No Better Place to Die- The Battle of Stones River

by Peter Cozzens

  McCown now had the field, along with eight guns—Edgarton's entire battery and two pieces from Battery A of the First Ohio—and some one thousand prisoners. His men did not halt, except perhaps to snatch a bit of hardtack or bacon from the still-burning breakfast fires or rummage the haversack of a fallen Yankee, but continued on after the rapidly scattering remnants of Johnson's front-line brigades.

  There was little organization to the Federal retreat, and no unified command. Regiments—or more often bits of regiments—made brief stands behind fences or among farmhouses and outbuildings. The Fifteenth Ohio kept together until it ran into the picket fence along the eastern edge of the Smith farm. Here panic broke out. Trapped in an open field with a fence too high to scale readily to their front and Ector's Texans firing into their backs, the Ohioans tried frantically to pry apart the posts and rails. Here and there a gap was found, and the more fortunate slipped through, discarding rifles and haversacks in their haste, and ran toward Overall Creek. Others were less successful or less tenacious—Sergeant Alexis Cope claimed that over one hundred of his comrades surrendered rather than be shot in the back searching for a way through the fence. Cope was more persistent. Unable to get over or under the fence, he jogged south toward the gate and the enemy. Passing through the gate and into the Smith house unmolested, he emerged on the west side only to be struck by a minie ball that jarred his rifle from his grasp; without missing a stride he picked it up and continued running toward Overall Creek. Cope was lucky. Not only did he successfully run the gauntlet of pursuing Confederates, but the ball that had struck his arm was spent, leaving only a painful bruise beneath his heavy overcoat.

  While Cope made good his escape through the Smith house, Robert Stewart crouched outside behind the chimney and defiantly fired a few shots at the Rebels. “I do not know that I hurt anybody,” he admitted. “I am not sure that I shot at anybody in particular, but it was a good thing to do. It made me feel better.” John Rennard of Company K also fought back, but with less success. While ramming home a charge from behind the fence he was struck in the thigh. “I threw my gun in one direction and the ramrod in another, spread my arms, a black curtain came before my eyes, and I fell on my side.” Rennard awoke to find himself behind enemy lines.

  Other regiments dissolved in much the same fashion as the Fifteenth Ohio. Colonel Erdelmeyer of the Thirty-second Indiana found himself separated from all but two hundred of his men during the retreat, and it was not until they reached Overall Creek that Erdelmeyer was able to rally even this remnant for a brief stand. Although his Eighty-ninth Illinois had begun its withdrawal in good order, after just four hundred yards Colonel Hotchkiss was left with only four companies; with these he retired across Overall Creek to join Erdelmeyer and his little band, as well as a few companies of the Forty-ninth and Fifteenth Ohio. Hotchkiss and Erdelmeyer were fortunate. Major Alexander Dysart, the senior officer left standing in the Thirty-fourth Illinois, never had more than fifty men at his side the remainder of the day.5

  As McCown's Southerners drove the survivors of Kirk's and Willich's brigades, the Confederate offensive showed its first sign of unraveling. Although Rosecrans would later censure these units for inclining “too far to the west” in their withdrawal, the route spontaneously chosen by the fleeing Federals actually assisted the Union defense by throwing McCown's brigades off course and slowing Cleburne, who unexpectedly found himself in the front line. Rains made the first error in judgment. Instead of inclining northward as part of the general right wheel prescribed by Bragg, he led his brigade westward toward Overall Creek in pursuit of Willich's Federals. Not until he reached the creek did Rains change direction. Ector also moved off toward Overall Creek after punching through the open wood at the angle of the Franklin road and Gresham Lane. The Texas brigadier aligned his brigade with Rains's right as the latter advanced northward along the east bank of the creek, only to discover that he had lost contact with McNair in the process.

  Cleburne, meanwhile, had his supporting line in motion. As McCown's infantry disappeared into the twilight mist to join battle with Willich and Kirk, Cleburne's veterans stepped “short upon the right and full upon the left, so as to swing round my left as directed,” in the words of their division commander. It was an uneven movement. Brigadier General St. John Liddell's Arkansans, as the left-flank brigade, found themselves literally running to maintain the right wheel while Bushrod Johnson and his Tennesseans, in the center, crossed the fields south of the Franklin road at a walk. On the right, Brigadier General Lucius Polk, the twenty-nine-year-old nephew of Bishop Polk, faced an equally exasperating and potentially more serious problem. Cheatham's left-flank units had not started concurrently with Polk's brigade as ordered, creating a gap that widened as the young brigadier advanced. Polk had risen rapidly through the ranks from private in the Yell Rifles—of which Pat Cleburne was once captain—to general, succeeding his fiery Irish mentor to brigade command just eighteen days before Stones River. His boyish good looks and easy manner—as “simple and guileless as a child”—quickly won for him the devotion of his troops. But Polk was inexperienced as a brigade commander. He was in a quandary. If the advance were continued, his right flank would become increasingly exposed; should he halt so as to keep with Cheatham, he would become hopelessly separated from his division. Fortunately, the decision was made for him. Noticing the inactivity on Cheatham's front, Hardee directed the brigade of S. A. M. Wood forward from its position in the divisional rear to extend the right. His flank secure, Polk resumed the advance.

  Johnson and Liddell by this time had crossed the half-mile of open ground between their line of departure and the Franklin road, all the while assuming that their units were tucked safely behind McCown's frontline brigades. Even the rattle of small-arms fire to their front and exploding shells overhead did not unduly concern Cleburne and his brigadiers. Unable to see through the twilight mist, they assumed the firing meant that McCown was in contact ahead of their division, that is, until men began dropping in the front ranks. Cleburne had struck Davis's division, although at that moment he knew only that “I was, in reality, the foremost line on this part of the field, and that McCown's line had unaccountably disappeared from my front.” Cleburne shook out his skirmishers and elected to continue the right wheel.6

  There is no evidence that Hardee attempted to correct the drift of McCown, or that he was even aware of it. In any event, it is doubtful that Hardee would have been able to restore the original two-wave alignment, had he tried. Cleburne was virtually on top of Davis before he discovered he was out in front, leaving no room to reinstate McCown in the front line. Had Cleburne disengaged and retired to await McCown's return, Davis would have been better prepared to meet the Confederate attack when it did come, and more of Johnson's division might have rallied. There is no doubt, however, that McCown's drift was a costly error. Had the original alignment been maintained, Sheridan would have been struck by an overwhelming and probably irresistible force, and the final drive against the Nashville Turnpike could have been made by a comparatively fresh second-line division, rather than by four fagged and disorganized brigades.

  Like Cleburne, Davis found himself in an unexpected position. Now in command of what had become the right-flank division of the army, he used the delay between McCown's attack on Johnson and the appearance of Cleburne to withdraw Colonel P. Sidney Post's brigade to a more defensible position. The former Illinois attorney had begun the action on Kirk's left, his brigade fronting east in a thicket so dense that his men could not even see the fight between Kirk and McNair. His new position was markedly superior. All four regiments were on line, facing south toward the Franklin road a half mile away, and had unobstructed fields of fire. The Seventy-fourth and Seventy-fifth Illinois—both organized just three months earlier—steeled themselves from behind a split-rail fence at the timber's edge on the east side of Gresham Lane. The remainder of the brigade was drawn up in fallow fields to the west, the Fifth Wisconsin Artillery of Captain
Oscar Pinney unlimbering between the Fifty-ninth Illinois and Twenty-second Indiana. Kirk's Seventy-seventh Pennsylvania, still intact, lined up on the brigade right. Colonel Philemon Baldwin's reserve brigade of Johnson's division rested four hundred yards to Post's right rear.

  Scarcely had Post taken position and deployed his skirmishers when the brigade of Bushrod Johnson emerged from the open woods and cedar glades on either side of Gresham Lane. It was a disjointed movement. The Thirty-seventh and Forty-fourth Tennessee struggled slowly through narrow, overgrown pasture below the Seventy-fourth and Seventy-fifth Illinois, the Twenty-fifth Tennessee straddled the lane, and the Seventeenth and Twenty-third Tennessee stepped freely through cleared fields on the west side.

  Captain Pinney watched impatiently behind his guns as the Rebels neared. Earlier that day, Post had had to restrain Pinney. In his enthusiasm to kill Confederates, the Wisconsin artilleryman had almost fired on friendly pickets, having mistaken them for McNair's Arkansans in the dark and tangled cedar glade. But now, with a clear field of fire, there was no mistaking the enemy. Pinney's Parrott guns roared, and Johnson's line recoiled. The Twenty-fifth Tennessee, astride the lane, was raked by the enfilading cannonade. Hard hit too was the Seventeenth Tennessee. Despite the loss of their commander, the Tennesseans pressed forward until a volley from the Fifty-ninth Illinois halted them a mere one hundred fifty yards short of Pinney's guns. Here they dropped to the ground to return the fire. Bushrod Johnson at once called upon Captain Putnam Darden and his Jefferson Flying Artillery to silence the Federal guns. Darden's Mississippians unlimbered their pieces amid a shower of canister from the Yankee Parrotts, and a twenty-minute artillery duel ensued. Although unable to fire canister for fear of striking the men of the Seventeenth, Darden's gunners eventually silenced their opponents with a steady barrage of shot and shell. As Pinney began limbering his pieces to prevent their capture, the Tennesseans, sensing a chance to seize a Yankee battery, rose to their feet and surged forward. The Twenty-second Indiana joined in the fray, and more Tennesseans went down—twelve company officers and over one hundred enlisted men in all. But this time the Seventeenth kept going. Returning the fire on the run, they dropped Federal artillery horses by the score. The Fifty-ninth Illinois now broke off fire as its commander, Captain Hendrick Paine—a martinet known as “buck and gag” after his preferred method of punishment—directed the regiment to save the battery. With upbraiding from Paine the Fifty-ninth successfully dragged five guns off the field.

  The withdrawal of Pinney's guns spelled the end of Federal resistance to Johnson's attack on the west side of Gresham Lane. Left without artillery support, the Twenty-second Indiana gave way in confusion. The Seventy-seventh Pennsylvania followed. Struck in the thigh by a minie ball while searching in vain for troops to pull his remaining gun, Captain Pinney fell as Johnson's Tennesseans overran his position.7

  Meanwhile, Johnson's attack on the east side of Gresham Lane had stalled. The Twenty-fifth, Forty-fourth, and Thirty-seventh Tennessee had intermingled as they crowded into the narrow field. A lack of artillery support and the tenacity of the Yankee skirmishers compounded the Confederates’ difficulties. So too did a breakdown in command as key officers fell. In some thirty minutes of bitter fighting the Thirty-seventh Tennessee lost its colonel and lieutenant-colonel, the Twenty-fifth its colonel and six company-grade officers, and the Forty-fourth its major and eight company-grade officers. Although they succeeded in closing the distance between themselves and the enemy, the Tennesseans were unable to carry the field until the retreat of the Fifty-ninth Illinois exposed the right flank of the defending Federals. Their position now untenable, the Seventy-fourth and Seventy-fifth Illinois at last retired into the cedars, and the Tennesseans pursued.8

  While Johnson struggled to dislodge Post, St. John Liddell, advancing northward beyond Johnson's left, found himself locked in an equally desperate contest with the Union brigade of Colonel Philemon Baldwin. Here Liddell was joined by McNair, who had halted in the open fields east of Overall Creek after losing sight of Rains and Ector, only to find his flank balanced precariously between Baldwin on his right front and Post on his right rear. The North Carolinian at once fell back to protect his wounded and meet Liddell. Minutes later McCown rode up to find the two brigadiers locked in a passionate argument over the best method of attacking Baldwin. Not surprisingly, McCown sided with his brigade commander; citing the fatigue of his men, he begged Liddell to take up the advance in front of McNair. Liddell was of a different mind. Pointing out the strength of Baldwin's line, he suggested instead a combined effort by the two brigades attacking on line. McCown agreed, and the movement was made.

  While the Confederate generals argued, Baldwin adjusted his regiments. Although his men—having watched as the attack on Kirk and Willich unfolded to their front—were better prepared for the impending onslaught than had been their comrades in the frontline brigades, the predawn call to arms nonetheless found the units badly scattered. “Before sunrise, the long roll beat, causing a great commotion throughout the regiment,” recalled Levi Wagner of the First Ohio. “Some were still sound asleep, some were preparing their breakfast, others had gone…after water; so but a few were ready when ordered to fall into line.”

  The brigade formed initially along the southern edge of the large belt of timber below the Wilkinson Pike. The Fifth Kentucky, First Ohio, and Sixth Indiana constituted the first line; the Ninety-third Ohio and the Fifth Indiana Artillery lay in support. Here they remained until shortly after seven o'clock when Johnson, who had taken refuge behind his reserve brigade at the first sound of firing that morning, waved them forward to meet the approaching Confederates. In compliance with his division commander's orders, Baldwin threw the First Ohio across the cornfield to its southern edge. Here the Ohioans halted to take cover behind a rail fence and among the broken stalks and scattered limestone boulders. “And right here,” Wagner noted, “if you were inclined to smile at the idea of a rail fence being any protection during a battle, if you could just for a few moments transport yourself to the opposite side of that fence and view the bullet holes those rails contain, you would see that a very light obstruction often saves a life.” The Sixth Indiana came up next, settling in behind the fence to the left of the First Ohio. Seventy-five yards behind the Ohioans the Fifth Kentucky formed and the Ninety-third Ohio remained in the woods as the brigade reserve. Captain Peter Simonson split his battery. He placed his two light twelve-pounders seventy-five yards in advance of the Sixth Indiana and kept the remaining four Parrott guns in the cornfield behind the First Ohio.

  Bits and pieces of the shattered brigades of Kirk and Willich paused in their rearward flight to extend Baldwin's line. Colonel Dodge gathered a handful of survivors from the Thirtieth Indiana along the fence to the right of the First Ohio; Major Joseph Collins, meanwhile, pieced together a fragment of his Twenty-ninth Indiana behind Dodge. Near the east bank of Overall Creek, Colonel Gibson prepared to make a stand with a corporal's guard of the Thirty-ninth Indiana and an artillery piece.9

  It was 7:30 A.M. Crouched behind the split-rail fence, Baldwin's infantrymen watched as the Rebel line neared. It was a colorful spectacle. “The men were good-sized, healthy, and well clothed,” noted one observer, “but without any attempt at uniformity in color or cut.” Out in front was their commander, Brigadier General St. John Richardson Liddell, wildly waving his cap. This was the forty-seven-year-old Mississippian's third battle as a troop leader. He had begun the war as a volunteer aide-de-camp to Hardee, later serving as confidential courier to General Albert Sidney Johnston before being rewarded with a brigade command at Corinth. Liddell's formal military education had been limited to one year at West Point, his resignation from the Military Academy presumably a result of his low class standing. But even four years of West Point pedantry would have left him unprepared for what he encountered here at Stones River. “Could I have dreamt that such scenes would await me,” he later wrote his wife, “I would have fled.”
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  On came the Arkansans. At one hundred fifty yards Simonson's guns and the First Ohio opened fire, and Liddell's left recoiled. At one hundred yards the Sixth Indiana released its first volley, and Liddell's right ground to a halt. Falling to the ground, the Arkansans traded volleys with their Yankee tormentors. Their plight was desperate. Liddell had struck the Union line unsupported, McNair having lagged behind on the left. To make matters worse, Lieutenant H. Shannon, Liddell's artillery commander, engaged Simonson with counterbattery fire that proved worse than ineffective: while trying to sight over their heads, Shannon's gunners killed or maimed several members of the Sixth and Seventh Arkansas.

  As Liddell's regiments wavered, McNair belatedly attacked the patchwork lines of Dodge and Gibson. McNair's men ran the three hundred yards to the Federal positions, slamming into and knocking down the intervening split-rail fences without missing a stride. With seventy-five yards to go, the Confederates steeled themselves for the hand-to-hand combat all dreaded, yet expected. But bayonet fighting was a rarity in the Civil War. The destructive accuracy of the rifle usually decided the outcome of a charge before the attackers could close with the enemy. McNair's attack was no exception. The defenders scattered long before McNair's men reached their lines. That they did not give a better account of themselves is hardly surprising in view of the thrashing they had received an hour earlier. The men simply had lost the will to resist. Even the Seventy-ninth Illinois, coming up fresh from overnight guard duty in the rear, crumbled after its colonel was struck down in the initial Rebel volley. Only the gunners of the Fifth Indiana stood their ground, and all that was gained by their gallantry in the face of the Fourth Arkansas was the loss of two guns and twenty-four men.