In obedience to orders, on the 23d of May we broke up our camp before Cassville, and resumed our march southward. The day was very warm, the marching heavy, and we were glad to go into camp, about nine o'clock at night, in a most beautiful country, about five miles south of the Etowah River. Next morning we moved forward and reached the Allatoona Mountains at midday. We rested long enough to make our coffee, then ascended the mountains and camped on the top. Heavy rains fell during the night; the Sixth Kentucky went on picket, and was not relieved till eleven o'clock the next day, at which time the assembly was sounded, and the column, on account of the bad roads, moved slowly forward till about six o'clock in the evening, when the sound of cannon was heard, denoting that there was fighting ahead. Our march during the day, though slow, was a pleasant one; the rain of the previous night had cooled the air, the scenery was varied and romantic, and little met our eyes that was suggestive of the terrible ravages of war. But our thoughts were soon diverted from the quiet beauty of the woods and the majestic grandeur of the mountains, by the dread sounds of distant battle. The sounds came from Hooker's Corps, which was in the advance of the flanking movement; and from the cool and tried valor of its veterans, we were prepared to hear of a desperate struggle and fearful carnage. It was even so; this army corps, on its way to Dallas, was met by the enemy in force, and a heavy battle ensued. Hooker suffered greatly; but the steady valor of his men enabled him to hold the field. Our column had orders to push forward; and, through rain and mud, on we pressed till near midnight, meeting on our march sad evidences of the fight—the ambulance and wagon trains, filled with wounded, on their way to the rear, from which, ever and anon, came cries of pain and agony that could not be repressed. We were wet and weary when we received orders to halt, and we lay down in our wet clothing and slept the remainder of the night upon the battle-field, amid the dead and the dying who had fallen in the evening's conflict; yet the thought, I doubt not, passed through many a mind ere slumber came—may I not to-morrow night be like many of those around me who sleep that sleep which knows no waking? Soldiers are generally gay and thoughtless, even in the midst of danger; but they have also their serious moments, and the lightest heart feels sad in the solemn night on the battle-field thickly bestrewn with the dead.
At four in the morning we rose, expecting a hard day's work; for picket firing was kept up all night, and increased after daylight. At seven o'clock we were in line of battle—the Sixth Kentucky in front. Companies D and F were thrown forward as skirmishers, while the rest of the regiment was building breast-works, and while thus engaged suffered considerably from the enemy's sharp-shooters. Selecting a number of the best shots in my command, I assigned them the task of silencing them, which was soon accomplished. At one o'clock the whole regiment advanced, driving the enemy's skirmishers within their works, and established our own lines in close rifle range of them, and during the night, by dint of hard labor, we intrenched ourselves securely. During the evening, while on the skirmish line, and occupying the extreme left, we were threatened by the rebel cavalry, against which I sent a few men under the charge of a lieutenant, and dispatched a messenger to Gen. Hazen, notifying him of my condition. On his way back the messenger was wounded by a rebel sharp-shooter, and was taken to the rear; but the message he was bearing was brought to me—it was, that Gen. Schofield's command would soon join me on the left, and that I must hold my advanced position till he made his appearance, which I did till near sundown, when the Twenty-Third Corps came up, and my weary flankers were relieved.
Early on the morning of the 27th the regiment was relieved from duty on the front line, and moved back a short distance to rest, which was greatly needed; and while preparing some coffee, a man belonging to the battery was wounded. Lieut. William Furr, myself, and two others, were placing the wounded man in a litter, and while thus engaged Lieut. Furr received a wound which in a few days proved fatal. He was a brave man and good officer, and his loss was much regretted. Such incidents are the frequent and sad episodes in a soldier's life, and make an impression deep and lasting—the very dangers and toils through which they pass bind them together with a power only understood by those who have been partakers of this fellowship of suffering. The soldier often seems gay and light-hearted in immediate prospect of a battle; and I have seen a regiment express as much joy when the loud guns announced the approach of a fierce conflict, as school-boys would at an unexpected vacation; and yet those same men will at other times be as tender and tearful as women. When they look down the lines, thinned in many a battle; or, by the nightly camp-fire, talk of comrades gone; or wrap in his overcoat or blanket the remains of one who has borne with them the fatigues of the march or the perils of the fight, and make his grave in a land of strangers, the bosom heaves, the tears fall, and every look and tone proclaims that under the soldier's garb a true human heart is beating still.
[CHAPTER XI.]
MARCHING AND FIGHTING.
Reminder to the reader—Sherman, Howard, and Thomas in council—The attack and repulse—The Sixth Kentucky in front again—In the trenches—Guarding train—Forward march.
I must remind the reader that I did not set out with the intention of giving a history of the grand campaign in which I took a humble part—a task of such magnitude and responsibility must be reserved for the future historian of one of the greatest and most complicated struggles that the world has witnessed. Indeed, the thoughtful reader, a thousand miles from the scene of strife, may have a better conception of a great battle than many of those engaged in it. The former, by the aid of maps, and the accounts given by various writers who beheld the different parts of the great struggle, may get a good general idea of it as a whole; while he who takes part in it, of necessity, sees only that portion of the battle in which he is engaged—and that generally is but a small part. Moreover, he is prone to judge of the result by the success, or suffering, of the regiment or brigade with which he is connected; while all are aware that a portion of an army may meet with great disaster, and yet the general result may be most glorious; but glorious it certainly does not seem to that portion of the army which has suffered most severely, although its suffering may have been the salvation of the rest. For instance, the celebrated charge made by Marshal Macdonald against the Austrian center at Wagram; although it turned the day in favor of the French army, yet it was most disastrous to the charging column, which is said to have lost in the proportion of ten out of every eleven men who composed it, not having as many hundreds in its ranks when the task was achieved as it had thousands when the word to charge was given. Thus, in some of the battles of this campaign, a brigade, and even a division, at times suffers terribly, and yet the battle was not lost, and the enterprise, as a whole, was a splendid success.
This view of affairs is absolutely necessary with regard to some matters in the present chapter which it is necessary to mention, as I am not attempting a general view of the campaign, but the part played in it by the brigade to which I was attached, and more particularly by my own regiment; and while not writing a history, I am preparing materials to be used by others in framing a full and perfect account of this truly-wonderful march. I write chiefly from what came under my own notice—those who were in other scenes than those in which I took part will do the same; and the truth must be gathered, not from any one account, taken separately, but from all the accounts in the aggregate. If, then, I speak of a success, do not think it was one achieved by the whole army; if I mention a disaster, let no one think that I regard the whole army as involved in it; for seldom has an expedition of like proportions met fewer reverses, or more glorious success.