As we went over the Confederate works on our charge, I saw lying on the ground, inside, a dead Confederate lieutenant-colonel. He was on his back, his broad-brimmed hat pulled over his face, and a pair of large gauntlet gloves tucked in his belt. His sword was detached from the belt, in the scabbard, and was lying transversely across his body. As I ran by him I stooped down and with my left hand picked up the sword, and carried it along. I brought it to camp with me, kept it until we were mustered out, and then brought it home. Later a Masonic lodge was organized in Otterville, and some of the officers thereof borrowed from me this sword for the use of the tyler of the lodge, in his official duties. In 1868 I came to Kansas, leaving the sword with the lodge. After the lapse of some years there came a time when I desired to resume possession of this relic of the war, but on taking action to obtain it, it was ascertained that in the meantime the lodge building, with all its furniture and paraphernalia, including the sword in question, had been accidentally destroyed by fire. And thus passed away the only trophy that I ever carried off a battlefield. Many years later I met here in Kansas the late Confederate Gen. John B. Gordon, of Georgia, and had a long and interesting conversation with him. I told him the facts connected with my obtaining this sword, and of its subsequent loss, as above stated. He listened to me with deep attention, and at the close of my story, said he was satisfied from my general description of the dead Confederate officer that the body on which I found the sword was that of W. W. Billopp, lieutenant-colonel of the 29th Georgia, who was killed in this action. Gen. Gordon also said that he was well acquainted with Col. Billopp in his life time, and that he was a splendid gentleman and a brave soldier. It has always been a matter of regret with me that the sword was destroyed, for I intended, at the time I sought to reclaim it from the Masonic lodge, to take steps to restore it to the family of the deceased officer, in the event that it could be done.
When the Confederates retired from this battlefield of December 7th, they left their dead and severely wounded on the field, as it was impossible for them to do otherwise. I walked around among these unfortunates, and looked at them, and saw some things that made me feel sorrowful indeed. I looked in the haversacks of some of the dead to see what they had to eat,—and what do you suppose was found? Nothing but raw, shelled corn! And many of them were barefooted, and judging from appearances, had been so indefinitely. Their feet were almost as black as those of a negro, with the skin wrinkled and corrugated to that extent that it looked like the hide of an alligator. These things inspired in me a respect for the Confederate soldiers that I never had felt before. The political leaders of the Davis and Toombs type who unnecessarily brought about the war are, in my opinion, deserving of the severest condemnation. But there can be no question that the common soldiers of the Confederate army acted from the most deep-seated convictions of the justice and the righteousness of their cause, and the fortitude and bravery they displayed in support of it are worthy of the highest admiration.
After the engagement of December 7th, the Confederates still remained in our vicinity, and showed themselves at intervals, but made no aggressive movement. Cold weather set in about this time, the ground was covered with sleet, and our situation, cooped up in Fortress Rosecrans, was unpleasant and disagreeable. We had long ago turned in our big Sibley tents, and drawn in place of them what we called "pup-tents." They were little, squatty things, composed of different sections of canvas that could be unbuttoned and taken apart, and carried by the men when on a march. They were large enough for only two occupants, and there were no facilities for building fires in them, as in the case of the Sibleys. Owing to the fact that the Confederates were all around us, we were short of fire-wood too. Stone river ran through the fortress, and there were some big logs in the river, which I suppose had been there ever since the work was constructed, and we dragged them out and used them to eke out our fires. They were all water-soaked, and hardly did more than smoulder, but they helped some. At night we would crowd into those little pup-tents, lie down with all our clothes on, wrap up in our blankets and try to sleep, but with poor success. I remember that usually about midnight I would "freeze out," and get up and stand around those sobbing, smouldering logs,—and shiver. To make matters worse, we were put on half rations soon after we came to Murfreesboro, and full rations were not issued again until the Confederates retreated from Nashville after the battle of December 15-16.
CHAPTER XXII.
THE FIGHT ON THE RAILROAD NEAR MURFREESBORO, DECEMBER 15, 1864.
On the afternoon of December 12th the regiment fell in and we marched to the railroad depot at Murfreesboro, climbed on a train of box cars, and started for Stevenson, Alabama, about 80 miles southeast of Murfreesboro. The number of the regiment who participated in this movement, according to the official report of Maj. Nulton, was 150 men, and we were accompanied by a detachment of about forty of the 1st Michigan Engineers. (See Serial No. 93, Official Records of the War of the Rebellion, p. 620.) We soon learned that the train was going to Stevenson to obtain rations for the troops at Murfreesboro, and that our province was to serve as guards for the train, to Stevenson and on its return. We had not gone more than eight or ten miles from Murfreesboro before we ran into the Confederate cavalry vedettes who were scattered along at numerous points of observation near the railroad. However, on our approach they scurried away like quails. But in many places the track had been torn up, and culverts destroyed, and when we came to one of these breaks, the train had to stop until our engineers could repair it, and then we went on. Right here I will say that those Michigan Engineers were splendid fellows. There was a flat car with our train, and on this car was a supply of extra rails, spikes, and other railroad appliances, with all the tools that the engineers used in their work, and it was remarkable to see how quick those men would repair a break in the road. They also were provided with muskets and accouterments the same as ordinary soldiers, and when the necessity arose, (as it did before we got back to Murfreesboro,) they would drop their sledges and crowbars, buckle on their cartridge boxes and grab their muskets, and fight like tigers. It was "all the same to Joe" with them. After getting about thirty-five miles from Murfreesboro we saw no more of the enemy, the railroad from thereon was intact, and we arrived at Stevenson about 10 o'clock on the morning of the 13th. The train was loaded with rations and early on the morning of the 14th we started back to Murfreesboro, having in addition to the force with which we left there, a squad of about thirty dismounted men of the 12th Indiana Cavalry, who joined us at Stevenson. The grade up the eastern slope of the Cumberland Mountains was steep, a drizzling rain had fallen the night before, making the rails wet and slippery, and the train had much difficulty in ascending the grade, and our progress was tedious and slow. This delay probably was the cause of our undoing, as will be revealed later. We didn't get over the mountains until some time in the afternoon, and went along slowly, but all right; and about dark reached Bell Buckle, 32 miles from Murfreesboro. Here trouble began on a small scale. A Confederate cavalry vedette was on the alert, and fired at us the first shot of the night. The bullet went over us near where I was sitting on top of a car, with a sharp "ping," that told it came from a rifle. But we went on, proceeding slowly and cautiously, for the night was pitch dark, and we were liable to find the railroad track destroyed at almost any place. At 2 o'clock in the morning, just after leaving Christiana, about 15 miles from Murfreesboro, our troubles broke loose in good earnest. We encountered the Confederate cavalry in force, and also found the track in front badly torn up. We got off the cars, formed in line on both sides of the road and slowly advanced, halting whenever we came to a break in the road, until our Michigan Engineers could repair it. As above stated, they were bully boys, and understood their business thoroughly, and very soon would patch up the breaks so that the train could proceed. But it went only about as fast as a man could walk, and during the balance of that cold, dark night, we marched along by the side of the track, skirmishing with the enemy. On one occasion we ran right up against their line, they being on their horses, and evidently awaiting our approach. Luckily for us, their guns must have been wet; they nearly all missed fire, with no result save a lively snapping of caps along substantially their entire line. But our guns went off, and we gave the fellows a volley that, at least, waked up all the owls in the neighborhood. It was so intensely dark that accurate shooting was out of the question, and whether we hurt anybody or not I don't know, but our foes galloped off in great haste, and disappeared for a while. Shortly before daylight, when we were within about six miles of Murfreesboro, we came to the worst break in the track we had yet encountered. It was at the end of a short cut in the road that was perhaps four or five feet deep. In front of this cut the track was demolished for several rods, and a deep little culvert was also destroyed. We sat down on the ground near the track, and our engineers went to work. The situation was like this: In our front, towards Murfreesboro, and on our right and left rear were corn fields, with the stalks yet standing, and on our left front was a high rocky ridge, heavily timbered with a dense growth of small cedars, and which ridge sloped abruptly down to the railroad track. A small affluent of Stone river, with a belt of willow along its banks, flowed in a winding course along our right, in the general direction of Murfreesboro. While we were sitting here on the ground, half asleep, waiting for the engineers to call out "All right!"—there came a volley of musketry from the woods of the rocky ridge I have mentioned. We sprang to our feet, formed in the cut facing the ridge, and began returning the fire. After this had continued for some time, a party of the enemy moved to our rear, beyond gunshot, and began tearing up the track there, while another party took up a position on the opposite side of the little stream on our right, and opened fire on us from that direction. A portion of our force was shifted to the right of the train to meet the attack from this quarter, and the firing waxed hot and lively. Our engineers had seized their guns, and were blazing away with the rest of us, and our bunch of dismounted cavalry men were also busy with their carbines. This state of things continued for fully an hour, and I think some longer, when suddenly, coming from our left rear, a cannon ball screamed over our heads, followed by the roar of the gun. The commanding officer of Co. D in this affair (and the only officer of our company present) was Lieut. Wallace, and he was standing near me when the cannon ball went over us. "What's that?" he exclaimed. "It means they have opened on us with artillery," I answered. "Well," he responded, "let 'em bang away with their pop-guns!" and I think we all felt equally indifferent. We had become familiar with artillery and knew that at long range it was not very dangerous. But the enemy's cannon kept pounding away, and pretty soon a shot struck somewhere on the engine with a resounding crash. About this time Col. Grass gave the order to retreat. There was only one way of escape open, and that was down the track towards Murfreesboro. We hastily formed in two ranks, and started down the right side of the track in a double quick. As we passed out of the cut a body of dismounted cavalry came out of the woods on the ridge to our left and gave us a volley of musketry. But, being on higher ground than we were, they overshot us badly, and did but little harm. We answered their fire, and their line halted. The command quickly went along our column to load and fire as we went, and "keep firing!" and we did so. We kept up a rattling, scattering fire on those fellows on our left which had the effect of standing them off, at any rate, and in the meantime we all did some of the fastest running down along the side of the railroad track that I have ever seen. Speaking for myself, I am satisfied that I never before surpassed it, and have never since equaled it. But we had all heard of Andersonville, and wanted no Confederate prison in ours. To add to our troubles, an irregular line of Confederate cavalry charged on us through the corn field in our rear, firing and yelling at the top of their voices, "Halt! Halt! you G—— d—— Yankee sons of ——!"—their remarks closing with an epithet concerning our maternal ancestors which, in the words of Colonel Carter of Cartersville, was "vehy gallin', suh." But, as said by the French soldier, old Peter, in "The Chronicles of the Drum,"
"Cheer up!'tis no use to be glum, boys,—
'Tis written, since fighting begun,
That sometimes we fight and we conquer