On page 3, 23d line, 1st column, for “right” read regiment.

On page 74, 16th line, for “adopt” read adopted.

On page 74, 23d line, for “slowing” read slowly.

On page 74, 2d column, 2d paragraph, 10th line, for “regions” read designs.

INTRODUCTION.

On the 12th day of April, 1861, in Charleston Harbor, a shot was fired whose echo rang round the world. The detonation of that cannon, fired at Fort Sumter, reverberated from the pine-clad hills and rock-bound coast of Maine across the continent to the placid waters of the Pacific, thrilling the hearts of the freemen of the north and causing the blood, inherited from Revolutionary sires, to course through their veins with maddening speed. That cannon was fired by armed rebellion at freedom of person, freedom of speech, freedom of the press, and the Union of States. That echo roused those freemen to a resolution to do and to die, if need be, for the maintenance of the Union, and the supremacy of law.

The outbreak of the rebellion found the writer, then a little past majority, on a farm near a little village in Wisconsin. I was just married, had put in my spring crop and when the first call was made for troops, was not situated so that I could leave home, but on the 10th of October following I enlisted in Co. D. 10th Wis. Inf. Vols.

As this is to be a history of prison life, it is not my purpose to write a history of my regiment but a short sketch is proper in order to give the reader a fair understanding of my capture.

The 10th left Camp Holton, near Milwaukee, about the middle of Nov. 1861. We went by railway via Chicago, Indianapolis and Evansville to Louisville, Ky., thence to Shepherdsville, thence to Elizabethtown, where we were assigned to Sill’s Brigade of Mitchell’s Division. Wintered at Bacon Creek and on the 11th of Feb. 1862, marched with Buell’s army to the capture of Bowling Green. Buell’s army and part of Grant’s army arrived almost simultaneously at Nashville, Tenn. Grant with his forces proceeded to Pittsburg Landing, Buell to Murfreesboro. After Buell with the greater part of his army had marched to Grant’s support, Mitchell’s Division marched on Huntsville, Ala., capturing that place together with about 500 prisoners, 12 engines and a large amount of rolling stock, the property of the Memphis & Charleston R. R.

The 10th guarded the M. & C. R. R. from Huntsville to Stevenson, the junction of the M. & C. and the Nashville & Chattanooga R. R. during the summer of ’62.

Early in September we commenced that famous retreat from the Tennessee to the Ohio, and to show the reader how famous it was to those who participated in it, I will say we averaged twenty-four miles per day from Stevenson, Ala., to Louisville, Ky. On the 8th of October, supported Simonson’s battery at the Battle of Perryville, losing 146, killed and wounded out of 375 men. Our colors showing the marks of forty-nine rebel bullets, in fact they were torn into shreds. Dec. 31st, ’62 and Jan. 1st and 2nd, ’63, in the Battle of Stone’s River, or Murfreesboro.

The army of the Cumberland, then under command or Gen. Rosecrans, was divided into four army corps. The 14th, under Gen. Thomas, was in the center. The 20th, under Gen. A. McD. McCook, on the right. The 21st, under Gen. Crittenden, on the left and the Reserve Corps, under Gen. Gordon Granger, in supporting distance in the rear.

We remained at Murfreesboro until June 23rd, ’63, when the whole army advanced against Bragg, who was entrenched at Tullahoma, drove him out of his entrenchments, across the mountains and Tennessee River into Chattanooga and vicinity. Here commenced a campaign begun in victory and enthusiasm, and ending at Chickamauga in disaster and gloom, but not in absolute defeat.

THE BATTLE OF CHICKAMAUGA.

Rosecrans showed fine strategic ability in maneuvering Bragg out of Tennessee without a general engagement, but he made a serious and almost fatal mistake after he had crossed the Tennessee River with his own army. He should have entrenched at Chattanooga and kept his army well together. Instead of doing so, he scattered his forces in a mountainous country. Crittenden’s Corps followed the north bank of the Tennessee to a point above Chattanooga, there crossed the river flanking Chattanooga on the east and cutting the railroad south, thus compelling the evacuation of that place.

McCook crossed two ranges of mountains to Trenton, while Thomas with his corps still remained at Bridgeport, on the Tennessee, and Granger was leisurely marching down from Nashville.

In the reorganization of the Army of the Cumberland in Oct. ’62, our Brigade was called 1st Brig. of 1st Div., 14th Corps. The Brigade was commanded by Col. Scribner of the 38th Indiana. The Division was commanded through the Perryville and Murfreesboro campaigns by Gen. Rousseau, but through the Chickamauga campaign by Gen. Absalom Baird, now Inspector General of the Army.

I shall not attempt to give an historical or official description of the Battle of Chickamauga, but a description as seen from the standpoint of a private soldier.

On the 18th of September our Division was bivouacked at Maclamore’s Cove, a few miles from Lee & Gordon’s Mills. Heavy skirmishing had been going on all day at Lee & Gordon’s Mills and Rossville between Crittenden and McCook’s forces and those of the enemy. About 4 P. M., the “Assembly” sounded and we “fell in” and commenced our march for the battlefield. At dark my Regt. was thrown out as flankers. We marched until 10 o’clock along the banks of a small creek while on the opposite side of the creek a similar line of the enemy marched parallel with us. We reached Crawfish Springs about 10 P. M., here we took the road again and continued our march until sunrise on the morning of the 19th when we halted and prepared breakfast. Before we had finished our breakfast we heard a terrible roar and crash of musketry to our front, which was east. This was the opening of the battle of Chickamauga. Immediately afterward an Aide came dashing up to Lieut. Col. Ely, commanding 10th Wis. We were ordered to fall in and load at will. Then the order was given “forward, double quick, march,” and forward we went through brush, over rocks and fallen trees, keeping our alignment almost as perfect as though we were marching in review. Very soon we began to hear the sharp “fizt and ping” of bullets, a sound already familiar to our ears for we were veterans of two years service, and then we began to take the Johnies in “out of the wet.” Forward, and still forward, we rushed all the time firing at the enemy who was falling back. After advancing nearly a mile in this manner we found the enemy, en masse, in the edge of a corn field. Our Division halted, the skirmishers fell back into line and the business of the day commenced in deadly earnest. We were ordered to lie down and load and fire at will. Reader, I wish I had the ability to describe what followed. Not more than twenty-five rods in front of us was a dense mass of rebs who were pouring in a shower of bullets that fairly made the ground boil. To the rear of my regiment was a section of Loomis’ 1st Mich. Battery which was firing double shotted canister over our heads. How we did hug the ground, bullets from the front like a swarm of bees, canister from the rear screeching and yelling like lost spirits in deepest sheol. But this could not last long, mortal man could not stand such a shower of lead while he had willing legs to carry him out of such a place.

The rebels soon found a gap at the right of my Regt. and began to pour in past our right flank. I was lying on the ground loading and firing fast as possible when I saw the rebels charging past our right, with their arms at a trail, looking up I discovered that there was not a man to the right of me in the Regt. I did not wait for orders but struck out for the rear in a squad of one. I could not see a man of my regiment so I concluded to help support the battery, accordingly I rushed up nearly in front of one of the guns just as they gave the Johnies twenty pounds of canister. That surprised me. I found I was in the wrong place, twenty pounds of canister fired through me was liable to lay me up, so I filed left and came in front of the other gun just as the men were ready to fire. They called out to me to hurry as they wanted to fire, facing the gun and leaning over to the right I called to them to fire away and they did fire away with a vengeance. After this things seem mixed up in my mind. I remember getting to the rear of that gun, of hearing the bullets whistling, of seeing the woods full of rebs, of thinking I shall get hit yet, of trying to find a good place to hide and finally of stumbling and falling, striking my breast on my canteen, and then oblivion.

How long I remained unconscious I never knew, probably not long, but when I came to my understanding the firing had ceased in my immediate vicinity except now and then a scattering shot. I started again for the rear and had not gone more than a quarter of a mile before I found Gen. Baird urging a lot of stragglers to rally and protect a flag which he was holding. Here I found Capt. W. A. Collins and several other men of my Company. When he saw me he asked me if I was hurt. I told him “no, not much, I had a couple of cannons fired in my face and fell on my canteen which had knocked the breath out of me but that I would be all right in a little while.” He then told me I had better go to the rear to the hospital. To this I objected, telling him that I had rather stay with the “boys.”

We then marched to the rear and halted in a corn field. The stragglers from the regiment began to come in and the brigade was soon together again, but we did no more fighting that day. But just before night we were marched to the front and formed in line of battle. About 8 o’clock in the evening Johnson’s Division attempted to relieve another division in our front, Wood’s, I think it was, when the latter division poured a galling fire into the former, supposing they were rebels. Some of the balls came through the ranks of the 10th, whereupon Company K opened fire without orders and a sad mistake it proved for it revealed our position and a rebel battery opened on us with shells. To say that they made it lively for us is to say but part of the truth. The woods were fairly ablaze with bursting shells. The way they hissed and shrieked and howled and crashed was trying to the nerves of a timid man.

After the firing had ceased we were marched a short distance to the rear and bivouacked for the night. I laid down by a fire but “tired nature’s sweet restorer” did not visit me that night. I had received a terrible shock during the day. We had been whipped most unmercifully. The 1st Division of the 14th Corps had turned its back on the enemy for the first time, that day; and, too, there was to-morrow coming, and what would it bring? Do coming events cast their shadows before? Perhaps they do, at any rate the thoughts of all these things passing through my mind made me pass a sleepless night.

Sunday morning, September 20th, came. The same sun that shone dimly through the hazy atmosphere which surrounded the battlefield of Chickamauga, and called those tired soldiers to the terrible duties of another day of battle, shone brightly upon our dear ones at home, calling them to prepare for a day of rest and devotion, and while they were wending their way to church to offer up a prayer, perhaps, in our behalf, their way enlivened by the sweet sounds of the Sabbath bells, we were marching to the front to meet a victorious and determined foe, our steps enlivened by the thundering boom of the murderous cannon, the sharp rattle of musketry and the din and roar of battle, together with the shrieks and groans of our wounded and dying comrades. What a scene for a Sabbath day? But I am moralizing, I must on with my story.

Our division formed in line of battle on a ridge, with Scribner’s Brigade in the center, Starkweather’s on the right and King’s on the left. Soon the rebels came up the ascent at the charge step. We wait until they are in short range then we rise from behind our slight entrenchments and pour such a well directed volley into their ranks that they stagger for a moment, but for a moment only, and on they come again returning our fire, then the batteries open on them and from their steel throats belch forth iron hail and bursting shells, while we pour in our deadly fire of musketry. They halt! They break! THEY RUN! Those heroes of Longstreet’s, they have met their match in the hardy veterans of the west. Three times that day did we send back the rebel foe. In the meantime McCook and Crittenden had not fared so well. Bragg had been reinforced by Longstreet, Joe Johnson and Buckner, so that he had a much larger force then did Rosecrans.

Shortly after noon Bragg threw such an overwhelming force upon those two corps that they were swept from the field and driven toward Chattanooga, carrying Rosecrans and staff with them.

Here it was that Thomas, with the 14th Corps, reinforced by Granger, earned the title of “The Rock of Chickamauga.” Holding fast to the base of Missionary Ridge he interposed those two corps between the corps of McCook and Crittenden and the enemy, giving them time to escape up the valley toward Chattanooga.

But to return to my division. Three times that day did we repel the charge of the enemy, but the fourth time they came in such numbers and with such impetuosity that they fairly lifted us out of our line. When we broke for the rear I started out with Capt. Collins, but he was in light marching order, while I was encumbered with knapsack, gun and accoutrements, and he soon left me behind.

When I left the line I fired my gun at the enemy, and as I retreated I loaded it again, on the run, all but the cap. When Capt. Collins left me I began to look for some safe place and seeing a twenty-four pounder battery, with a Union flag, I started toward it. They were firing canister at the time as I supposed, at the enemy, but they fell around me so thickly that they fairly made the sand boil. I began to think it was a rebel battery with a Union flag as a decoy, so I filed right until I got out of range.

Soon after getting out of range of the battery I came across a dead rebel and noticing a canteen by his side, I stooped, picked it up and shook it and found that it was partly filled with water. This was a Godsend for I had been without water all day. The canteen was covered with blood, but, oh, how sweet and refreshing that water tasted. Here I threw away my knapsack to facilitate my flight. I soon came to a wounded rebel who begged of me to give him a drink of water. I complied with his request and again started out for Chattanooga. I had gone but a short distance before I saw a soldier beckoning to me, supposing by the uniform that he was a member of the 2nd Ohio. I approached within a short distance of him, when the following colloquy took place:

Reb,—“He’ah yo Yank, give me yo’ah gun.”

Yank,—“Not by a thundering sight, the first thing I learned after I enlisted was to keep my gun myself.”

Reb,—“Give me yo’ah gun, I say.”

Yank,—“Don’t you belong to the 2nd Ohio?”

Reb,—“No, I belong to the 4th Mississippi. Give me yo’ah gun.”

At the same time pointing his gun point blank at my breast.

Yank,—“The devil you do.” At the same time handing him my gun for, you will remember, I had loaded my gun but had not capped it.

I think I hear some of my readers say “you was vulgar.” No, I was surprised and indignant and I submit that I expressed my feelings in as concise language as possible. Consider the situation, I was in the woods, it was nearly dark, I supposed I had found a friend but there was a good Enfield rifle pointing at me, not ten feet away, in that gun was an ounce ball, behind that ball was sufficient powder to blow it a mile, on the gun was a water-proof cap, warranted to explode every time, and behind the whole was a Johnny who understood the combination to a nicety. The fact was, he had the drop on me, I handed him my gun and he threw it into a clump of bushes.

While he was disposing of my case another Union soldier crossed his guard beat, for he was one of Longstreet’s pickets. He called to him to halt but the soldier paying no attention to him, he brought his gun to an aim and again called, “halt or I’ll shoot yo.” “Don’t shoot the man for God’s sake, he is in your lines,” said I, and while Johnny was paying his addresses to the other soldier, I gave a jump and ran like a frightened deer. Around the clump of brush I sped, thinking, “now for Chattanooga.” “Hello, Bill! Where you going?” “Oh, I had got started for Chattanooga, but I guess I will go with you,” and I ran plump into a squad of men of my company and regiment under guard.

Men, styling themselves statesmen, have stood up in their places in the halls of Congress and called prisoners of war “Coffee Coolers” and “Blackberry Pickers.” I give it up. I cannot express my opinion, adequately, of men who will so sneer at and belittle brave men who have fought through two days of terrible battle, and only yielded themselves prisoners of war because they were surrounded and overpowered, as did those men at Chickamauga.

The Battle of Chickamauga was ended and that Creek proved to be what its Indian name implies, a “river of death.” The losses on the Union side were over 17,000, and on the Confederate side over 22,000.

I said in the introduction that the Chickamauga campaign did not end in absolute defeat. And, although we were most unmercifully whipped, I still maintain that assertion, Gen. Grant to the contrary, notwithstanding. Rosecrans saved Chattanooga and that was the bone of contention, the prime object of the campaign. But it was a case similar to that of an Arkansas doctor, who when asked how his patients, at a house where he was called the night before, were getting on replied: “Wall, the child is dead and the-ah mother is dead, but I’ll be dogoned if I don’t believe I’ll pull the old man through all right.”