by Sam Watkins
I GET A FURLOUGH
After going through all the formality of red-tapeism, and being snubbed with tweedle-dum and tweedle-dee, I got my furlough. When it started out, it was on the cleanest piece of paper that could be found in Buck Lanier's sutler's store. After it came back, it was pretty well used up, and looked as if it had gone through a very dark place, and been beat with a soot-bag. But, anyhow, I know that I did not appreciate my furlough half as much as I thought I would. I felt like returning it to the gentlemen with my compliments, declining their kind favors. I felt that it was unwillingly given, and, as like begets like, it was very unwillingly received. Honestly, I felt as if I had made a bad bargain, and was keen to rue the trade. I did not know what to do with it; but, anyhow, I thought I would make the best of a bad bargain. I got on the cars at Dalton—now, here is a thing that I had long since forgotten about—it was the first first-class passenger car that I had been in since I had been a soldier. The conductor passed around, and handed me a ticket with these words on it:
“If you wish to travel with ease,
Keep this ticket in sight, if you please;
And if you wish to take a nap,
Just stick this in your hat or cap.”
This was the poetry, reader, upon the ticket. The conductor called around every now and then, especially if you were asleep, to look at your ticket, and every now and then a captain and a detail of three soldiers would want to look at your furlough. I thought before I got to Selma, Alabama, that I wished the ticket and furlough both were in the bottom of the ocean, and myself back in camp. Everywhere I went someone wanted to see my furlough. Before I got my furlough, I thought it sounded big. Furlough was a war word, and I did not comprehend its meaning until I got one. The very word “furlough” made me sick then. I feel fainty now whenever I think of furlough. It has a sickening sound in the ring of it—“furlough!” “Furloch,” it ought to have been called.
Every man I met had a furlough; in fact, it seemed to have the very double-extract of romance about it—“fur too, eh?” Men who I knew had never been in the army in their lives, all had furloughs. Where so many men ever got furloughs from I never knew; but I know now. They were like the old bachelor who married the widow with ten children—he married a “ready-made” family. They had ready-made furloughs. But I have said enough on the furlough question; it enthralled me—let it pass; don't want any more furloughs.
But while on my furlough, I got with Captain G. M. V. Kinzer, a fine-dressed and handsome cavalry captain, whom all the ladies (as they do at the present day), fell in love with. The captain and I were great friends. The captain gave me his old coat to act captain in, but the old thing wouldn't act. I would keep the collar turned down. One night we went to call on a couple of beautiful and interesting ladies near Selma. We chatted the girls until the “wee small hours” of morning, and when the young ladies retired, remarked that they would send a servant to show us to our room. We waited; no servant came. The captain and I snoozed it out as best we could. About daylight the next morning the captain and I thought that we would appear as if we had risen very early, and began to move about, and opening the door, there lay a big black Negro on his knees and face.
Now, reader, what do you suppose that Negro was doing? You could not guess in a week. The black rascal! hideous! terrible to contemplate! vile! outrageous! Well, words cannot express it. What do you suppose he was doing? He was fast asleep. He had come thus far, and could go no further, and fell asleep. There is where the captain and I found him at daylight the next morning. We left for Selma immediately after breakfast, leaving the family in ignorance of the occurrence. The captain and I had several other adventures, but the captain always had the advantage of me; he had the good clothes, and the good looks, and got all the good presents from the pretty young ladies—well, you might say, “cut me out” on all occasions. “That's what makes me ‘spise a furlough.” But then furlough sounds big, you know.
* * *
1. Joe Johnston was one of the most senior of Confederate generals. He shared command with Beauregard at the First Battle of Bull Run, which was the first major battle of the war and a Confederate victory. Thereafter he was given command of the South's most important army in Virginia and charged with the responsibility of defending the capital at Richmond against the largest army ever assembled in North America, under Union General George McClellan. Johnston was wounded in the first major battle against McClellan and replaced by Robert E. Lee. Lee retained command until the end of the war. On recovering from his wounds, Johnston was a general in search of a command. In November 1862, he was placed in overall command of the western theater. His chief responsibility was to insure that the armies in Tennessee and Mississippi cooperated to maximum effect
2. Bragg's reassignment to Richmond as a strategic adviser was a good one. He was often brilliant in strategy but a failure in execution, largely owing to an inability to win cooperation from his own subordinate officers.
3. This is a reference to Shakespeare's play Richard III, although the line itself is not original to the play but was anonymously added later.
4. Charles Quintard was originally from Connecticut but moved to Atlanta in 1848 to practice medicine. Within a few years he was teaching physiology and pathological anatomy at a medical college in Memphis. While in Memphis he became acquainted with James Otey, who was the first Episcopal bishop in Tennessee. Otey convinced Quintard to give up medicine for the priesthood. Quintard was a Confederate chaplain during the war, and afterward became the first vice chancellor of the University of the South as well as the second Episcopal bishop for Tennessee.
5. Sam's perspective on Johnston is important because it is different than is commonly held by modern historians and President Davis as well. While today's historians and Davis recognized the value of the respect and loyalty Johnston had from his troops, they regard(ed) him as too reluctant to bring the army to battle. When Atlanta was on the verge of capture, Davis replaced Johnston with a more aggressive commander, John Bell Hood. Unfortunately, although his plans were theoretically sound, Hood demanded too much of the Army of Tennessee, too quickly.
6. This is another Shakespeare reference. Othello lost his status by a change in circumstance in relation to his wife. Sam implies the corrupt “commissaries” lost their status by a change in commanders.
7. Evidently this was part of the “Great Revival” that swept through Union and Confederate armies during the autumn and winter of 1863–64.
8. The “Dead March” used in the military at the time was not the better-know composition by Chopin, but instead one by Handel from his opera Saul.
9. Quintard wrote a memoir that was published posthumously in 1905. He also agreed to subscribe to a revision of the Watkins memoir, but there were never enough subscribers to finance the project while Watkins lived. Quintard led efforts to insure the financial survival of the University of the South after the war. Also following the war, as an Episcopal bishop he opposed segregating black denominations. He was born in Stamford, Connecticut, and graduated from New York University with a medical degree. The Episcopal Church still honors him with a feast day every February 16.
10. The name of Quintard's songbook was Balm for the Weary and the Wounded.
11. James Mason and John Slidell were Confederate emissaries to Europe who lobbied for diplomatic recognition from Britain and France. Raphael Semmes was the captain of the C.S.S. Alabama, which was a commerce raider. Whitworth rifles were rare imports from Britain that were especially suited for sharpshooters. The rifles were brought into the Confederacy by blockade runners. It is unlikely that Semmes, Mason, or Slidell were directly involved in procurement.
12. There are recorded cases of Whitworth sharpshooters killing soldiers half a mile distant. The most famous example was the killing of federal General John Sedgwick, who was in the act of criticizing his troops for dodging long-range shots, saying, “I am ashamed of you. [The sharpshooters] couldn't hit an elephant at th
is distance.”
TWELVE
HUNDRED DAYS BATTLE
ROCKY FACE RIDGE
When I got back to Dalton, I found the Yankee army advancing; they were at Rocky Face Ridge. Now, for old Joe's generalship. We have seen him in camp, now we will see him in action. We are marched to meet the enemy; we occupy Turner's Gap at Tunnel Hill. Now, come on, Mr. Yank—we are keen for an engagement. It is like a picnic; the soldiers are ruddy and fat, and strong; whoop! whoop! hurrah! come on, Mr. Yank. We form line of battle on top of Rocky Face Ridge, and here we are face to face with the enemy. Why don't you unbottle your thunderbolts and dash us to pieces? Ha! here it comes; the boom of cannon and the bursting of a shell in our midst. Ha! ha! give us another blizzard! Boom! boom! That's all right, you ain't hurting nothing.1
“Hold on, boys,” says a sharpshooter, armed with a Whitworth gun, “I'll stop that racket. Wait until I see her smoke again.” Boom, boom! The keen crack of the Whitworth rings upon the frosty morning air; the cannoneers are seen to lie down; something is going on. “Yes, yonder is a fellow being carried off on a litter.” Bang! bang! goes the Whitworth, and the battery is seen to limber to the rear. What next? a yell! What does this yell mean? A charge right up the hill, and a little sharp skirmish for a few moments. We can see the Yankee line. They are resting on their arms. The valley below is full of blue coats, but a little too far off to do any execution.
Old Joe walks along the line. He happens to see the blue coats in the valley, in plain view. Company H is ordered to fire on them. We take deliberate aim and fire a solid volley of minnie balls into their midst. We see a terrible consplutterment among them, and know that we have killed and wounded several of Sherman's incendiaries.
They seem to get mad at our audacity, and ten pieces of cannon are brought up, and pointed right toward us. We see the smoke boil up, and a moment afterwards the shell is roaring and bursting right among us. Ha! ha! ha! that's funny—we love the noise of battle. Captain Joe P. Lee orders us to load and fire at will upon these batteries. Our Enfields crack, keen and sharp; and ha, ha, ha, look yonder! The Yankees are running away from their cannon, leaving two pieces to take care of themselves.
Yonder goes a dash of our cavalry. They are charging right up in the midst of the Yankee line. Three men are far in advance. Look out, boys! What does that mean? Our cavalry are falling back, and the three men are cut off. They will be captured, sure. They turn to get back to our lines. We can see the smoke boil up, and hear the discharge of musketry from the Yankee lines. One man's horse is seen to blunder and fall, one man reels in his saddle, and falls a corpse, and the other is seen to surrender. But, look yonder! the man's horse that blundered and fell is up again; he mounts his horse in fifty yards of the whole Yankee line, is seen to lie down on his neck, and is spurring him right on toward the solid line of blue coats. Look how he rides, and the ranks of the blue coats open. Hurrah for the brave rebel boy! He has passed and is seen to regain his regiment.
I afterwards learned that that brave Rebel boy was my own brother, Dave, who at that time was not more than sixteen years old.2 The one who was killed was named Grimes, and the one captured was named Houser, and the regiment was the First Tennessee Cavalry, then commanded by Colonel J. H. Lewis. You could have heard the cheers from both sides, it seemed, for miles.
John Branch raised the tune, in which the whole First and Twenty-seventh regiments joined in:3
Cheer, boys, cheer, we are marching on to battle!
Cheer, boys, cheer, for our sweethearts and our wives!
Cheer, boys, cheer, we'll nobly do our duty,
And give to the South our hearts, our arms, our lives.
Old Lincoln, with his hireling hosts,
Will never whip the South,
Shouting the battle cry of freedom.
All this is taking place while the Yankees are fully one thousand yards off. We can see every movement that is made, and we know that Sherman's incendiaries are already hacked.4 Sherman himself is a coward, and dares not try his strength with old Joe. Sherman never fights; all that he is after is marching to the sea, while the world looks on and wonders: “What a flank movement!” Yes, Sherman is afraid of minnie balls, and tries the flank movement. We are ordered to march somewhere.5
“FALLING BACK”
Old Joe knows what he is up to. Every night we change our position. The morrow's sun finds us face to face with the Yankee lines. The troops are in excellent spirits. Yonder are our “big guns,” our cavalry—Forrest and Wheeler—our sharpshooters, and here is our wagon and supply train, right in our midst. The private's tread is light—his soul is happy.
Another flank movement. Tomorrow finds us face to face. Well, you have come here to fight us; why don't you come on? We are ready; always ready. Everything is working like clockwork; machinery is all in order. Come, give us a tilt, and let us try our metal.6 You say old Joe has got the brains and you have got the men; you are going to flank us out of the Southern Confederacy. That's your plan, is it? Well, look out; we are going to pick off and decimate your men every day. You will be a picked chicken before you do that.
What? The Yankees are at Resaca, and have captured the bridge across the Oostanaula River. Well, now, that's business; that has the old ring in it. Tell it to us again; we're fond of hearing such things.
The Yankees are tearing up the railroad track between the tank and Resaca. Let's hear it again. The Yankees have opened the attack; we are going to have a battle; we are ordered to strip for the fight. (That is, to take off our knapsacks and blankets, and to detail Bev. White to guard them.) Keep closed up, men. The skirmish line is firing like popping fire-crackers on a Christmas morning. Every now and then the boom of a cannon and the screaming of a shell. Ha, ha, ha! that has the right ring. We will make Sherman's incendiaries tell another tale in a few moments, when—“Halt! about face.” Well, what's the matter now? Simply a flank movement.7 All right; we march back, retake our knapsacks and blankets, and commence to march toward Resaca. Tom Tucker's rooster crows, and John Branch raises the tune, “Just Twenty Years Ago,” and after we sing that out, he winds up with, “There Was an Ancient Individual Whose Cognomen Was Uncle Edward,” and
“The old woman who kept a peanut stand,
And a big policeman stood by with a big stick in his hand,”
And Arthur Fulghum halloes out, “All right; go ahead! toot, toot, toot! puff, puff, puff! Tickets, gentlemen, tickets!” and the Maury Grays raise the yell, “All aboard for Culleoka,” while Walker Coleman commences the song, “I'se gwine to jine the rebel band, fightin' for my home.” Thus we go, marching back to Resaca.
BATTLE OF RESACA
Well, you want to hear about shooting and banging, now, gentle reader, don't you? I am sorry I cannot interest you on this subject—see history.
The Yankees had got breeches hold on us. They were ten miles in our rear; had cut off our possibility of a retreat. The wire bridge was in their hands, and they were on the railroad in our rear; but we were moving, there was no mistake in that. Our column was firm and strong. There was no excitement, but we were moving along as if on review. We passed old Joe and his staff. He has on a light or mole colored hat, with a black feather in it. He is listening to the firing going on at the front. One little cheer, and the very ground seems to shake with cheers. Old Joe smiles as blandly as a modest maid, raises his hat in acknowledgement, makes a polite bow, and rides toward the firing. Soon we are thrown into line of battle, in support of Polk's corps.8
We belong to Hardee's corps. Now Polk's corps advances to the attack, and Hardee's corps fifty or seventy-five yards in the rear. A thug, thug, thug; the balls are decimating our men; we can't fire; Polk's corps is in front of us; should it give way, then it will be our time.9
The air is full of deadly missiles. We can see the two lines meet, and hear the deadly crash of battle; can see the blaze of smoke and fire. The earth trembles. Our little corps rush in to carry off our men as they are shot down, killed
and wounded. Lie down! thug, thug! General Hardee passes along the line. “Steady, boys!” (The old general had on a white cravat; he had been married to a young wife not more than three weeks). “Go back, general, go back, go back, go back,” is cried all along the line. He passes through the missiles of death unscathed; stood all through that storm of bullets indifferent to their proximity (we were lying down, you know).
The enemy is checked; yonder they fly, whipped and driven from the field. “Attention! By the right flank, file left, march! Double quick!” and we were double quicking, we knew not whither, but that always meant fight. We pass over the hill, and through the valley, and there is old Joe pointing toward the tank with his sword. (He looked like the pictures you see hung upon the walls). We cross the railroad. Halloo! here comes a cavalry charge from the Yankee line. Now for it; we will see how Yankee cavalry fight. We are not supported; what is the matter? Are we going to be captured? They thunder down upon us. Their flat-footed dragoons shake and jar the earth. They are all around us—we are surrounded. “Form square! Platoons, right and left wheel! Kneel and fire!” There we were in a hollow square.10
