Personal Recollections of Sherman's Campaigns in Georgia and the Carolinas
Page 9
W. T. Sherman,
Maj. Gen."
Marietta was formerly a splendid city, distinguished by the grandeur and magnificence of its architecture, and the wealth and splendor of its inhabitants. The chivalry had a famous military school here, which is a grand structure. Its halls once resounded with joy, and reflected all the pomp of Southern aristocracy; but, both have alike departed. A son of the Methodist Bishop Capers, was the President of the Institution when our troops took possession of the place. The town is now desolation.
Our forces are no more entangled in hills; aside from the banks of the Chattahoochie, which are not very high, the whole country is either a plain or gently undulating. The Chattahoochie River takes its rise in the Blue Ridge. It flows in a South-westerly direction, uniting with Flint River, and thus forming the Appalachicola. It is small and muddy, rushing through regions which are often unrelieved by verdure or fertility. It floats no wealth on its bosom; it rolls not amid enchanting and unbroken loveliness, or overwhelming sublimity. It is distinguished by nothing magnificent, either in itself or the scenery amid which it wanders.
The name of the lion-hearted Dan. McCook, is one which should not be forgotten in the list of the heroes who fell on bloody Kenesaw. He was the hero of many battles and skirmishes. He was distinguished for decision, grand soldierly bearing, and glorious courage. It is said that he was on the enemy's works, calling and beckoning to his fiery brigade, when he was torn to pieces by the bullets he had so splendidly defied.
Conspicuous in the charge was the scholarly and heroic Clason, of the 121st Ohio, who was killed while gallantly leading his splendid company of Ohioans. He advanced within a few yards of the rebels, firing at them with a deadly aim; but so deadly and thick were their cross-fires, that he and many of his brave associates were stricken down and killed.
Among all the daring spirits in that fighting brigade of Mitchell's, no one was more fearless than Captain Neighborn, of the 52d Ohio. His was no doubting or hesitating courage. Having from the first, made up his mind what course to pursue, what was the goal to be won, he bent all his energies to that one object. In the bivouac, and on the march, in the charge and deadly conflict, so lively and hopeful was his enthusiasm, that it reminded one forcibly of the song of the Cavalier:
"Then mount! Then mount, brave gallants all,
And don your helmets amain,
Death's couriers Fame and Honor call
Us to the field again.
Let piping swain and Graven wight,
Thus weep, and puling, cry,
Our business is like men to fight,
And here-like to die."
And Captain Neighborn did die—died where the brave love to die — mortally wounded in a charge at the head of his company, and in the arms of victory.
The brave and noble Yeager, Major of the 121st Ohio, was also killed. The last sounds that he heard, were the jubilant shouts of his victorious comrades; the last ray of light that flickered on his expiring gaze, showed him the hosts of the hated foe, gradually yielding. In no more fitting place, with no more glorious associations, from no more sacred altar, could an ardent, patriotic spirit take its flight.
Among the brave men whose blood was poured out on the slaughter field of Kenesaw, was one whose dying words will long be remembered by his comrades in arms. Colonel McShane, of the 98th Ohio, who fell near the breast-works of the enemy, died, exclaiming: "Turn my face to the foe." Peace to his ashes. If the country ever forgets such heroes, her name should perish. The courageous Harmon and Barnhill, of Illinois — they died in the blaze of battle. In their lives they gave evidence of their faith in, and in their glorious death they illustrated the truth of the beautiful maxim — Dulce et decorum est propatria mori. It is sweet and glorious to die for one’s country. The undistinguished braves who leaped into the deadly breach, and dying made no sign — their beautiful memories will always be green. The bloodshed, the lives that they gave, were just as noble and valuable, as the greatest General in the land, worthy of a nation's gratitude and a nation's tears alike.
The following is an estimate of our losses:
The brigades of Harker, Mitchell and McCook, 420 each.
Total: 1260
Wagner and Kimball's Brigades, 250 each: 500
The three brigades of Logan's Corps: 500
Dodge's, those portions of it engaged: 150
General Blair's Corps: 150
General Schofield's Corps: 200
Hooker's Corps: 60
Making a grand total of three thousand eight hundred and ten.
These estimates are correct. As the rebels fought behind fortifications, their killed and wounded would not be more than one-third of ours. Including the prisoners, the entire rebel loss will number 2,500.
CHAPTER VIII.
Army Life — Pleasant Sensations of an Army Correspondent — Who wouldn't be a General — A Flag of Truce — Strange Scenes — Major Fitsgibben and the Dying Rebel Officer — Sherman Preparing to Cross the Chattahoochie.
At the present writing, both armies are facing each other, on the right and left bank of the Chattahooohie River, and so grudgingly inhospitable are the pickets on both sides, that neither will permit the other to indulge in the luxury of a wash. Two days ago a crowd of Johnnies were taking their usual ablution, unconscious of the presence of the Federals, when General Stanley directed a few shells to be fired over their heads. The river was soon cleared of bathers; up the bank they clambered, and an open field being in their rear, it was laughable and amusing to witness the "giant strides" of these nude athletes endeavoring to reach their works, while at every jump their speed was accelerated by the explosion of a shell over their heads. Being an excessively modest man, (as all old bachelors generally are) I could not look upon such exhibitions of model artistry, though many of my rude comrades not only seemed to enjoy it, but laughed and shouted at the frightened pedestrians. As they have not returned for their garments, it is supposed they went to Atlanta to procure new suits.
I wish I were a General! I know and feel that, even in my own conception of myself — and who ever met a man that didn't imagine himself possessing "rare abilities?" — I'm wholly incapable of discharging the duties of such office, properly. Generals possess many advantages over soldiers. The evening before the battle of Kenesaw, I saw five Generals going to the rear, on their way home. If I asked to go to the rear during the pending of a battle, my comrades would call me a coward; my Captain would put me on the breastworks, or tie me up to a tree. Can’t you use your influence in my behalf, with "the man that is to be our next Vice-President?"
I went out on the picket line yesterday, and, thanks to my sensible companion, the Johnnies never fired a shot at either of us. The many pilgrimages of the bottle to his mouth, have so reddened his proboscis, as to have it mistaken for a hospital flag, and interpreting it into a wish to bury the dead, they allowed us to approach the water's edge. During our stay, about four hundred women, who were employed at "Rosswell Factory," came to our side of the river, refusing to weave for, or go further into the "Confederacy." They were not of the handsomest features or pattern, looking at a distance more like walking corpses, or painted cedar-posts, than the "flowers of the South" we were wont to read of. They were hopeless and bootless; nearly all used the "weed," a respectable quid being within the lips of many. Their appearance confirmed the celibical determination of my boyhood. They are gone back to Marietta, which has been abandoned by its former inhabitants.
The rebel army is terribly damafied. Being within talking and hearing distance of them frequently during the last month, they can beat "our army in Flanders," in horrible swearing and blaspheming. "Swearing by note" is considered the acme of hellish perfection with us, but the rebs can link the saints of the calendar into one group, at a mouthful, without any seeming effort. "I thank the Lord Jesus Christ," piously ejaculated one in my hearing, a few nights since, "that that G—d d—d. good-for-nothing Polk was killed the other day."
"Major," said the dying Lieutenant, "I bestow you all my valuables and money, but O, save and send this (pulling an ambrotype likeness from his breast-pocket) to her whom I love. To her I am engaged to be married, and though I am ready to meet my God, I cannot willingly drag myself to an untimely grave from her." The likeness, which was a highly finished and elaborately cased one, was that of Miss Emma Jane Kennon, of Oxford, Georgia. She is, if her shadow daguerreotypes her features correctly, one of the most beautiful creatures I ever beheld, well worthy of him, had he lived, for he was as handsome and manly-looking a youth of twenty summers as either army can or could ever boast of. His home was Macon— had been through the Virginia campaign from the first “Bull Run,” and only joined Hood two days before. Besides this likeness, he gave Adjutant Foote $52 60 in money and some private papers. The Major reported the dying wish of his captive to the proper authorities, and while refusing to consent to a "parley" or truce on the line, told him he might take advantage of a lull on the picket line someday to send them. For the two days the 14th remained on the line, they failed to effect a parley to bury one of their men, and a rebel officer who lay side by side between the works, but on the 12th inst., while the 10th Illinois were on picket, the human carcasses became so unbearably offensive as to cause the "Johnnies," near whose works they were, to ask permission to bury them. The request, of course, was granted by our men.
Taking advantage of this temporary cessation of hostilities on the line, Major Fitzgibbon, Captain Higgins, Lieutenant Davis, and Adjutant Foote (of the 14th Michigan) with other officers of the 10th Illinois and 17th Ohio, repaired to the picket line and asked to see a like number of officers on the other side, telling their business.
Anxious to watch and see if any change of countenance or muscles of the face would develop themselves so as to betray the feelings of the heart, I walked beside our Major, who was dressed in blue pants, red silk shirt, and "Burnside" hat. All the other Federal officers, except Captain Higgins, wore their insignia of rank, though their coats and pants showed signs of long and rough usage. The place of meeting was in a ravine mid-way between both lines. It was dotted with towering oaks, through and over which four batteries (two of each army,) kept up a rapid and continuous duel during and after the friendly meeting. The Confederate officers, (six in number, — two Majors, as many Captains and four Lieutenants,) marched abreast and in line, as if on dress parade. They were gorgeously clad in finest grey and golden tinsel. When about six paces from us, where, at the command of Major Shaaff, they halted and raised their hats from their heads, by way of salutation. Our officers returned the salute, when both Majors Fitzgibbon and Shaaff advanced and shook hands.
"My name is Shaaff, sir, and am Major in the Confederate States Army."
"My name is Fitzgibbon, sir, and am Major in the United States Volunteers," was the reply. Major Fitzgibbon offered some drink, after all the officers had been introduced to each other, but Shaaff, who is a West Point graduate and deserter, would not permit his willing officers to indulge.
"I have come, sir," said our Major, "to deliver up to you the personal effects of Lieutenant Ross, of your army, who fell into my hands mortally wounded, on the evening of the 7th, that through you they may be safely sent to Miss Kennon, of Oxford, Georgia, to whom, also, this letter from me, is directed."
“We thank you sincerely for this great kindness,” said Shaaff, "I will see that they are sent to her. Is your regiment on the line now, sir?"
"No, it is in the third line in reserve,"-— which was not true.
"Is General Sherman with your army now? I saw an order today purporting to be signed by Major General Thomas, Commanding?"
"I saw General Sherman on the picket line about ten minutes ago," replied Lieutenant Davis.
"Have you any regulars in your army?" asked Shaaff.
"There is a whole Division of them in your front," was the answer.
"Have you many new troops here?" he again interrogated.
"No sir; nearly our entire army is composed of veterans."
"Is General Blair with you now; a report is in our camp that he was captured two days ago?" asked a rebel Captain.
"I belong to his Corps," replied Lieutenant Wilson, of the 17th Ohio, "and saw him talking to General Sherman a while ago, surrounded by his Staff."
"I thought it was a damned lie when I heard it," said the reb.
"Is yours a regular regiment?" asked Shaaff, of our Major, again.
"No sir, but it is commanded by a regular."
"What's his name?"
"Mizner, sir."
"Mizner, Mizner, Mizner. I think I knew him at West Point."
"Can't say, sir."
"Your papers circulated a falsehood in stating that we stripped and robbed the person of General McPherson. I saw and talked with him immediately after he fell, and had sent for a stretcher to convey him within our lines, but were driven from where he was before we could do so," said Shaaff.
"Then,” quoth Fitzgibbon, "you belong to General Hardee's Staff, and you, I take it from your fine clothes, (pointing to the other officers,) have not been long in the trenches?"
“I've been only five days,” said an innocent Lieutenant, “and would not take it as a favor from any man to send me here again, if I were back again where I came from.” A bitter look was given the latest speaker, by Major Shaaff, who called off his men immediately after, leaving a receipt for the articles he got.
Appended is Major Fitzgibbon's letter, as also Major Shaaff’s (pr. Schoff) receipt:
CAMP OF THE 14TH MICH. VET. VOL. INFANTRY,
NEAR ATLANTA, GA., August 8th, 1864.
Miss Emma Jane Kennon, Oxford, Georgia:
Bereaved Girl: With melancholy pleasure I herewith send to you the valuables and personal effects of the late Lieutenant Ross, 66th. Georgia. From his dying lips he told me he loved you above all else in the world; and committing these effects to my charge, his last sigh was turned into a prayer that I would, if possible, send you your likeness, which he carried next to and in his heart. The asperities that demagogues engender in the minds of those separated from the field of battle and the scenes of death — the unnatural bitterness of feeling that has seemingly soured the better nature of our countrymen and women in both extreme sections of our common country — finds neither home nor resting place in the hearts of this army of ours, and I assure you that I took as tender and respectful hold and care of your betrothed as if he were my own comrade or b
rother. The innocence depicted in his fair and beautiful face— his heroic efforts at staying the retreat of his fleeing comrades, won my heart and assured him its sympathies and respect.
With this also find his purse and papers, which, "vandal" though I am, I feel will be of greater value to you to get, than satisfaction to me to withhold. He was conscious to the last, as I learned from the officer who cared for him, and seemed only to deplore his death in parting from that Heaven he left in you. Two other Confederate officers lay dead near him, but the necessities of the moment prevented the possibility of my delaying to find out anything in relation to them.
Praying that God will put it into the hearts of your people to return to the allegiance of your father's flag, under which all sections prospered, and which only will prevent the further effusion of blood, and sincerely and from my heart condoling with you and his family in your bereavement,
I am, sad girl, very respectfully,
Your obedient servant.
Thomas C. Fitzgibbon,
Major 14th Michigan Veteran Volunteer Infantry. U. S. A.
P.S. — August 11. — I have failed thus far to effect a “parley" with your friends in my front. Methinks the forte in our front is composed of Governor Brown's “new issue,” as it fears to not only have a friendly chat, or look us in the eye— except from under a "headlog."