We were not much longer to enjoy this otium cum dignitate, however. The iron was in the furnace, and would soon be ready for the stroke of the general's hammer. The enemy at this time, as we have before said, were posted on the heights of Missionary Ridge and Lookout Mountain. Their cavalry was swarming in our rear and on our flanks, and our army represented a giant, resting from his labors, but to rise at last and with the stroke of a thunderbolt scatter his enemies like chaff. And now we come to the battle of Missionary Ridge. On the night of the 23rd of November, Sherman, with three divisions of his army, which had arrived at Chattanooga on the 15th of November, from Vicksburg, Miss., strengthened by Davis' division of Palmer's corps, of which division we now formed a part, and which had been stationed along the north bank of the Tennessee, convenient to where the crossing was to be effected, was ready for operations. At an hour sufficiently early to secure the south bank of the river, just below the mouth of South Chickamauga Creek, by dawn of day, the pontoons in the North Chickamauga, which our brigade had been guarding, were loaded with thirty armed men each, who floated quietly past the enemy's pickets, landed and captured all but one of the guard, twenty in number, before the enemy was aware of the presence of a foe. The steamboat "Dunbar," with a barge in tow, after having finished ferrying across the river the horses procured from Sherman, with which to move Thomas' artillery, was sent up from Chattanooga to aid in crossing artillery and troops, and by day light of the morning of the 24th of November, eight thousand men were on the south side of the Tennessee and fortified in rifle trenches. This movement, so admirably executed, put the whole of Sherman's army in position for the great battle that was now to begin.
CHAPTER XXII.
We will not undertake to follow every movement of the army made to capture the heights of Missionary ridge, as it would be, perhaps, uninteresting to the reader, and out of place here, but will pass on to the morning of the 25th. So far every thing had gone well with the union army. Every movement had been successful. Suddenly from a point overlooking the field of battle, known as Orchard Knob, and on which army headquarters had been established, rang out the signal ordering an advance of our entire front. The line moved rapidly and orderly. The rebel pickets discharged their muskets, and ran into their rifle pits, much resembling the ground squirrel, when alarmed he seeks his den. Our skirmishers followed closely on their heels. The line of battle was not far behind, and the gray rebels were seen to swarm out of their rifle pits in surprising numbers, and over the crest of the hill. A few turned and fired their pieces, but the greater number collected into the many roads which cross obliquely up its steep face, like cattle trails, and went to the top. Our lines pressed on and up the steep sides of the ridge, and here and there a color was advanced beyond the lines. The attempt appeared most dangerous, but the advance was supported, and the whole line was ordered to storm the heights, upon which not less than forty pieces of artillery, and no one knows how many muskets, stood ready to slaughter the assailants. With cheers answering to cheers, the men swarmed upward. They gathered to the points least difficult of ascent, and the line was broken. Color after color was planted on the summit, while musket and cannon vomited their thunder upon them. A well directed shot from Orchard Knob, exploded a rebel caisson on the summit, and the gun was seen galloping to the right, its driver lashing his horses. A party of our soldiers intercepted them, and the gun was captured with cheers. A fierce musketry fire broke out to the left, where between Thomas and Davis a mile or two of the ridge was still occupied by the rebels. Bragg left the house in which he had held his headquarters, and rode to the rear as our troops crowded the hill on either side of him. General Sherman proceeded to the summit, and then only did he know its height. Some of the captured artillery was put in position. Artillerists were sent for to work the guns. Caissons were searched for ammunition. The rebel log breastworks were torn to pieces, and carried to the other side of the ridge and used in forming barricades. A strong line of infantry was formed in the rear of Baird's line, hotly engaged in a musketry contest with the rebels to the left, and a secure lodgment was soon effected. The other assault to the right of our centre gained the summit, and the rebels threw down their arms and fled. Bragg's remaining troops left early in the night, and the battle of Chattanooga, after days of manœuvering and fighting, was won. And now commenced a movement in which our brigade took a part that called forth our strongest efforts to endure. Major General Burnside, with his command, was holding the city of Knoxville in the eastern part of the state. This part of Tennessee was intensely loyal to the old flag, and it was the intention of Burnside to hold his position, cost what it might. Knoxville is guarded on the south by the Holston river, and on the west side by a range of hills, so that Longstreet had tried to reach it from the east and north. Here the place had been fortified as well as the short time would permit, but Longstreet had Burnside surrounded, and if relief did not shortly arrive he must surrender to the rebels. Information reached us on the 27th of November, that General Burnside was completely invested, and had provisions only to include the third of December. Seven days before, we had left camp on the north side of the Tennessee, with two days rations, without a change of clothing, stripped for the fight, with but a single blanket or coat per man, from the general down to the private. We had no provisions, only what we could gather as we went along, and were ill supplied for such a march. But intelligence that twelve thousand of our fellow soldiers were besieged in the mountain town of Knoxville, eighty-four miles distant, had reached us. This was enough, they must be relieved, and away we went to their aid. It was a terrible march and we made it in six days. But before our arrival Longstreet had raised the siege and departed, with Burnside's troops in pursuit. General Granger moved into the city with his troops, and we returned to our old camp on Chickamauga Creek, foot sore and weary, our clothes torn almost into shreds, and our shoe soles entirely gone, but we had marched for a big stake and had won. We remained in camp resting, and receiving supplies and clothing, and on the seventh of May, moved with the rest of the army on the road to Atlanta. The rebel army at this time lay in and about Dalton, and were superior to our army in cavalry, and with three corps of infantry and artillery, the whole commanded by General Joseph E. Johnston, making a grand total of infantry, cavalry and artillery of about 60,000 men. Now commenced a campaign, which for fighting, stubborn resistance and manœuvering, can not be equalled in any history. It was on the seventh of May that we left Chattanooga, and not until the seventh of the following September, five months in all, did we rest from our labors. We will not attempt to relate each and every battle that was fought, for we cannot do that; it was continual battle from the time we left our fortifications near Chattanooga, until we arrived at Atlanta, so we will journey on, merely mentioning places at which some event took place that bore particularly on the conduct of the regiment.
CHAPTER XXIII.
On the 24th day of June, General Sherman ordered that an assault should be made at two points south of Kenesaw Mountain, on the 27th, giving three days notice for preparation and reconnaissance. Our division constituted the assaulting party on the centre. On the night of the 26th, a council of war was held at corps headquarters, and the final orders for the assault on the following day were given. The orders to regimental commanders were: for the regiments to "load and cap," but not to discharge a gun until they had reached the rebel breast works, then, as they went over them with a yell, to fire their pieces, and finish the work with the bayonet. These orders were given by the colonels of the regiments to the line officers, and through them transmitted to the non-commissioned officers and privates. The morning of the 27th broke clear and cloudless, and at daybreak the regiments moved to the assault, leaving all their camp equipments behind them, with a sufficient guard for their protection. We moved out to the summit of a hill, here the brigade and regimental commanders dismounted, leaving their horses in care of their orderlies. Down the slope we went until we reached a jack oak grove at the foot, where we formed our line of battle. At the far edge of this bunch of oaks was a wheat field, and on the other side of this field stretched the line of rebel breast works. Our line of battle was soon formed, and there we stood waiting for the signal to advance. At last off to our left a cannon belched forth its thunder, and as its echoes came rolling down the line, each man grasped his rifle with a tighter grip. Colonel McCook at the head of the brigade waved his sword and gave the command: "Attention battalions, charge bayonets," and with a rush and a cheer away we go. And now the battle commences. We have reached the wheat field, and at yon side are the rebel breast works. At the double quick we cross the field with a storm of lead and iron in our faces; men are falling on all sides; there goes McCook down—quickly following him, Harmon, who was bravely urging his men on, falls pierced through the heart. Captain Fellows, our brigade inspector, also falls to rise no more. See! the colors have disappeared, but only for a moment when again they wave; the color sergeant had been shot down. Lieutenant McClean, of Co "B," is hit and falls, so, also, sergeant Cunningham, and Captain Clark, of Co. "E." They are dropping as the leaves in the autumn, and oh! how that fire of hell beats in our faces. It is too much, the works cannot be carried by assault, and our line, mangled, torn and bleeding, falls back. But only for a short distance, however, when we again halt amid that never ceasing fire. Some of the boys engage the foe, while others, with tin cups and bayonets, burrow and dig in the ground to throw up protection for themselves. We are not whipped, if we have failed in our attempt, and thirty-five paces only is what we will yield to the rebels. Still the bullets, and the shells, and the solid shot fly, and still more brave boys are sealing with their life's blood their devotion to their country's flag. But why prolong the tale, the ground is soaked with blood; but with that love for the old flag which has floated so gallantly at our head over so many bloody fields, and under whose stars and stripes the weary and oppressed of every land have found a shelter, under whose protecting folds we have lived in peace and security, until driven by its enemies to war; with that love kindling in our breasts we stand ready to die, if need be, but never to dishonor its beauty and its grandeur.
The long day at last draws to a close, and night, welcome night, settles down upon us. To the weary and worn soldiers, night brought no repose, but like beavers we worked erecting breastworks to protect us on the morrow. The battle for the day is over. The cries of the wounded, and the desultory shot of a rifle, is all that is heard beyond the noise made by the soldiers in erecting their breast works. But there were deeds of heroism enacted on Kenesaw's rugged brow that day that have never been excelled on any battle field. Private James Knox, of Co. "B," had his thumb shot off early in the engagement, but refusing to go to the rear, pressed forward until a rebel ball felled him to the ground; rising on his hands and knees, for he could not walk, he turned his face to the enemy, and in that position crawled off the field, declaring he would never turn his back to the foe. 2nd Lieut. James McLean, also of Co. "B," was hit early in the fight, but pressed on in command of his company, until a ball, passing through his body, felled him to the ground. All night long we worked, and when the morning broke we felt secure, and were ready to renew the combat. But between our line and the rebels, lay our dead and some of our wounded. The lines were so close together, that stones were thrown by the rebels, severely wounding some of our men. Morning broke and revealed to the foe what we had done during the night. Firing at once commenced and was kept up all day. The stubble and leaves between the lines had taken fire, and that with the smoke from the guns, was making our situation very unpleasant. The dead, too were fast decaying, under the burning rays of that Georgia sun, and the most horrid stench filled the air. It was becoming unbearable, so Colonel Langley, who had, until the death of Harmon, been serving on the corps staff, but was now in command of his regiment, concluded to see if an armistice could be arranged in order to give us an opportunity to bury the dead, but not a white handkerchief, or white rag of any description, could be found; so raising a copy of the "Chicago Tribune," which he had in his pocket, he succeeded in his purpose, and an armistice of two hours was agreed upon, and the men poured over both of the lines of works. You would not think as you see them now, as they shake hands, and swap coffee for tobacco, and laugh and joke together like old friends, that a few moments before they had been seeking each others lives. But they are gathering up the dead; here comes a stretcher borne by two men, on it lays the body of Captain W. W. Fellows, once the commanding officer of Co. "C," but acting for some time previously as brigade inspector. Silently we follow after them. How we loved that man! an entire stranger to the writer a few short months previous, he had by the subtle magic of his nature charmed us. He was not only a brave officer, but a polished gentleman, always willing to help the needy, and always ready at the call of duty. Capt. Fellow's death, that bloody day at Kenesaw, was deeply mourned by us. We felt as if we had lost a near and dear friend; always with a kindly smile of greeting when we met, never, like so many others, defiling his mouth and disgracing his manhood by uttering vile oaths and blasphemies. We saw him on the morning of the assault before we moved from camp, and stopped for a moment to exchange greetings, little did we think for the last time. We buried him on the hill side where the first rays of Georgia's sun should shine upon his grave; and the wild flowers bloom above him, and the southern songster warble a requiem for the soldier from the Northland. Here, also, was buried Captain Marion Lee, and some others who had fallen in the strife. Requiescat in pace. Leaving the burial party to end their labors, we proceed up the road to find if possible our field hospital, where so many of our boys lie wounded. The road is flanked on either side by thick brush; going along we happened to look to our right, and see a sight that makes our blood stand still, so unexpected, and so awful is it. There, in that clump of hazel, lays the body of our colonel, where he had been carried directly after he fell. A sickening feeling creeps over us as we stand in the presence of the dead, whom we had seen such a short time before in full health and vigor. Yes, there he lay, his life ended, his heart's blood given for his country's good. Colonel Harmon was a christian man; what more can we say? A strict disciplinarian, he had the solicitude of a father for his regiment, and he wanted his men to feel that in him they had a friend who would look after their welfare. With one sad, lingering look, we tore ourself from the spot, with our heart stirred with deep emotion. But yonder is the hospital tent. The weather, as we have before stated, was intensely warm, and the hospital tents, or rather "flys," were stretched in such a manner that their sides were raised some two feet from the ground, thus giving a thorough circulation of air. We enter; there lay our poor fellows, and as they see us they shout out a welcome. These fellows near the entrance, are not so badly wounded as those farther on, so, returning their greeting with an assumed show of glee, we pass into the tent. And now we are in the midst of desperately wounded boys who are lying here, some of them, without a vestige of clothing on them on account of the heat, slowly dying. We feel sorry that we have come to the hospital, but the wish to do something in some way to help the poor lads, is uppermost in our thoughts. Here is 2nd Lieut. James McClain, with his negro servant (faithful fellow) sitting by him, fanning him. We kneel down by the lieutenant. We had been old acquaintances before we left home, consequently no undue stiffness of official ceremony could come between us. Poor Jim, he was drawing his breath in gasps; we saw that death had set his seal upon his brow, and with a sorrow at our heart that we believe was the deepest we ever felt, we said:
"Jimmy, is there anything we can do for you?" Opening his eyes, at the sound of our voice, and reaching out his hand, he exclaimed:
"Oh, Bob! I am so glad to see you."