by Sam Watkins
* * *
1. Owing to his failure to pursue Bragg after the battle of Perryville, General Buell was replaced by Major General William Rosecrans on October 24. He was the same General Rosecrans that the Army of the Northwest tried to catch in the present sate of West Virginia when the 1st Tennessee was with that army earlier.
2. Polk was a corps commander in Bragg's army. He was also an Episcopal bishop and a founder of the University of the South, popularly known as Sewanee. At this point Maney's Brigade was a part of Cheatham's Division, which was, in turn, a component of Polk's corps.
3. Rosecrans was planning to attack Bragg's army bivouacked around Murfreesboro, but during his march from Nashville, Confederate cavalry effectively screened the movements of Rebel infantry. Thus, Rosecrans may have sent individual cavalrymen out to capture prisoners for interrogation about Rebel deployments. It was a common practice on both sides, but may have been particularly applicable to Rosecrans in preparation for the battle of Murfreesboro, which is commonly known as the battle of Stones River among Northern participants and historians. Stones River and Murfreesboro are between Nashville and Chattanooga.
4. Watkins is saying a Confederate “relief” soldier was soon scheduled to replace him on picket duty and that the soldier was coming into sight.
5. Watkins is reasoning that by placing the Confederate line of battle on the north side of Stones River, the Rebels would have to cross the river if forced to retreat south. If instead the battle line were on the south side, the Union troops would be the ones needing to cross the river to attack the Confederates. Crossing such a river makes soldiers vulnerable because it slows them down and puts them in the open for a longer period of time.
6. Sam has the date wrong. The battle extended over three days from December 31, 1862, to January 2, 1863. The Union army under Rosecrans had forty-one thousand five hundred soldiers, and Bragg had thirty-five thousand Confederates. The Rebels struck first by attacking the right of Rosecrans's Army of the Cumberland. The 1st Tennessee was combined with the 27th Tennessee and was in Polk's corps. They attacked after Hardee's corps started the Rebel assault on the Confederate left.
7. Just prior to this incident, Sam's brigade commander, General Maney, had agreed with another brigade commander, Colonel Arthur Manigault, that Manigault's soldiers would drive the federal troops from the position that had taken Sam and his comrades under fire. Officers in Sam's regiment assumed the fire directed at the 1st Tennessee was from Manigault's troops, but Manigault had not yet captured the position. Thus, Sam was correct in stating the fire was coming from the enemy.
8. Benjamin F. Cheatham was Sam's division commander at Stones River. Although Sam gives a heroic account of Cheatham's performance, others report that he had been drinking the night before, and the attacks of his brigades were piecemeal. Nonetheless, by 11:00 a.m., many of the Confederate objectives had been achieved: the Rebels had captured twenty-eight guns and over three thousand Union soldiers. However, the accomplishment was the work of the entire left wing of the Confederate army, not just Cheatham's division. Cheatham's grandfather on his mother's side founded Nashville.
9. This was the first time Watkins was wounded.
10. It was actually the right wing of the federal army that was driven back, but on the left of the Confederate attack line. The Union soldiers on this front were under the command of General Philip Sheridan, who ordered them to withdraw because they had exhausted their ammunition. Watkins did not realize the reason.
11. This is an exaggeration, even if Sam believed it to be true. Union losses for the entire multiday battle totaled thirteen thousand, compared to twelve thousand Confederates. Since Sam was wounded, he apparently did not participate in fighting beyond the first day. On January 2, 1863, Rosecrans counterattacked successfully, as indicated in the “Battle of Stones River: End of Battle” map on page 79. Bragg was forced to retreat.
SEVEN
SHELBYVILLE
IT IS A BAD THING FOR AN ARMY to remain too long at one place. The men soon become discontented and unhappy, and we had no diversion or pastime except playing poker and chuck-a-luck. All the money of the regiment had long ago been spent, but grains of corn represented dollars, and with these we would play as earnestly and as zealously as if they were so much money, sure enough.
A FOOT RACE
One of those amusing episodes that frequently occur in the army, happened at this place. (Shelbyville is in Tennessee.) A big strapping fellow by the name of Tennessee Thompson, always carried bigger burdens than any other five men in the army. For example, he carried two quilts, three blankets, one gum oil cloth, one overcoat, one axe, one hatchet, one camp-kettle, one oven and lid, one coffee pot, besides his knapsack, haversack, canteen, gun, cartridge-box, and three days' rations. He was a rare bird, anyhow. Tennessee usually had his hair cut short on one side and left long on the other, so that he could give his head a bow and a toss and throw the long hairs over on the other side, and it would naturally part itself without a comb. Tennessee was the wit and good nature of the company; always in a good humor, and ever ready to do any duty when called upon. In fact, I would sometimes get out of heart and low spirited, and would hunt up Tennessee to have a little fun. His bye-word was “Bully for Bragg; he's hell on retreat, and will whip the Yankees yet.” He was a good and brave soldier, and followed the fortunes of Company H from the beginning to the end.
Well, one day he and Billy Webster bet twenty-five dollars, put up in Bill Martin's hands, as to which could run the faster. John Tucker, Joe Lee, Alf. Horsley and myself were appointed judges. The distance was two hundred yards. The ground was measured off, and the judges stationed. Tennessee undressed himself, even down to his stocking feet, tied a red handkerchief around his head, and another one around his waist, and walked deliberately down the track, eyeing every little rock and stick and removing them off the track. Comes back to the starting point and then goes down the track in half canter; returns again, his eyes flashing, his nostrils dilated, looking the impersonation of the champion courser of the world; makes two or three apparently false starts; turns a somersault by placing his head on the ground and flopping over on his back; gets up and whickers like a horse; goes half-hammered, hop, step, and jump—he says, to loosen up his joints—scratches up the ground with his hands and feet, flops his arms and crows like a rooster, and says, “Bully for Bragg; he's hell on a retreat,” and announces his readiness.
The drum is tapped, and off they start. Well, Billy Webster beat him one hundred yards in the two hundred, and Tennessee came back and said, “Well, boys, I'm beat; Billy Martin, hand over the stakes to Billy Webster. I'm beat, but hang me if I didn't outrun the whole Yankee army coming out of Kentucky; got away from Lieutenant Lansdown and the whole detail at Chattanooga with half a hog, a fifty pound sack of flour, a jug of Meneesee commissary whisky, and a camp-kettle full of brown sugar. I'm beat. Billy Martin, hand over the stakes. Bully for Bragg; he's hell on a retreat.” Tennessee was trying bluff. He couldn't run worth a cent; but there was no braver or truer man ever drew a ramrod or tore a cartridge than Tennessee.
EATING MUSSELS
Reader, did you ever eat a mussel? Well, we did, at Shelbyville.
We were camped right upon the bank of Duck River, and one day Fred Dornin, Ed Voss, Andy Wilson and I went in the river mussel hunting. Every one of us had a meal sack. We would feel down with our feet until we felt a mussel and then dive for it. We soon filled our sacks with mussels in their shells. When we got to camp we cracked the shells and took out the mussels. We tried frying them, but the longer they fried the tougher they got. They were a little too large to swallow whole. Then we stewed them, and after a while we boiled them, and then we baked them, but every flank movement we would make on those mussels the more invulnerable they would get. We tried cutting them up with a hatchet, but they were so slick and tough the hatchet would not cut them. Well, we cooked them, and buttered them, and salted them, and peppered them, and battered them.
They looked good, and smelt good, and tasted good; at least the fixings we put on them did, and we ate the mussels.
I went to sleep that night. I dreamed that my stomach was four grindstones, and that they turned in four directions, according to the four corners of the earth. I awoke to hear four men yell out, “O, save, O, save me from eating any more mussels!”
“POOR” BERRY MORGAN
One of those sad, unexpected affairs, that reminds the living that even in life we are in the midst of death, happened at Shelbyville. Our regiment had been out to the front, on duty, and was returning to camp. It was nearly dark, and we saw a black wind cloud rising. The lightning's flash and the deep muttering thunders warned us to seek shelter as speedily as possible. Some of us ran in under the old depot shed, and soon the storm struck us. It was a tornado that made a track through the woods beyond Shelbyville, and right through the town, and we could follow its course for miles where it had blown down the timber, twisting and piling it in every shape. Berry Morgan and I had ever been close friends, and we threw down our blankets and were lying side by side, when I saw roofs of houses, sign boards, and brickbats flying in every direction. Nearly half of the town was blown away in the storm. While looking at the storm without, I felt the old shed suddenly jar and tremble, and suddenly become unroofed, and it seemed to me that ten thousand brickbats had fallen in around us. I could hear nothing for the roaring of the storm, and could see nothing for the blinding rain and flying dirt and bricks and other rubbish. The storm lasted but a few minutes, but those minutes seemed ages. When it had passed, I turned to look at “poor Berry.” Poor fellow! his head was crushed in by a brickbat, his breast crushed in by another, and I think his arm was broken, and he was otherwise mutilated. It was a sad sight. Many others of our regiment were wounded.
Berry was a very handsome boy. He was what everybody would call a “pretty man.” He had fair skin, blue eyes, and fine curly hair, which made him look like an innocent child. I loved Berry. He was my friend—as true as the needle to the pole. But God, who doeth all things well,1 took his spirit in the midst of the storm to that beautiful home beyond the skies. I thank God I am no infidel. We will meet again.
WRIGHT SHOT TO DEATH WITH MUSKETRY
I saw a young boy about seventeen or eighteen years old, by the name of Wright, and belonging to General Marcus J. Wright's brigade, shot to death with musketry at this place.2 The whole of Cheatham's division had to march out and witness the horrid scene. Now, I have no doubt that many, if not all, would have gone without being forced to do so, but then you know that was Bragg's style. He wanted always to display his tyranny, and to intimidate his privates as much as possible.
The young man was hauled in a wagon, sitting on his coffin, to the place where the grave was to be dug, and a post was planted in the ground. He had to sit there for more than two hours, looking on at the preparations for his death. I went up to the wagon, like many others, to have a look at the doomed man. He had his hat pulled down over his eyes, and was busily picking at the ends of his fingers. The guard who then had him in charge told me that one of the culprit's own brothers was one of the detail to shoot him. I went up to the wagon and called him, “Wright!” He made no reply, and did not even look up. Then I said, “Wright, why don't you jump out of that wagon and run?”
He was callous to everything. I was sorry for him. When the division was all assembled, and the grave dug, and the post set, he was taken out of the wagon, and tied to the post. He was first tied facing the post, and consequently would have been shot in the back, but was afterwards tied with his back to the post. The chaplain of the regiment read a chapter in the Bible, sang a hymn, and then all knelt down and prayed. General Wright went up to the pinioned man, shook hands with him, and told him good-bye, as did many others, and then the shooting detail came up, and the officer in charge gave the command, “Ready, aim, fire!” The crash of musketry broke upon the morning air. I was looking at Wright. I heard him almost shriek, “O, O, God!” His head dropped forward, the rope with which he was pinioned keeping him from falling. I turned away and thought how long, how long will I have to witness these things?
DAVE SUBLETT PROMOTED
While at Shelbyville, a vacancy occurring in Captain Ledbetter's company, the Rutherford Rifles, for fourth corporal, Dave Sublett became a candidate for the position. Now, Dave was a genius. He was a noble and brave fellow, and at one time had been a railroad director. He had a distinguished air always about him, but Dave had one fault, and that was, he was ever prone to get tight. He had been a Union man, and even now he always had a good word for the Union. He was sincere, but eccentric.
Tennessee was profoundly divided over the issue of secession, with its mountainous eastern section deeply opposed. A special election on February 9, 1861 revealed the political gulf between the Governor—who favored secession—and the citizens of Tennessee who voted 80 percent against secession.
The election for fourth corporal was drawing nigh. Dave sent off and got two jugs of spirits vini frumenti,3 and treated the boys. Of course, his vote would be solid. Every man in that company was going to cast his vote for him. Dave got happy and wanted to make a speech. He went to the butcher's block which was used to cut up meat on—he called it Butchers' Hall—got upon it amid loud cheering and hurrahs of the boys. He spoke substantially as follows:
Fellow Citizens—I confess that it is with feelings of diffidence and great embarrassment on my part that I appear before you on this occasion. But, gentlemen and fellow-citizens, I desire to serve you in a humble capacity, as fourth corporal of Company I. Should you see cause to elect me, no heart will beat with more gratitude than my own. Gentlemen, you well know that I was ever a Union man:
A union of lakes, and a union of lands,
A union that no one can sever;
A union of hearts, and a union of hands,
A glorious union forever.
[Cheers and applause.]
Fellow-citizens, I can look through the dim telescope of the past and see Kansas, bleeding Kansas, coming like a fair young bride, dressed in her bridal drapery, her cheek wet and moistened with the tears of love. I can see her come and knock gently at the doors of the Union, asking for admittance.
[Wild cheering.]
Looking further back, I can see our forefathers of the revolution baring their bosoms to the famine of a seven years' war, making their own bosoms a breastwork against the whole hosts of King George III. But, gentlemen, as I before remarked, I desire to ask at your hands the high, distinguished and lucrative office, my fellow-citizens, and for which I will ever feel grateful—the office of fourth corporal in your company.
[Cheers.]
Now, Dave had a competitor who was a states' rights democrat. If I mistake not, his name was Frank Haliburton. Now, Frank was an original secessionist. He felt that each state was a separate, sovereign government of itself, and that the South had the same rights in the territories as they of the North. He was fighting for secession and state rights upon principle. When Sublett had finished his speech, Frank took the stand and said:
Gentlemen and Fellow-Citizens—I am a candidate for fourth corporal, and if you will elect me I will be grateful, and will serve you to the best of my ability. My competitor seems to harp considerably upon his Union record, and Union love. If I mistake not, my fellow-citizens, it was old George McDuffie that stood up in the senate chamber of the United States and said, “When I hear the shout of ‘glorious Union,’ methinks I hear the shout of a robber gang.’ McDuffie saw through his prophetic vision the evils that would result, and has foretold them as if by inspiration from above.”4
Fellow-citizens, under the name of Union our country is invaded today.
These cursed Yankees are invading our country, robbing our people, and desolating our land, and all under the detestable and damning name of Union. Our representatives in congress have been fighting them for fifty years. Compromise after compromise has been granted by the South. We have used
every effort to conciliate those at the North. They have turned a deaf ear to every plea. They saw our country rich and prosperous, and have come indeed, like a gang of robbers, to steal our property and murder our people. But, fellow-citizens, I for one am ready to meet them, and desire that you elect me fourth corporal of Company I, so that I can serve you in a more efficient manner, while we meet as a band of brothers, the cursed horde of Northern Hessians and hirelings.5 I thank you for your attention, gentlemen, and would thank you for your votes.
Well, the election came off, and Dave was elected by an overwhelming majority. But the high eminence of military distinction enthralled him. He seemed to live in an atmosphere of greatness and glory, and was looking eagerly forward to the time when he would command armies. He had begun to climb the ladder of glory under most favorable and auspicious circumstances. He felt his consequence and keeping. He was detailed once, and only once, to take command of the third relief of camp guard.
Ah, this thing of office was a big thing. He desired to hold a council of war with Generals Bragg, Polk, Hardee, and Kirby-Smith.6 He first visited General Polk. His war metal was up. He wanted a fight just then and there, and a fight he must have, at all hazards, and to the last extremity. He became obstreperous, when General Polk called a guard and had him marched off to the guard-house. It was then ordered that he should do extra fatigue duty for a week. The guard would take him to the woods with an ax, and he would make two or three chops on a tree and look up at it and say: