by Mark Nesbitt
The Confederate defenses looked formidable: 16,000 troops defended about three miles of entrenchments. The Union effort was to involve 23,000 attackers advancing across almost a mile of open terrain. There were those rifle pits to capture and the main Confederate force looming above.
Grant’s orders were counterintuitive to some of his field commanders. To halt at the rifle pits would expose their men to fire from above and a counterattack. Nevertheless, at 3:30 P.M. the advance began. Once the Northern troops drove the Confederates from the lower rifle pits they realized one thing: The closer they stayed to the retreating Confederates, the less fire they received from above; Confederates on top of the ridge did not want to fire into their own retreating men.
As the Union troops broke from the rifle pits, Grant was surprised and concerned. He wanted to know who ordered the continuation of the attack. None of his subordinate generals had. It appeared to be a spontaneous assault by his men. It was an incentive even the lowliest Federal private understood: Follow the retreating Confederates as closely as possible to avoid being shot from above. Follow them they did, leaping from the captured rifle pits and following their colors in inverted Vs, up the rugged slope of Missionary Ridge to the summit where in brief fighting, they drove the center of Bragg’s army from its supposedly impregnable position.
Grant, caught off guard by the sudden victory, had no plan to pursue Bragg. The next day he sent part of the army to do just that and another part to relieve Burnside’s army in Knoxville. His pursuit of Bragg was stymied again by Patrick Cleburne in a rear-guard action at Ringgold Gap, ending the Chattanooga campaign.
Bragg’s Army of Tennessee reported casualties of 6,667 men. Just as catastrophic to the Confederate cause as the loss of men was the loss of some 40 cannon. Grant lost 686 killed, 4,329 wounded, and 322 captured or missing. Strategically, Chattanooga lived up to its nom de guerre, the “Gateway to the Heart of the Confederacy.” Tennessee was lost to the South.
Chattanooga Ghosts
In early June 2011, my wife Carol, author Katherine Ramsland, and I visited the Chattanooga area and stayed overnight on Lookout Mountain. Katherine’s family was originally from the area; her ancestors walked the infamous Trail of Tears.
In the morning we stopped at a drugstore. Katherine asked the crew behind the prescription counter if they had any ghosts on Lookout Mountain. One of the women smiled and looked like she was about to tell us a story, but the man behind the counter gave us an untrusting scowl, and they all denied having ghosts. But a couple of published works say otherwise.
Lookout Mountain
In 2006, Georgianna C. Kotarski published Ghosts of the Southern Tennessee Valley and related a story the occurred near Fort Oglethorpe, the nearest town to Lookout Mountain. A woman living in the vicinity had heard that on the anniversary of the Battle of Chickamauga you could hear hoofbeats and the clank of metal of a phantom army, apparently retreating from the battlefield. She also said that she had seen a woman in early-twentieth-century clothing walk from an abandoned home above on the ridge and into her yard. The woman, she was convinced by her actions, was a phantom.
A male friend’s interest was piqued and they decided to do an ad hoc paranormal investigation. At 2:00 A.M. they went out into her yard. All was deathly quiet. The moon was up. At first they may have thought their eyes were playing tricks on them. But after several seconds they realized what they were seeing: From a grove of oak trees, a white orb emerged. In addition to being bright and perfectly formed, it also displayed what might be considered intelligent movement, avoiding the limbs of the trees, landing upon one, and then descending to the ground. Soon it broke into two more “ghost lights.”
Author Katherine Ramsland takes in the view of Chattanooga from Lookout Mountain.
As they reached the ground, they transformed into three humansized shapes standing before the man. He started to approach them and got the distinct feeling they were young Union soldiers. He saw details. They wore blue Federal uniforms and two of them were carrying another soldier who had a huge bullet wound in his stomach. But, he realized, they were all dead. The other unnerving thing: They were staring at him. He was convinced that they saw him as well, making this an “intelligent” haunting, wherein the ghost actually acknowledges the presence of the living, sometimes even speaking to the percipient. He told them aloud that they were dead, had died over a century ago, and that they needed to go to the light. The forms coalesced back into orbs and faded into the trees.
The nearby road and gap in the mountain is historic. On their retreat from Chickamauga to Chattanooga, Union soldiers limped along as rapidly as they could, fearful of being captured by the Confederate pursuit. They helped wounded friends, or when hope and strength gave out, lay down by the roadside to die.
An entire book was written by Larry Hillhouse called Ghosts of Lookout Mountain. Most of the stories are pre- and post-Civil War; a few are related to the battle that took place on the rugged mountain.
A small group of Union soldiers had been cut off from their comrades. Exhausted, some wounded, all lost, they began to inch their way along the east side of Lookout Mountain moving northward, running into pockets of enemy troops and unfriendly locals.
Finally, there were just a handful of them and they got lost on a dark, rainy night. They’d walked in a circle and were seen by locals passing at least three times, finally heading south into some nasty terrain with steep drop-offs, sinkholes, and caverns. There was a well-worn path below, but they apparently never found it. They simply disappeared and were never seen again.
But shortly after the war ended, people in the area began to talk about some strange noises they heard on the last rainy night. They claim to have heard voices coming through the hissing rain and the sound of marching men in the distance. Some witnesses hear cursing, crying, and even wailing, as if someone were in horrible pain.
Some actually investigated the sounds the next morning, of course, and found some interesting and unexplainable evidence. There, where the sounds came from, were boot prints in the drying mud, as if several men had marched by. But the prints were unusual: they simply started out of thin air and ended a hundred or so yards away.
Another tale of Lookout Mountain related in Hillman’s book is about a dedicated Confederate sentry who took a post during the war high up on the mountain that overlooked all the roads the Union Army would have to use in maneuvering around the area. So dedicated was he to his cause that when the Union Army took the mountain, he remained hidden, coming out periodically to signal his comrades of the enemy’s movements. Soon he ran out of food and water, but refused to surrender, and he died at his post. Though he passed on well over a century ago, some see his signals still. People have witnessed, at night, a light up on the mountain where no light should be. Occasionally, in the daylight, from the same spot, they will see a bright flash of light. Could it be that the sentry, with dedication to duty that can only be called supernatural, is still sending messages to an army that lives now only in the history books?
More recently, in 2009, a father posted the story “The Ghost of Lookout Mountain” on his blog Traveling Poor. His family was staying at an eighty-year-old hotel on the mountain. The next morning, the woman, who was staying in a separate room, was angry when she awoke and accused one of the boys of sneaking into her room and turning her heater to air-conditioning, making her room freezing. (It was December!) The child, she claimed, also turned off her TV, which she liked kept on while she slept. The young man denied it, but she claimed she’d heard him walk down the hallway, apparently to go to the bathroom, and she waited for him to return and be upbraided by her. Oddly, he never returned.
The man relating the story thought she must have been dreaming, but then remembered that he had had to get up a couple of times that night to reset his heater, which had been turned to air-conditioning as well. And he recalled that his TV also was acting strangely. It had changed channels at least five times without anyone touching th
e remote. Paranormalists believe that ghosts operate in the infrared realm of the light spectrum, which is why near-infrared cameras can sometimes capture images. Most TV remotes also operate using an infrared beam to the sensor on the TV. Could this explain who was changing his channels?
The next night, the children were in the bedroom watching TV. Suddenly they ran screaming into their father’s room. Someone unseen had opened and closed the door to the balcony. Upon inspection, the man realized that the door would have to be unlocked and the handle turned before it could open, and would have closed against the wind. After doing some research, the man found out that their hotel was built on part of the mountain that had been a battlefield.
Missionary Ridge
Though ghost stories about the place seem to be scarce, Missionary Ridge has an interesting energy that produced some powerful EVP.
Carol, Katherine, and I had driven through Chattanooga and along Missionary Ridge. Most of the ridge is privately owned, with large to huge homes, most with a marvelous view across the city, encompassing the Tennessee River and Lookout Mountain. The ridge itself is long, high, and steep, and I again found myself in amazement at the near-superhuman endurance the soldiers of the Civil War possessed. The climb from the rifle pits below would tax the strength of any modern-day professional athlete, yet these men of our Civil War, in spite of excessive use of tobacco and consuming not nearly enough calories for the amount of work they were doing, marched themselves into good enough physical conditioning to scale a height like Missionary Ridge.
The view from Lookout Mountain looking west towards Missionary Ridge.
The monument to the Second Minnesota Regiment atop Missionary Ridge in Chattanooga.
There are reservations, National Park Service historic sites, along the ridge where we stopped and I attempted to collect some EVP. On my first attempt, I actually “cut off” someone answering my question. On the second try (#1229), whoever it was that was answering me tried to cut me off—they actually inserted some unintelligible words in an area where I paused to collect my thoughts during my question. This comes at 3.5 seconds into the recording. At 7 seconds in, I get the answer, “Men at night,” and at 12 seconds there is more unintelligible garble.
In recording #1233, I ask if it was difficult climbing the ridge. I am answered with a couple of statements that don’t really make any sense—and then one that might, if a soldier were tired or wounded and felt he was in the way of others attempting to climb beyond him: “Get round of me.”
Finally, in recording #1234, I get four answers to my question. At 4.5 seconds, you hear three of the “clicks” like fingers snapping, and the “clink” of metal; at 8 seconds, there is the answer “yes,” then birds can be heard chirping; at 11 seconds, there is something unintelligible recorded; at 17 seconds, the words “all right”; and at 20 seconds, the distinctly military “Forward!”
Richmond
In late February 1864, Union general Judson Kilpatrick led a cavalry raid on Richmond that was a failure, yet attracted more attention than almost any other raid in the war. The reason: It was considered by many in the South to be terrorism.
Though the word “terrorism” has more modern roots, the idea was the same: Strike fear into the hearts of the noncombatants by some amoral act outside the rules of civilized warfare. Because of an alleged plan described in some papers found on the body of one of Kilpatrick’s subordinates, the Dahlgren Affair has stirred controversy for decades. It has also led to several ghost stories.
During the winter of 1863–64 it was learned that conditions in Southern prisoner of war camps was deteriorating rapidly. Some 1,500 prisoners were dying every month. Lincoln wanted to do something about it, especially in Richmond.
After an aborted raid by Union general Benjamin Butler launched from Fort Monroe at the beginning of February 1864, Kilpatrick won the president’s ear and got his permission to raid into the Confederate capital for three purposes: The first was to free Federal prisoners from Libby and Belle Isle prisons; the second, to disrupt Confederate communications with their armies in the field; and third, to distribute amnesty proclamations to the rebels in Richmond.
On February 28, Kilpatrick and 3,600 cavalrymen left the Culpeper-Stevensburg area of Virginia and rode southeast. At Mount Pleasant the column split, with twenty-one-year-old colonel Ulric Dahlgren taking 460 troopers with him. He was to cross the James River and strike at Richmond through the weaker southern defenses. Kilpatrick was to meet him after he rode through the city and attacked the northern defenses of Richmond from behind.
It was a good plan, but it faltered when Dahlgren was ambushed north of the James. Kilpatrick, upon not finding them coming to his aid north of Richmond, abandoned Dahlgren’s men to their fate. Young, impetuous Dahlgren, already missing a leg from earlier action, was killed.
Two items stained the noble cause of freeing Union prisoners. First, when Dahlgren’s body was discovered by the ambushing rebels, papers were found on him. They were the draft of a speech he was going to give his men but apparently never did. In the speech was the implication that once the cavalrymen got into Richmond, they would “release the prisoners from Belle Island first & having seen them fairly started we will cross the James River into Richmond, destroying the bridges after us & exhorting the released prisoners to destroy & burn the hateful City & do not allow the Rebel Leader Davis and his traitorous crew to escape.”
A second document stated, “The men must keep together & well in hand & once in the City it must be destroyed & Jeff. Davis and Cabinet killed.” Finally, in his pocket notebook was written, “Jeff Davis and Cabinet must be killed on the spot.”
Richmond Ghosts
Dahlgren wanted to cross the James River on March 1, and was given the name of Martin Robinson, an ex-slave who was skilled in the trade of bricklaying. The U. S. Provost Marshal’s office recommended Robinson because he had helped escort escaped prisoners from Libby northward. Dahlgren promised to pay Robinson well if he found them a safe crossing point on the James River. But then he warned Robinson that if Dahlgren suspected treachery, Robinson would be hanged on the spot.
Robinson had just crossed the Rapidan River the night before and rode with confidence that he could find a crossing of the James. But when they arrived at the ford across the river, the water was too high and rapid to cross.
Robinson looked confused, realizing what this would mean. Dahlgren inquired if there was somewhere else nearby where they could cross. Robinson just slowly shook his head. Dahlgren ordered a noose and had the black man hanged from a nearby tree on the side of the road. The column rode on to its fate.
One source states that Southerners in the area allowed the body to hang for a week as a notice to local blacks what Yankees really think of them. It has been speculated that the phantom seen wandering the area at night is the spirit of poor Martin Robinson, rashly executed for something out of his control, still seeking the ford across the James that could have saved his life.
In his book Civil War Ghosts of Virginia, L. B. Taylor Jr. found other stories associated with the raid from local newspapers. One was of a slave named Burwell, so loyal to the Ben Green family that when Dahlgren’s Yankees came to look for the family silver, he refused to tell them where it was hidden. They dragged him out of the house on Three Chopt Road and strung him up by his thumbs. The house today exhibits paranormal events that are attributed to the tortured spirit of Burwell, who for his faithfulness suffered so much pain.
Another ghost that may stem from the ill-fated raid has been heard on Cary Street Road near where a honeysuckle thicket and some woods stood near an icehouse. An officer of Dahlgren’s blundered into a sniper hidden in the brush and was shot from his horse, mortally wounded. Today those who venture near the area on quiet nights have their solemnity shattered by moans, allegedly from the suffering Yankee officer.
The Wilderness
On May 4, 1864, the Army of the Potomac began crossing the Rapidan River, looking to
turn Lee’s right flank and then head south. Lee, without Longstreet’s corps, was vastly outnumbered and realized that his only chance would be to fight Grant in the tangled, wooded area of this part of Virginia known as the Wilderness, nullifying the Northern numerical superiority until Longstreet arrived. The Confederate Army’s salvation lay in audacity, which fortunately for them was their commander’s hallmark.
Around 7:00 A.M., May 5, as their army marched southward, Union pickets on the Orange Turnpike saw Confederates digging defensive trenches across Saunders Field, one of the few clearings in the Wilderness. When word got to Meade that Lee was nearby, he halted his advance through the tangled forest to confront him, thereby blundering into Lee’s battle plan.
By noon, Confederate general Ewell had nearly 10,000 men dug in along the western edge of Saunders Field, extending on either side of the Orange Turnpike, supported by another 4,500 men in reserve. Under orders from Lee not to bring on a general engagement until Longstreet arrived, they could only watch as columns of blue-clad infantry snaked their way across their front. A race began for the junction of the Brock and Orange Plank Roads as the opposing commanders realized its importance: If Confederates gained the crossroads, the Union Army would be blocked from further advance.
Union general George Getty and his staff arrived at the crossroads ahead of his troops. Advancing Confederate infantry opened fire on the little group. Suddenly, from down the Brock Road came figures in blue. They swarmed into the crossroads, loosed a volley to hold the approaching Confederates, and Getty and his staff, miraculously with only one wounded, withdrew to their proper posts. When Union skirmishers pushed out, they found wounded Confederates only thirty yards from the Brock Road. It had been that close.