Читать книгу Civil War Live - Charles Carleton Coffin - Страница 10

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General Grant’s plan for taking Fort Donelson was, to move the first and second divisions of his army across the country, and attack the fort in the rear, while another division, accompanied by the gunboats, should go up the Cumberland and attack the fort from that direction. Commodore Foote informed the General that it was necessary to repair the gunboats which had been injured before commencing operations; but General Grant determined to make no delay on that account. Without fully perfecting his arrangements, or calculating the time needed for the steamboats to go from Fort Henry down to the Ohio and up the Cumberland, he ordered the two divisions to march. General Lewis Wallace was left at Fort Henry with a brigade, while six regiments of his division, the third, were embarked on the steamboats, which sailed down the Tennessee in fine style, turning back other boats, and all proceeded up the Cumberland.

There are steep hills, sandy plains, deep ravines, trickling brooks, and grand old forest-trees between Fort Henry and Fort Donelson. The road winds along the hillsides, over the plains, and descends into the ravines. There are but few farm-houses, for the soil is unproductive and the forests remain almost as they have been for hundreds of years. The few farmers who reside there live mainly on hog and hominy. They cultivate a few acres of corn, but keep a great many pigs, which live in the woods and fatten upon acorns and hickory-nuts.

The regiments which marched to Fort Donelson bivouacked the first night beside a stream of water about four miles from Fort Henry. They had no tents. They had been in barracks at Cairo through December and January, but now they must lie upon the ground, wrapped in their blankets. The nights were cold, and the ground was frozen. They cut down the tall trees and kindled great fires, which roared and crackled in the frosty air. They scraped the dead leaves into heaps and made them beds. They saw the pigs in the woods. Crack! crack! went their rifles, and they had roast sparerib and pork-steaks, — delicious eating to hungry men. The forest was all aglow with the hundreds of fires. The men told stories, toasted their toes, looked into the glowing coals, thought perhaps of home, of the dear ones there, then wrapped their blankets about them and went to sleep. Out towards Fort Donelson the pickets stood at their posts and looked into the darkness, watching for the enemy through the long winter night. But no Rebels appeared. They had been badly frightened at Fort Henry. They had recovered from their terror, however, and had determined to make a brave stand at Fort Donelson. They had been reinforced by a large body of troops from General Albert Sidney Johnston’s army at Bowling Green, in Kentucky, and from General Lee’s army in Virginia.

General Grant’s two divisions, which marched across the country, numbered about fifteen thousand. There were four brigades in the first division, — Colonel Oglesby’s, Colonel W. H. L. Wallace’s, Colonel McArthur’s, and Colonel Morrison’s. Colonel Oglesby had the Eighth, Eighteenth, Twenty-ninth, Thirtieth, and Thirty-first Illinois regiments. Colonel Wallace’s was composed of the Eleventh, Twentieth, Forty-fifth, and Forty-eighth Illinois regiments. In Colonel McArthur’s were the Second, Ninth, Twelfth, and Forty-first Illinois, and in Colonel Morrison’s the Seventeenth and Forty-ninth Illinois regiments.

Schwartz’s, Taylor’s, Dresser’s, and McAllister’s batteries accompanied this division.

There were three brigades in the second division. The first, under the command of Colonel Cook, was composed of the Seventh Illinois, Twelfth Iowa, Thirteenth Missouri, and Fifty-second Indiana.

Colonel Lauman commanded the second brigade, composed of the Second, Seventh, Fourteenth, and Twenty-eighth Iowa regiments, the Fifty-second Indiana, and Colonel Birges’s regiment of sharpshooters.

The third brigade, commanded by Colonel Morgan L. Smith, was composed of the Eighth Missouri and Eleventh Indiana.

Major Cavender’s regiment of Missouri artillery was attached to this division, composed of three full batteries, — Captain Richardson’s, Captain Stone’s, and Captain Walker’s.

The Fourth Illinois cavalry and three or four companies of cavalry were distributed among the brigades.

Colonel Birges’s sharpshooters were picked men, who had killed many bears, deer, and wolves in the Western woods. They could take unerring aim, and bring down a squirrel from the top of the highest trees. They wore gray uniforms of felt, with close-fitting skull-caps, and buffalo-skin knapsacks, and a powder-horn. They were swift runners. Each man carried a whistle. They had signal-calls for advancing, or retreating, or moving to the right or the left. They glided through the forests like fleet-footed deer, or crept as stealthily as an Indian along the ravines and through the thickets. They were tough, hearty, daring, courageous men. They thought it no great hardship to march all day, and lie down beside a log at night without supper. They wanted no better fun than to creep through the underbrush and pick off the Rebels, whirling in an instant upon their backs after firing a shot, to reload their rifles. Although attached to Lauman’s brigade, they were expected in battle to go where they could do the most service.

As you go up the Cumberland River, and approach the town of Dover, you see a high hill on the west bank. It is crowned with an embankment of earth, which runs all round the top with many angles. At the foot of the hill are two other embankments, fifteen or twenty feet above the water. There are seventeen heavy guns in these works. Two of them throw long bolts of iron, weighing one hundred and twenty-eight pounds, but most of the guns are thirty-two-pounders.

If you go into the batteries and into the fort, and run your eye along the guns, you will see that all of them can be aimed at a gunboat in the river. They all point straight down stream, and a concentrated fire can be poured upon a single boat. The river makes a bend as it approaches the batteries, so that the boats will be exposed on their bows and sides.

A mile above the fort you see the little village of Dover. Beyond the village a creek comes in. It is high water, and the creek is too deep to be forded.

On the south side of the hill, beyond the fort, between the fort and the village, are log-huts, where the Rebel troops have been encamped through the winter. A stream of clear running water comes down from the hills west of the village, where you may fill your canteen.

Going up the hill into the fort, and out to its northwest angle, you see that the fortifications which the Rebels have thrown up consist of three distinct parts, — the fort and the water-batteries, a line of breastworks west of the village, called field-works, and a line of rifle-pits outside of the field-works. You begin at the northwest angle of the fort, face to the southwest, and walk along the field-work which is on the top of a sharp ridge. The embankment is about four feet high. There are a great many angles, with embrasures for cannon. You look west from these embrasures, and see that the ground is much broken. There are hills and hollows, thick brush and tall trees. In some places the trees have been cut down to form an abatis, an obstruction, the limbs lopped off and interlocked.

As you walk on, you come to the Fort Henry and Dover road. Crossing that, instead of walking southwest, you make a gradual turn towards the southeast, and come to another road, which leads from Dover southwest towards Clarksville and Nashville. Crossing that, you come to the creek which empties into the Cumberland just above the town. The distance from the creek back to the fort, along the line of breastworks, is nearly two miles. Going back once more to the northwest angle of the fort, you see that the slope of the hill is very steep outside the works. You go down the slope, planting your feet into the earth to keep from tumbling headlong. When you reach the bottom of the ravine you do not find a level piece of ground, but ascend another ridge. It is not as high as the ridge along which you have travelled to take a view of the works. The slope of this outer ridge runs down to a meadow. The Rebels have cut down the tall trees, and made a line of rifle-pits. The logs are piled one above another, as the backwoodsman builds a log-fence. There is a space five or six inches wide between the upper log and the one below it. They have dug a trench behind, and the dirt is thrown outside.

Fort Donelson.

1	The Fort.	7	General McClernand’s division.
2	Field-works.	8	General Lewis Wallace’s division.
3	8 Rifle-pits.	9	General Smith’s division.
4	Town of Dover.	10	General Grant’s Head-quarters.
5	Log-huts.	11	Gunboats.
6	Water-batteries.	12	Light Creek.

The Rebel riflemen can lie in the trench, and fire through the space between the logs upon the Union troops if they attempt to advance upon the works. You look down this outer slope. It is twenty rods to the bottom, and it is covered with fallen trees. You think it almost impossible to climb over such a hedge and such obstructions. You see a cleared field at the base of the hill, and a farm-house beyond the field, on the Fort Henry road, which is General Grant’s head-quarters. The whole country is broken into hills, knolls, and ridges. It reminds you of the waves you have seen on the ocean or on the lakes in a storm.

General Floyd, who was Secretary of War under Buchanan, and who stole all the public property he could lay his hands on while in office, commanded the Rebel forces. He arrived on the 13th. General Pillow and Brigadier-General Johnson were placed in command of the troops on the Rebel left wing west of the town. General Buckner commanded those in the vicinity of the fort. General Floyd had the Third, Tenth, Eighteenth, Twenty-sixth, Thirtieth, Thirty-second, Forty-first, Forty-second, Forty-Eighth, Forty-ninth, Fiftieth, Fifty-first, and Fifty-third regiments of Tennessee troops, the Second and Eighth Kentucky, the First, Third, Fourth, Fourteenth, Twentieth, and Twenty-sixth Mississippi regiments, the Seventh Texas, Fifteenth and Twenty-seventh Alabama, the Thirty-sixth, Fiftieth, Fifty-first, and Fifty-sixth Virginia, also two battalions of Tennessee infantry, and a brigade of cavalry. He had Murray’s, Porter’s, Graves’s, Maney’s, Jackson’s, Guy’s, Ross’s, and Green’s batteries, in all about twenty-three thousand men, with forty-eight pieces of field artillery, and seventeen heavy guns in the fort and water-batteries.

General Grant knew but little of the ground, or the fortifications, or of the Rebel forces, but he pushed boldly on.

On the morning of the 12th the troops left their bivouac, where they had enjoyed their roast spareribs and steaks, and marched towards the fort. The cavalry swept the country, riding through the side roads and foot-paths, reconnoitring the ground, and searching for Rebel pickets.

Soon after noon they came in sight of the Rebel encampments. The ground was thoroughly examined. No Rebels were found outside the works, but upon the hills within the intrenchments dark masses of men could be seen, some busily at work with axes and shovels. Regiments were taking positions for the expected attack; but it was already evening, and the advancing army rested for the night.

Thursday.

The night had been cold, but on the morning of the 13th there were breezes from the southwest, so mild and warm that the spring birds came. The soldiers thought that the winter was over. The sky was cloudless. All the signs promised a pleasant day. The troops were early awake, — replenishing the fading fires, and cooking breakfasts. With the dawn the sharpshooters and pickets began their work. There was a rattling musket-fire in the ravines.

Before the sun rose the Rebel batteries began throwing shells across the ravines and hills, aiming at the camp-fires of Colonel Oglesby’s brigade. Instantly the camp was astir. The men fell into line with a hurrah, the cannoneers sprang to their guns, all waiting for the orders.

The clear, running brook which empties into the Cumberland between Dover and Fort Donelson winds through a wide valley. It divides the Rebel field-works into two parts, — those west of the town and those west of the fort. The road from Fort Henry to Dover crosses the valley in a southeast direction. As you go towards the town, you see at your left hand, on the hill, through the branches of the trees, the Rebel breastworks, and you are almost within musket-shot.

General McClernand moved his division down the Dover road, while General Smith remained opposite the northwest angle of the fort. Oglesby’s brigade had the advance, followed by nearly all of the division. The batteries moved along the road, but the troops marched through the woods west of the road. The artillery came into position on the hills about a half-mile from the breastworks, and opened fire, — Taylor, Schwartz, and Dresser west of the town, and Cavender, with his heavy guns, west of the fort.

The Rebel batteries began a furious fire. Their shells were excellently aimed. One struck almost at the feet of Major Cavender as he was sighting a gun, but it did not disturb him. He took deliberate aim, and sent shell after shell whizzing into the fort. Another shot fell just in rear of his battery. A third burst overhead. Another struck one of Captain Richardson’s men in the breast, whirling him into the air, killing him instantly.

Major Cavender moved his pieces, and then returned the fire with greater zeal. Through the forenoon the forests echoed the terrific cannonade, mingled with the sharp crack of the riflemen, close under the breastworks.

At noon the infantry fight began. West of the town, in addition to the line of rifle-pits and breastworks, the Rebels had thrown up a small redoubt, behind which their batteries were securely posted. General McClernand decided to attack it. He ordered Colonel Wallace to direct the assault. The Forty-eighth, Seventeenth, and Forty-ninth Illinois regiments were detached from the main force, and placed under the command of Colonel Hayne, of the Forty-eighth, for a storming party. McAllister’s battery was wheeled into position to cover the attack.

They form in line at the base of the hill. The shells from the Rebel batteries crash among the trees. The Rebel riflemen keep up a rattling fire from the thickets. The troops are fresh from the prairies. This is their first battle, but at the word of command they advance across the intervening hollows and ascend the height, facing the sheets of flame which burst from the Rebel works. They fire as they advance. It is not a rush and a hurrah, but a steady movement. Men begin to drop from the line, but there is no wavering. They who never before heard the sounds of battle stand like veterans. The Rebel line in front of them extends farther than their own. The Forty-fifth Illinois goes to the support of Wallace. The Rebels throw forward reinforcements. There is a continuous roll of musketry, and quick discharges of cannon. The attacking force advances nearer and still nearer, close up to the works. Their gallantry does not fail them; their courage does not falter; but they find an impassable obstruction, — fallen trees, piles of brush, and rows of sharp stakes. Taylor’s battery gallops up the road, and opens a rapid fire, but the Rebel sharpshooters pick off his gunners. It is madness to remain, and the force retires beyond the reach of the Rebel musketry; but they are not disheartened. They have hardly begun to fight.

Colonel Birges’s sharpshooters are sent for. They move down through the bushes, and creep up in front of the Rebel lines. There are jets of flame and wreaths of blue smoke from their rifles. The Rebel pickets are driven back. The sharpshooters work their way still nearer to the trenches. The bushes blaze. There are mysterious puffs of smoke from the hollows, from stumps, and from the roots of trees. The Rebel gunners are compelled to let their guns remain silent, and the infantry dare not show their heads above the breastworks. They lie close. A Rebel soldier raises his slouched hat on his ramrod. Birges’s men see it, just over the parapet. Whiz! The hat disappears. The Rebels chuckle that they have outwitted the Yankee.

“Why don’t you come out of your old fort?” shouts a sharpshooter, lying close behind a tree.

“Why don’t you come in?” is the answer from the breastworks.

“O, you are cowards!” says the voice at the stump.

“When are you going to take the fort?” is the response from the breastwork.

The cannonade lasted till night. Nothing had been gained, but much had been lost, by the Union army. There were scores of men lying in the thickets, where they had fallen. There were hundreds in the hospitals. The gunboats and the expected reinforcements had not arrived. The Rebels outnumbered General Grant’s force by several thousand, but fortunately they did not know it. General Grant’s provisions were almost gone. There was no meat, nothing but hard bread. The south-wind of the morning had changed to the east. It was mild then, but piercing now. The sky, so golden at the dawn, was dark and lowering, with clouds rolling up from the east. The rain began to fall. The roads were miry, the dead leaves slippery. The men had thrown aside their overcoats and blankets. They had no shelter, no protection. They were weary and exhausted with the contest. They were cold, wet, and hungry. The rain increased. The wind blew more furiously. It wailed through the forest. The rain changed to hail. The men lay down upon frozen beds, and were covered with icy sheets. It grew colder. The hail became snow. The wind increased to a gale, and whirled the snow into drifts. The soldiers curled down behind the stumps and fallen trees. They built great fires. They walked, ran, thumped their feet upon the frozen ground, beat their fingers till the blood seemed starting from beneath the nails. The thermometer sank almost to zero. It was a night of horror, not only outside, but inside the Rebel lines. The Southern soldiers were kept in the intrenchments, in the rifle-pits, and ditches, to be in readiness to repel an assault. They could not keep up great, roaring fires, for fear of inviting a night attack. Through the long hours the soldiers of both armies kept their positions, exposed to the fury of the winter storm, not only the severest storm of the season, but the wildest and coldest that had been known for many years in that section of the country.

Friday.

Friday morning dawned, and with the first rays of light the rifles cracked in the frosty air. The sharpshooters, though they had passed a sleepless night, were in their places behind rocks and stumps and trees. Neither army was ready to recommence the struggle. General Grant was out of provisions. The transports, with supplies and reinforcements, had not arrived. Only one gunboat, the Carondelet, had come.

It was a critical hour. What if the Rebels, with their superior force, should march out from their intrenchments and make an attack? How long could the half-frozen, exhausted, hungry men maintain their ground? Where were the gunboats? Where the transports? Where the reinforcements? There were no dark columns of smoke rising above the forest-trees, indicating the approach of the belated fleet.

General Grant grew anxious. Orders were despatched to General Wallace at Fort Henry to hasten over with his troops. There was no thought of giving up the enterprise.

“We came here to take the fort, and we intend to do it,” said Colonel Oglesby.

A courier came dashing through the woods. He had been on the watch three miles down the river, looking for the gunboats. He had descried a dense cloud of black smoke in the distance, and started with the welcome intelligence. They were coming. The Carondelet, which had been lying quietly in the stream below the fort, steamed up against the current, and tossed a shell towards the Rebels. The deep boom of the columbiad echoed over the hills of Tennessee. The troops answered with a cheer from the depths of the forest. They could see the trailing black banners of smoke from the steamer. They became light-hearted. The wounded lying in the hospitals, stiff, sore, mangled, their wounds undressed, chilled, frozen, covered with ice and snow, forgot their sufferings. So the fire of patriotism burned within their hearts, which could not be quenched by sufferings worse than death itself.

The provisions, troops, and artillery were landed at a farm, three miles below the fort. A road was cut through the woods, and communication opened with the army.

A division was organized under General Lewis Wallace. Colonel Cruft commanded the first brigade, composed of the Thirty-first and Forty-fourth Indiana, the Seventeenth and Twenty-fifth Kentucky regiments.

The second brigade was composed of the Forty-sixth, Fifty-seventh, and Fifty-eighth Illinois regiments. It had no brigade commander, and was united to the third brigade, commanded by Colonel Thayer. The third brigade was composed of the First Nebraska, the Sixteenth, Fifty-eighth, and Sixty-eighth Ohio regiments. Several other regiments arrived while the fight was going on, but they were held in reserve, and had but little if any part in the action.

Wallace’s division was placed between General Smith’s and General McClernand’s, near General Grant’s head-quarters, on the road leading from Fort Henry to Dover. It took all day to get the troops into position and distribute food and ammunition, and there was no fighting except by the skirmishers and sharpshooters.

At three o’clock in the afternoon the gunboats steamed slowly up stream to attack the water-batteries. Commodore Foote repeated the instructions to the commanders and crews that he made before the attack at Fort Henry, — to fire slow, take deliberate aim, and keep cool.

The Pittsburg, St. Louis, Louisville, and Carondelet, iron-plated boats, had the advance, followed by the three wooden boats, — the Tyler, Lexington, and Conestoga. A bend in the river exposed the sides of the gunboats to a raking fire from the batteries, while Commodore Foote could only use the bow guns in reply. The fort on the hill was so high above the boats that the muzzles of the guns could not be elevated far enough to hit it. Commodore Foote directed the boats to engage the water-batteries, and pay no attention to the guns of the fort till the batteries were silenced; then he would steam past them and pour broadsides into the fort.

As soon as the gunboats rounded the point of land a mile and a half below the fort, the Rebels opened fire, and the boats replied. There was excellent gunnery. The shots from the fort and batteries fell upon the bows of the boats, or raked their sides; while the shells from the boats fell plump into the batteries, cutting the embankments, or sinking deep in the side of the hill and bursting with tremendous explosions, throwing the earth upon the gunners in the trenches. Steadily onward moved the boats, pouring all their shells into the lower works. It was a continuous storm, — an unbroken roll of thunder. There were constant explosions in the Rebel trenches. The air was filled with pieces of iron from the exploding shells and lumps of frozen earth thrown up by the solid shot. The Rebels fled in confusion from the four-gun battery, running up the hill to the intrenchments above.

The fight had lasted an hour, and the boats were within five hundred feet of the batteries; fifteen minutes more and the Commodore would be abreast of them, and would rake them from bottom to top with his tremendous broadsides. But he had reached the bend of the river; the eight-gun battery could cut him through crosswise, while the guns on the top of the hill could pour plunging shots upon his decks. The Rebels saw their advantage, and worked their guns with all their might. The boats were so near that every Rebel shot reached its mark. A solid shot cut the rudder-chains of the Carondelet and she became unmanageable. The thirty-two-pound balls went through the oak sides of the boats as you can throw peas through wet paper. Another shot splintered the helm of the Pittsburg, and that boat also became unmanageable. A third shot crashed through the pilot-house of the St. Louis, killing the pilot instantly. The Commodore stood by his side, and was sprinkled with the blood of the brave, unfortunate man. The shot broke the wheel and knocked down a timber which wounded the Commodore in the foot. He sprang to the deck, limped to another steering apparatus, and endeavored with his own hands to keep the vessel head to the stream; but that apparatus also had been shot away. Sixty-one shots had struck the St. Louis; some had passed through from stem to stern. The Louisville had received thirty-five shots. Twenty-six had crashed into and through the Carondelet. One of her guns had burst, killing and wounding six of the crew. The Pittsburg had been struck twenty-one times. All but the Louisville, of the iron-plated boats, were unmanageable. At the very last moment — when the difficulties had been almost overcome — the Commodore was obliged to hoist the signal for retiring. Ten minutes more, — five hundred feet more, — and the Rebel trenches would have been swept from right to left, their entire length. When the boats began to drift down the stream they were running from the trenches, deserting their guns, to escape the fearful storm of grape and canister which they knew would soon sweep over them. Fifty-four were killed and wounded in this attack.

At night Commodore Foote sat in the cabin of the St. Louis and wrote a letter to a friend. His wound was painful, but he thought not of his own sufferings. He frequently asked how the wounded men were getting along, and directed the surgeons to do everything possible for their comfort. This is what he wrote to his friend: —

“While I hope ever to rely on Him who controls all things, and to say from my heart, ‘Not unto us, but unto thee, O Lord, belongs the glory,’ yet I feel bad at the result of our attack on Fort Donelson. To see brave officers and men, who say they will go where I lead them, fall by my side, it makes me sad to lead them to almost certain death.”

So passed Friday. The gunboats were disabled. No impression had been made on the fort. General Grant determined to place his army in position on the hills surrounding the fort, throw up intrenchments, and wait till the gunboats could be repaired. Then there would be a combined attack, by water and by land, which he hoped would reduce the place.

On Friday evening there was a council of war at General Floyd’s head-quarters in the town. General Buckner, General Johnson, General Pillow, Colonel Baldwin, Colonel Wharton, and other commanders of brigades were present. General Floyd said that he was satisfied that General Grant would not renew the attack till the gunboats were repaired, and till he had received reinforcements. He thought that the whole available force of Union troops would be hurried up by steamboat from St. Louis, Cincinnati, and Cairo; and that when they arrived a division would be marched up the river towards Clarksville, above Dover, and that they in the fort would be starved out and forced to surrender without a battle. It was very good and correct reasoning on the part of General Floyd, who did not care to be taken prisoner after he had stolen so much public property. It was just what General Grant intended to do. He knew that by such a course the fort would be obliged to surrender, and he would save the lives of his men.

General Floyd proposed to attack General Grant at daylight on Saturday morning, by throwing one half of the Rebel army, under Pillow and Johnson, upon McClernand’s division. By making the attack then in overwhelming force, he felt pretty sure he could drive McClernand back upon General Wallace. General Buckner, with the other half of the army, was to push out from the northwest angle of the fort at the same time, attack General Wallace, and force him back upon General McClernand, which would throw the Union troops into confusion. By adopting this plan he hoped to win a victory, or if not that, he could open a way of escape to the whole army. The plan was agreed to by the other officers, and preparations were made for the attack. The soldiers received extra rations and a large quantity of ammunition. The caissons of the artillery were filled up, and the regiments placed in position to move early in the morning.

Saturday.

General B. R. Johnson led the Rebel column, and Colonel Baldwin’s brigade the advance. It was composed of the First and Fourteenth Mississippi and the Twenty-sixth Tennessee regiments. The next brigade was Colonel Wharton’s. It was composed of the Fiftieth and Fifty-first Virginia. McCousland’s brigade was composed of the Thirty-sixth and Fifty-sixth Virginia; Davidson’s brigade was composed of the Seventh Texas, Eighth Kentucky, and Third Mississippi; Colonel Drake’s brigade was composed of the Fourth and Twentieth Mississippi, Garven’s battalion of riflemen, Fifteenth Arkansas, and a Tennessee regiment. Hieman’s brigade was composed of the Tenth, Thirtieth, and Forty-eighth Tennessee, and the Twenty-seventh Alabama. There were about thirty pieces of artillery, and twelve thousand men in this column.

McArthur’s brigade of McClernand’s division was on the extreme right, and a short distance in rear of Oglesby. The Rebels moved down the Union Ferry road, which leads southwest towards Clarksville, which brought them nearly south of Oglesby and McArthur. Oglesby’s regiments stood, the Eighth Illinois on the right, then the Twenty-ninth, Thirtieth, and Thirty-first, counting towards the left. Schwartz’s battery was on the right and Dresser’s on the left. Wallace’s brigade was formed with the Thirty-first Illinois on the right, close to Oglesby’s left flank regiment, then the Twentieth, Forty-eighth, Forty-fifth, Forty-ninth, and Seventeenth Illinois. McAllister’s battery was between the Eleventh and Twentieth, and Taylor’s between the Seventeenth and Forty-ninth. Colonel Dickey’s cavalry was in rear, his horses picketed in the woods and eating corn. North of the Fort Henry road was Colonel Cruft’s brigade of General Lewis Wallace’s division, the Twenty-fifth Kentucky having the right, then the Thirty-first Indiana, the Seventeenth Kentucky, the Forty-fourth Indiana, with Wood’s battery.

These are all the regiments which took part in the terrible fight of Saturday forenoon. They were unprepared for the assault. The soldiers had not risen from their snowy beds. The reveille was just sounding when the sharp crack of the rifles was heard in the thickets on the extreme right. Then the artillery opened. Schwartz’s, Dresser’s, McAllister’s, and Taylor’s men sprang from their blankets to their guns. It was hardly light enough to see the enemy. They could only distinguish the flashes of the guns and the wreaths of smoke through the branches of the trees; but they aimed at the flashes, and sent their shells upon the advancing columns.

The Rebel batteries replied, and the wild uproar of the terrible day began.

Instead of moving west, directly upon the front of Oglesby, McArthur, and Wallace, the Rebel column under Pillow marched down the Union Ferry road south a half-mile, then turned abruptly towards the northwest. You see by the accompanying diagram how the troops stood at the beginning of the battle. There is McArthur’s brigade with Schwartz’s battery, Oglesby’s brigade with Dresser’s battery, Wallace’s brigade with McAllister’s and Taylor’s batteries, — all facing the town. Across the brook, upon the north side of the ravine, is Cruft’s brigade. You see Pillow’s brigades wheeling upon McArthur and Oglesby, and across the Fort Henry road, coming down from the breastworks, are General Buckner’s brigades.

The Attack on McClernand.

1	McArthur’s brigade.	4	Cruft’s brigade.
2	Oglesby’s brigade.	5	Pillow’s divisions.
3	W. H. L. Wallace’s brigade.	6	Buckner’s divisions.

Schwartz, Dresser, and McAllister wheel their guns towards Pillow’s column. The Rebels open with a volley of musketry. The fire is aimed at the Eighth and Twenty-ninth Illinois regiments, which, you remember, are on the right of Oglesby’s brigade. The men are cold. They have sprung from their icy beds to take their places in the ranks. They have a scant supply of ammunition, and are unprepared for the assault, but they are not the men to run at the first fire. The Rebel musketry begins to thin their ranks, but they do not flinch. They send their volleys into the face of the enemy.

Another Rebel brigade arrives, and fires upon the Thirtieth and Thirty-first Illinois, — the two regiments on the left of Oglesby’s brigade. Colonel John A. Logan commands the Thirty-first. He told the Southern conspirators in Congress, when they were about to secede from the Union, that the men of the Northwest would hew their way to the Gulf of Mexico with their swords, if they attempted to close the Mississippi. He is not disposed to yield his ground. He encourages his men, and they remain immovable before the Rebel brigades. Instead of falling back, he swings his regiment towards the Rebels, and stands confronting them.

But while this is going on, the Rebel cavalry have moved round to the rear of McArthur. They dash down a ravine, through the bushes, over the fallen trees, and charge up the hill upon the Ninth and Eighteenth regiments of McArthur’s brigade. They are sent back in confusion, but the onset has been so fierce and the charge so far in the rear, that McArthur is compelled to fall back and form a new line. The Rebels have begun to open the door which General Grant had closed against them. The brigades in front of Oglesby are pouring murderous volleys upon the Eighth and Twenty-ninth. The falling back of McArthur to meet the attack on his rear has enabled the enemy to come up behind these regiments, and they are also compelled to fall back.

The Rebels in front are elated. They move nearer, working their way along a ravine, sheltered by a ridge of land. They load their muskets, rush up to the crest of the hill, deliver their fire, and step back to reload; but as often as they appear, McAllister and Dresser and Taylor give them grape and canister.

The Eleventh and Twentieth Illinois, on the right of Wallace’s brigade, join in the conflict, supporting the brave Logan. Colonel Wallace swings the Forty-eighth, Forty-fifth, and half of the Forty-ninth round towards Pillow’s brigades, leaving the other half of the Forty-ninth and the Seventeenth to hold the line towards the Fort Henry road. If you study the diagram carefully, you will see that this manœuvre was a change of front. At the beginning the line of battle faced northeast, but now it faces south.

There is a ridge between Wallace’s brigade and the Rebels. As often as the Rebels advance to the ridge, Taylor and McAllister with the infantry drive them back. It is an obstinate and bloody contest. The snow becomes crimson. There are pools of clotted blood where the brave men lie down upon the ground. There are bayonet-charges, fierce hand-to-hand contests. The Rebels rush upon McAllister’s guns, but are turned back. The lines surge to and fro like the waves of the sea. The dying and the dead are trampled beneath the feet of the contending hosts.

Wallace hears a sharp fire in his rear. The Rebels have pushed out once more towards the west and are coming in again upon the right flank of the new battle line. McClernand sees that he is contending against overwhelming numbers, and he sends a messenger in haste to General Lewis Wallace, who sends Cruft’s brigade to his assistance. The brigade goes down the road upon the run. The soldiers shout and hurrah. They pass in rear of Taylor’s battery, and push on to the right to help Oglesby and McArthur.

The Rebels have driven those brigades. The men are hastening to the rear with doleful stories. Some of them rush through Cruft’s brigade. Cruft meets the advancing Rebels face to face. The din of battle has lulled for a moment, but now it rolls again louder than before. The Rebels dash on, but it is like the dashing of the waves against a rock. Cruft’s men are unmoved, though the Rebels advance till they are within twenty feet of the line. There are deafening volleys. The smoke from the opposing lines becomes a single cloud. The Rebels are held in check on the right by their firmness and endurance.

But just at this moment General Buckner’s brigades come out of their intrenchments. They pass in front of their rifle-pits at the base of the hill, and march rapidly down to the Dover road. Colonel Wallace sees them. In a few minutes they will pour their volleys into the backs of his men. You remember that the Seventeenth and part of the Forty-ninth Illinois regiments were left standing near the road. You hear from their muskets now. They stand their ground and meet the onset manfully. Two guns of Taylor’s battery, which have been thundering towards the south, wheel round to the northeast and sweep the Rebels with grape and canister.

Three fourths of the Rebel army is pressing upon McClernand’s one division. His troops are disappearing. Hundreds are killed and wounded. Men who carry the wounded to rear do not return. The Rebels see their advantage, and charge upon Schwartz’s and McAllister’s batteries, but are repulsed. Reinforced by new regiments, they rush on again. They shoot the gunners and the horses and seize the cannon. The struggle is fierce, but unequal. Oglesby’s men are overpowered, the line gives way. The Rebels push on with a yell, and seize several of Schwartz’s and McAllister’s guns. The gunners fight determinedly for a moment, but they are few against many, and are shot or taken prisoners. A Mississippi regiment attempts to capture Taylor’s guns, but he sweeps it back with grape and canister.

Up to this moment Wallace has not yielded an inch. Two of Oglesby’s regiments next to his brigade still hold their ground, but all who stood beyond are in full retreat. The Rebels have picked off a score of brave officers in Oglesby’s command, — Colonels Logan, Lawler, and Ransom are wounded. Lieutenant-Colonel White of the Thirty-first, Lieutenant-Colonel Smith of the Forty-eighth, Lieutenant-Colonel Irvin of the Twentieth, and Major Post of the Eighth are killed. The men of Oglesby’s brigade, although they have lost so many of their leaders, are not panic-stricken. They are overpowered for the moment. Some of the regiments are out of ammunition. They know that reinforcements are at hand, and they fall back in order.

To understand Wallace’s position at this stage of the battle, imagine that you stand with your face towards the south fighting a powerful antagonist, that a second equally powerful is coming up on your right hand, and that a third is giving heavy blows upon your left shoulder, almost in your back. Pillow, with one half of his brigades, is in front, Johnson, with the other half of Pillow’s command, is coming up on the right, and Buckner, with all of his brigades, is moving down upon the left.

Wallace sees that he must retreat. The Eleventh and Thirty-first — Ransom’s and Logan’s regiments — are still fighting on Wallace’s right. There is great slaughter in their ranks, but they do not flee. They change front and march a few rods to the rear, come into line and fire a volley at the advancing Rebels. Forest’s cavalry dashes upon them and cuts off a few prisoners, but the line is only bruised, not broken. Thus loading and firing, contesting all the ground, the troops descend the hill, cross the clear running brook, and march up the hill upon the other side.

But there are some frightened men, who fling away their guns and rush wildly to the rear. An officer dashes down the road, crying: “We are cut to pieces! The day is lost!”

“Shut up your head, you scoundrel!” shouts General Wallace.

It has had an effect upon his troops. They are nervous, and look round, expecting to see the enemy in overwhelming numbers. General Wallace sees that there has been disaster. He does not wait for orders to march.

“Third brigade, by the right flank, double-quick, Forward, March!” Colonel Thayer commanding the brigade repeats the order. The men break into a run towards the front along the road. General Wallace gallops in advance, and meets Colonel Wallace conducting his brigade to the rear.

“We are out of ammunition. The enemy are following. If you will put your troops into line till we can fill our cartridge-boxes, we will stop them.” He says it so coolly and deliberately that it astonishes General Wallace. It reassures him. He feels that it is a critical moment, but with men retiring so deliberately, there is no reason to be discouraged.

He leads Thayer’s brigade up to the crest of the hill, just where the road begins to descend into the ravine, through which gurgles the clear running brook.

“Bring up Company A, Chicago Light Artillery!” he shouts to an aid. A few moments, and Captain Wood, who commands the battery, leads it along the road. The horses are upon the gallop. The teamsters lash them with their whips. They leap over logs, stones, stumps, and through the bushes. They halt at the crest of the hill.

“Put your guns here, two pieces in the road, and two on each side, and load with grape and canister.”

The men spring to their pieces. They throw off their coats, and work in their shirt-sleeves. They ram home the cartridges and stand beside their pieces, waiting for the enemy.

The battery faces southeast. On the right of the battery, next to it, is the First Nebraska, and beyond it the Fifty-eighth Illinois. On the left of the battery is Captain Davison’s company of the Thirty-second Illinois, and beyond it the Fifty-eighth Ohio. A few rods in rear is the Seventy-sixth Ohio and the Forty-sixth and Fifty-seventh Illinois.

McArthur, Oglesby, Wallace, and Cruft have all fallen back, and their regiments are reforming in the woods west of Thayer’s position, and filling their cartridge-boxes.

The Rebels halt a little while upon the ground from which they have driven McClernand, rifling the pockets of the dead and robbing the wounded. General Pillow feels very well. He writes a despatch, which is telegraphed to Nashville, —

“On the honor of a soldier, the day is ours!”

Buckner unites his brigades to Pillow’s, and they prepare for a second advance. It gives General Wallace time to perfect his line. Willard’s battery, which was left at Fort Henry, has just arrived. It gallops into position in the woods west of Thayer’s brigade. Dresser and Taylor also come into position. They are ready.

The Rebels descend the hill on the east side of the brook, and move up the road. They are flushed with success, and are confident of defeating General Grant. General Floyd has changed his mind; instead of escaping, as he can do by the road leading to Nashville, he thinks he will put the army of General Grant to rout.

The Second Engagement.

1	Thayer’s brigade with Wood’s battery.	3	Cruft’s brigade.
2	McClernand’s brigades.	4	Rebels.

The advancing columns step across the brook, and begin to ascend the hill. The artillery opens its fire. The Rebel batteries reply. The infantry rolls its volleys. The hill and the hollow are enveloped in clouds of smoke. Wood’s, Dresser’s, Willard’s, and Taylor’s batteries open, — twenty-four guns send their grape and canister, shrapnel and shells, into the gray ranks which are vainly endeavoring to reach the top of the hill. The Rebels concentrate their fire upon Wood’s battery and the First Nebraska, but those hardy pioneers from beyond the Missouri, some of them Rocky Mountain hunters, cannot be driven. The Rebels fire too high. The air is filled with the screaming of their bullets, and a wild storm sweeps over the heads of the men from Nebraska, who lose but ten men killed and wounded in this terrible contest. The Nebraska men are old hunters, and do not fire at random, but take deliberate aim.

The Rebels march half-way up the hill, and then fall back to the brook. They have lost courage. Their officers rally the wavering lines. Again they advance, but are forced back by the musketry and the grape and canister.

They break in confusion, and vain are all the attempts of the officers to rally them. General Floyd’s plan, which worked so successfully in the morning, has failed at noon. General Pillow’s telegram was sent too soon by a half-hour. The Rebels retire to the hill, and help themselves to the overcoats, blankets, beef, bread, and other things in McClernand’s camp.

General Grant determined to assault the enemy’s works. He thought that the rifle-pits at the northwest angle of the fort could be carried; that then he could plant his batteries so near that, under their fire, he could get into the fort. General Smith’s division had not been engaged in the battles of the morning. His troops had heard the roar of the conflict and the cheers of their comrades when the Rebels were beaten back.

They were ready for action. They were nerved up to attempt great deeds for their country. The Rebels had been repulsed, and now they could defeat them.

General Grant directed General Wallace to move forward from his position, across the brook, drive the Rebels back, and then assault their works. A large body of Rebels still held the ground, from which McClernand had been driven.

General Wallace placed Colonel Morgan L. Smith’s brigade in front. There was contention between the Eighth Missouri and Eleventh Indiana, for each wanted the honor of leading the assault. The Eleventh yielded to the Eighth, with the understanding that in the next assault it should have the advance. Thus with generous rivalry and unbounded enthusiasm they prepared to advance.

The Eleventh followed the Eighth. Colonel Cruft’s brigade, with two Ohio regiments under Colonel Ross, completed the column. Colonel Cruft formed in line of battle to the right of Colonel Smith. They crossed the brook. It was a dark and bloody ravine. The Rebel dead and wounded were lying there, thick almost as the withered forest-leaves. The snow was crimson. The brook was no longer a clear running stream, but red with blood.

General Wallace was aware of the desperate character of the enterprise. He told his men what they were to do, — to drive the enemy, and storm the breastworks.

“Hurrah! that’s just what we want to do. Forward! Forward! We are ready!” were their answers. They could see the Rebel lines on the hill. The Rebels knew that they were to be attacked, and were ready to receive them.

Colonel Smith moved up the road. His point of attack was clear, but Cruft’s was through brush and over stony ground. A line of skirmishers sprang out from the Eighth Missouri. They ran up the hill, and came face to face with the Rebel skirmishers.

They fought from tree to tree, firing, picking off an opponent, then falling upon the ground to reload.

The regiments followed. They were half-way up the hill, when a line of fire began to run round the crest.

“Down! down!” shouted Colonel Smith. The regiments fell flat, and the storm swept harmlessly over their heads. The Rebels cheered. They thought they had annihilated Colonel Smith’s command. Up they rose, and rushed upon the enemy, pouring in their volleys, falling when the fight was hottest, rising as soon as the Rebels had fired. Thus they closed upon the enemy, and pushed him back over all the ground he had won in the morning, driving him into his works.

General Wallace was preparing to assault the works, when an officer dashed down the line with cheering news of success upon the left.

Returning now to General Smith’s division, we see him preparing to storm the works near the northwest angle of the fort. Colonel Cook’s brigade is directed to make a feint of attacking the fort. Major Cavender brings his heavy guns into position, and opens a furious cannonade, under cover of which Colonel Lauman is to advance upon the rifle-pits on the outer ridge. If he can get possession of those, Cavender can plant his guns there and rake the inner trenches.

Colonel Hanson’s brigade, — the Second Kentucky, Twentieth Mississippi, and Thirtieth Tennessee, are in the rifle-pits. There are six pieces of artillery and another brigade behind the inner intrenchments, all ready to pour their fire upon the advancing columns. Colonel Hanson’s men lie secure behind the trunks of the great forest oaks, their rifles thrust through between the logs. It is fifteen or twenty rods to the bottom of the slope, and there you find the fallen trees, with their branches interlocked, and sharp stakes driven into the ground. Beyond is the meadow where Lauman forms his brigade. The Rebels have a clear sweep of all the ground.

General Smith leads Lauman’s men to the meadow, while Colonel Cook moves up on the left and commences the attack. The soldiers hear, far down on the right, Wallace’s brigades driving the enemy from the hill.

The Charge of Lauman’s Brigade.

1	Lauman’s brigade.	4	Rebel rifle-pits.
2	Cook’s brigade.	5	Rebel inner works.
3	Cavender’s batteries, with infantry.

It is almost sunset. The rays of light fall aslant the meadow, upon the backs of Lauman’s men, and into the faces of the Rebels. The advancing brigade is in solid column of regiments, the Second Iowa in front, then the Twenty-fifth Indiana, the Seventh and Fourteenth Iowa, — four firm, unwavering lines, which throw their shadows forward as they advance. Birges’s sharpshooters, with their unerring rifles, are flung out on each flank.

The brigade halts upon the meadow. General Smith rides along the line, and informs them that they are to take the rifle-pits with the bayonet alone. He sits firmly on his horse, and his long gray hair, falling almost to his shoulders, waves in the evening breeze. He is an iron man, and he leads iron men. The Rebel cannon cut them through with solid shot, shells burst above and around them, with loud explosions and terrifying shrieks from the flying fragments, men drop from the ranks, or are whirled into the air torn and mangled. There are sudden gaps, but not a man flinches. They look not towards the rear, but towards the front. There are the fallen trees, the hill, the line of two thousand muskets poised between the logs, the cannon thundering from the height beyond. There is no whispering in those solid ranks, no loud talking, nothing but the “Steady! steady!” of the officers. Their hearts beat great throbs. Their nerves are steel, their muscles iron. They grasp their muskets with the grip of tigers. Before them rides their General, his cap upon his sword, his long hair streaming like a banner in the wind. The color-bearer, waving the stars and stripes, marches by his side.

They move across the meadow. All around them is the deafening roar of the conflict. Cavender is behind them, Cook is upon their left, the enemy is in front, and Wallace away upon their right. They reach the fallen trees at the foot of the hill. The pile of logs above them bursts into flame. A deadly storm, more terrible than the fiercest winter blast, sweeps down the slope into their faces. There are lightning flashes and thunderbolts from the hill above. Men drop from their places, to lie forever still among the tangled branches. But their surviving comrades do not falter. On, — on, — creeping, crawling, climbing over the obstructions, unterrified, undaunted, with all the energy of life centred in one effort; like a tornado they sweep up the slope, — into the line of fire, into the hissing storm, up to the logs, into the cloud, leaping like tigers, thrusting the bayonet home upon the foe. The Rebels reel, stagger, tumble, run!

“Hurra —— h!”

It is a wild, prolonged, triumphant shout, like the blast of a trumpet. They plant their banners on the works, and fire their volleys into the retreating foe. Stone’s battery gallops over the meadow, over the logs, up the hill, the horses leaping and plunging as if they, too, knew that victory was hanging in the scale. The gunners spring from their seats, wheel their pieces and throw their shells, an enfilading fire, into the upper works.

“Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!” rings through the forest, down the line to Wallace’s men.

“We have carried the works!” “We are inside!” shouts an officer bearing the welcome news.

The men toss their caps in the air. They shake hands, they shout, and break into singing. They forget all their hardships and sufferings, the hungry days, the horrible nights, the wounded and the dead. The success is worth all the sacrifice.