CHAPTER IV.
A SOLDIER OF THE UNION.
Honor to the West Point soldier! War is his business, and, wicked though wars be, the warrior shall still receive his honor due. By his devotion to rugged discipline, the professional soldier preserves war as a science, so that armies may not be rabbles, but organizations. He divests himself of the full freedom of a citizen, and puts himself under orders for all time.
One of our ablest leaders in the Civil War was General George H. Thomas. Of Thomas we learn, from an address of Garfield, that “in the army he never leaped a grade, either in rank or command. He did not command a company until after long service as a lieutenant. He commanded a regiment only at the end of many years of company and garrison duty. He did not command a brigade until after he had commanded his regiment three years on the Indian frontier. He did not command a division until after he had mustered in, organized, disciplined, and commanded a brigade. He did not command a corps until he had led his division in battle, and through many hundred miles of hostile country. He did not command the army until, in battle, at the head of his corps, he had saved it from ruin.” This is apprenticeship with all its hardships, but with all its benefits.
In our popular praises of the wonders performed by the great armies of citizens which sprang up in a few days, let it never be forgotten that the regular army, with its discipline, was the “little leaven” which spread its martial virtues through the entire forces; that the West Point soldier was the man whose skill organized these grand armies, and made it possible for them to gain their victories.
GENERAL GEORGE H. THOMAS.
Honor to the volunteer soldier! He is history’s greatest hero. What kind of apprenticeship for war has he served? To learn this, let us go back to the peaceful time of 1860, when the grim-visaged monster’s “wrinkled front” was yet smooth. Now, look through the great ironworking district of Pennsylvania, with its miles of red-mouthed furnaces, its thousand kinds of manufactures, and its ten thousands of skilled workmen. Number the civil engineers; count the miners; go into the various places where crude metals and other materials are worked up into every shape known, to meet the necessities of the modern arts. These are the sources of military power. Here are the men who will build bridges, and equip railroads for army transportation, almost in the twinkling of an eye. Cast your mind’s eye back into all the corners of the land, obscure or conspicuous, and in every place you shall see soldiers being trained. They are not yet in line, and it does not look like a military array; the farmer at his plow, the scholar and the professional man at the desk, are all getting ready to be soldiers. No nation is better prepared for war than one which has been at peace; for war is a consumer of arts, of life, of physical resources. And we had a reserve of those very things accumulating, as we still have all the time.
Europe, with its standing armies, stores gunpowder in guarded magazines. America has the secret of gunpowder, and uses the saltpeter and other elements for civil purposes; believing that there is more explosive power in knowing how to make an ounce of powder than there is in the actual ownership of a thousand tons of the very stuff itself. The Federal army had not gone through years of discipline in camp, but it was no motley crowd. Its units were not machines; they were better than machines; they were men.
James A. Garfield became a volunteer, a citizen soldier. The manner of his going into the army was as strikingly characteristic of him as any act of his life. In a letter written from Cleveland, on June 14, 1861, to his life-long friend, B. A. Hinsdale, he said:
“The Lieutenant-Colonelcy of the Twenty-fourth Regiment has been tendered to me, and the Governor urges me to accept. I am greatly perplexed on the question of duty. I shall decide by Monday next.”
But he did not then go. For such a man, capable of so many things, duty had many calls, in so many different directions, that he could not easily decide. How Garfield was affected by the temptation to go at once may be seen in a letter of July 12, 1861, written from Hiram, to Hinsdale, wherein he says: “I hardly knew myself, till the trial came, how much of a struggle it would cost me to give up going into the army. I found I had so fully interested myself in the war that I hardly felt it possible for me not to be a part of the movement. But there were so many who could fill the office tendered to me, and would covet the place, more than could do my work here, perhaps, that I could not but feel it would be to some extent a reckless disregard of the good of others to accept. If there had been a scarcity of volunteers I should have accepted. The time may yet come when I shall feel it right and necessary to go; but I thought, on the whole, that time had not yet come.”
But the time was at hand. Garfield had become known and appreciated, and he was wanted. On July 27, Governor Dennison wrote to him: “I am organizing some new regiments. Can you take a lieutenant-colonelcy? I am anxious you should do so. Reply by telegraph.” Garfield was not at home when this letter was sent, but found it waiting for him on his return, August 7. That night was passed in solemn thought and prayer; face to face with his country’s call, this man began to realize as he had not before done, what “going to war” meant. He began to consider the sacrifice which must be made, and found that in his case there was more to give up than with most men. How many thousands of volunteers have thought the same! Garfield’s prospects in life were very fine in the line of work for which he had prepared himself. He was a fine scholar, and on the road to distinguished success. Moreover, he had a dearly loved wife and a little child, his soul’s idol. Who would provide for them after the war if he should fall victim to a Southern bullet? He had only three thousand dollars to leave them. After all, willing as he was, it was no easy thing to do. So it took a night of hard study; a night of prayer, a night of Bible reading, a night of struggle with the awful call to arms; but when the morning dawned, a great crisis had passed, and a final decision had been made. The letter of Governor Dennison was answered that he would accept a lieutenant-colonelcy, provided the colonel of the regiment was a Wrest Point graduate. The condition was complied with already. On the 16th of August, Garfield reported for duty, and received his commission. His first order was to “report in person to Brigadier-General Hill, for such duty as he may assign to you in connection with a temporary command for purposes of instruction in camp-duty and discipline.” In pursuance of these instructions he went immediately to Hill’s head-quarters at Camp Chase, near Columbus. Here he staid during the next four months, studying the art of war; being absent only at short periods when in the recruiting service. In the business of raising troops he was very successful. The Forty-second O. V. I. was about to be organized, and Garfield raised the first company. It was in this wise: Late in August he returned to Hiram and announced that at a certain time he would speak on the subject of the war and its needs, especially of men. A full house greeted him at the appointed hour. He made an eloquent appeal, at the close of which a large enrollment took place, including sixty Hiram students. In a few days the company was full, and he took them to Camp Chase, where they were named Company A, and assigned to the right of the still unformed regiment. On September 5th, Garfield was made Colonel, and pushed forward the work, so that in November the requisite number was secured.
Meanwhile the work of study and discipline was carried on at Camp Chase with even more than Garfield’s customary zeal. The new Colonel was not an unwilling citizen in a soldier’s uniform. He had been transformed through and through into a military man. He himself shall tell the story:
“I have had a curious interest in watching the process in my own mind, by which the fabric of my life is being demolished and reconstructed, to meet the new condition of affairs. One by one my old plans and aims, modes of thought and feeling, are found to be inconsistent with present duty, and are set aside to give place to the new structure of military life. It is not without a regret, almost tearful at times, that I look upon the ruins. But if, as the result of the broken plans and shattered individual lives of thousands of American citizens, we can see on the ruins of our old national errors a new and enduring fabric arise, based on larger freedom and higher justice, it will be a small sacrifice indeed. For myself I am contented with such a prospect, and, regarding my life as given to the country, am only anxious to make as much of it as possible before the mortgage upon it is foreclosed.”
During the fall of 1861, Colonel Garfield had to perform three duties. First, to learn the tactics and study the books on military affairs; second, to initiate his officers into the like mysteries, and see that they became well informed; and, finally, to so discipline and drill the whole regiment that they would be ready at an early day to go to the front. In pursuance of these objects he devoted to their accomplishment his entire time. At night, when alone, he studied, probably even harder than he had ever done as a boy at Hiram. For there he had studied with a purpose in view, but remote; here the end was near, and knowledge was power in deed as well as word. Every-day recitations were held of the officers, and this college President in a few weeks graduated a well-trained military class. The Forty-second Regiment itself, thus well-officered, and composed of young men of intelligence, the very flower of the Western Reserve, was drilled several hours every day with the most careful attention. Every thing was done promptly, all things were in order, for the Colonel had his eye on each man, and the Colonel knew the equipments and condition of his regiment better than any other man. After all, great events generally have visibly adequate causes; and when we see Garfield’s men win a victory the first time they see the enemy, we shall not be surprised, for we can not think how it could be otherwise.
On December 15th an order came which indicated that the Forty-second was wanted in Kentucky. General Buell was Commander of the Department of the Ohio. His head-quarters were at Louisville. At nine o’clock on the evening of the 16th they reached Cincinnati. From this point, in compliance with new orders received, the regiment was sent on down the Ohio to Catlettsburg, where a few hundred Union troops were gathered already; and Garfield himself went to Louisville to learn the nature of the work he had before him. Arriving on the evening of the 16th, he reported to his superior at once.
Don Carlos Buell was at this time forty-three years of age; a man accomplished in military science and experienced in war. He had first learned the theory of his business at West Point, where he had graduated in 1842; and besides other service to his country he had distinguished himself in the war with Mexico. What a contrast to Garfield! The latter was only thirty years of age, and just five years out of college. The only knowledge he possessed to prepare him for carrying out the still unknown duty, had been gathered out of books; which, by the way, are not equal to West Point nor to a war for learning how to fight. Now what could be the enterprise in which the untried Forty-second should bear a part? And who is the old head, the battle-scarred hero, to lead the expedition? We shall see.
Taking a map of Kentucky, Buell briefly showed Garfield a problem, and told him to solve it. In a word, the question was, how shall the Confederate forces be chased out of Kentucky? The rebels badly needed Kentucky; so did the Union. Having shown Garfield what the business was, Buell told him to go to his quarters for the night, and at nine o’clock next morning be ready to submit his plan for a campaign. Garfield immediately shut himself up in a room, with no company but a map of Kentucky. The situation was as follows: Humphrey Marshall, with several thousand Confederate troops, was rapidly taking possession of eastern Kentucky. Entering from Virginia, through Pound Gap, he had quickly crossed Pike County into Floyd, where he had fortified himself, somewhere not far from Prestonburg, and was preparing to increase his force and advance farther. His present situation was at the head of the Big Sandy River. Catlettsburg, where the Forty-second had gone, is at the mouth of this river.
Also, on the southern border, an invasion from Tennessee was being made by a body of the Confederates, under Zollicoffer. These were advancing toward Mill Spring, and the intention was that Zollicoffer and Marshall should join their forces, and so increase the rebel influence in the State that secession would immediately follow. For Kentucky had refused to secede, and this invasion of her soil was a violation of that very cause of State’s Rights for which they were fighting.
Garfield studied this subject with tireless attention, and when day dawned he was also beginning to see daylight. At nine o’clock he reported. The plan he recommended was, in substance, that a regiment be left, first, some distance in the interior, say at Paris or Lexington, this mainly for effect on the people of that section. The next thing was to proceed up the Big Sandy River against Marshall, and run him back into Virginia; after which it would be in order to move westward, and, in conjunction with other forces, keep the State from falling into hostile hands. Meanwhile, Zollicoffer would have to be taken off by a separate expedition.
Buell stood beside his young Colonel and listened. He glanced at the outline of the proposed campaign and saw that it was wisely planned. As a result—for Buell did nothing hastily—Colonel Garfield was told that his instructions would be prepared soon, and he might call at six that evening. That evening he came, and learned the contents of Order No. 35, Army of the Ohio, which organized the Eighteenth Brigade, under the command of James A. Garfield, Colonel of the Forty-second O. V. I. The brigade itself was made up of the last-named regiment, the Fortieth O. V. I., Colonel J. Cranor; Fourteenth K. V. I., Colonel L. D. F. Moore; Twenty-second K. V. I., Colonel D. W. Landsay, and eight companies of cavalry.
Buell’s instructions were contained in the following letter:
“Sir: The brigade organized under your command is intended to operate against the rebel force threatening, and, indeed, actually committing depredations in Kentucky, through the valley of the Big Sandy. The actual force of the enemy, from the best information I can gather, does not probably exceed two thousand, or twenty-five hundred, though rumors place it as high as seven thousand. I can better ascertain the true state of the case when you get on the ground.
“You are apprised of the condition of the troops under your command. Go first to Lexington and Paris, and place the Fortieth Ohio Regiment in such a position as will best give a moral support to the people in the counties on the route to Prestonburg and Piketon, and oppose any further advance of the enemy on the route. Then proceed with the least possible delay to the mouth of the Sandy, and move with the force in that vicinity up that river and drive the enemy back or cut him off. Having done that, Piketon will probably be in the best position for you to occupy to guard against future incursions. Artillery will be of little, if any, service to you in that country. If the enemy have any it will incumber and weaken rather than strengthen them.
“Your supplies must mainly be taken up the river, and it ought to be done as soon as possible, while navigation is open. Purchase what you can in the country through which you operate. Send your requisitions to these head-quarters for funds and ordnance stores, and to the quartermasters and commissary at Cincinnati for other supplies.
“The conversation I have had with you will suggest more details than can be given here. Report frequently on all matters concerning your command. Very respectfully, your obedient servant,
On receipt of these instructions, Garfield began instantly to carry them out. He telegraphed his forces at Catlettsburg to advance up the Big Sandy towards Paintville, Marshall’s advance post. This he did that no delay should be occasioned by his absence. He then visited Colonel Cranor’s regiment, and saw it well established at Paris. Returning thence, he proceeded to hasten after his own regiment, and reached Catlettsburg on the 20th of December. Here he stopped to forward supplies up the river to Louisa, an old half-decayed village of the Southern kind, where he learned that his men were waiting for him.
It was on this march from Catlettsburg to Louisa that the Forty-second Ohio began, for the first time, that process of seasoning which soon made veterans out of raw civilians. The hardships of that march were not such as an old soldier would think terrible; but for men who but five days before had left Columbus without any experience whatever, it was very rough. On the morning of the eighteenth the first division started, twenty-five mounted on horses, and one hundred going by boat. The cavalry got on very well; but the river was quite low, and after a few miles of bumping along, the old boat finally stuck fast. Leaving this wrecked concern, the men started to tramp it overland. The country was exceedingly wild; the paths narrow, leading up hill and down hill with monotonous regularity. That night when the tired fellows stopped to rest, they had advanced only eight miles. The next day, however, they reached Louisa, where the mounted company had taken possession and prepared to stay; meanwhile the remaining companies were on the road. Rain set in; the north wind blew, and soon it was very cold. The steep, rocky paths scarcely afforded room for the wagon-train, whose conveyances were lightened of their loads by throwing off many articles of comfort which these soldiers, with their unwarlike notions of life, hated to lose. But advance they must, if only with knapsacks and muskets; and on the twenty-first all were together again. About this time Garfield arrived.
Paintville, where it was intended to attack Marshall, is on Painter Creek, near the west fork of the Big Sandy, about thirty miles above Louisa. The first thing to be done, therefore, was to cross that intervening space, very quickly, and attack the enemy without delay. A slow campaign would result in disaster. While this advance was being made, it would also be necessary to see to the matter of reinforcements; for Marshall had thirty-five hundred, Garfield not half as many. The only possible chance would be to communicate an order to the Fortieth Ohio, under Colonel Cranor, at Paris, one hundred miles away; that hundred miles was accessible to Marshall, and full of rebel sympathizers. The man who carried a dispatch to Cranor from Garfield, would carry his life in his hand, with a liberal chance of losing it. To find such an one, both able and willing for the task, would be like stumbling over a diamond in an Illinois corn-field. In his perplexity, Garfield went to Colonel Moore, of the Fourteenth Kentucky, and said to him: “I must communicate with Cranor; some of your men know this section of country well; have you a man we can fully trust for such a duty?” The Colonel knew such a man, and promised to send him to head-quarters. Directly the man appeared. He was a native of that district, coming from the head of the Baine, a creek near Louisa, and his name was John Jordan. What kind of a man he was has been well told by a writer in the Atlantic Monthly for October, 1865:
“He was a tall, gaunt, sallow man of about thirty, with small gray eyes, a fine falsetto voice, pitched in the minor key, and his speech was the rude dialect of the mountains. His face had as many expressions as could be found in a regiment, and he seemed a strange combination of cunning, simplicity, undaunted courage, and undoubting faith; yet, though he might pass for a simpleton, he had a rude sort of wisdom, which, cultivated, might have given his name to history.
“The young Colonel sounded him thoroughly, for the fate of the little army might depend on his fidelity. The man’s soul was as clear as crystal, and in ten minutes Garfield saw through it. His history is stereotyped in that region. Born among the hills, where the crops are stones, and sheep’s noses are sharpened before they can nibble the thin grass between them, his life had been one of the hardest toil and privation. He knew nothing but what Nature, the Bible, the Course of Time, and two or three of Shakespeare’s plays had taught him; but, somehow, in the mountain air he had grown up to be a man—a man, as civilized nations account manhood.
“‘Why did you come into the war?’ at last asked the Colonel.
“‘To do my sheer fur the kentry, Gin’ral,’ answered the man. ‘And I didn’t druv no barg’in wi’ th’ Lord. I guv him my life squar’ out; and ef he’s a mind ter tack it on this tramp, why, it’s a his’n; I’ve nothin’ ter say agin it.’
“‘You mean that you’ve come into the war not expecting to get out of it?’
“‘That’s so, Gin’ral.’
“‘Will you die rather than let the dispatch be taken?’
“‘I will.’
“The Colonel recalled what had passed in his own mind when poring over his mother’s Bible that night at his home in Ohio, and it decided him. ‘Very well,’ he said; ‘I will trust you.’”
Armed with a carbine and a brace of revolvers, Jordan mounted the swiftest horse in the regiment, and was off at midnight. The dispatch was written on tissue paper, then folded closely into a round shape, and coated with lead to resemble a bullet. The carrier rode till daylight, then hitched his horse in the timber, and went to a house where he knew he would be well received. The lord of that house was a soldier in Marshall’s little army, who served the Union there better than he could have done with a blue coat on. The lady of the house was loyal in a more open manner. Of course, the rebels knew of this mission, as they had spies in Garfield’s camp, and a squad of cavalry were on Jordan’s trail. They came up with him at this house; hastily giving the precious bullet to the woman, he made her swear to see that it reached its destination, and then broke out toward the woods. Two horsemen were guarding the door. To get the start of them, as the door opened, he brandished a red garment before the horses, which scared them so that they were, for a moment, unmanageable. In an instant he was over the fence. But the riders were gaining. Flash, went the scout’s revolver, and the one man was in eternity! Flash, again, and the other man’s horse fell! Before the rest of the squad could reach the spot, Jordan was safely out of their power. That night the woman who had sheltered him carried the dispatch, and a good meal, to a thicket near by, whither she was guided by the frequent hooting of an owl! And, after a ride of forty miles more, with several narrow escapes, the Colonel of the Forty-second at last read his orders from a crumpled piece of tissue paper. As for Jordan, he was back in Garfield’s tent again two weeks later; but the faithful animal that carried him had fallen, pierced by a rebel ball.
What, meanwhile, had been the progress of Garfield’s forces in their attempt to reach Paintville? On the morning of December 23d, the first day’s march began. The rains of the preceding days had been stopped by extreme cold, and the hills were icy and slippery. The night before this march very few of the men had slept; but, instead of that, had crouched around camp-fires to keep from freezing. During the day they only advanced ten miles. In half that distance, one crooked little creek, which wound around in a labyrinth of coils, was crossed no less than twenty-six times. This was slow progress, but the following days were slower still. Provisions were scarce. Most of the wagon-train and equipments had been loaded on boats to be taken up the river, and the supplies that had started with them were far in the rear. To meet their necessities, the men captured a farmer’s pigs and poultry without leave. But Garfield was no plunderer; he was a true soldier; and, after reprimanding the offenders, he repaid the farmer.
On the 27th, a squad of Marshall’s men were encountered, and two men captured. The next day the compliment was returned, and three Union soldiers became unwilling guests of the too hospitable South. Thus slowly advancing, in spite of bad weather and bad roads, skirmishing daily with the enemy, as the opposing forces neared each other, on the 6th day of January, 1862, the Eighteenth Brigade, except that portion which was coming from Paris, was encamped within seven miles of Paintville; and at last it had become possible to bring things to a crisis, and determine, by the solemn wager of battle, who was entitled to this portion of Kentucky.
Up to this time, Garfield had been moving almost in the dark. He did not know what had become of his message to Cranor; he did not know the exact position of his enemy; he did not know the number of the enemy. Now we shall see good fortune and good management remedy each of these weaknesses in a single day.
Harry Brown had been a canal hand with Garfield in 1847, and the latter, with his genial ways, had made Brown his friend. At this time, Brown was a kind of camp-follower, and not very well trusted by the officers. But he knew the region well where these operations were going on, and hearing that his old comrade was commander, he hastened to offer his services as a scout. Garfield accepted, told him what he wanted, and through him learned very accurately the situation of the Confederate forces. On the night of the sixth, Jordan also appeared on the scene, with the information that Cranor was only two days’ march behind. To crown all, a dispatch came from Buell, on the morning of the seventh, with a letter which had been intercepted. This letter was from Humphrey Marshall to his wife, and revealed the fact that his force was less than the country people, with their rebel sympathies, had represented. It was determined to advance that day and attack the enemy at Paintville, where about one-third of them were posted.
OPERATIONS IN WEST VIRGINIA.
This attack on Paintville was a hazardous enterprise. In main strength, Marshall was so superior that Garfield’s only hope was in devising some plan to outwit him. From the point of starting, there were three accessible paths; one on the west, striking Painter Creek opposite the mouth of Jenny Creek, three miles to the right, from the place to be attacked; one on the east, approaching that point from the left; and a third road, the most difficult of the three, straight across. Rebel pickets were thrown out on each road. Marshall was prepared to be attacked on one road, but never dreamed of a simultaneous approach of the enemy on all at once; and it was this misapprehension which defeated him. First, a small detachment of infantry, supported by cavalry, attacked on the west, whereupon almost the entire rebel force was sent out to meet them. Shortly, a similar advance was made on the east, and the enemy retraced their steps for a defense in that direction. While they were thus held, the remaining Union force drove in the pickets of the central path, who, finding the village empty, rushed on three miles further, to a partially fortified place where Marshall himself was waiting. Thinking that Paintville was lost, he hastily ordered all his forces to retreat, which they did, as far as this fortified camp. Garfield entered Paintville at the same time, having with him the Forty-second Ohio, Fourteenth Kentucky, and four hundred Virginia cavalry.
A portion of the cavalry were chasing the rebel horse, whom they followed five miles, killing three and wounding several. The Union force lost two killed and one wounded. The next day, the eighth of January, a few hours rest was taken, while preparations were being made for another fight. But towards evening it was determined to advance. Painter Creek was too high to ford. But there was a saw-mill near by, and in an hour a raft was made upon which to cross. Marshall, being posted concerning this movement, was deliberating what to do, when a spy came in with the information that Colonel Cranor was approaching, with 3,300 men. Alarmed at such an overpowering enemy, he burnt his stores and fled precipitately toward Petersburg. At nine o’clock that night, the Eighteenth Brigade was snugly settled in the late Confederate camp. Here it appeared that every thing had been left suddenly, and in confusion; meat was left cooking before the fire, and all preparations for the evening meal abandoned. This place was at the top of a hill, three hundred feet high, covering about two acres, and would soon have been a strong fortification.
On the ninth, Colonel Cranor did at last arrive, with his regiment, eight hundred strong, completely worn out with the long march. But Colonel Garfield felt that the present advantage must be pursued, or no permanent gain could result. So he raised 1,100 men, who stepped from the ranks as volunteers, and immediately started on the trail of the enemy.
The action which followed is known as the battle of Middle Creek. Eighteen miles further up the West Fork, along which they marched, two parallel creeks flow in between the hills; the northernmost one is Abbott’s Creek, the next Middle Creek. It was evident that Marshall would place himself behind this double barrier and make a stand there, if he should endeavor to turn the tide of defeat at all. Toward this point the weary troops, therefore, turned their steps. The way was so rough and the rains so heavy that they did not near the place until late in the day. But about nine o’clock in the evening they climbed to the top of a hill, whose further slope led down into the valley of Abbott’s Creek. On this height the enemy’s pickets were encountered and driven in. Further investigation led to the conclusion that the enemy was near, in full force. That night the men slept on their arms in this exposed position; the rain had turned to sleet, and any degree of comfort was a thing they ceased to look for. Perceiving the necessity for reinforcements, Colonel Garfield sent word to Colonel Cranor to send forward all available men. Meanwhile, efforts were made to learn Marshall’s position, and arrange for battle. Our old friend John Jordan visited the hostile camp in the mealy clothes of a rebel miller, who had been captured, and returned with some very valuable information. Morning dawned, and the little Federal army proceeded cautiously down into the valley, then over the hills again, until, a mile beyond, they were ready to descend into the valley of Middle Creek, and charge against the enemy on the opposite heights. Garfield’s plan was to avoid a general engagement, until about the time for his reinforcements to appear, because otherwise it was plainly suicidal to attack such a large force. On this plan skirmishing continued from eight till one o’clock, the only result being a better knowledge of the situation. Now it was high time to begin in earnest. In the center of the strip of meadow-land, which stretched between Middle Creek and the opposite hills, was a high point of ground, crowned by a little log church and a small graveyard. The first movement would be to occupy that place, in order to have a base of operations on that side. The rebel cavalry and artillery were each in position to control the church. But the guns were badly trained, and missed their mark; the cavalry made some show, but, for some reason, retired without much fighting.
Keeping a reserve here, a portion of the brave eleven hundred were now to strike a decisive blow; but the enemy’s infantry was hidden, and they did not know just how to proceed. On the south side of Middle Creek, to the right of the place where the artillery was stationed, rose a high hill. Around it wound the creek, and following the creek ran a narrow, rocky road. The entire force of Marshall, except his reserve, was in fact hidden in the fastnesses of that irregular, forest-covered hill, and so placed as to command this road, by which it was expected that the Federal troops would approach. But “the best laid plans” sometimes go wrong. The Yankee was not to be entrapped. Suspecting some such situation, Garfield sent his escort of twelve men down the road; around the hill they clattered at a gallop, in full view of the enemy. The ruse worked well, and the sudden fire of several thousand muskets revealed the coveted secret. The riders returned safely, and then the battle began. Four hundred men of the Fortieth and Forty-second Ohio, under Major Pardee, quickly advanced up the hill in front, while two hundred of the Fourteenth Kentucky, under Lieutenant-Colonel Monroe, went down the road some distance and endeavored, by a flank movement, to so engage a portion of the rebels that not all of them could be turned against Pardee. The latter now charged up the hill under a heavy fire. They were inferior in numbers, but determined to reach the summit some way. So they broke ranks at the cry of “Every man to a tree,” and fought after the Indian fashion. After all, the Union boys were not altogether at a disadvantage. Their opponents were raw troops, and after the manner of inexperienced men they aimed too high, while the Federals did much better execution. But Marshall meant business at this important hour, and sent his reserve to swell the number. A charge was made down the hill. Now the boys in blue retreat; but not far. Garfield goes in with his reserves. Captain Williams calls, “To the trees again, my boys;” they rally; the fight grows hotter and whistling death is in the air. The critical moment is here, and those poor fellows down below are about to be crushed. The exultant Confederates rush down in swelling volume, the wolf is about to seize his prey.
But now a faint, though cheerful shout rings across the narrow valley; then louder it grows while the echoes clatter back from hillside to hillside like the tumult of ten thousand voices. The Confederates above peer out through the branches and view the opposite road. Every face, just flushed with hopes of victory, now turns pale at the sight. The force from Paintville has come at last. The hard-pressed men of Pardee can see nothing, but they catch new inspiration from the sound. They answer back; while to the thousand voices and the ten thousand echoes on the Union side, one word of reply is given from the rebel commander’s mouth. And the word he utters is—Retreat.
This ended the struggle. Lieutenant-Colonel Sheldon, with his seven hundred men, after a hard day’s march of twenty miles, came down on the scene of action at a run, and found that their approach had saved the day. Garfield and his men were already occupying the hill-top, and a detachment was following the fleeing troops of the enemy. The policy adopted, however, was to not follow the enemy very far, as it was not known in how bad a condition they were. The Union loss in this battle was two killed and twenty-five wounded. The rebels left twenty-seven dead on the field, and had carried off about thirty-five more.
The captures were, twenty-five men, ten horses, and a quantity of army supplies. Toward midnight a bright light appeared in the sky in the direction Marshall had taken. It was the light of his blazing wagons and camp equipments, burned by his men to keep them from doing any body else any good, while they made their enforced visit to Virginia by way of Pound Gap. The field was won; and Buell’s commission to Garfield had been faithfully performed.
Garfield drives Humphrey Marshall out of Kentucky.
On the following day Colonel Garfield addressed his victorious men as follows:
“Soldiers of the Eighteenth Brigade: I am proud of you all! In four weeks you have marched, some eighty and some a hundred miles, over almost impassable roads. One night in four you have slept, often in the storm, with only a wintry sky above your heads. You have marched in the face of a foe of more than double your number—led on by chiefs who have won a national renown under the Old Flag—intrenched in hills of his own choosing, and strengthened by all the appliances of military art. With no experience but the consciousness of your own manhood, you have driven him from his strongholds, pursued his inglorious flight, and compelled him to meet you in battle. When forced to fight, he sought the shelter of rocks and hills. You drove him from his position, leaving scores of his bloody dead unburied. His artillery thundered against you, but you compelled him to flee by the light of his burning stores, and to leave even the banner of his rebellion behind him. I greet you as brave men. Our common country will not forget you. She will not forget the sacred dead who fell beside you, nor those of your comrades who won scars of honor on the field.
“I have recalled you from the pursuit that you may regain vigor for still greater exertions. Let no one tarnish his well-earned honor by any act unworthy an American soldier. Remember your duties as American citizens, and sacredly respect the rights and property of those with whom you may come in contact. Let it not be said that good men dread the approach of an American army.
“Officers and soldiers, your duty has been nobly done. For this I thank you.”
On this day, January 11th, the troops took possession of Prestonburg, and the remaining duties of the campaign were only the working out in detail of results already secured. As to the merits of the decisive little fight at Middle Creek, Garfield said at a later time: “It was a very rash and imprudent affair on my part. If I had been an officer of more experience, I probably should not have made the attack. As it was, having gone into the army with the notion that fighting was our business, I didn’t know any better.” And Judge Clark, of the Forty-second Ohio, adds: “And during it all, Garfield was the soldiers’ friend. Such was his affection for the men that he would divide his last rations with them, and nobody ever found any thing better at head-quarters than the rest got.”
Indeed, there was one occasion, I believe just after this engagement, when the Eighteenth Brigade owed to its brave commander its possession of any thing at all to eat. The roads had become impassable, rations were growing scarce, and the Big Sandy, on which they relied, was so high that nothing could be brought up to them; at least the boatmen thought so. But our old acquaintance, the canal boy, still survived, in the shape of a gallant colonel, and with his admirer and former canal companion, Brown, Garfield boldly started down the raging stream in a skiff. Arriving at Catlettsburg, he found a small steamer, the Sandy Valley, which he loaded with provisions, and ordered captain and crew to get up steam and take him back. They all refused, on the ground that such an attempt would end in failure, and probably in loss of life. But they did not know their man. His orders were repeated, and he went to the wheel himself. It was a wild torrent to run against. The river was far out of its natural limits, rushing around the foot of a chain of hills at sharp curves. In some places it was over fifty feet deep, and where the opposite banks rose close together the half-undermined trees would lean inward, their interlocking branches making the passage beneath both difficult and dangerous. But the undaunted leader pressed on, himself at the wheel forty hours out of the forty-eight. Brown stood steadfastly at the bow, carrying a forked pole, with which to ward off the big logs and trees which constantly threatened to strike the boat and stave in the bottom. The most exciting incident of all occurred the second night. At a sharp turn the narrow and impetuous flood whirled round and round, a boiling whirlpool; and in spite of great care the boat turned sidewise, and stuck fast in the muddy bank. Repeated efforts to pry the boat off were unavailing, and at last a new plan was suggested. Colonel Garfield ordered the men to lower a small boat, carry a line across, and pull the little steamer out of difficulty. They said no living mortal could attempt that feat and not die. This was just what they had said about starting the steamer from Catlettsburg, and the answer was similar. Our hero leaped into the skiff himself, the faithful Brown following.
GARFIELD’S EXPLOIT ON THE BIG SANDY.
Sturdily and steadily they pulled away, and in half an hour were on terra firma once more. Line in hand, they walked up to a place opposite the Sandy Valley, fixed the rope to a rail, and standing at the other end with an intervening tree to give leverage, soon had the satisfaction of seeing, or rather in the darkness feeling, the steamer swing out again into the current. After this impossibility had been turned into history, there was no more doubting from the incredulous crew. They concluded that this man could do any thing, and henceforth helped him willingly. At the end of three days, amid prolonged and enthusiastic cheering from the half-starved waiting brigade, the Sandy Valley arrived at her destination, and James A. Garfield had finished one more of his great life’s thousand deeds of heroism.
Immediately after the battle of Middle Creek great consternation filled the minds of that ignorant population which filled the valley of the Big Sandy. The flying rebels, the dead and the debris of a fugitive army, and wild stories of savage barbarities practiced by an inhuman Yankee soldiery, had been more than enough for their fortitude. They fled like frightened deer at the blast of a hunter’s horn, and sought safety in mountain fastnesses. It was therefore necessary by some means to gain their confidence, and for this purpose the following proclamation was issued from the Federal head-quarters:
“Citizens of the Sandy Valley: I have come among you to restore the honor of the Union, and to bring back the Old Banner which you all once loved, but which, by the machinations of evil men, and by mutual misunderstandings, has been dishonored among you. To those who are in arms against the Federal Government I offer only the alternative of battle or unconditional surrender; but to those who have taken no part in this war, who are in no way aiding or abetting the enemies of the Union, even to those who hold sentiments adverse to the Union, but yet give no aid and comfort to its enemies, I offer the full protection of the Government, both in their persons and property.
“Let those who have been seduced away from the love of their country, to follow after and aid the destroyers of our peace, lay down their arms, return to their homes, bear true allegiance to the Federal Government, and they also shall enjoy like protection. The army of the Union wages no war of plunder, but comes to bring back the prosperity of peace. Let all peace-loving citizens who have fled from their homes return, and resume again the pursuits of peace and industry. If citizens have suffered from any outrages by the soldiers under my command, I invite them to make known their complaints to me, and their wrongs shall be redressed, and the offenders punished. I expect the friends of the Union in this valley to banish from among them all private feuds, and to let a liberal-minded love of country direct their conduct toward those who have been so sadly estranged and misguided. I hope that these days of turbulence may soon end, and the better days of the Republic may soon return.