by Sam Watkins
I remember stopping the whole command and begging them to please not leave us; that if they did, Atlanta, and perhaps Hood's whole army, would surrender in a few days; but they told me, as near as I can now remember, “We regret to leave you, but we have to obey orders.” The most ignorant private in the whole army saw everything that we had been fighting for over four years just scattered like chaff to the winds. All the Generals resigned, and those who did not resign were promoted; colonels were made brigadier-generals, captains were made colonels, and the private soldier, well, he deserted, don't you see? The private soldiers of the Army of Tennessee looked upon Hood as an over-rated general, but Jeff Davis did not.
BATTLE OF JULY 22, 1864
Cannon balls, at long range, were falling into the city of Atlanta. Details of citizens put out the fires as they would occur from the burning shells. We could see the smoke rise and hear the shells pass away over our heads as they went on toward the doomed city.
One morning Cheatham's corps marched out and through the city, we knew not whither, but we soon learned that we were going to make a flank movement. After marching four or five miles, we “about faced” and marched back again to within two hundred yards of the place from whence we started. It was a “flank movement,” you see, and had to be counted that way anyhow. Well, now as we had made the flank movement, we had to storm and take the Federal lines, because we had made a flank movement, you see. When one army makes a flank movement it is courtesy on the part of the other army to recognize the flank movement, and to change his base. Why, sir, if you don't recognize a flank movement, you ain't a graduate of West Point. Hood was a graduate of West Point, and so was Sherman. But unfortunately there was Mynheer Dutchman commanding (McPherson had gone to dinner) the corps that had been flanked, and he couldn't speak English worth a cent. He, no doubt, had on board mein lager beer, so goot as vat never vas. I sweitzer, mein Got, you bet. Bang, bang, bang, goes our skirmish line advancing to the attack. Hans, vat fer ish dot shooting mit mein left wing? Ish dot der Repels, Hans?
THE ATTACK
The plan of battle, as conceived and put into action by General Cleburne, was one of the boldest conceptions, and, at the same time, one of the most hazardous that ever occurred in our army during the war, but it only required nerve and pluck to carry it out, and General Cleburne was equal to the occasion.7
The Yankees had fortified on two ranges of hills, leaving a gap in their breastworks in the valley entirely unfortified and unprotected. They felt that they could enfilade the valley between the two lines so that no troop would or could attack at this weak point. This valley was covered with dense undergrowth of trees and bushes. General Walker, of Georgia, was ordered to attack on the extreme right, which he did nobly and gallantly, giving his life for his country while leading his men, charging their breastworks. He was killed on the very top of their works. In the meantime General Cleburne's division was marching by the right flank in solid column, the same as if they were marching along the road, right up this valley, and thus passing between the Yankee lines and cutting them in two, when the command by the left flank was given, which would throw them into line of battle. By this maneuver, Cleburne's men were right upon their flank, and enfilading their lines, while they were expecting an attack in their front. It was the finest piece of generalship and the most successful of the war.
Shineral Mynheer Dutchman says, “Hans, mein Got! mein Got! vare ish Shineral Mackferson, eh? Mein Got, mein Got! I shust pelieve dot der Repel ish cooming. Hans, go cotch der filly colt. Now, Hans, I vants to see vedder der filly colt mid stand fire. You get on der filly colt, und I vill get pehind der house, und ven you shust coome galloping py, I vill say ‘B-o-o-h,’ und if der filly colt don't shump, den I vill know dot der filly colt mid stand fire.” Hans says, “Pap, being as you have to ride her in the battle, you get on her, and let me say booh.” Well, Shineral Mynheer gets on the colt, and Hans gets behind the house, and as the general comes galloping by, Hans had got an umbrella, and on seeing his father approach, suddenly opens the umbrella, and hallowing at the top of his voice b-o-o-h! b-o-o-h! B-O-O-H! The filly makes a sudden jump and ker-flop comes down Mynheer. He jumps up and says, “Hans, I alvays knowed dot you vas a vool. You make too pig a booh; vy, you said booh loud enuff to scare der ole horse. Hans, go pring out der ole horse. Der tam Repel vill be here pefore Mackferson gits pack from der dinner time. I shust peleve dot der Repel ish flanking, und dem tam fool curnells of mein ish not got sense enuff to know ven Sheneral Hood is flanking. Hans, bring out der old horse, I vant to find out vedder Mackferson ish got pack from der dinner time or not.”8
We were supporting General Cleburne's division. Our division (Cheatham's) was commanded by General John C. Brown.9 Cleburne's division advanced to the attack. I was marching by the side of a soldier by the name of James Galbreath, and a conscript from the Mt. Pleasant country.10 I never heard a man pray and “go on” so before in my life. It actually made me feel sorry for the poor fellow. Every time that our line would stop for a few minutes, he would get down on his knees and clasp his hands and commence praying. He kept saying, “O, my poor wife and children! God have mercy on my poor wife and children! God pity me and have mercy on my soul!” Says I, “Galbreath, what are you making a fool of yourself that way for? If you are going to be killed, why you are as ready now as you ever will be, and you are making everybody feel bad; quit that nonsense.” He quit, but kept mumbling to himself, “God have mercy! God have mercy!”
Cleburne had reached the Yankee breastworks; the firing had been and was then terrific. The earth jarred, and shook, and trembled, at the shock of battle as the two armies met. Charge men! And I saw the Confederate flag side by side with the Federal flag. A courier dashed up and said, “General Cleburne has captured their works—advance and attack upon his immediate left. Attention, forward!” A discharge of cannon, and a ball tore through our ranks. I heard Galbreath yell out, “O, God, have mercy on my poor soul.” The ball had cut his body nearly in two. Poor fellow, he had gone to his reward.
We advanced to the attack on Cleburne's immediate left.11
Cleburne himself was leading us in person, so that we would not fire upon his men, who were then inside the Yankee line. His sword was drawn. I heard him say, “Follow me, boys.” He ran forward, and amid the blazing fires of the Yankee guns was soon on top of the enemy's works. He had on a bob-tail Confederate coat, which looked as if it had been cut out of a scrimp pattern. (You see I remember the little things). We were but a few paces behind, following close upon him, and soon had captured their line of works. We were firing at the flying foe—astraddle of their lines of battle. This would naturally throw us in front, and Cleburne's corps supporting us. (This is Cleburne's division, not his corps. He did not command a corps at this time, even temporarily.) The Yankee lines seemed routed. We followed in hot pursuit; but from their main line of entrenchment—which was diagonal to those that we had just captured, and also on which they had built forts and erected batteries—was their artillery, raking us fore and aft.
We passed over a hill and down into a valley being under the muzzles of this rampart of death. We had been charging and running, and had stopped to catch our breath right under their reserve and main line of battle. When General George Maney said, “Soldiers, you are ordered to go forward and charge that battery. When you start upon the charge I want you to go, as it were, upon the wings of the wind. Shoot down and bayonet the cannoneers, and take their guns at all hazards.” Old Pat Cleburne thought he had better put in a word to his soldiers. He says, “You hear what General Maney says, boys. If they don't take it, by the eternal God, you have got to take it!” I heard an Irishman of the “bloody Tinth,” and a “darn good regiment, be jabbers,” speak up, and say, “Faith, gineral, we'll take up a collection and buy you a batthery, be Jasus.”
About this time our regiment had re-formed, and had got their breath, and the order was given to charge, and take their guns even at the point of the bayon
et. We rushed forward up the steep hill sides, the seething fires from ten thousand muskets and small arms, and forty pieces of cannon hurled right into our very faces, scorching and burning our clothes, and hands, and faces from their rapid discharges, and piling the ground with our dead and wounded almost in heaps. It seemed that the hot flames of hell were turned loose in all their fury, while the demons of damnation were laughing in the flames, like seething serpents hissing out their rage. We gave one long, loud cheer, and commenced the charge.
As we approached their lines, like a mighty inundation of the river Acheron12 in the infernal regions, Confederate and Federal meet. Officers with drawn swords meet officers with drawn swords, and man to man meets man to man with bayonets and loaded guns. The continued roar of battle sounded like unbottled thunder. Blood covered the ground, and the dense smoke filled our eyes, and ears, and faces. The groans of the wounded and dying rose above the thunder of battle. But being heavily supported by Cleburne's division, and by General L. E. Polk's brigade, headed and led by General Cleburne in person, and followed by the First and Twenty-seventh up the blazing crest, the Federal lines waver, and break and fly, leaving us in possession of their breastworks, and the battlefield, and I do not know how many pieces of artillery, prisoners and small arms.
Here is where Major Allen, Lieutenant Joe Carney, Captain Joe Carthell, and many other good and brave spirits gave their lives for the cause of their country. They lie today, weltering in their own life's blood. It was one of the bloody battles that characterized that stormy epoch, and it was the 22nd of July, and one of the hottest days I ever felt. General George Maney led us in the heat of battle, and no general of the war acted with more gallantry and bravery during the whole war than did General George Maney on this occasion.13
The victory was complete. Large quantities of provisions and army stores were captured. The Federals had abandoned their entire line of breastworks, and had changed their base. They were fortifying upon our left, about five miles off from their original position. The battlefield was covered with their dead and wounded soldiers. I have never seen so many battle-flags left indiscriminately upon any battlefield. I ran over twenty in the charge, and could have picked them up everywhere; did pick up one, and was promoted to fourth corporal for gallantry in picking up a flag on the battlefield.
On the final charge that was made, I was shot in the ankle and heel of my foot.14
I crawled into their abandoned ditch, which then seemed full and running over with our wounded soldiers. I dodged behind the embankment to get out of the raking fire that was ripping through the bushes, and tearing up the ground. Here I felt safe. The firing raged in front; we could hear the shout of the charge and the clash of battle. While I was sitting here, a cannon ball came tearing down the works, cutting a soldier's head off, spattering his brains all over my face and bosom, and mangling and tearing four or five others to shreds. As a wounded horse was being led off, a cannon ball struck him, and he was literally ripped open, falling in the very place I had just moved from.
I saw an ambulance coming from toward the Yankee line, at full gallop, saw them stop at a certain place, hastily put a dead man in the ambulance, and gallop back toward the Yankee lines. I did not know the meaning of this maneuver until after the battle, when I learned that it was General McPherson's dead body.
We had lost many a good and noble soldier. The casualties on our side were frightful. Generals, colonels, captains, lieutenants, sergeants, corporals and privates were piled indiscriminately everywhere. Cannon, caissons, and dead horses were piled pell-mell. It was the picture of a real battlefield. Blood had gathered in pools, and in some instances had made streams of blood. ‘Twas a picture of carnage and death.
AM PROMOTED
“Why, hello, corporal, where did you get those two yellow stripes from on your arm?”
“Why, sir, I have been promoted for gallantry on the battlefield, by picking up an orphan flag, that had been run over by a thousand fellows, and when I picked it up I did so because I thought it was pretty, and I wanted to have me a shirt made out of it.”
“I could have picked up forty, had I known that,” said Sloan.
“So could I, but I knew that the stragglers would pick them up.”
Reader mine, the above dialogue is true in every particular. As long as I was in action, fighting for my country, there was no chance for promotion, but as soon as I fell out of ranks and picked up a forsaken and deserted flag, I was promoted for it. I felt “sorter” cheap when complimented for gallantry, and the high honor of fourth corporal was conferred upon me. I felt that those brave and noble fellows who had kept on in the charge were more entitled to the honor than I was, for when the ball struck me on the ankle and heel, I did not go any further. And had I only known that picking up flags entitled me to promotion and that every flag picked up would raise me one notch higher, I would have quit fighting and gone to picking up flags, and by that means I would have soon been President of the Confederate States of America. But honors now begin to cluster around my brow. This is the laurel and ivy that is entwined around the noble brows of victorious and renowned generals. I honestly earned the exalted honor of fourth corporal by picking up a Yankee battle-flag on the 22nd day of July, at Atlanta.
28TH OF JULY IN ATLANTA
Another battle was fought by Generals Stephen D. Lee and Alexander Stewart's corps, on the 28th day of July. I was not in it, neither was our corps, but from what I afterwards learned, the Yankees got the best of the engagement. But our troops continued fortifying Atlanta. No other battles were ever fought at this place.
The Battle of Ezra Church was the name of this battle on July 28th. Once again the Confederates attacked entrenched Federals suffering a grievous defeat. Hood wanted to prevent the Yankees from cutting a railroad west of Atlanta. General Stephen D. Lee had taken over Hood's former corps, which was temporarily commanded by Cheatham at Peachtree Creek and Bald Hill.
I VISIT MONTGOMERY
Our wounded were being sent back to Montgomery. My name was put on the wounded list. We were placed in a box-car, and whirling down to West Point, where we changed cars for Montgomery. The cars drew up at the depot at Montgomery, and we were directed to go to the hospital. When we got off the cars, little huckster stands were everywhere—apples, oranges, peaches, watermelons, everything. I know that I never saw a greater display of eatables in my whole life. I was particularly attracted toward an old lady's stand; she had bread, fish, and hard boiled eggs. The eggs were what I was hungry for. Says I:
“Madam, how do you sell your eggs?”
“Two for a dollar,” she said.
“How much is your fish worth?”
“A piece of bread and a piece of fish for a dollar.”
“Well, madam, put out your fish and eggs.” The fish were hot and done to a crisp—actually frying in my mouth, crackling and singing as I bit off a bite. It was good, I tell you. The eggs were a little over half done. I soon demolished both, and it was only an appetizer. I invested a couple of dollars more, and thought that maybe I could make out till supper time. As I turned around, a smiling, one-legged man asked me if I wouldn't like to have a drink. Now, if there was anything that I wanted at that time, it was a drink.
“How do you sell it?” says I.
“A dollar a drink,” said he.
“Pour me out a drink.”
It was a tin cap-box. I thought that I knew the old fellow, and he kept looking at me as if he knew me. Finally, he said to me:
“It seems that I ought to know you.”
I told him that I reckon he did, as I had been there.
“Ain't your name Sam?” said he.
“That is what my mother called me.”
Well, after shaking hands, it suddenly flashed upon me who the old fellow was. I knew him well. He told me that he belonged to Captain Ed. O'Neil's company, Second Tennessee Regiment, General William B. Bate's corps, and that his leg had been shot off at the first battle of Manassas, a
nd at that time he was selling cheap whisky and tobacco for a living at Montgomery, Alabama. I tossed off a cap-box full and paid him a dollar. It staggered me, and I said:
“That is raw whisky.”
“Yes,” said he, “all my cooked whisky is out.”
“If this is not quite cooked, it is as hot as fire anyhow, and burns like red-hot lava, and the whole dose seems to have got lodged in my windpipe.”
I might have tasted it, but don't think that I did. All I can remember now, is a dim recollection of a nasty, greasy, burning something going down my throat and chest, and smelling, as I remember at this day, like a decoction of red-pepper tea, flavored with coal oil, turpentine and tobacco juice.
THE HOSPITAL
I went to the hospital that evening, saw it, and was satisfied with hospital life. I did not wish to be called a hospital rat. I had no idea of taking stock and making my headquarters at this place. Everything seemed clean and nice enough, but the smell! Ye gods! I stayed there for supper. The bill of fare was a thin slice of light bread and a plate of soup, already dished out and placed at every plate. I ate it, but it only made me hungry. At nine o‘clock I had to go to bed, and all the lights were put out. Every man had a little bunk to himself. I do not know whether I slept or not, but I have a dim recollection of “sawing gourds,” and jumping up several times to keep some poor wretch from strangling. He was only snoring. I heard rats filing away at night, and thought that burglars were trying to get in; my dreams were not pleasant, if I went to sleep at all. I had not slept off of the ground or in a house in three years. It was something new to me, and I could not sleep, for the room was so dark that had I got up I could not have found my way out. I laid there, I do not know how long, but I heard a rooster crow, and a dim twilight began to glimmer in the room, and even footsteps were audible in the rooms below. I got sleepy then, and went off in a doze.