I arrived in camp at
Bridgeport, Alabama after nightfall, and with some difficulty managed to
locate the Ninth Kentucky (US) Volunteer Infantry, Company B. Being
quite relieved at the sight of Corporal Brunner, I was happy to enjoy a warm
welcome among friends. I do take great comfort in their company.
They know me well and are confident of my word to report faithfully on their
activities without divulging any information that the opposing forces might
find useful.
Shortly before nine
o’clock in the evening, Lieutenant Brunner invited me to attend officer’s call
so that I might be introduced to General Holt, commanding Union forces at
Bridgeport. I hastened to present my credentials to the General,
whereupon he inquired as to whether I had obtained a pass from the Provost
Marshal. Lieutenant Brunner assured him that we would obtain the pass
immediately, and General Holt was kind enough to allow me to remain in
attendance, but as I was unable to produce the requested pass, he took great
care not to discuss any but the most benign information with his officers.
In keeping with his initial welcome, the General, in the course of his
comments, let it be known to all in attendance that if he should discover that
I had passed even the slightest of vital information, of which I had none at
the time, to the enemy, I would be executed without delay. This he
repeated no less than four times during our ten minute meeting.
First Sergeant Dolph
returned to camp some time later, having gone to retrieve a new recruit, one
Private Nicholas Alder. The other men had already retired for the night,
expecting an early reveille, but with some freedom to ignore such military
irritations, I had determined to await his return. We passed about an
hour at the fire, after which we spread our blankets on the ground near the
fire and enjoyed a restful night.
The day broke early
despite my efforts to extend my dreams of home, and in relative warmth after a
long and harsh winter. The Union forces had expected a clash with some
Rebel scouts at about daybreak, but as yet we have seen none of the traitors
to the Union.
It is now shortly before
eight o’clock in the morning, and quite comfortable in camp without a coat.
The sun seems particularly bright this morning, as if celebrating its own
warmth. In the light of day, I can now see that we have the Vaiden
Artillery to our north, as well as a British officer, one Lieutenant Colonel
Fremantle. To our south were the Eighth Tennessee Infantry, some cavalry
units, and the Seventy-ninth New York Infantry. Union scouts report a
large Rebel encampment to the west, and what appear to be Rebel artillery to
the northwest. I fear that death and destruction may greet a number of
our brave men this day, thus darkening its present brightness.
As the day unfolds, scouts
report as many as fifteen artillery arrayed on a ridge not far from our
location, and perhaps one thousand Confederate troops in the area. This,
against our ten artillery and five hundred troops.
Just before two o’clock in
the afternoon the air fills with apprehension, as if the earth itself would
warn us of the impending clash. The apprehension proves prophetic as the
sound of deadly musket fire erupts in the woods to the west. The Ninth
Kentucky and Eighth Tennessee can be seen marching out from their camps in the
east to reinforce the Union troops already engaged in a fierce battle in the
woods to the west. The musketry grows louder as the engaged Union troops
pull back out of the woods and into the open field. Again and again they
pull back and reform their lines, only to be broken once more. Soon the
Rebels emerge from the woods, pushing the Union back even farther.
The Union troops are
pushed back almost to the earthworks, and Lieutenant Brunner, having
brilliantly brought the Ninth through the woods nearby my own position, which
put him immediately on the left flank of the Confederate line. He
charges out of the woods only to be surrounded by still more Rebels who seemed
to appear out of the very air itself. In a moment he falls, in the midst
of his bravery, urging the Ninth to advance without him.
The air is thick with smoke as
Major Dawson rallies the Union troops and begins to advance on the Rebels, but
their success is short lived and the Union is forced to retreat to the
earthworks. Another company of Rebels forms to the south, and though the
deafening sounds of battle subside for a moment, the artillery reports soon
shatter the silence with little effect on either side.
Some of the Rebels seem
to have made their way through the woods to the north in an attempt to
outflank the Union forces, but they are quickly repulsed, many of them never
to see the dawn of another day. Seizing an opportunity to advance, the
Union line pours over the earthworks now and makes its way to the fence line.
At quarter past two
o’clock, the Union company that had earlier flushed the Rebels out of the
woods joins the battalion already at the fence line, a move that quickly turns
to disaster as the reformed Rebel line rapidly advances on the right flank of
the Union, forcing their retreat. Retaking the fence line, the
Confederates push Major Dawson’s infantry back behind the earthworks yet
again.
A Confederate battalion
has formed to the west of the fence line, and is beginning to advance.
Meanwhile, the dead and dying lay strewn about the field, their horrible cries
rising above the sound of the never ceasing musketry.
There now seems to be
heavy musket fire in the woods to the east of the earthworks, in the direction
of the previous night’s encampment. Leaving the fight in the woods to
others, and lacking no bravery, Dawson’s battalion charges once more over the
earthworks in what must surely mean their certain death. This time the
fierceness of the Union charge breaks the Rebel line, and Major Dawson presses
the advance, but the Rebels reform and their line holds.
The Confederate artillery
has fallen silent. Taking advantage of the lack of opposing guns, the
Union charges still again, this time forcing the Rebels back to the western
tree line, where they finally overtake them, bringing an end to the day’s
fighting.
The quiet of this glorious
morning, while exceptionally restful, was but a prelude to the most horrible
days of fighting the Ninth has yet seen. Union scouts had, in the late
morning, discovered the presence of a Rebel unit in the woods to the northeast
of the camp.
Shortly after noon, Lieutenant
Brunner, having made a rather miraculous recovery from his grievous wounds of
the previous day, gathers his men and sends them into the woods in the
direction of the encroaching enemy. Bidding them farewell and wishing
them all a safe return, I remain in camp, fearing that my accompanying them
might be an unnecessary encumbrance and might risk my own capture or expose
their approach.
At about ten minutes before
two o’clock, the overly familiar and dreadful sound of musketry erupted once
again behind the tree line to the northwest. Making my way through the
dense underbrush, I positioned myself just inside the tree line to the north,
hoping to gain a vantage point from which I could both observe the impending
battle and yet remain out of sight. Fate was not on my side, however,
and within minutes I found myself unarmed and directly in the crossfire
between Union and Rebel pickets. The Federals retreated to the east
behind my position, and I, without means to join the fight, found it best to
make myself look as much as possible like my surroundings. Seeing a
double tree stump close by, I made every effort to dissolve into the leaves
and brush on the side farthest from the Rebels, and prayed the Union troops
would take care not to shoot me as well.
At the precise moment I
thought I should surely meet my maker, I saw the Rebels turn and flee as if
the devil himself was in pursuit, and in the next minute the men of the Ninth
Kentucky appeared almost on top of my position. It is no small curiosity
to me just how Lieutenant Brunner and his men managed to select my exact
position for the second day in a row for their emergence from the woods.
Captain Queen’s Eighth Tennessee joined them on their left flank, and they
formed a line just inside the edge of the trees. I was heartily grateful
for their arrival and protection. The bravery of the Ninth has been
reported in many battles, and could not be more evident than on this day.
In the heat of the fighting I
could not immediately ascertain the status of each of Brunner’s men, nor
Queen’s, as they moved out onto the battlefield. I took no little
comfort, however, in the brief company of First Sergeant Dolph, who had, quite
by coincidence, taken a position just on the opposing side of the double tree
trunk behind which I myself had hidden. It seems his musket had jammed
at the most inopportune moment, and he was in need of shelter from the enemy
while he worked to clear it.
He finally returned his musket
to a usable condition, and since the fighting had moved entirely out of the
woods around me, I took advantage of the opportunity to inspect myself for any
leakage of precious bodily fluid, and finding none, returned to my observation
of the battle.
I could see that the Ninth had
taken it upon themselves to execute a most perilous movement across the entire
length of the field to reinforce the left flank of Dawson’s battalion, placing
them much too distant from my own position to allow for any reasonable
determination of their safety. I fear some of them may be among the
blanket of fallen blue covering the ground to the south.
Dawson’s battalion has taken a
position behind the earthworks once more, and I am forced to resume my hiding
at the double stump as yet another small unit of Rebels approaches from the
woods behind. For the second time on this day when so many have fallen
in defense of their beliefs, for reasons known only to Him the Almighty spares
me from a most certain but untimely demise. The battle subsided, I make
my way back to the southeast to ascertain if the men of the Ninth have enjoyed
so happy a fortune.
4th July 63
Gettysburg, Pennsylvania
Arriving in Gettysburg,
Pennsylvania on July 1st at long last, after a particularly difficult
journey from Tennessee, I resolved to obtain what rest I could before
rendezvousing with my friends Davis and Waud. My traveling companions and I
made camp and, as it was still early in the day and we had seen no activity
other than the slow accumulation of tents erected by Union troops, we
relaxed for much of the day.
Next morning I awoke to a
heavy shroud of haze over the surrounding fields. Pvt. Golden, who had taken
upon himself the task of company cook, had prepared a most excellent
breakfast of fried ham and potatoes. Shortly after partaking of Pvt.
Golden's gastronomical delicacies, I was surprised by the visages of Davis
and Waud approaching the camp from the adjoining field. We exchanged our
delight at seeing one another again, and thought it best to locate the
Provost Marshall and procure the necessary passes that would assure us safe
passage among the Union camps. We found General Meade's headquarters, and as
luck would have it the first person we came upon was the Provost, who, after
perusing the letters of introduction we carried from our editors, insisted
that we swear an oath of loyalty to the Union. It seems he was somewhat
distrustful of myself and Mr. Waud, the latter
being from Cincinnati and I from Louisville. That done,
we secured our passes and set about finding a sutler from which to purchase
some other necessities.
Having made some small
purchases, we were about to indulge in a bit of refreshment when the
familiar sound of artillery rose above the din of the sutler's tent and
compelled us toward its dreadful report. As we reached the crest of a rise
to the west, we saw several battalions of Confederate soldiers approaching
the Union lines to their south. Keeping what we presumed to be a safe
distance, my friends quickly began to sketch the horrible scene before their
eyes. I was very much concerned for my military comrades as I was at far too
great a distance to ascertain their position or their fate, even with the
aid of my spyglass. I could only pray they would all be unharmed upon my
return to camp.
The Rebels continued to push
the Union line back to the south, further heightening my concern for my
friends. Pressing on, they divided the Union line, pushing cavalry,
infantry, and a zouave company to the east and
cavalry and infantry to the west. This seemed a dangerous tactic to me for
they had placed themselves squarely between the split Union forces who,
should they rally, as I prayed they would, would have the Rebels at the
serious disadvantage of having to fight both to their front and their back
and unable to retreat in either direction.
Before very long my sense of
the Rebels' predicament proved accurate. From my vantage point, I watched as
the Confederate troops were suddenly and forcefully overwhelmed from the
front and the rear at the same time and, finding no possibility of escape,
surrendered themselves to the Union forces. Thus, the present fighting came
to an end due, in large measure, to the inferior tactics of the Rebel
commanders.
Having bid adieu for a short
while to my bohemian colleagues, I made my way, with no small difficulty, to
our camp, where I found to my delight that everyone was in good health, if
somewhat spent from the oppressive heat and dampness in the air. All of us
took such respite as we could in this mysteriously transported tropical
clime.
It now being about ten
minutes before the hour of five o'clock in the afternoon, Sergeant Brunner
(he had been breveted so) formed the troops for weapon inspection, wanting
to be sure the weapons had been properly cleaned from the morning's
engagement and ready for any further action that might ensue. A few minutes
later, Davis and Waud arrived in camp, whereupon I invited them to partake
of Pvt. Golden's bean soup, which had been simmering on the fire for some
time. Having eaten our fill, we departed.
We soon observed that the men
were forming ranks again, and this gave us the sense that another conflict
may be brewing, as if word had gotten back to General Meade that the Rebels
were again on the march. This turned out to be true, and we hastened to make
our way to the front of the Union lines where we found an especially
advantageous position from which to observe the coming events. The lines of
blue soldiers filed past our position for quite some time into an enormous
formation, the likes of which would frighten any man in his right senses,
and still as many waited on the road behind us. I could not help but wonder
how many of those fine lads would fall on the field before them, never again
to raise their musket against a foe.
As the men marched by,
several of those who let me share their camp and their food shouted out to
me, waving their hats to wish me well. But it was I who wished them well,
for they marched out past me to give their last breaths, if needed, for
their beloved Union. My thoughts fell to how strange a thing war is - that
certainly the Rebels who marched against them had no less love for their
Confederacy and were equally dedicated to giving their own final breaths.
How horrible this unceasing conflict!
After nearly half an hour of
constant shelling, the remaining infantry began to move forward, filling in
where those before them had stood. As Davis, Waud and I watched our gallant
men march out to battle, a most terrible sight
befell our eyes that remained unseen by our troops or their commanders. And
we were powerless to warn them of their peril. A large number of Rebel
troops - we could not see them all and so could not tell how many - were
lurking in the woods to the west and would soon be in position to attack the
Union troops from the rear.
The reports of thousands of
muskets could be heard above the now less constant artillery as lines of
blue and gray soldiers a quarter mile long faced each other, each raining
hot lead upon the other. And still more Union soldiers marched out past our
position. At thirty-five past the hour our worst fears were realized as the
Rebels advanced from their position in the woods, attacking the right flank
of the Union. The Union lines to the south held their position, unwilling to
give the ground over to the Confederate infidels. More Rebels approached the
flank of the Union line that had turned to face those who had emerged from
the woods. Had Mr. Davis not had the foresight to suggest we relocate
ourselves farther to the east, we would have been caught in their path.
In the midst of this chaos
it began to rain, which prevented my colleagues from continuing their work
and, it seemed, slowly brought an end to the fighting. Both armies
undertook, as if by some single command, to remove themselves from the field
of battle, each having gained but little ground from the other over the
course of the engagement.
Thus, we also departed from
the scene and, returning to camp, determined to make our way to the nearest
tavern in Gettysburg to indulge in such victuals and spirits as could be
found. We took with us a Lt. Neal of the Mifflin Guard, whom I found to be a
particularly generous fellow and, I would later learn, a natural tactician
as well. Following our respite at the Farnsworth House, I took my leave and
returned to camp well satisfied and ready for a night's rest.
Next morning I awoke to the
same shroud of haze that had filled the previous morning with darkness and
dread. My friends, Alfred Waud and James Davis of Harper's Weekly,
and I took our leave from camp and proceeded into a grove a trees to the
south from which we hoped to make a good observation should the events of
the present day unfold in similar fashion to those of the day before.
Finding an excellent stump along the edge of the grove, we passed the time
recollecting what had transpired in each of our lives since last we were
together.
At precisely eleven o'clock
in the morning, our reverie was quite unkindly interrupted by that frightful
and familiar sound of artillery to our south and west. The Union forces
quickly placed a line of guns directly to our south to return the
engagement. We heard muskets to our west as well, but could not observe the
origin of the sound from our position. I thus undertook to make my way
through the woods in the direction of the musket fire and as I reached the
south edge of the woods, came upon a cadre of Berdans positioned along a
fence line engaging what appeared to be a small band of Rebels in the
thicket across the road. Soon after I discovered this engagement, the
sharpshooters retreated to where a Union line numbering one thousand men had
formed.
Waud and Davis remained in
their original position sketching the Union lines of battle forming to our
east. As I looked back toward their position, my eyes fell upon the figure
of a priest well behind the lines. I could not help but pray that few men
would need his service this day.
The small band of Rebels
that the Berdans had engaged such a short while ago at the fence line had
now grown to several hundred men. Presently, I was approached by a woman
carrying much sorrow in her brow and in her voice. We agreed how awful a
thing this war is, and she told me how she has eight young babies at home
under the care of her loving sister while she searches for her husband among
the Union troops here, to give him what solace she may during these times of
trial. I related to her my prayers that her good husband would not require a
visit from the priest I had seen earlier. She looked out toward the field on
which they fought, and said as if already alone in this world, "He will die
today."
The Union line retreated,
reformed, and advanced back to its first position. The noise of muskets and
cannon grew to a deafening roar as the Union and Rebel lines closed on each
other, and at once the Union line broke and retreated, revealing the numbers
of dead and dying strewn about amid the newly mown hay. About that time the
rain began to fall once again, as if the heavens themselves wept for those
whose blood turned the field to red and the rain would wash away their
crimson stain. I looked about for the woman I had spoken to earlier to
inquire whether she saw her man among those left behind, but she was not to
be found.
The Rebels pushed the Union
line back such that it now occupied that place where the Union line had
first stood, and still they pressed on, their blood-chilling screams rising
above the thick smoke. The Union troops reformed, with more troops in
reserve on the far side of a small creek to their east and still more on a
slight rise to their north. But as I looked again, the reserve troops across
the creek had turned to fight a Confederate regiment attacking their left
flank. The gray lines closer to our position continued to press their
advantage, driving the Union forces back toward the creek. It appeared our
gallant boys would soon find themselves surrounded on all sides by the
secessionist traitors.
Just when I thought all was
lost, the tide began to turn and the Union troops rallied with unstoppable
fierceness, their bravery overtaking their fatigue, and the Rebels were
driven from the field. But the calm would not long endure.
At about three o'clock in
the afternoon, the troops again were called to "Fall in." I could only
surmise that somehow word had gotten back that the Rebels were preparing yet
another attack. I resolved to get closer to the fight this time, and not
knowing the whereabouts of my fellow bohemians, made my way to a small clump
of trees just east of the creek about which I wrote earlier. The trees were
encompassed with brambles, which I hoped would afford me sufficient
protection from any advancing Rebel hordes.
Before very long, a Union
battalion approached from the far side of the creek, crossed the creek in my
direction, and took up a position facing west. Immediately thereafter,
another Union battalion came up behind me from the north. I could make out
the "bucktail" soldiers who wear the white tails of deer in their caps,
which makes them readily discernable, presumably to the enemy as well.
As luck would have it, in
the next moment my friends from Harper's Weekly came upon my
position as they followed the troops. They were in the company of a Mr.
Halladay, of the N.Y. Herald. They also had with them a Miss Nancy
Olds, an independent journalist who writes the news of this great conflict
for the edification of all who will read it.
The Union troops, by now
several battalions strong, had formed a line at the top of a ridge to the
east with two more lines below them, another lower on the rise in front of
them and to their right, and yet another directly to their left. We could
see the Confederates in the trees to our west in the precise location we
ourselves had occupied earlier that morning. The battalion that had crossed
the creek at first had crossed back to the west side and deployed two
skirmish lines, one a line of brightly colored zouave soldiers who crept up
behind a slight rise out of sight of the Rebel lines.
As suddenly as it had that
morning, the artillery erupted once again, but this time it was on all sides
of us. We had made our way even closer, taking up a position immediately on
the east side of the creek in a clump of trees about one hundred yards south
of my original position.
After some fifteen minutes
of heavy cannonading, I heard again that awful cry as the Confederate troops
emerged from the woods, forming a single line of nearly two hundred yards in
length. Once formed, they began their advance. The Union forces sent more
skirmishers forward into what could only be certain death. The services of
the priest would be much needed when this battle was over. Still another
line of Rebel soldiers came forth from the trees, to a man the length of the
first, and again the gray lines advanced.
We soon found ourselves in
danger of being caught between the opposing forces and made a hasty retreat
to the north, darting between the Union soldiers, themselves at the
double-quick to the east. The Rebel soldiers, who had overtaken the Union
line with devilish speed, advanced up the hill pushing back the Union troops
as they went. We could do nothing but pray they would not see us, or if they
did, that they would find us of less interest than their engagement with the
Union troops. We were in a most delicate position, with Rebel infantry just
a few yards to our east and Rebel cavalry passing to our west as close as if
they might trample us in their haste to reach the south end of their line.
A battalion of Union
soldiers formed a line to our north opposing the Confederates immediately in
front of us. So close were we that minie balls passed our ears with such
force and frequency that we were compelled to pray they would continue their
flight unimpeded by our much desired auricular appendages. I watched as best
I could the action before me and, in those brief moments when I dared raise
my head, observed the boys from the Ninth Kentucky along with the rest of
their line gallantly charging the Rebel troops. Their bravery had its
desired effect, driving the Rebels back. The Union commanders pressed their
advantage and pushed the gray devils back even farther, finally driving them
once again from the field in a glorious and fearsome charge led by those
courageous men of the Ninth Kentucky near whom we had fortuitously found
ourselves located.
The fighting over for the
day, I bade my friends goodnight, and returned to camp to find all of my
comrades there in good health despite the reckless abandon with which they
had charged the Confederate lines. Having removed from my blankets a number
of small but uninvited guests of the insect variety, I lay down in my tent
happy to be back in the company of the Ninth, and promptly went to sleep.
We awoke on the third day to
a clear morning, the brightness of which gave us hope for a day with less
carnage than the two before. I and some boys from the Ninth had by chance
encountered a photographer whose likenesses were quite excellent if not as
famous as those of Mr. Brady, and we pressed him into service to strike our
image. For my part, I wished to show the image to my Editor, Mr. Nathaniel
Fulton, at the Louisville Examiner, as evidence that I have indeed
been staying close to the action, to prevent some lying devil from defaming
my character by suggesting to him that I have been off to some local
establishment rather than fulfilling my duties. I could not imagine why
anyone would present such an insidious portrayal of my self, but I had heard
of these kinds of unscrupulous attacks on others of my noble profession and
desired to avoid a similar fate.
Having returned to camp from
our foray to Mr. Szabo, the photographer, we had just set ourselves down to
rest when Mr. Davis presented himself. The two of us resolved to visit the
Christian Commission to see what relief from the heat and humidity they
might offer. We were enjoying a cool tin of lemonade when we observed that
the Union troops had been called to form up. We finished in haste and made
our way to a point looking west over a field of about three-quarters of a
mile in width. It was a most delightful view, with tree lines to the north,
west, and south.
Our rapture was rudely
broken by the steady but unmelodic beat of the drummers' cadence marching
the Union troops toward our position. Column after column of blue uniforms
came toward us and formed a line along the very rise upon which we stood
known as cemetery ridge. The stone wall that ran the length of the ridge
went northwest to about the midpoint and from there turned toward the
northeast so that it formed an angle of about 120 degrees, with the point of
the angle in the direction of the field. It was at this angle that the men
by whose fire I have oft sat in the peaceful evening found themselves. After
a time, we heard rumors that General Lee was gathering his troops, under
Pickett and Longstreet, for an assault on the Union lines, but could not
confirm them at that time. The angle behind which my dear friends knelt
would soon become the primary target of that assault.
At about two o'clock in the
afternoon we heard the distant report of artillery to the west. Just moments
later the shelling began in earnest, both sides firing one battery after
another as rapidly as they could load and send another brutal shot hurtling
toward their enemy. From time to time during a brief pause of the thunderous
noise, an artillery officer could be heard giving his deadly orders to the
men of his battery, even from three hundred yards distant.
The Union commanders
dispatched a skirmish line out into the field in front of the stone wall. As
I looked out to where they were, a Confederate shell found its mark only a
few yards from where I stood, nearly knocking me off me feet. I regained my
balance and moved back from the stone wall to what I hoped would be a less
perilous location.
I watched as what seemed
like a sea of gray began to move across the open field, making their way
with steady deliberation directly toward the angle. On they came, despite
the horrible sheets of lead being poured down upon them from the Union
lines. They were briefly slowed by a fence halfway across the field, and
this delay cost them dearly. Gray uniforms began to pile up on the ground as
bullets, shells, and grapeshot found their marks. Onward these brave souls
marched toward the angle, filling the gaps in their lines as again and again
their brothers mixed blood with earth. It was an impossible charge born of
the arrogance that imparts a fallacious invincibility. Though they had lost
over half their number by that time, the Confederates at last propelled
themselves over the stone wall and crashed through the Union line. As he
came over the wall, Confederate General Louis Armistead, a fine officer
despite his misplaced loyalties, placed his hand on one of the Union
artillery pieces and immediately found himself mortally wounded by a Union
minie ball.
The Rebels fought with
remarkable valor and bravery, and watched countless friends and brothers
give their last full measure, but in the end they would not prevail against
the determination of the blue-clad soldiers to keep the Union strong and
whole. I had the strange sense that this terrible struggle in the fields of
Southern Pennsylvania, its death and destruction hitherto unmatched in this
Conflict, foreshadowed the eventual victory of those who would preserve this
great nation.
The story told, I take my
leave of friends and comrades. Perhaps we shall meet again in some happier
time.
In hope for an end to this murderous business, I remain
Your humble friend and servant,
J.H. Browne
N.Y. Tribune
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dispatch from the
Field
at Blue
springs, tennessee
20th
Oct. 63
Mosheim, Tennessee
I had procured for the present trip what its previous owner warranted was
a horse, though my own observations caused me to question the claim,
despite his assertion that it would carry me at least a mile a day without
suffering permanently for having done so.1
Still, my companions and I arrived at Blue Springs early evening on
the 16th October, a place I seemed to remember from a previous
visit as cold and wet but nonetheless hospitable. We arrived
somewhat ahead of the larger part of the troops, and made our camp on the
farm of a Mr. John I. Myers, a most generous man who is known to provide
rest and comfort for the troops whenever the need arises. He must
have had information about the coming armies, as he had apparently
directed his farm hands to cut and stack large amounts of wood for fires,
and had, in addition, given directions to provide liberal amounts of hay
for the horses and straw for bedding for the men. The army being
still on the march toward Blue Springs, I had some time to enjoy the
solitude of a pleasant though rather chilly evening with a most impressive
canopy of stars.
The morning of the 17th broke with the clear crispness of a
perfect fall day. An excellent bed of coals from the previous
night’s fire and a few newly added logs provided the means with which to
make the morning’s coffee, a necessary brace against the coolness of the
early hour. Before long, the sun began to warm the air, a fact
apparently not lost on the local cricket population. Returning to my
tent to deposit my overcoat there, I was quite amazed that the more or
less white canvas of it had turned to a nearly solid black color, and that
the material of it seemed to be in constant motion. Indeed, the
tent, the ground, and everything in proximity to it were alive with
thousands of the tiny dark monsters, hopping about as if they owned the
place. Thankfully, they seemed to have no interest in people and as
the day wore on their number diminished.
The troops began to arrive in ever-increasing numbers, and my movements
about the area gave indication that the numbers of Union
and Confederate troops were arriving in roughly equal numbers. Of
particular delight to me was the arrival of my dear friend, Mr. Alfred
Waud, a special artist correspondent of Harpers Weekly, whom I had not
seen since that dreadful conflict at
Gettysburg several months earlier.
By nightfall the hillside and the valley below were noticeably more
colonized, and the number of campfires had grown to a point at which they
resembled the stars of the night before, which had unfortunately been
obscured by a heavy cloud cover earlier in the day that threatened rain
but graciously declined to deliver it.
The men continued to arrive throughout the night, and by the morning of
the 18th most of those who would partake of the deadly struggle
to come had completed their journeys. The local townspeople,
desiring to give evidence of their support for the soldiers, had prepared
a delightfully excellent breakfast, the likes of which few had enjoyed
since leaving their respective homes so long ago.
Having spent considerable effort on my own observations and in gathering
information from some sympathetic and helpful locals throughout the day, I
was able to ascertain, with reasonable but perhaps not perfect accuracy,
the various military troops that had amassed in and about the Blue Springs
area. The Union troops were under the overall command of Major
General Gary Holt. The Federal infantry consisted of about 150
troops with Colonel Earl Zeckman commanding the First Brigade and Colonel
Lance Dawson commanding the Second Brigade. The First Brigade
included men from the 8th Tennessee Infantry, the 125th
Ohio Infantry, the 9th Kentucky US Infantry Company B, and the
25th North Carolina Infantry. The Second Brigade included
men from the 79th New York Infantry National Battalion, the 19th
Indiana Infantry Company A, the 83rd Pennsylvania Infantry, and
the 8th Michigan Infantry. The Federal artillery,
commanded by Colonel Phil Newman, consisted of five three-inch ordinance
rifles, a ten pound Parrott rifle, and a twelve pound, smooth bore
Napoleon. The Federal cavalry, commanded by Colonel Mike Cheaves,
included about thirty-nine troops from the 1st Tennessee
Cavalry, the 12th Tennessee Cavalry, and the 7th
North Carolina Cavalry.
The Confederate troops were under the
overall command of Brigadier General Jerry Nave. His staff included
Colonel Clayton Vanhuse, Adjutant, Colonel Carl Jenkins, infantry
commander, Colonel Scott Brogden, artillery commander, and Colonel Jim
“Pudden” Allen, cavalry commander. Infantry consisted of about 200
troops from the following units: 37th Georgia Infantry, 52nd
Georgia Infantry, 53rd Georgia Infantry, 1st
Independent Georgia Brigade, 2nd South Carolina Infantry
(Butler Guards), 27th South Carolina Infantry, 20th
South Carolina Infantry, 36th Virginia Infantry, 8th
Tennessee Infantry, 19th Tennessee Infantry, 29th
Tennessee Infantry, 43rd Tennessee Infantry, 59th
Tennessee Infantry, and 63rd Tennessee Infantry. Colonel
Allen’s cavalry, under Brigade Adjutant Dave Becker, consisted of Captain
Tom Dinsmore’s First Squadron, including the 8th Tennessee
Cavalry, 9th Kentucky Cavalry, 2nd Florida Cavalry,
and 3rd South Carolina Cavalry. The Second Squadron,
under Captain David Houser, included the 6th South Carolina
Cavalry (Lauran’s Orphans), 1st Virginia Cavalry, 2nd
Virginia Cavalry, and 64th Virginia Cavalry. Colonel
Brogden’s artillery consisted of one twelve pound Napoleon, three
three-inch ordinance rifles, two ten pound Parrott rifles, one mountain
rifle, one 1835 six pound bronze rifle, one 1841 six pound bronze rifle,
one mountain howitzer, and one twelve pound field howitzer.
Mr. Waud and I had, while scouting the Rebel troops to determine their
number for our dispatches to our respective editors, determined to take
advantage of the surprising freedom with which we were allowed by the
Confederate pickets to enter their camps, and approached a group of high
ranking officers who appeared to be General Nave and his staff.
Introducing ourselves simply as “reporters who wanted to keep the families
at home informed of the war’s progress”, we were invited into his company.
After a few minutes’ conversation, the General extended to us an
invitation to a gathering of his officers that evening, which we
gratefully accepted, hoping it would not reveal itself to be a trap.
We then excused ourselves, claiming the need to locate the nearest
telegraph station, and made our way to the safety of our own camp.
Shortly before two o’clock in the afternoon, Mr. Waud and I accompanied
General Holt on his inspection of the Union artillery. The seven
guns were arrayed on a ridge facing south, and during our inspection we
observed eleven Rebel guns on an opposing ridge. Not long after, we
saw the smoke and heard the report as the Rebel guns opened fire on our
position. The Union guns quickly moved from inspection to battle and
returned fire with the smooth bore Napoleon. In a matter of minutes
the Federal cavalry took a position to our east, and were soon attacked by
Confederate cavalry spewing forth their murderous yell as they came,
charging again and again.
After about ten minutes, we began to hear the fifes and drums of Zeckman’s
and Dawson’s brigades approaching from the road to the west and north.
We had not seen any Rebel infantry on the field as yet, but suspected they
may be lingering out of sight below the ridge on which stood their
artillery. Curiously, both the Union and Confederate cavalry then
dismounted and fired at each other with their carbines. A Federal
horse-drawn artillery piece was drawn up to their position and quickly
unlimbered. Almost at the same time, a small company of Confederate
infantry soldiers approached from the west to reinforce their dismounted
comrades.
With the Union infantry in position to the north, the cavalry remounted
and pulled back, as the Federal artillery readied an additional five guns
and began their deadly work. Some of the Rebel cavalry broke off to
the west to rid themselves of a sharpshooter who had been causing them no
small trouble, and made quick work of him. In watching the cavalry
as they crossed the field of battle, Mr. Waud and I at the same time
caught a glint of sunlight from the opposite ridge and, looking more
carefully, discovered the source of our optical enlightenment to be the
muskets of about forty Rebel infantry crouched behind the earthworks on
the ridge. Colonel Zeckman must have seen them as well, as he
immediately began to move his own infantry forward to answer the
traitorous muskets. From our position, Alfred and I could see the
brave men of the 9th Kentucky, Lieutenant David Brunner
commanding, on the Union far right – the most dangerous part of the field.
Brunner’s men held their line with determination as they marched forward
into the hot lead and smoke being rained upon them by the Rebel muskets
and artillery. Zeckman’s muskets had little effect on the Rebels
behind the earthworks, and seeing this, he pulled the men back to a safer
distance, but soon sent the 9th Kentucky forward once again.
Colonel Dawson’s brigade had formed on the Union
left and was holding their position, though they had no protection against
the Rebel muskets or artillery. Zeckman’s brigade took punishing
fire from the Rebels, retreated and reformed, having lost about one fourth
of their number. Attacking yet again, straight into the awful Rebel
guns, an entire company of Zeckman’s brigade fell at once, having been
directly in the path of the enemy’s murderous shells. In the same
instant, Dawson’s brigade to
the east was nearly destroyed by the advancing Rebel infantry, and was
forced from the field, many of the remaining men fleeing for their lives.
I determined to make my way back to our camp as quickly as possible to see
whether my friends from the 9th Kentucky Infantry had survived
the terror of the afternoon, and my fears of their demise were happily
unfounded. I thought surely I had seen them fall during the day’s
battle, and that much was true. However, upon finding Lieutenant Brunner
I received the explanation for their apparent resurrection. It seems
that they had all suffered a simultaneous case of concussive hypoxia when
the Rebel artillery fired a particularly dreadful volley. The
concussion from the guns had sufficiently removed the oxygen from the area
in which the 9th
Kentucky was located that lack
of it caused them to fall to the ground at once. However, the oxygen
soon returned to their lungs and they began to recover. Fortunately
for them, the Rebel troops had already passed their position and they were
able to depart the field unnoticed.
Having heard the thunderous noise of the battle, many of the townspeople
had come out to witness the carnage, and seeing the pain of injury and
death, resolved to do what they could to care for those who had survived
the day. These kind folk had procured generous amounts of local pork
and provided a delightful meal, including plentiful drinks and tiny cakes,
of which we ate our fill.
At the appointed time, despite our concerns of possible capture or
execution, Mr. Waud and I cautiously made our way to the gathering to
which we had earlier been invited by General Nave. We were stopped
at one point along the way by a rather imposing Confederate officer who
questioned our presence in the camp, and we thought ourselves certain to
be dragged off to some particularly inhospitable place, but just then one
of General Nave’s staff officers arrived and assured his colleague that he
would be wise to extend to us a warm welcome, as we were indeed there at
the General’s invitation. The colleague took note of the wisdom in
the advice and bade us good wishes on our way. Those in attendance
at the gathering included General Nave, Colonel Vanhuse, Colonel Brogden,
Colonel Jenkins, and several others. We found the men to be quite
generous, kind, and hospitable, and passed quite a pleasant evening in
their company. They seemed to enjoy a particularly warm friendship
among themselves, and we were happy to be a part of it for a short time,
as they went out of their way to make us feel welcome, a response those in
our profession only rarely receive from even from the Union officers,
though General Grant has been known to appreciate our company. Not
wishing to travel late in the night, we thanked the General for his
hospitality, bade him and his staff adieu, and departed for our camp,
wondering all the time until we were back across the Union lines whether
we would be allowed to go free.
Our fears unrealized, we sat by the fire for some time reviewing the
events of the day, and then retired to obtain what rest we could, as we
had discovered that General Holt intended to attack the Rebel positions
the following day before they could depart the area.
The morning of the 18th was again rather cold, but at dry, at
least, with about half the cricket population absent, apparently having
discovered some more entertaining pastime than hopping about our tents.
The local townspeople, who also sensed that the battle was not yet
finished, and desiring to fortify the troops against their impending
struggle, again prepared a sumptuous noon
meal, which they had set up on the grounds of a church adjacent to the
Myers farm. The morning’s meal included turkey, ham, beef, pork,
every kind of vegetable imaginable, potatoes of every variety, salads,
fruit, and tables full of desserts. Still content from the previous
evening’s feast as well as General Nave’s hospitality, I made my way to
the church grounds alone, Mr. Waud having been called away by his editor
an hour or so before. Having again eaten my fill, I returned to camp
feeling as if I had swallowed a delicious, but whole and rather large,
watermelon.
Despite General Holt’s intentions, the Confederates struck first. At
precisely two o’clock in the afternoon, the Rebel cavalry attacked the
Union cavalry, outnumbering them by about two to one. My vantage
point on this day was much nearer the Confederate position, and I could
see that their infantry were formed below the ridge as we had suspected
the day before, and after about twenty minutes they approached the ridge
but stopped short of it. The Union infantry approached again from
the road to the north, and as they did the Rebels established a skirmish
line in the valley between the north and south ridges and took positions
in the earthworks along the ridge line. At about thirty-five minutes
past the hour, the Union infantry moved into position in the center of the
north ridge and began to advance. Ten minutes later, Zeckman’s
battalion retreated from its foremost position on the Union
right, while Dawson’s
battalion held on the left. Zeckman having reformed his men,
advanced in unison with Dawson’s battalion to within about one hundred
yards of the Rebel positions on the south ridge. The Confederate
infantry had received reinforcements and were holding the ridge until
Marshall’s Battery,
Lieutenant John Haddux commanding, was completely destroyed by a Union
shell that struck their gun as it was being loaded. Shortly before
three o’clock, Zeckman’s battalion advanced again with the Colonel himself
in the lead. The Rebel army, seeing the fearless advance of the
Union infantry, fell back from their earthworks to a position below the
ridge. Inexplicably, the Union troops halted their advance, fell
back by company, and reformed their lines. The Confederate artillery
had fallen silent, most of their crews having fled in terror or been
killed, and seeing this, the Union infantry advanced for a final time,
routing the remaining Rebel troops and seizing their guns.
General Nave withdrew his forces to the south, and General Holt did not
pursue them, having received orders from General Grant to give his men
rest before their march to the west to continue their struggle to restore
the Union. The fighting over, I resolved to make my way to the
telegraph station in Greeneville to prepare my dispatch. I returned
to camp, collected the few belongings I had brought with me, and saddled
my horse, hoping that having rested a few days, he might make two miles
that day before he fell down exhausted, and that he might at least give me
fair warning before he did so.
J.H. Browne
N.Y. Tribune
1 The
opening sentence was adapted from a story in Browne's book, “Four Years in
Secessia”.
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