“I can never forget that moment—it came like lightning from a clear sky,” remembered Sgt. W. R Helm of the Third Texas Dismounted Cavalry. “The roaring artillery, the rattle of musketry, the hailstorm of grape and ball were mowing us down like grain before we could locate from whence it came. We were trapped; there could be no retreat, and certain death was in our advance. We fell prostrate to the ground.” Over the din a familiar voice crying, “Steady, boys, steady,” caused Helm to look up. It was his company commander, braced on one knee. Before he could repeat the exhortation, a cannonball carried away his head. A lieutenant stood up to stop a soldier from retreating, and both he and the terrified private were cut in two by canister. “Our ranks,” marveled Helm, “were shattered in the twinkling of any eye.”
Smoke blanketed the ravine and blinded the Rebels. “The evening was one of those damp, dull, cloudy ones, which caused the smoke to settle down about as high as a man’s head,” observed Willie Tunnard. The view was litde better from the ridge. “The smoke hung over the battlefield like a cloud, obscuring every object ten feet off,” said a Yankee defender.6
But the Federals needed do no more than point their rifle-muskets into the smoke; the ravine was too choked with Southerners for them to miss. To stay there meant death. The men were ordered to their feet, officers screamed the command “double-quick,” and the line of Southerners lurched up the slope of the ridge. The Third Texas Dismounted Cavalry had the dubious distinction of being directly in front of the Yankee guns, so that every blast of canister told with especial savagery on its ranks. No one needed to tell them what must be done. The objective was evident: the six guns of the Eleventh Ohio Battery that had been decimating their ranks. “Unless the battery was immediately silenced the result might be most disastrous,” concluded Colonel Whitfield. He turned the First Texas Legion obliquely toward the cannon and gave the order to charge. The Fourteenth and Seventeenth Arkansas followed.
MAP 3. Hébert Attacks, September 19, 5:15 P.M.
Every regiment of Hébert’s brigade claimed to have charged at once for the guns; had that been the case, Hébert’s line would have taken on a concave aspect the moment the men climbed out of the ravine. There was a perceptible massing upon the battery; however, the regiments of Yankee infantry on either side of the battery deflected the dash on the guns, and those Confederates fortunate enough to be out of the line of fire of Sears’s Ohioans adopted as their objective the battery’s infantry supports.7
The first Federals to face the Rebel onslaught were the troops of the Forty-eighth Indiana, posted to the left of the Eleventh Ohio Battery. It was their misfortune to stand opposite the First Texas Legion and the right companies of the Third Texas Dismounted Cavalry, the latter as hardened a lot of men as the Hoosiers were green. The Indianans had suffered heavily from the well-aimed fire of Faris’s battery, both sections of which were now trained on Sears’s guns and the infantry on its flanks, and the declivity in front of the Forty-eighth Indiana was unusually sharp, which masked the Texans in the ravine. Unable to fire on the enemy, the Indianans grew restive. When the Texans suddenly emerged from the ravine and delivered a near point-blank volley, the regiment crumbled. First the right companies gave way, leaving the left section of the Eleventh Ohio Battery unsupported. Then the entire regiment collapsed, falling back to the far brow of the ridge. There Col. Norman Eddy and his officers had ridden, hoping to rally the regiment.
Their efforts were wasted. The Third Texas Dismounted Cavalry had lost heavily—Sam Barron said four men were killed by his side in the opening minutes of the fight, and W. P. Helm said twenty-seven of the forty-two men in his company were hit early—but the Texans were accustomed to the shock of combat. Most of the right companies of the Third Texas Dismounted Cavalry halted on the ground abandoned by the Forty-eighth Indiana, neither advancing nor retreating, but a number of the men, maddened by the horror, raised a yell and dashed after the retreating Yankees, following so closely that in some places on the ridge pursuers and pursued were only a few paces apart.8
Colonel Sanborn saw the Forty-eighth collapse. Beside himself with rage, he galloped into the mass of fleeing Indianans and ordered them to stand and fight. When two near him refused, Sanborn drew his revolver and shot them dead.
Colonel Eddy also rode among his men, imploring them to rally. Here and there squads answered his call, restoring enough of the line that Eddy briefly entertained a hope of returning to the front to succor Sears’s cannon. But five bullets brought down the colonel and his horse. Seeing their commander fall, the Indianans broke for good, bounding down the reverse slope with the Texans only a few yards behind.
Sanborn was near Eddy when he was hit. After the Forty-eighth Indiana unraveled for the second time, Sanborn galloped into the swale behind the ridge, where the Sixteenth Iowa waited. As he neared the Iowans, Sanborn “shouted over and over again at the top of my voice for the men to hold their fire until the Forty-eighth had passed.” Sanborn assumed his order would be obeyed: “The troops of the Sixteenth were cool and looked up as if they understood the command.” Sanborn reined his horse beside the regiment and waited for the Indianans to pass.
Suddenly the unthinkable happened. Perhaps it was the nearness of the enemy, many of whom were intermingled with the Indianans. Perhaps it was the murky gloom in the swale — sunset was only an hour away and already the thick smoke of batde had combined with the dark shadows of the forest to cast a deep pall over the field. Or perhaps it was simply fear bred of inexperience. In any case the Sixteenth Iowa let go a volley into the disorganized mass to its front, in that instant killing more Indianans than had died from Rebel bullets.
Sanborn at once took charge of the Sixteenth Iowa. The moment the last Indianan cleared its ranks, he led the regiment in a charge up the ridge that sent the Texans scampering back to their commands on the far slope.
Despite the defection of the Forty-eighth Indiana, the left section of the Eleventh Ohio Battery was still in action, thanks to confusion in the Rebel ranks. The Third Texas Dismounted Cavalry was paralyzed. Its right companies were regrouping behind the ridge, and the rest of the men were hugging the ground or kneeling behind trees in front of the cannon. Colonel Whitfield tried to break the stalemate by maneuvering his First Texas Legion up the ridge and to the left, over the ground vacated by the Forty-eighth Indiana. He hoped to take the artillerymen from the flank, but his men fired too soon. “We still hoped for help,” said a soldier of the Third Texas Dismounted Cavalry—which had tried twice to cover the final 100 yards to the guns — “but Whitfield’s raw troops sent to our relief, from our proximity to the Federals, mistook us for the foe and fired into us.” Several Texans fell in the volley.9
At that moment the Sixteenth Iowa showed itself atop the ridge. Had anyone paused to check their watch, they would have noticed the time to be 6:00 P.M., just ten minutes before sunset. The Iowans opened fire. Whitfield’s Texans returned it. Col. Alexander Chambers, commander of the Sixteenth, slipped from the saddle, shot in the neck and shoulder. His regiment stood long enough to take seventy-six casualties before fleeing from the ridge. Like the Forty-eighth Indiana, the Sixteenth Iowa was lost to Sanborn for the remainder of the batde.10
With the ridge to the left of the Eleventh Ohio Battery finally clear of Yankee infantry, Whitfield’s First Texas Legion resumed their assault on Sears’s left section. Colonel Mabry got his Third Texas Dismounted Cavalry on its feet for a fourth try at the guns. After the volley in their backs, Mabry’s men were ready to move. Explained one, “Seeing certain death between friend and foe, the order was given: ’Boys, if we are to die, let it be by Yankee bullets, not by our friends. So let us charge the cannon.'"11
* * *
The carnage and confusion that marked the first forty-five minutes of combat on the left side of the Eleventh Ohio Battery was exceeded only by the bewildering brutality of the fighting to the right of it. There the Fifth Iowa of Col. Charles Matthies met the Third Louisiana. Both Hamilton
and Sanborn had great faith in the Prussian, and Matthies intended to show he merited their confidence. He greeted Hamilton’s order to hold at all hazards with a positive, “That is what I calculate to do.” As the Third Louisiana crossed the ravine to his front, Matthies rode the length of his line, “encouraging his gallant men, and cautioning them about keeping cool.” The Louisianans marched into the ravine and momentarily disappeared from view. The Iowans heard them prepare for the lunge up the slope but could not see to shoot. Said one, “Their steady tramp comes nearer, and in a moment Colonel Matthies commands, ’Attention, battalion! Ready! Aim! Fire!' and a sheet of flame and lead is sent into the ranks of the advancing enemy, they first appearing in front about fifty yards away.”
“The fire immediately opened from both lines like a sudden clap of thunder,” marveled Louisianan Willie Tunnard. “At the commencement of the firing our boys dropped down on their knees, the best thing they could have done, as the greatest portion of the enemy’s fire flew harmlessly over their heads, while their firing had a telling effect on the enemy. The firing was fearful — the smoke enveloped both lines, so that they became invisible to each other. The lines could only be distinguished by the flash of the guns.” For fifteen minutes, perhaps longer, the two regiments traded volleys without either gaining the advantage.12
Matthies broke the deadlock. When his left companies wavered, the Prussian ordered a bayonet charge, as much to forestall a general collapse as to drive off the enemy. Matthies was pleased with the result: The “charge was executed in the most gallant manner, every officer and man moving up in line, cheering lustily. The enemy gave way, when we poured a deadly fire into their ranks, causing them to fall back down the hill.”
The Louisianans regrouped in the ravine and in a few minutes were pushing Matthies’s Iowans back up the slope. Again Matthies ordered a charge, and a second time his men drove the enemy from the ridge. In the fast gathering darkness the lines intermingled. A squad of Louisianans edged through the smoke to within an arm’s length of the national colors of the Fifth. One of the Rebels reached out to grab them, saying, “Don’t fire at us; we are your friends.” The Iowans shot him dead. Another Rebel shoved through the ranks of Company B, intent on taking the regimental flag. He was shot and bayoneted behind the line.
The two sides untangled themselves, stepped back, and renewed their volleys. “Five of my eight messmates of the day before were shot,” said Samuel Byers of the Fifth. “It was not a question who was dead, or wounded, but who was not.”
The fight was going badly for Matthies. From the left side of the Eleventh Ohio Battery, no more than 150 yards away, Whitfield’s First Texas opened an enfilading fire on Matthies’s left. It was now probably 6:15 P.M. The Fifth Iowa had been fighting for nearly forty-five minutes and had already lost more than 100 men. Then Whitfield’s volleys decimated Matthies’s three left-wing companies. Nearly every officer was shot, and the men “went down like grass before a scythe.” Those still alive began to give ground.13
Watching the fight from behind the Fifth Iowa was Col. George Boomer, whose Twenty-sixth Missouri had brought on the battle almost two hours earlier. The caissons of the Eleventh Ohio Battery were lined up to the rear of the Missourians, and artillerymen periodically passed through their ranks bearing ammunition for the guns. Boomer appreciated the exposed position of the cannon, and when Colonel Matthies called on him to help shore up his decimated left wing, the Missourian responded immediately, knowing the safety of Sears’s right section was at stake. Boomer yelled to Maj. Ladislaus Koniuszeski to get on his horse and lead the four left-wing companies of the regiment—162 men in all — up the slope to close the gap between Sears’s cannon and the right wing of the Fifth Iowa, which was still largely intact. He told Lieutenant Colonel Holman to stay in the swale with the six remaining companies of the Twenty-sixth.
On the ridge all was a sickening confusion. When they reached the ridge, Koniuszeski’s Missourians walked into a volley from the Third Louisiana. Capt. De Witt Brown, the commander of Company C, which was nearest the cannon, remembered the first Rebel fire: “Bushels of minie balls came thick and fast among us. My men were ordered by me to ’lie down, load,' rise and fire. In this way I saved the lives of my men.” With each successive volley, the accuracy of the Louisianans improved.
Confessed Brown, “After a few rounds were fired, a command was given by a rebel officer, in a loud tone, to fire low, when a leaden hail swept through our ranks, wounding several of my men, and throwing my company into confusion.” Evading Brown’s gaze, men began sneaking rearward from the center of his line.
Colonel Boomer called their departure to Brown’s attention. Disgusted by Koniuszeski’s poor performance—he had watched the major dismount and then stumble befuddled about the ridge — Boomer rode up to take command in person. First he upbraided Captain Brown, who responded by blocking the path of his skulking soldiers: “I immediately moved from the right to the center of the company, struck up the guns of the men with my sword, commanded them to stand fast and face the enemy, and turned two men around into their places with my own hands.” While Brown was thus distracted, the rest of his company fell back a few steps. Faced with the defection of all, Brown screamed, “Charge.” The men obeyed. They surged back up the ridge, past the battery and “almost into the Rebel lines.”
The other three companies were faring no better than Brown’s. To forestall their collapse, Colonel Boomer rode off for his six reserve companies. But at the bottom of the ridge he found only trampled underbrush where Lieutenant Colonel Holman and the rest of the regiment had been. Having neither the time to look for them himself nor a staff officer to send, Boomer returned to the fight.14
In the few minutes Boomer was gone, the situation deteriorated beyond repair. Lieutenant Sears was shot from his horse. A moment later Sears’s ranking section commander, ist Lt. Henry Neil, came to Captain Brown, pleading with him to withdraw a few paces so he could limber up and get away with the guns of the right section. Brown did so. “At this juncture, the scene became perfectly terrible.” He watched Neil, bleeding profusely from two shell wounds and two bullet wounds, call for horses from the caisson in the rear to replace the dozens of dead animals that lay tangled in their harnesses beside the limbers. It was an effort worse than futile. The replacement horses were shot as fast as they came up. Bleeding and dying, they lunged at Brown’s right flank, and his Missourians dove for cover.
Colonel Boomer could offer Brown no help in rallying his broken company. About the time Lieutenant Sears fell, he had been shot through the left lung. Before he was carried off, Boomer ordered his four companies on the ridge to retreat.
There were few left to obey the order. Of the 162 Missourians who had gone into the fight, 21 were dead, and 76 were wounded or missing. Captain Brown, who had pieced together a firing line, never received Boomer’s order. For Brown’s company, the retreat, when it came, was spontaneous and ineluctable.15
Not everyone heard or understood the order to withdraw. A squad of five Missourians, congregated behind Neil’s battery, suddenly found itself alone amid fallen artillery horses, with the Rebels only a few dozen yards off. Screaming over the din, Pvt. J. H. Allen asked the corporal commanding the squad what had happened to the rest of the company. The corporal put his mouth to Allen’s ear and shouted, “I don’t know.” “What should we do?” pleaded Allen. “Die here!” replied the corporal. Bullets ripped through both Allen’s thighs. As he crumpled to the ground, Allen saw the corporal fall dead.
In the wooded swale Captain Brown and the other survivors found refuge. They came together, formed into column, and marched into the large cotton field to the right of the recumbent Tenth Missouri. There they found the six derelict companies of their own regiment. Lieutenant Colonel Holman shrugged off his absence from the fight. He had not gotten Boomer’s order to stay put, Holman told Captain Brown. Lacking instructions and witnessing the carnage on the crest, Holman simply had faced his men about
and led them away.16
The defeat of Colonel Boomer’s Missourians forced the Fifth Iowa to concede the ridge to the Third Louisiana. The Iowans had expended nearly all of their forty rounds and had lost an astonishing 217 men— nearly half those engaged — in seventy-five minutes. The withdrawal of the Twenty-sixth Missouri exposed the Iowans' left flank to an enfilading fire. They might have been able to respond had their right flank not been endangered by the advance of the Fortieth Mississippi, which General Hébert had committed to the left of the Third Louisiana to lengthen his badly shot up front line. Matthies saw the Mississippians march through the ravine into position beyond his flank, and he withdrew while there was time. Getting his men off in good order “by the right of companies to their rear,” Matthies passed through the Tenth Missouri and halted the regiment at the far fringe of the cotton field.17
The destruction of Colonel Boomer’s four companies also doomed the Eleventh Ohio Battery. From the moment they fired their first salvo at 5:15 P.M., the Ohioans fought as if the battle began and ended with them. “I had my hands and mind so thoroughly occupied with my own particular part of the business, that it seemed to me we were going it alone on a weak hand, with a strong prospect of being euchred,” said Lieutenant Sears.
Sears was right to feel abandoned. At the start of the fight Colonel Sanborn had told him to “form in battery” astride the Jacinto road and “ ’await further orders.' Orders never came, but the enemy did, in force, sneaking up with their rifle-muskets at ’charge bayonets,' in plain view and at easy canister range,” Sears remembered. “On the charging masses came, 150 or 200 yards. Still the battery was waiting ’further orders,' every man at his post, toeing the mark, with everything ’ready.'”
The Rebels opened fire first. Said Sears, “Their bullets were zipping among the battery with very uncomfortable frequency, and occasionally winging a two or four-footed victim.”
The Darkest Days of the War- the Battles of Iuka and Corinth Page 12