Shaw, of Co. C, 7th Illinois Cavalry climbed a tall forest tree for the purpose of locating the enemy and directing the firing of our artillery, which he did with good success. And while he was up in the tree, sitting upon a limb four or five inches in diameter, viewing the enemy with a large telescope, a cannon shot cut the limb off about 7 or 8 feet from where he was sitting. The Lieutenant told me that it was quite a nervous shock to him, and he scrambled down from that tree faster than he went up.