So would Wheeler, who was obviously in a better position to do so at Decatur than he had been the previous two days at Bald Hill. Wheeler rode back to his cavalry and ordered them to dismount. Placing his men in lines of battle Wheeler sent them toward the town as they crept along each side of the Fayetteville Road. As they inched within a mile of Decatur, Sprague’s men spotted them. Wheeler had artillery with him and the cannons were unlimbered in the woods and opened upon the 63rd Ohio infantry and several companies of the 25th Wisconsin Infantry advancing southward toward that flank. Within ten minutes the Union soldiers fell back across the railroad, followed by the only other regiment on the field, the 35th New Jersey. The time passed 1:00 P.M.31
Colonel Milton Montgomery of the 25th Wisconsin took a bullet in the arm that broke his wrist and weakened him enough to fall captive to Wheeler’s Rebels. Lieutenant Colonel Jeremiah Rusk took command of the 25th and nearly suffered a worse fate in front of his Wisconsin regiment. As the companies of the 25th Wisconsin began to fall back to the courthouse square upon Sprague’s orders, Rusk’s horse carried him too far ahead of his men and it meandered toward Wheeler’s attackers. A Confederate grabbed the bridle while another got hold of Rusk’s sword. Rusk drew a revolver with his free hand and fired into the body of the man holding his horse. Relinquishing his sword to the other Southerner, Rusk wheeled around and galloped northward back toward the center of town, but his horse was shot dead beneath him and the animal collapsed and pinned Rusk’s leg. Twenty Wisconsin men immediately rushed forward to save their lieutenant colonel, freeing Rusk from his dead mount and escorting him rearward.32
Colonel Sprague rallied his men at the town square as Union wagons had already begun to roll northward to safety toward Roswell. Wheeler scooped up more than 100 prisoners at the edge of town and attempted to dislodge Sprague’s defense with a series of reckless charges. Artillery and infantry rounds stopped the cavalry in their tracks and sent them reeling back to the cover of the woods. Casualties mounted within Wheeler’s ranks; some of them were absolutely gruesome. D. F. Fields of the 11th Mississippi would forever be haunted by the memory of one of his men who “had the front part of his skull shot off, but it did not break the membrane around the brain.” Fields and a companion carefully carried the victim behind the lines and set him down behind a huge stump. “I had to hold his hands to keep him from tearing out his brains,” remembered Fields. “It was a sickening sight.”33
Wheeler anticipated a tougher fight for Decatur because he was facing infantry instead of enemy cavalry, which he expected to be guarding the wagons. Yet, as the battle waged for over half an hour even he must have been surprised at the viciousness of that protracted encounter. Sprague held his men firmly at Decatur’s town square as Wheeler continued to mount pressure upon his front and flanks. One of Sprague’s three regiments ran out of ammunition and two of his 6 cannons had to shift to meet the flank threat. Sprague gained assistance from men that were left behind by the previous occupants of Decatur, including musicians and a few hundred cavalrymen either sick or without mounts. Some of them fell in with Sprague’s brigade and were armed with Spencer repeating carbines, a valuable cavalry weapon that fascinated the hard-pressed foot soldiers. They also received unexpected aid from two regiments dropping down to Decatur from Roswell who reached the battlefield in time to keep Wheeler from puncturing Sprague’s defense.
They withstood long enough to safely haul down the Stars and Stripes from the Decatur courthouse. Satisfied that the wagons had a big enough head start not to be overtaken by Wheeler’s attackers, Sprague withdrew northward from Decatur and set up a tough defense one mile from the scene at the junction of two roads. Wheeler’s men then owned the town, along with the hospital stores, tons of equipment, and scores of Union prisoners, but only six wagons. Sprague reported 242 officers and men killed, wounded, or missing—over a quarter of his engaged force. Wheeler’s losses in that encounter were never officially tallied, but considering the aggressive nature of his assault, an estimation of 300–400 casualties in his two divisions is realistic. Sprague’s stubborn defense and the salvation of over 1,500 wagons did not go unnoticed. A week later Sprague earned a brigadier generalship and nearly thirty years after that he was awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor “for Distinguished gallantry at the Battle of Decatur, Ga., July 22, 1864.”34
For the moment, at 1:30 P.M. on Friday, July 22, Wheeler had command of the region. He was in a tremendous position to form more than 2,000 available cavalrymen and coordinate an assault westward, down the line of the Georgia Railroad toward the back of the XV Corps of the Army of the Tennessee. The temptation to pursue Sprague and the wagons, however, was too much for Wheeler. He ordered his command to head northward, not westward, and in doing so, he disrupted the spirit of Hood’s initial plan. Before his divisions could act upon Wheeler’s wishes three of Hardee’s staff officers galloped into Decatur in rapid succession and delivered Hardee’s urgent plea to reinforce his attack south of Wheeler’s position. Wheeler complied. “The pursuit [northward] was stopped and all my available troops moved at a gallop toward General Hardee’s position.”35
It was a unfortunate decision by General Hardee, perhaps borne out of some desperation and realization that he was unable to fulfill Hood’s intention on that portion of the field. Between 1:15 and 1:30 P.M. opposing fire slackened across that portion of the battlefield. A tremendous opportunity for Hood’s army had just been squelched by four brigades and four batteries from Dodge’s corps. The five brigades of Bate’s and Walker’s division attacked haphazardly, because they were understrength from overnight straggling and in need of quality leadership at the brigade and division level to coordinate their assaults. The experience, talent, and tenacity of the Southern foot soldier were wasted in that field, neutralized by Federal defenders who were more ably led by their brigadiers and division commanders. Much of the same troubles existed for Wheeler at Decatur. The result was a stalemate in the rear of the Army of the Tennessee, which equated to a victory here for Dodge and his half-sized corps. Fourteen thousand Americans, about equally distributed between North and South, had contested for possession of the field. The cost for Dodge’s men was close to 700 men killed, wounded, or captured. Wheeler’s, Bate’s, and Walker’s losses in the first seventy minutes of that battle cannot be accurately tallied, but can be safely estimated between 1,100 and 1,400—almost twice that of the defenders. The butcher’s bill for that battle reached 2,000 in less than ninety minutes—an average of 25 soldiers killed, wounded, and captured every minute since noon.36
It was just the beginning. The abandonment of Decatur, such an integral part of Hood’s intentions, illustrated how the Battle of Atlanta had formed a life of its own. As General McPherson watched the repulse of States Rights Gist’s brigade he could breathe a sigh of relief that the Confederates had failed at caving in his thin blue line behind the main body of his army, but the relief was short lived. It was superseded by a growing concern over the inviting gap between his position and Blair’s XVII Corps troops half a mile west of them. His desire to fill that gap—and his insistence to put his own handprint on the plan—was destined to change the complexion of the battle.
6
SACRIFICE
It was 12:45 P.M. when General McPherson first took action to fill the wooded gap between the XVI and XVII corps. From a knoll behind General Fuller’s division, McPherson watched Morrill’s brigade effectively counterpunch Gist’s brigade and—according to General Fuller—leave the southeast corner of the contested field “well carpeted with butternut.” That opened the wagon road that ran through the woods and linked the XVI Corps with the XVII Corps. McPherson sent his inspector general, Lieutenant Colonel William E. Strong, on a mission to check with General Frank Blair about the condition of his XVII Corps, and to notify Brigadier General Giles Smith to hold his vulnerable position. McPherson wished both commanders to know that he would plug the gap. Strong galloped off following a road that carried h
im to each of the commanders. From Giles Smith, Strong learned that the Rebels were apparently feeling for an opening between the XVI and XVII corps to exploit.1
Giles A. Smith had been in charge of the 4th Division of the XVII Corps for a day and a half. Smith was about to receive the greatest test of his leadership under fire. His division had dug in south of Bald Hill, with one brigade facing southward to counter an attack against the flank that Smith deemed inevitable. Smith was under no false pretenses; if he was correct on where the Rebels would assault, his division would receive the brunt of that attack. His experience also told him that the number of dead and wounded he would incur could be abominable.
At noon, right when Dodge’s three brigades came under attack half a mile behind him, Giles Smith was at the southern end of his line, a position manned by Colonel William Hall’s brigade, infantry consisting entirely of Iowans. Inspecting the position taken up by the four Iowa regiments, buttressed by 6 Napoleons of Battery F, 2nd U.S. Light Artillery, Smith knew the position was solid, but not strong enough; yet there was little else he could do. Giles Smith visited the regimental commander and paid special attention to the pivot of the brigade—the 16th Iowa Infantry. Smith held a brief discussion with the 16th’s commander, Lieutenant Colonel Addison H. Sanders, who remembered Smith’s verbal orders to “have my regiment ready to fall in at a minute’s notice.” The general stressed that those works must be held, for the safety of the division depended on how long the Iowans could defend their position. Sanders believed that Smith was essentially telling him that his regiment might need to be sacrificed for the survival of that sector of the line.2
Chain of command, for all practical purposes, was ignored. That realization did not set well with Colonel William Hall, the Iowa brigade commander, who appeared to be rendered irrelevant by his day-old superior officer. A small, irritable, and nervous man whose long, black hair and big, black eyes failed to detract from his strikingly sallow complexion, Colonel Hall was not well liked by the rank and file of his command—they still called themselves “Crocker’s Iowa Brigade” after the previous commander, Colonel Marcellus M. Crocker, despite the fact that Crocker had been reassigned over a year before and Hall had commanded them for most of 1863 and the entire Atlanta campaign to date. Notwithstanding the absence of a bond to their commander, the Iowans never questioned Hall’s bravery, for despite how sickly he always looked, he never shirked his duty. “If danger was at hand, he never was the second man present,” insisted another Iowa officer.3
Indeed, danger was at hand—all attributed to the precarious position of the brigade. Sanders’s 16th Iowa Regiment was down one-fifth of its strength after a detachment of 83 men left on fatigue duty, leaving 342 officers and men stretching from the Flat Shoals Road on its right to a diverging road on its left. One 2-gun section of the 2nd Illinois Light Artillery, Battery F, protected its right flank where the 11th Iowa extended in an arc. Directly behind the 16th was another regiment, the 13th Iowa, and the final regiment of the brigade, the 15th Iowa, entrenched on the left of the 16th but 30 yards behind it. Altogether, Hall’s Iowa brigade approached 1,500 soldiers rank and file. By its extended position the 16th Iowa was the most vulnerable of all the regiments in the brigade.4
Adding to the vulnerability was the gap between Hall’s left (represented by the left flank of the 15th Iowa) and the 27th Ohio of Morrill’s brigade of Fuller’s division. The gap was 1,000 yards of rugged wooded terrain, an ideal location for advancing Confederate troops to invade to escape both infantry and artillery fire. Gist’s brigade, although unable to exploit the initial success it gained against the 64th Illinois, had still locked Fuller in place and prevented him from stretching out his already thin line to shorten the gap. That made the 16th Iowa vulnerable to a frontal assault against it, and the 15th Iowa susceptible to a flank attack upon its left.
Staff officer Lieutenant Colonel Strong assured General Giles Smith that General McPherson would address the need to fill the gap. Strong galloped off to return to General McPherson at approximately 1:00 P.M. No sooner had McPherson’s staff officer disappeared in the woods east of the Iowans than the head of Patrick Cleburne’s three brigades of 3,500 men had worked themselves free from the tangled underbrush and charged headlong into the left flank of the Army of the Tennessee. Brigadier General Daniel C. Govan’s Arkansas brigade exited the woods and marched in double line of battle. Govan’s available force consisted of what used to be ten regiments, all low in numbers and consolidated into five units, guiding along each side of the Flat Shoals Road (another regiment, the 3rd Confederate Infantry, was not with the brigade for that assault). Govan’s brigade was a testament to the hard fighting the Army of Tennessee had endured throughout the war. Not one of the two-regiment consolidations exceeded 300 men and one of them, the 2nd/24th Arkansas, numbered less than 200 men. In all, 1,200 Confederates directly challenged a more numerous Iowa brigade.5
The Confederate force was supposed to have twice as many attackers. Brigadier General James A. Smith had aligned his Texas brigade to the right of Govan’s men deep in the woods near Cobb’s Mill and that was how they initiated their advance. Once Govan engaged the Iowa skirmishers, his attack separated from Smith’s Texans who could not hold the line due to intervening bushes and marshes. Govan did benefit from artillery support. Notwithstanding the diminished infantry force, additional firepower buttressed Govan’s advance. An artillery battalion trailed the Arkansas regiments, three batteries of 12 cannons commanded by Captain Thomas J. Key. Unfortunately for the artillerists, the woods they traveled through appeared to offer no open high ground to unlimber their cannons.6
Military doctrine dictates that an attacking force cannot dislodge an entrenched opponent with artillery support in a head-on assault unless the attackers can mass more than three times as many soldiers as the defenders, a ratio of superiority rarely appreciated or employed by an attacking force on a Civil War battlefield. General Govan did not enjoy the numbers advantage to succeed. Making matters worse was the character of the nonhuman defenses he had to conquer. Each of the Iowa regiments had encased itself in substantial rifle pits. Georgia soil was excavated and piled and packed in front with logs and branches added to the earthwork to better conceal the Northerners. In front of each regiment was a cleared space covering 50 yards, cleared that is except for contraptions of felled trees, sharpened oak branches, and underbrush—called abatises—designed to thwart the progress of the attackers. Rather than aligning the four Union regiments in a straight defense, the brigade had a scattered alignment with no two units exactly in line with each other. That increased the killing potential of the marksmen behind those rifle pits. Indeed, Govan’s men were destined to enter a living hell.
At the same time Govan’s Arkansas brigade initiated its assault against the left flank of Blair’s XVII Corps, General McPherson personally acted to protect the eastern flank and rear of that corps. Lieutenant Colonel Strong returned to McPherson and both men rode onto the same path that led from the XVI to the XVII Corps positions. They did not hear any appreciable skirmish fire ahead of them, and could not have known that their entry into the gap would coincide with Cleburne’s attack against the southern flank of Blair’s troops, but they had already deemed the attack against that position to be inevitable. Yet here they were, the commanding general of the Army of the Tennessee, his lone staff officer, and a few orderlies heading into a wooded gap without protection.
General McPherson had ridden that road earlier in the morning; it was not unfamiliar to him. Accompanied by Lieutenant Colonel Strong, McPherson reached about halfway between the flanks of those two corps. McPherson checked his horse and left the road, carefully scouting the ground over to the south all the way to a distant ridge. That, McPherson maintained, was the ideal place to post reinforcements. Returning to the road, McPherson ordered Strong northward to General Logan with an order to send down Colonel Hugo Wangelin’s Missouri brigade from its reserve position in the rear of the XV Corps
to occupy that position in the gap. Strong departed McPherson’s side before 1:30 P.M., leaving the Union army commander in the road.7
Strong galloped away from an erupting maelstrom, one that exploded upon the XVII Corps and, ultimately, General McPherson. Govan’s assault against Colonel Hall took several minutes to unfold. The first order of duty for the Arkansans was to brush back the Iowa skirmish line challenging them. The pickets fell back to their rifle pits after firing a couple of rounds, but Lieutenant Colonel Sanders of the 16th Iowa was not satisfied with the rapid return of companies B and G of his regiment. He sent them back out, ostensibly to buy more time for his regiment to prepare for the inevitable attack. According to an Iowan in the rifle pit, “they did not go 10 rods [55 yards] until they came back on the run and the balls commenced to whistle over us.” Another remarked, “On came the enemy with volleys of musketry and demonic yells.” Sergeant Amos Sniff of the 16th Iowa characterized Govan’s rush toward them as “an avalanche.” Colonel Benjamin Potts, commanding the 1st Brigade just north of Hall’s Iowans, noted that the assault commenced “about 1.20 P.M.”8
Lieutenant Walter H. Powell of the 2nd Illinois Light Artillery, Battery F, was in charge of the 2 Napoleons between the 11th and 16th Iowa rifle pits and he immediately began pummeling the charging Razorbacks with twelve-pound rounds at a distance of 200 yards, but Lieutenant Colonel Sanders convinced him to stop; he was so confident in his entrenched position that he viewed the situation as an opportunity to trap the Confederates and annihilate them. He ordered his regiment to withhold their fire until he delivered the order. Reminiscent of Bunker Hill during the American Revolution (“Don’t fire until you see the whites of their eyes”), Sanders allowed Govan’s men to enter into the cleared space in front of the rifle pits and there—just 50 yards from the barrels of his regiment—he commanded the rear line to aim low and fire, immediately followed by the front rank, and then for both lines to fire at will. “The result of our fire was terrible,” reported Sanders, “the enemy’s line seemed to crumble to the earth, for even those not killed or wounded fell to the ground for protection.”9
The Day Dixie Died: The Battle of Atlanta Page 13
