The Darkest Days of the War- the Battles of Iuka and Corinth

by Peter Cozzens

  General Moore never contemplated pursuit. In capturing two Federal camps and what he proudly considered to be a “strong, well constructed work,” the Tennessean felt he had done enough — particularly as Lovell’s division had stood idle a half-mile away while he took on the equivalent of two Federal brigades.21

  That Lovell could have accomplished much is undeniable. When Crocker changed front to face Moore, he left open the northwestern approach to Battery F. McKean had no other force available to resist an attack from that direction. Had Lovell moved aggressively, he could have routed Crocker and the remnants of McArthur’s and Oliver’s brigades, which had yet to withdraw to town, and perhaps capture much of McKean’s artillery. Undoubtedly he would have shattered the division too badly for it to have reassembled that day. Confronted with the collapse of his left at the same time Davies was being pressed hard in the center, Rosecrans may have been forced to concede Corinth to the Confederates.

  General Bowen saw the opportunity and had begged Lovell to allow him to support the wayward First Missouri with the remainder of his brigade. Instead Lovell had insisted that he recall the First Missouri. Fortunately for Moore, Bowen apparently chose to disregard that order. Albert Rust shared Bowen’s disgust. He considered his own men to be “in first-rate fighting condition” after their “comparatively brief” engagement on Oliver’s hill and by late afternoon regarded the enemy as “whipped.” Aggressive by nature, John Villepigue probably shared a similar opinion.

  Not until 5:00 P.M., nearly an hour after Moore had captured Battery F, did Lovell consent to an advance, and then only after Van Dorn had told him to move forward. Lovell contented himself with making contact with Moore’s right. With the Tennessean, Lovell halted near sunset on a ridge a half-mile short of the Federal inner fortifications, into which the brigades of Crocker and McArthur were only then filing. Even after dark, Moore still hoped to attack. He was waiting for word from Lovell that he, too, would advance when General Maury recalled him to his own division.

  An opportunity as golden as the hot October sun had been lost to the Confederates. But Lovell never explained his inactivity. His support for the operation had been predicated on a minimal loss of Southern lives. When it became obvious that Corinth would not be taken without a bloody fight, Lovell may have chosen to register his objections — and reduce the losses in his division—simply by doing the minimum required. What he would accomplish on the morrow remained to be seen.22

  17. I Bid Them All Good Bye

  Rosecrans was less charitable with General Davies than Davies had been with his brigade commanders after the clash at the breastworks. Updating Grant at 1:00 P.M. on the course of a batde he had done little to direct, Rosecrans complained Davies’s men “did not act or fight well.” Nevertheless Rosecrans thought the army would “handle” the enemy, in part because he believed the attack on Corinth to be a feint. While the Rebels swarmed over Oliver’s hill and Davies reassembled Oglesby’s brigade south of the outer breastworks, Rosecrans wrote Grant with a confident air that “one unusually reliable [scout] gives their entire force not exceeding 30,000 and is satisfied that they intend to make their main move on Bolivar. . . . If we find the force not meant for Corinth or we are in position to do it, shall move on them steadily with everything we can spare.”1

  Rosecrans’s missive reflected both wishful thinking and a gross misreading of affairs on his own front. Already Davies had begged him for reinforcements, a good sign Rosecrans would have few troops to spare to move on the enemy. Minutes after Rosecrans sent his update, Davies again pleaded for more troops. His two brigades were regrouping at the junction of the Chewalla and Columbus roads, their second delaying position since quitting the breastworks. Even as they formed a battle line, Davies made plans to withdraw to what he determined would be his final position: two huge, partially cultivated fields 950 yards southeast of the fork of the Columbus and Chewalla roads and 725 yards in front of Battery Robinett. Explained Davies, “This position was selected as the only one where the small force under my command had any hope of meeting the enemy with success. At all other points it could have been flanked and surrounded. . . . Here, in the edge of the woods, the men could lay partially concealed, with an open view in their front.”

  The New Yorker’s reasoning was sound. The Confederates had made clear (to Davies’s satisfaction at least) that they intended to approach Corinth primarily over the ground between the two railroads. The tracks converged as they neared town; that reduced the amount of available space for maneuver—an advantage for Davies, who could better cover a contracted front with the few men left to him. As they drew close, the Confederates would have to cross either the two fields on the east side of the Memphis road where Davies had determined to deploy most of his force, or a field west of the road nearly as large. On the west side of the road, between the open expanses, was a white frame dwelling that Davies’s Federals called the White House, and for which they named their final line.2

  Davies enjoyed other natural advantages of position. A swamp adjacent to the Mobile and Ohio Railroad would protect his right flank; the guns of Batteries Robinett and Williams, which could easily range the west White House field, his left flank. Regardless of which route they chose, the Confederates thus would be exposed to protracted artillery and small arms fire while moving over nearly 800 yards of open, gently rolling ground.

  Davies deployed his command well. He placed his First Missouri field artillery batteries so as to rake the east White House fields, command the Memphis road, and deny the enemy the wooded approach between the road and the fields. After losses at the old Confederate breastworks and subsequent detachments, Davies had on hand eleven cannon. He sent the three twenty-pounder Parrotts of Richardson’s Battery D into the timber west of the Memphis road. The one ten-pounder Parrott and one twenty- four-pounder howitzer left from Welker’s Battery H he placed in the woods east of the road. Brunner’s two-gun section of Battery I returned from its morning duty with McArthur and with Green’s four ten-pounder Parrotts went into battery in the east White House fields.

  The infantry fell in behind the artillery, along a ridge of dead timber at the southern edge of the field, in the same order they had formed behind the breastworks that morning. Hackleman held the right. The Fifty- second Illinois setded in with its right flank touching the swamp near the railroad. The Second and Seventh Iowa regiments completed the line to the left. Oglesby covered the Memphis road on the division left, with the Twelfth Illinois deployed in the southwestern fringe of the field, the Eighty-first Ohio thrown forward 200 yards to support the artillery, and the Ninth Illinois on the west side of the road.

  Although General Rosecrans had yet to send reinforcements, Davies got some help from the timely arrival of the Union Brigade. Its members, however, were in no better shape than their comrades in the White House fields. They had marched eight miles to reach the battlefield. It was their first serious trek of the summer—the brigade had been on outpost duty since June — and men dropped out by the score. No more than half of the brigade—perhaps 250 men—were with Lt. Col. John Coulter when he reported to General Davies shortly before 3:00 P.M. The New Yorker bade Coulter hasten to the extreme left to protect his two batteries posted near the Memphis road. Coulter led his men into an open wood behind Richardson’s battery, where, on a slight rise, they lay down in line.3

  Davies would need every advantage the terrain offered. His division was on the brink of collapse. Hundreds of men were prostrated from the heat or sheer exhaustion. A hasty roll call revealed 1,211 officers and men present in Hackleman’s brigade (including those of the Union Brigade), while Oglesby had a mere 576 of all ranks. The case of the Eighty-first Ohio is instructive. It began the day 218 strong. Thirty men were lost in the fight at the old Confederate breastworks, but only 112 answered roll in the White House field. Over the three-hour withdrawal the sun had struck down 71 soldiers.

  The leadership was also failing rapidly. After shepherding his men i
nto line, Col. Thomas Morton of the Eighty-first Ohio slunk away. Joseph Nelson of Company C caught a glimpse of his colonel’s solitary retreat. He was “going to the rear afoot, leading his horse, resting his hand on the horse’s neck in front of the saddle.” Perhaps, Nelson speculated, Colonel Morton “considered it safer to retire quietly alone than to be encumbered with the regiment.” Unable to face the prospect of another slaughter like Shiloh, Col. August Mersy drank himself into a stupor. When Charles Colwell came forward from town with several wagonloads of water, he found Mersy “so drunk he could hardly sit on his horse. I could hardly keep from laughing at him, he looked so comical.” Mersy offered Colwell an unsteady hand. “Charley, I am so glad to see you alive,” he slurred. Colwell thanked him and then looked to the distribution of his precious freight of water barrels. He passed among the men of the Ninth. “I had a fine talk with the boys and bid them all good bye or what few were left, for I did not know whether I would ever see them again.”4

  The soldiers on the line held out little hope as well. Everyone understood they were expected to withstand an attack by an enemy whose superiority had been made clear at the breastworks that morning. Up and down the half-mile-long line the Federals watched and waited. Some tried to make light of matters. A solitary Rebel shell hissed, screeched, and tore up the ground in front of Corporal Wright’s company of the Eighty-first Ohio, “causing our prostrate line an immense amount of anxiety.” Wright cast a glance at Sgt. John Mader, who lay directly behind their company commander. Mader moved his head behind the captain’s foot. He looked at Wright, pointed to the foot, and said “It’s got to go through that before it hits me.”

  In the minutes before the first shells fell, Cpl. John Bell of the Second Iowa contemplated the obscene contrasts in his surroundings. Said Bell,

  We [lay] flat on our faces. Details are made to hurry off and fill the canteens of the various companies. The sun beats down with terrible force. A battery dashes up and takes position on our left. Just in front of us is an old log cabin, evidently occupied, and afterwards there is a legend in camp to the effect that in the cellar of that old cabin is a poor woman, alone . . . . As we wait, the silence grows oppressive. Little birds twitter in the trees about us and mark the only break in the terrible stillness, save the occasional low whispers of the soldiers as they lay quiet, with pale, determined faces, grasping their weapons and oppressed with the conviction that in all probability they will never again see the sunrise.5

  * * *

  Not until 2:00 P.M., when Davies was abandoning his second delaying position, did Rosecrans become convinced that Corinth — and not Bolivar or some other point in western Tennessee—was the real object of Van Dorn’s offensive. With McKean’s front quiescent and no Rebels evident east of the Mobile and Ohio Railroad, “it was pretty clear that we were to expect the weight of the attack to fall on our center, where hopes had been given by our falling back.” Rosecrans neglected to convey his sudden certainty to his division commanders. With the exception of Davies’s loan of Baldwin’s brigade to McArthur, the division commanders operated independently of one another, as though the railroad tracks dividing their sectors were inviolate. Nor had Rosecrans made his presence felt. He remained at his headquarters until noon and transmitted no orders of importance. Since reporting to Rosecrans on his way to the Confederate breastworks that morning, Davies had heard nothing from the commanding general. Col. John Du Bois, an aide-de-camp to Rosecrans, appeared briefly before Price’s first attack to tell Davies that reinforcements would be forthcoming, a promise that proved empty. Davies withdrew to the White House line on his own initiative and not as part of Rosecrans’s alleged plan to fight a delaying action back to the inner fortifications.

  Davies was genuinely perplexed, then, when shordy before 3:00 P.M. a headquarters courier handed him an order from Rosecrans that read, “For fear of a misunderstanding in relation to my orders, I wish it distincdy understood that the extreme position is not to be taken till driven to it.” The dispatch did not say what that position might be. Davies might infer it to be the inner works of Batteries Williams and Robinett (which is what Rosecrans apparently intended); but not being privy to Rosecrans’s thinking, Davies was left to guess at the meaning of his ill-tempered instructions. He pocketed the order and prepared to fight at the White House.6

  The 2:00 P.M. circular order confused General Hamilton even more than it had Davies. He had heard from Rosecrans only once since morning, and what the commanding general had said hardly inspired confidence. When Rosecrans learned that Hamilton had occupied the breastworks, he assaulted him verbally: “I had no intention to have you occupy the whole front of the rebel entrenchments, but to straddle the Purdy road, covering it effectually, resting your right flank upon the works wherever it may happen to come and placing your left within supporting distance of Davies. . . . I would be glad to come out and examine that ground, but do not think you need it.” Perhaps Rosecrans should have examined the ground. Had he done so, he would have discovered that Hamilton could not both straddle the Purdy road and support Davies.

  Ignoring Rosecrans’s tirade, Hamilton remained at the breastworks with his two brigades while, a half-mile to the west, the Confederates routed Davies. By the time Hamilton received his copy of the circular order that so perplexed Davies, the enemy was nearly a mile in his rear, west of the Mobile and Ohio Railroad. On his own authority Hamilton withdrew Sullivan’s brigade a few hundred yards from the breastworks and changed its front to face west, but a mile-wide gap remained between Sullivan’s left and the right flank of Davies’s White House line. While Sullivan’s skirmishers engaged in desultory firing with Rebel cavalrymen guarding Price’s left, Hamilton mused over the meaning of the circular. “The extreme position was not understood by either Davies or myself, but probably meant an advanced position,” he surmised incorrectly. “How we could be driven to it by an enemy in our front is difficult to understand.”7

  Hamilton’s ruminations were interrupted by a second order, which served only to muddy matters more. It read, “The general commanding desires me to say to you not to be in a hurry to show yourself. Keep well covered and conceal your strength. The enemy will doubtless feel your position, but do not allow this to hasten your movements.”

  Hamilton had no idea what Rosecrans wanted him to do, nor could the bearer of the dispatch, Lt. Col. Arthur Ducat, shed any light on its meaning. Ducat was an able but arrogant officer who had been transferred from Ord’s staff to that of Rosecrans before the battle. He had Rosecrans’s confidence but no well-defined responsibilities; when he wrote orders on the commanding general’s behalf, it was with the ornate but empty title of “Chief of Grand Guards and Outposts.”

  Rosecrans had sent Ducat to carry the enigmatic order in part to find out, as Ducat phrased it, “what General Hamilton was doing, or could do.” Rosecrans’s curiosity nearly cost Ducat his life. Riding up the Purdy road Ducat stumbled upon a Rebel skirmish line. The conclusion was apparent: Hamilton had lost touch with Davies and allowed the enemy to throw “a heavy flanking, well supported skirmish line” between his left and Davies’s right. Ducat spurred his horse through the Rebel skirmishers.

  When he reached Hamilton, Ducat had no interest in explaining the meaning of Rosecrans’s order, if he even knew it. To Ducat Hamilton’s duty was clear: he should “close in and attack the enemy’s left flank” to relieve pressure on Davies. Hamilton declined to act on the advice of a mere staff officer. He wanted clear and precise instructions from Rosecrans himself.8

  Ducat negotiated the Rebel skirmish line a second time. It was 3:00 P.M. The air resounded with the opening salvos of an artillery duel: Davies was engaged.

  Ducat found Rosecrans in the rear of the White House. Rosecrans had ventured from his headquarters to issue instructions that would at last set in motion a coordinated response to Van Dorn’s attack. He ordered McKean to fall back from Battery F to a ridge three-quarters of a mile to the southeast, where he was to redeploy s
o as to connect with the left of Davies’s White House line.9

  Oddly, Rosecrans did not communicate directly with Davies. He had not, however, ignored Davies’s requests for reinforcements. Rather, until Joseph Mower’s brigade arrived from Kossuth at noon, he lacked a reserve from which to draw troops. Rosecrans called for Mower’s brigade at 1:00 P.M. An hour and a half passed before the aide entrusted with the order, Col. John Du Bois, handed it to Stanley; he had been unable to find Stanley or anyone who knew the general’s whereabouts. The order was brief but emphatic: “The General Commanding directs you to send a brigade across on the Chewalla [Memphis] road through the woods by shortest cut. Reinforce Davies from your left. Close in conformity with that movement. You had better send Mower.” Mower’s men were near collapse, having marched thirty-four miles in twenty-four hours, but the order obviously brooked no delay. Stanley told Mower to move out at the double-quick. Col. William Thrush, commander of the Forty-seventh Illinois, pleaded restraint: “The men are already almost utterly exhausted; to move them faster will render them unfit for action.” The roar of artillery drowned out Thrush’s words of caution, and Stanley urged the men to march faster.10

  Having attended to Davies’s immediate needs and rectified McKean’s front, Rosecrans was disposed to hear Lieutenant Colonel Ducat out. The sorry state of affairs east of the Mobile and Ohio Railroad startled Rosecrans, but he immediately embraced Ducat’s suggestion that Hamilton change front and fall on the Confederate left rear. Until that moment Rosecrans had alternated between bewildered inaction and feckless improvisation while the tide of battle rushed toward town. Now an opportunity had been presented him to affect events decisively. His enthusiasm for Ducat’s proposal was boundless, but his sense of obligation was minimal. In his report of the battle and subsequent testimony before the Joint Congressional Committee on the Conduct of the War, he not only claimed the idea for his own but also pretended it to have been part of a carefully considered plan for trapping the Confederates. Said Rosecrans to committee members in the august calm of a congressional chamber,