October 26, 2003, near Marietta, Ga.
After having spent a rare night with my pards in a hotel room in the town of Clarksville, Tn, we proceeded to the baggage park, arriving there around 8:00 on the morning of October 17th. We waited there in a light drizzle for some time before falling in for some skirmish drill in a cow pasture. We went over our gear one last time as did an inspector and, after a short time, formed our battalion on a road by a well and something like a ruined chicken house.
We received our last
instructions along with a handful of goober peas and hard cracker and moved off
through what quickly became a pristine example of the southern
countryside. The beauty of this
country, with its rolling grass fields and deeply cut, wooded hills is as
striking as any place in the southland that I have yet seen. The yellow and red colors of leaf fall only
just beginning gave me a feeling of delight that was quickly obliterated by the
order to send forward First Company as skirmishers. No longer interested in admiring the sights, I remember
regretting that First Co. was sent forward instead of us. By the end of this day, I would thank my
Maker that it was not Co. D. pushing the rebel videttes on into the afternoon! At least, I assume that’s what they were,
our main column never actually seeing them but rather following the
“pop-pop-pop” of their muskets through the woods and eventually to our camp for
the night, at the intersection of the Murfreesboro and Nashville roads.
I remember being relieved to
find out that my squad was to be the first on guard duty! A three hour shift is a long one, but our
march that day was short, the evening pleasant and I would be off duty by
midnight, or so I had thought! By the
time the battalion stepped off the next morning, I will have done around six
hours of picket duty in three separate shifts!
It will be around 6:30 on Saturday morning when I wonder why I joined
this damned army! Oh, well! By sunset on that same day, I will have
remembered again!
The battalion was formed for
battle at around 4:00 p.m. and moved into a field of tall grass just across the
dry creek bed where we’d camped. I
suppose that the “straps” were tired of having their dinner interrupted by the
seemingly constant harassment of the enemy’s skirmishers and videttes, and so
off to glory we went. We waited in the
tall grass, receiving some fire from the reb skirmishers on the hill that
injured one of our company. Finally, we
were ordered forward, across the field and up the wooded slope, driving the
dozen or so johnnies before us. In this
terrain, it was no surprise to me to find no dead or wounded enemy there.
Of course, I wanted to follow
the retreating foe, but decisions like that are best left to those of higher
ambition than me, I suppose. My
stratagem aside, we returned to camp and I eagerly attended to my picket post
along with a fellow named Charles. It
was while standing this post that I first met Colonel DalBello. He noted correctly that Charles and I were
slightly illuminated by the fires of the Federal cavalry camp, just across the
creek bed behind us, and advised us to move.
Needless to say, we did and toot sweet!
Well, believe you me, we
enjoyed the sunset and the singing of the men of Company D as much as we
loathed the darkness of the autumn, Tennessee night! Very well do I remember quietly singing along with Kurly, Capt.
Butler and the boys from the 21st. Ohio, careful not to let my voice
rise above a whisper and vowing to have my voice heard on the morrow!
And how damned glad we were
to see the relief guard finally arrive!
“Just three hours at the reserve and I can get some sleep,” or so I’d
thought, for I became confused when Charles and I were relieved of our three
hours of reserve guard duty! Well, not
to argue the point, I got some grub and settled down for sleep, only to be
awakened at 3:00 a.m. by Cpl. Nurse and told to report to the grand guard area
for my reserve duty! So ended my
peaceful slumber for the night, and I resigned myself to lie by the road until
morning came, but alas, this too was not to be, as the aforementioned Cpl.
Nurse posted myself and my new best friend, Charles, to post #1 at 6:00
a.m. The Cpl. tried to raise our
spirits by assuring us that we would be relieved around sunup, and returned
around then with some cold farina for our breakfast. By then, I knew that I was not to see my relief any time soon!
For, as is their custom, the
Confederates attacked us at first light.
Charles and I had a grandstand view of the morning’s action, post #1
being on the hillside. So close was I
to the battle that I was able to hear one of the rebel officers commanding Co.
A to form a line. I would learn later
that these were Baird’s men.
The suddenness of the
Confederate attack should have been enough to overwhelm our camp, but the
thickness of the Tennessee morning’s fog seemed to deepen as the light came up,
rather than burn off. I can only assume
that the Confederate attack was stopped by the fog, for our battalion and
cavalry squadron seemed agonizingly slow to respond. Easy for me to say, I having been up and accoutered since 3:00
a.m.! Then again, I prefer to think
that our grand guard was capable of delaying the rebs long enough for the
battalion to form! Either way, I
watched from above as my own company moved across the cavalry camp to the creek
bed and send a half-dozen skirmishers through a small ravine just below
me. This was easily witnessed, the fog
having finally cleared.
Needless to say, there was
much excitement at picket post #1 as well!
First, a platoon of men from Co. F, led by a man I’d met before named
Schneider, were sent to reconnoiter the road ahead. They returned a few minutes later with nothing much to report,
not to me anyway. Not long after, Co. F
in its entirety, led by a mounted officer, passed us on its way up the
road. Finally, a Captain and the
Sergeant-Major came by, apparently wondering whether or not the aforementioned
company belonged to our army! I tell
you friends, I thank my lucky stars every day that I am just a private soldier
in this army, for surely I am not qualified even for the rank of sergeant!
The battle having mostly run
its course, the guard was called in and the battalion ordered to move down the
Murfreesboro road. From here on out, it
would be goodbye to guard duty and hello to Johnny Reb!
Before meeting him
face-to-face however, we found some spare time to visit with his lady
friends! At least I think that’s who
they were, for this group of women, about eight in number, did not appear courteous
towards us in the least! As determined
as I was to develop a rapport with the locals, I could not seem to win any of
their hearts! Concerned by the recent
loss of their ham, I offered them the farina that remained of Company D’s
breakfast, to which a doe-eyed girl grabbed up her skirts and stomped rudely
away. Honestly, the nerve of these
people! Or perhaps they just didn’t get
my jokes!
But, Oh! Could she sing? I ask you, given the choice between sitting in the sun with my
company or standing in the shade, by the cabin window, listening to the sweet
voice of that same doe-eyed girl, what was a good soldier to do? Often do I think about the many girls like
her and weep for the scourge that has been brought upon this land of ours. Why even the man “from Nashville” rendered a
version of “Lorena” to bring a tear to the eye.
Having completed his
inventory of the cabin’s foodstuffs, Cpl. Nurse and I escorted the now
liberated ham to “occupied territory” and awaited further orders. It was here that I witnessed almost a wagon
race of sorts, but it was wagon against rebel cavalry instead.
Through the narrow, grassy
field some 300 yards long came our green, commissary wagon escorted by some six
or eight skirmishers while the very same videttes from the day before, I would
later learn, could be seen moving in the tree line on the opposite hill. Well, the race was on I can tell you, and
I’ll never forget the speed with which that wagon was pulled by those two,
valiant greys! Neither will I forget
the driver yelling “Git up, you G______D nags!” That was a sight to behold, I tell you! An even better sight to behold was our commissary wagon careening
safely into our camp! Another small
victory for our guards, not to mention our wagoneers!
I would learn a few days
later that one of those faithful greys, called “Moose”, would succumb to the
vagaries of age, never again to outrun a squadron of rebel cavalry. “Huzzah!” Moose!
The skirmishing all along our
front being quite heavy by now, Company D was ordered back across the bridge
and waited for a contingent of cavalry to form up in column just next to
us. Soon, the very same commissary
wagon was brought up, only it was filled with our infantry this time. The plan was to march next to the cavalry, using
them as a screen, to a point some 200 yards back towards the previous night’s
camp, where our company would break off and cross the creek bed real sneaky
like. We were to stalk our way across a
field, up a wooded hill, through another field and finally descend upon our
enemy’s flank and rear as a hammer!
Well, I don’t mind telling you that me and some of the boys shared our
reservations about such a plan but in the end, and under Capt. Butler’s
leadership, we pulled it off quite gloriously indeed! After driving in a couple of pickets and overrunning what must
have been a field hospital (seeing as how a reb surgeon surrendered to us) we
slid back down a wooded slope and wrapped around the rebel’s left flank. We were all pretty blown by then, but the
sight of all those targets, formed up and in the open, looking away from us,
filled us all with excitement and the ball was open!
The rebs had sort of
“refused” their line with about a half-dozen skirmishers of their own, but our
two dozen rifles took care of them easily.
We had the dense Tennessee foliage, the high ground, a road cut, a
ruined corncrib or smokehouse or something similar and some element of surprise
on our side. We blazed away for a
couple of minutes before a small company of johnnies finally wheeled about and
began moving towards us. It should have
been like shooting fish in a barrel, I tell you, but this company appeared
undaunted and advanced relentlessly towards our skirmish line. We had enough to take them on, had we been
in battle line, but our formation being so spread out, we decided to take our
pay and “redeploy to a position in our rear”.
I, Cpl. Nurse, Steve and Pop were on the extreme right and therefore the
most likely to be killed or captured, so I headed back up the hill towards the
“field hospital.”
By the time I reached the
wood line, my body was almost
completely spent. I commanded my legs
to run, but I could do little more than trudge halfway up the hill. Facing a 50 yard dash across the open
ground, I considered simply surrendering right then and there, to none in
particular! I saw their surrendered
surgeon just 20 paces farther up the hill, but there being no other johnnies in
the immediate vicinity, I took a pull from my canteen, a couple of deep breaths
and started across.
Right about halfway across
this seemingly limitless expanse, I decided to look downhill and watch my death
arrive. Sure enough, there were some
skirmishers crouching in the clumps of tall grass but one man in particular,
standing in the knee-high grass, drew a deliberate bead on me. Determined not to stand there and take it, I
dropped to the ground and welcomed the rest.
It was then that I heard the distinct “pop” of a musket cap, but no
“boom” nor puff of white smoke. I took
this to mean that my time had not yet come and, with the Good Lord on my side,
“sprang” to my feet and ran to the trees with the dirt flying and minnies
buzzing past. After all, he who fights
and runs away…
I made my way back down the
hill, skirting the woods on the uphill side when I was able to reform with a
small, mixed squad of men from Company D.
I remember Steve, Chip Uhler (?) and Kurly Kimball. We had just crossed the last field and were
deciding where to recross the creek bed when our cavalry came galloping
past. We reported the enemy’s
whereabouts and disposition to them and they galloped away. Pvt. Kurly, not having had enough killing
yet, appeared to follow them, while the rest of us split into pairs and made
our separate ways back to our oh-so-recent campground. We would rally on a wooded knob overlooking
the camp and battlefield with Capt. Butler, Cpl. Pharr, around ten or so of
what remained of Company D and a paltry remnant of cavalry, and there learn of our
battalion’s ignominious defeat. We were
all of us shocked and angered that our glorious flanking maneuver would vanish
in the annals of history, overshadowed by the virtual annihilation of our
force. If only we could have arrived a
few minutes sooner or shot a bit straighter!
For you see, dear reader,
that while our flanking maneuver was unchecked, it did not go unnoticed. The rebel commander having witnessed our
departure, along with the cavalry contingent and the commissary wagon, chose
that very moment to strike, having correctly assumed that our force had been
divided. Flushed with a victory so
“complete”, they were undaunted by the fifty or so blue pills per minute that
were ripping through their left and rear.
C’EST la Guerre, I suppose.
After learning of the
“parole” of our captured battalion, we and the horsemen reformed in the field
below and marched back to our camp of the previous night for an evening of
cooking, eating, imbibing and just generally chewing the fat. As always, some of the boys complained about
the salt beef, rice and canned tomatoes but I, for my part, enjoyed it
immensely, after learning to boil out the beef twice. None complained, however, when Capt. Butler walked up with the
sutler behind him carrying a keg of whiskey for the men of Company D! This was heartily welcomed by all and I had
a few greenbacks left with which to revisit the sutler a couple of more times,
the medicinal and restorative value of the sweet spirit promising a good
night’s sleep!
Apparently, it being a Sunday
morning, the johnnies allowed us our breakfast and, after a singing of “Amazing
Grace”, we were ordered to break camp and fall in for a march. We were surprised, and at least one of us a
bit disturbed, by the order to “ground packs” just prior to stepping off. The bugs, you see, had hatched a plan to
move back towards Friday night’s camp, cross the creek in a way similar to that
of Company D the day before, and double back on the Confederates. Alas, this too was to no avail, for we found
ourselves marching somewhat across their front, they having formed a
full-strength battle line on a hill some 60 yards above us. They made expert use of the “seams in the
soil” as they had pulled their line back a few feet from the hillcrest, thereby
exposing only their breasts and heads to us.
We, on the other hand, were scrambling to kneel or lie behind the only
crest we could find, but the enemy had a clear shot into us nonetheless. Our casualties began to mount almost
immediately and, after only a minute or so, our companies began peeling off one
by one and reforming at a position somewhat to our rear. We defiled through the creek bed Company D
was ordered into a skirmish line on our side of it, while the rest of the
battalion formed a battle line somewhat to our rear.
Well do I remember the
sickening sight of about a half-dozen or so blue-clad bodies sprawled on the
hillside where I myself had lain just twenty minutes before! “There but for the Grace of G_D go I,” I
thought!
We waited there while some
goobers and champagne grapes were handed out, fully expecting to while away the
rest of the morning when the rebs counterattacked. We fired uselessly as they crossed the field that we had so
recently given up and were ordered to retire to a wooded hillside overlooking
our packs. From here we poured fire
into the head of their column as it defiled through the creek bed and moved
from our left to our right, across the very ground that our skirmish line had
so recently abandoned. It was here that
our minnies finally found their marks as evidenced by the bodies of several of
the enemy scattered before the tree line.
Unbeknownst to me, our
battalion had moved from their earlier position in the camp to one on our
extreme right, our cavalry some distance behind. They moved forward and were in danger of being enfiladed by the
surviving rebs that had crawled back into the creek bed. It was then that Maj. Greene gave the
fateful order to our skirmishers to charge across the open field and drive them
out. I remember the incredulity with
which this order was received, but steeled myself to my duty nonetheless. For all I knew, I may have been the only one
of my company to obey, or at least the first.
I felt alone among a battalion of men as I crossed, or attempted to
cross, this most deadly ground. As much
as I feared the enemy’s bullets, I remember seeing the men of the 13th.
Ohio coming to the “prime” position and imagined myself being cut down by a
volley from my own comrades! Believing
that discretion being the better part of valor, it was at this point that I
fell backwards into the soft grass and feigned death for the rest of the
morning, for such a charge of skirmishers, across our battalion’s front, seemed
a suicidal endeavor! I would later
learn that the better part of Company D had fallen in this very same “charge!”
The battle would rage on for
some time, but my vantage point left me with little else to describe. I remember the cavalry line carefully
picking its way through the “dead” and “wounded” and then two of them in hot pursuit
of a shirker on the skedaddle. Beyond
that, the battle would end with the rebs in possession of the cabin, pond and
field and our battalion once again commanding a position of ignominious defeat.
An end to hostilities was
declared and I was able to skulk back into the battle line unnoticed, where we
faced our enemy in full view for the first time. In truth, they were a fine bunch of “See-sesh”, as they go, but
this did little to assuage our feelings of humiliation, which must surely have
shown on our dour faces.
A few words were spoken by
the Big Bugs and even by the old gentleman that owned the so hotly contested
farm. Our stalwart foe and we then
parted company and marched back to our starting point on Friday morning. On this march, the fatigue in my body would
overawe the sting of defeat, and a change of drawers and a hot meal would serve
to wash away the humiliation almost entirely, for I had survived yet another
challenging encounter with Johnny Reb and would consider myself a better man
for having done so.
In conclusion, I recall my
first encounter with Col. DalBello at post #2 on Friday evening. After moving us a short distance farther
out, the Col. inquired as to whether or not the pickets had received their
ration issue. Like any good soldier, I am
quick to complain about conditions or criticize the “straps”, but it is always
comforting to know that my life is in the hands of men that truly care about my
wellbeing. My hat’s off to all the
officers and men of the 13th. Ohio and even to the damnable see-sesh
that gave us such a hard time all weekend.
Let’s do it again sometime!
Pvt. R. D. Hix,
Company D (SRR)
13th. Ohio
Volunteer Infantry, The Advance Guard.