CHAPTER XXV

Colonel Nance was ordered with the Third South Carolina Regiment to dislodge those on the hill, near the railroad, by marching over and beyond the road and taking them in flank, which was successfully done by making a sudden dash from a piece of woodland over an open field and gaining the embankment of the railroad immediately on the right flank of the enemy's sharpshooters. But scarcely had the Third got in position than it found itself assailed on its left and rear by an unseen enemy concealed in the woods. Here Colonel Nance was forced to sacrifice one of his most gallant officers, Lieutenant Allen, of Company D. Seeing his critical and untenable position, he ordered the Lieutenant, who was standing near him, to report his condition to General Kershaw and ask for instruction. This was a hazardous undertaking in the extreme, but lieutenant Allen undertook it with rare courage and promptness. Back across the open field he sped, while the whole fire of the sharpshooters was directed towards him instead of to our troops behind the embankment. All saw and felt that the brave officer was lost as soon as he got beyond the cover of the railroad, and turned their heads from the sickening scene. But Allen did not hesitate or falter, but kept on to the fulfilment of his [305] desperate mission, while hundreds of bullets flew around him in every direction—over his head, under his feet, before, and behind—until at last the fatal messenger laid him low, a heroic martyr to the stern duties of war. Colonel Nance seeing the hopelessness of his attack, ordered a retreat. Then the whole regiment had to run the same gauntlet in which young Allen lost his life. Away across the open corn field the troops fled in one wild pell mell, every man for Himself, while the bullets hummed and whistled through our scattered ranks, but luckily only a few were shot. Jenkins' Division came up late in the day and took position on McLaws' left, then with the cavalry commenced the investment of the city on the west side of the Holston or Tennessee River. To advance McLaws' lines to a favorable position, it was first necessary to dislodge the sharpshooters on the hill tops between the river and the railroad. General Kershaw was ordered to take the works in front by direct assault. The Third was on the extreme left of the brigade, next to the railroad, while the Second, Seventh, Eighth, and Third Battalion were in the center, with the Fifteenth, under Major Gist, between the dirt road on which we had traveled and the river on extreme right. The Third had to assault the same troops and position that they had failed to dislodge some hours before.

Major William Wallace was in command of the skirmishers. The heavy siege pieces at Fort Sanders had been hammering away at us all day, as well as the many field batteries that bristled along the epaulments around Knoxville. The skirmishers were ordered forward, the battle line to closely follow; but as Colonel Wallace was in front and could see the whole field, I will allow him to give his version of the engagement.

"We were stationed on a high hill," says Colonel Wallace, "west of said town, which descended gradually some two hundred yards, then rose to a smaller hill nearer to Knoxville. Between these two hills was a smooth valley, the middle of which was distinctly marked by a line running north and south by different crops which had been planted on opposite sides of it. Brigade skirmishers were ordered to advance towards Knoxville and drive in the enemy's pickets. I was in command of the left wing, and drove the enemy from my front, across the creek, which was beyond the smaller hill. On reaching the creek and finding [306] our skirmishers on my right, did not advance over the hill. I returned to my original position where I found them. Soon afterwards the skirmish line was again ordered forward to the line in the valley above described, and to lie down. Just then I heard a yell behind me and saw the Third South Carolina advancing rapidly towards the smaller hill. I did not order my skirmishers to lie down, but as soon as the regiment was abreast of me I advanced and drove the enemy again across the creek. On hearing firing on the west of the hill, I closed up my skirmishers and advanced south towards the crest of the hill. I found a regiment of Union sharpshooters lying behind a breastwork of rails and firing on the Third, which was within forty yards of them. As soon as the enemy saw us on their flank, they threw up their hands and surrendered. The Third had lost forty men up to this time."

Colonel Wallace tells also of how a Federal soldier, who had surrendered, was in the act of shooting him, but was prevented from doing so by the muzzle of a rifle being thrust in his face by a member of Company E.W.W. Riser, afterwards Sheriff of Newberry County. Colonel Nance was much gratified at the able assistance rendered him by Colonel Wallace, and made special and favorable mention of him in his report.

The Second, Seventh, Eighth, and Third Battalion swept across the plain like a hurricane, driving everything before them right in the teeth of the deadly fire of Fort Sanders, but the Third and Fifteenth Regiments were unusually unfortunate in their positions, owing to the strength of the works in their front. The Fifteenth got, in some way, hedged in between the road and river, and could make little progress in the face of the many obstacles that confronted them. Their young commander, Major William Gist, son of ex-Governor Gist, becoming somewhat nettled at the progress his troops were making, threw aside all prudence and care, recklessly dashed in front of his column, determined to ride at its head in the assault that was coming, but fell dead at the very moment of victory. How many hundreds, nay thousands, of brave and useful officers and men of the South wantonly threw away their lives in the attempt to rouse their companions to extra exertions and greater deeds of valor.

The Third fought for a few moments almost muzzle to muzzle, with nothing but a few rails, hastily piled, between assailants and the [307] assailed. At this juncture another gallant act was performed by Captain Winthrop, of Alexander's Battery. Sitting on his horse in our rear, watching the battle as it ebbed and flowed, and seeing the deadly throes in which the Third was writhing, only a few feet separating them from the enemy, by some sudden impulse or emotion put spurs to his horse and dashed headlong through our ranks, over the breastworks, and fell desperately wounded in the ranks of the Federals, just as their lines gave way or surrendered. This was only one of the many heroic and nerve-straining acts witnessed by the soldiers that followed the flag of Kershaw, McLaws, and Longstreet.

Colonel Rice, of the Battalion, was so seriously wounded that he never returned to active duty in the field. Major Miller, in a former battle, had been permanently disabled, but no other field promotions were ever made, so the gallant little Battalion was commanded in future by senior Captains.

By morning of the 19th of November the enemy had retired within the walls of Knoxville, and the investment of the city completed. During the nights our sharpshooters were advanced a little distance at a time until they were under the very walls of the city, and there entrenched themselves in rifle pits. The troops began building works to protect against attacks, and laying parallels, so that every few nights we advanced a little nearer the city.

Jenkins, with three brigades and a part of the cavalry, stretched around the city on the north and to the river on the opposite side of us. A pontoon bridge was laid across the river below the city, and Law, with two brigades of Jenkins' Division and a battery of our best artillery, crossed the Holston River and took possession of some heights that were thought to command the city on the south side. Burnside had also some strong works on the south of the Holston, strongly guarded by infantry, dismounted cavalry, and some of their best rifled pieces of artillery. This force was just opposite the city, having easy access thereto by a military bridge and a pontoon bridge. Burnside had twelve thousand regular troops in his outer trenches, several thousand recent volunteers from Tennessee in his inner lines, with fifty-one pieces of artillery in place, ready for action, in Knoxville alone. Longstreet had between fifteen and [308] seventeen thousand, after some reinforcements had reached him, and three battalions of artillery, inclusive of the horse artillery.

Night and day the work of entrenchment went bravely on in both armies, each working in plain view of the other; without any disposition to disturb the operations of either by shelling from the forts in our front or from our works in the rear. Each commander seemed willing and disposed to give his opponent an open field and a fair fight. No advantage was asked and none taken on either side, and the coming contest appeared to be one between the hot blood of the South in assault and the dogged determination of the North in resistance—valor, impetuosity, dash, impulsive courage against cool, calculating, determined resistance. Greeks of the South were preparing to meet Greeks of the North—the passionate Ionian was about to measure swords with the stern Dorian, then of a necessity "comes the tug of war."

On the 22d, McLaws reporting as being ready for the assault, he was ordered to prepare for it on the night of the 23d. But a report coming to the commanding General that a large body of the enemy's cavalry was moving upon our rear from near Kinston, General Wheeler, with his troopers, was detached from the army to look after them, and did not return until the 26th, having frightened the enemy away in the meantime. The officers of McLaws' assaulting column protested against the night attack, preferring daylight for such important work, which in the end was granted.

The night of the 24th the enemy made a sally, attacking Wofford's front; but was soon repulsed and driven back within his lines. Longstreet now awaited the reinforcement that was approaching with all speed. Jones' Brigade of Cavalry, from Southwest Virginia, came up on the 28th, while Bushrod Johnston, with his own Brigade of Tennessee Infantry and Gracie's Brigade of Alabamians, was near at hand and moving with all haste. The infantry and artillery promised from Virginia were more than one hundred miles away, and could not reach us in time to take part in the pending attack. General Bragg, commanding the Army of Tennessee after his disastrous defeat at Missionary Ridge, in front of Chattanooga, was at the head of the war department, and ordered Longstreet to assault Knoxville at once.

Orders were given and preparations made to commence the attack on [309] Fort Sanders at early dawn on the 29th by the brigades of McLaws. Fort Sanders, the key to Burnside's position, was a formidable fortress, covering several acres of ground, built by the Confederates when in possession of Knoxville, and called by them "Fort London," but named "Fort Sanders" by the Federals, in honor of the brave commander who fell in wresting it from the Confederates. The enemy had greatly strengthened it after Longstreet's advent in East Tennessee. It was surrounded by a deep and wide moat, from the bottom of which to the top of the fort was from eighteen to twenty feet. In front of the moat for several hundred yards was felled timber, which formed an almost impassable abattis, while wire netting was stretched from stump to stump and around the fort. The creek that ran between our lines and the enemy's had been dammed in several places, forcing the water back to the depth of four to five feet. The fort was lined on three sides with the heaviest of field and siege pieces, and crowded to its utmost capacity with infantry. This fort was on an acute angle of the line of entrenchments. From the right and left ran the outer or first line of breastworks, manned by infantry, and at every salient position cannons were mounted, completely encircling the entire city.

In the early gray of the morning Longstreet had marshalled his forces for the combat, while the troops in Fort Sanders slept all unconscious of the near approaching storm cloud, which was to burst over their heads. The artillery was all in position, the gunners standing by their guns, lanyard in hand, awaiting the final order to begin the attack. The armies were separated by a long, shallow vale—that to our left, in front of Jenkins, was pierced by a small stream, but obstructed by dams at intervals, until the water was in places waist deep. But the men floundered through the water to the opposite side and stood shivering in their wet garments, while the cool air of the November morning chilled their whole frames. All along the whole line the men stood silent and motionless, awaiting the sound of the signal gun.

Wofford, with his Georgians, and Humphrey, with his Mississippians, were to lead the forlorn hope in the assault on Fort Sanders, supported by Bryan's (Georgia) Brigade and one regiment of Mississippians. Kershaw stood to the right of the fort and Anderson, of Jenkins' Division, on the left, supported by the other two brigades [310] then present of Jenkins'. The battle was to focus around the fort until that was taken or silenced, then Kershaw was to storm the works on the right, carry them, charge the second line of entrenchment, in which were posted the reserves and recent Tennessee recruits. Jenkins, with Anderson's Brigade on his right and next to McLaws, was to act as a brace to the assaulting column until the fort was taken, then by a sudden dash take the entrenchments to the left of the fort, wheel and sweep the line towards the north, and clear the way for Jenkins' other brigades.

The expectant calm before the great storm was now at hand. The men stood silent, grim, and determined, awaiting the coming crash! The crash came with the thunder of the signal gun from Alexander's Battery. Longstreet then saluted his enemy with the roar of twenty guns, the shells shrieking and crashing in and around Fort Sanders. Burnside answered the salutation with a welcome of fifty guns from the fort and angles along the entrenchments. Salvos after salvos sounded deep and loud from the cannon's mouth, and echoed and re-echoed up and down the valleys of the Holston. After the early morning compliments had continued ten or fifteen minutes, the infantry began to make ready for the bloody fray. Wofford commenced the advance on the northwest angle of the fort, Humphrey the South. Not a yell was to be given, not a gun to be fired, save only those by the sharpshooters. The dread fortress was to be taken by cold steel alone. Not a gun was loaded in the three brigades. As the mist of the morning and the smoke of the enemy's guns lifted for a moment the slow and steady steps of the "forlorn hope" could be seen marching towards the death trap—over fallen trees and spreading branches, through the cold waters of the creek, the brave men marched in the face of the belching cannon, raking the field right and left. Our sharpshooters gave the cannoneers a telling fire, and as the enemy's infantry in the fort rose above the parapets to deliver their volley, they were met by volleys from our sharpshooters in the pits, now in rear of the assaulting columns, and firing over their heads. When near the fort the troops found yet a more serious obstruction in the way of stout wires stretched across their line of approach. This, however, was overcome and passed, and [311] the assailants soon found themselves on the crest of the twelve foot abyss that surrounded Fort Sanders. Some jumped into the moat and began climbing up upon the shoulders of their companions. The enemy threw hand bombs over the wall to burst in the ditch. Still the men struggled to reach the top, some succeeding only to fall in the fort. Scaling ladders were now called for, but none were at hand. Anderson had moved up on Wofford's left, but finding the fort yet uncovered, instead of charging the entrenchment, as ordered, he changed his direction towards the fort, and soon his brigade was tangled in wild confusion with those of Worfford and Humphrey, gazing at the helpless mass of struggling humanity in the great gulf below.

Kershaw's men stood at extreme tension watching and waiting the result of the struggle around the fort. Never perhaps were their nerves so strung up as the few moments they awaited in suspense the success or reverse of the assaulting column, bending every effort to catch the first command of "forward." All but a handful of the enemy had left the fort, and victory here seemed assured, and in that event the result of Kershaw's onslaught on the right and Jenkins' South Carolinians and Benning's Georgians on the left would have been beyond the range of conjecture. Just at this supreme moment Major Goggans, of McLaws' staff, who had been at the fort and took in the worst phases of the situation, rode to General Longstreet and reported the fortress impregnable without axes and scaling ladders. Under this misapprehension, General Longstreet gave the fatal order for the assaulting columns to retire, and all the support back to their entrenchments. Thus was one of the most glorious victories of the war lost by the ill judgment of one man. General Longstreet bitterly regretted giving this order so hastily, but pleads in extinuation his utmost confidence in Major Goggans, his class-mate at West Point.

In the twenty minutes of the assault Longstreet lost in his three brigades, Wofford's, Humphrey's, and Anderson's, eight hundred and twenty-two; Burnside, six hundred and seventy-three. During the campaign Longstreet lost twelve hundred and ninety-six. During the campaign Burnside lost fourteen hundred and eighty-one.

Kershaw's Brigade lost many gallant officers and men during the [312] sanguinary struggles around Knoxville, and it must be confessed in sorrow and regret, all to no purpose. Not that the commanding general was wanting in ability, military training, or tactical knowledge; nor the soldiers in courage, daring, and self-denials. None of these were lacking, for the officers and men of the line performed deeds of prowess that have never been excelled by any soldiers on the planet, while in skill or fearlessness the regimental brigade and division commanders were equal to Ney, Murat, St. Cyr, or any of the host of great commanders of the Napoleonic era. But in the first place the Confederate forces were too weak, poorly equipped in all those essentials that are so requisite to an invading army.

MAJOR WILLIAM M. GIST.

Major William M. Gist was a son of Governor W.H. Gist, the Governor just preceding Secession, and Mrs. Mary E. Gist; born in Union County in 1840. He was educated in the common schools of Union and York Counties and by private tutors, until January, 1854. He then went to school at Glenn Springs to Rev. C.S. Beard for six months. His health failing, he returned to his home, and in January, 1855, entered the Mt. Zion College, at Winnsboro, Fairfield County, taught by Hon. J.W. Hudson, and spent one year at that institution. He next entered the South Carolina College, in January, 1856, and graduated in the class of '59. The class which Major Gist was in at the time, the Junior, did not participate in the great "college rebellion" of March 28th, 1858. Through that rebellion one hundred and eleven of the students were suspended for six months.

When the first alarm of war was sounded, Major Gist responded promptly, with the same chivalric spirit that was so characteristic of his whole life. He joined, as a private, Captain Gadberry's Company, from Union, and left for Charleston on January 12, 1861, the company forming a part of Colonel Maxey Gregg's First Six Months' Volunteers, and remained with the command until their term of service expired. A vacancy occurring, Colonel Gregg appointed him his Sergeant Major.

After the fall of Sumter a part of Colonel Gregg's Regiment was disbanded, and Major Gist returned to Union and began at once [313] organizing a company for the Confederate States Army. He was elected Captain of the company and was joined to the Fifteenth Regiment, then collecting at camp near Columbia for drill and instruction. He served as Captain until the death of Colonel DeSaussure, then was promoted to Major. There being no officer senior to him, his way was open to the Colonelcy of his regiment at the time of his death.

Major Gist was a young man of rare qualities—open, frank, generous, and brave. He commanded the respect and esteem of all. Just verging into mature manhood as the toscin of war sounded, he had no opportunity to display his great qualities as a civilian, but as a soldier he was all that the most exacting could desire. He was beloved by his men, and they appreciated his worth. He was kind and affectionate to all, and showed favoritism or privileges to none. It was through that ungovernable impulse that permeates the body and flows through the hot Southern blood that he so recklessly threw his life away, leading his men to the charge. In a moment of hesitancy among his troops, he felt the supreme responsibility of Leadership, placed himself where danger was greatest, bullets falling thick and fast; thus by the inspiration of his own individual courage, he hoped to carry his men with him to success, or to meet a fate like his own.

LIEUTENANT COLONEL W.G. RICE.

Lieutenant Colonel W.G. Rice was born in Union County, S.C., on December 9th, 1831. He was the fourth son of R.S. Rice and Agnes B. Rice, nee Morgan, and resided in the upper portion of the county, near Broad River. His family removed to the lower section of the county, near Goshen Hill, when the son was ten years old, and he attended the schools of the surrounding country until fourteen years of age, when he was sent to the Methodist Conference School, at Cokesbury. He remained a pupil here until October, 1848, then he entered the South Carolina College, graduating from that institution with the class of '51. He engaged in planting for one year at his original home, then began the study of law in the office of Judge T.N. Dawkins, but did not prosecute the study to graduation.

In March following he married Miss Sarah E. Sims, of Broad River, of which union eleven children were born, seven of whom are living. The [314] year of his marriage he moved to Laurens County, near Waterloo, where we find him surrounded by "peace and plenty" until the outbreak of the Civil War. In October, 1861, he raised a volunteer company, and later, together with three other companies from Laurens County, formed a battalion, and tendered the command to George S. James, who had resigned from the United States Army. Major James assumed command at Camp Hampton in December. During the early months of 1862 three other companies united with the battalion, and Major James was promoted to Lieutenant Colonel, and Captain W.G. Rice being senior Captain, was made Major.

During the month of April following, a reorganization took place, and Lieutenant Colonel James and Major Rice were re-elected to their former positions by exactly the same vote. Major Rice being detailed on court martial on James' Island, did not accompany his battalion to Virginia, but joined it soon thereafter, near Richmond.

The battalion marched with the brigade (Drayton's) from Gordonsville to second battle of Manassas, but was not actively engaged. At the battle of Crompton's Gap, Md., Colonel Rice was severely wounded, Colonel James killed, and the battalion almost torn to pieces. Colonel Rice was left for dead upon the field, and when he gained consciousness he was within the enemy's line, and only by exercising the greatest caution, he regained the Confederate camp. By Colonel Rice's prudence at this battle in ordering a retreat to a more sheltered position, the battalion was saved from utter destruction, but suffering himself almost a fatal wound. He was sent across the Potomac, and next day to Shepherdstown. Returning from leave of absence occasioned by the desperate nature of his wound, he found that he had been promoted to Lieutenant Colonel, and that his battalion and the Fifteenth Regiment made a part of Kershaw's Brigade, this being in December, 1862. Colonel Rice led his command through the battles of Fredericksburg and Chancellorsville without incident of special interest (wide sketch of battalion).

Returning from an enjoyable leave of absence, he found his command at Chambersburg, Pa. Three days later he commanded the battalion at the bloody battle of Gettysburg. Again Colonel Rice is absent on sick leave, and regains the army just as Longstreet was crossing the [315] Holston. Four days afterwards he was given one company from each of the five regiments to reinforce his battalion, and ordered to feel for and drive the enemy from the position which they held. This proved to be a fortified camp and the enemy in strong line of battle. In the engagement that followed, Colonel Rice was again so severely wounded as to render him unfit for service thereafter.

After this he returned home to the prosecution of his life-work, farming. He removed to Abbeville, now Greenwood County, December, 1869, where he may now be found, as he says, "in the enjoyment of a reasonable degree of health and strength, surrounded by friends and relatives."

JULIUS ZOBEL.

To show with what devotion and fidelity the private soldier of the Southland served the cause he espoused, I will relate as an example the act of Julius Zobel, who fell so dangerously wounded before Knoxville. This is not an isolated case, for hundreds and thousands were tempted like Zobel, but turned away with scorn and contempt. But Julius Zobel was an exception in that he was not a native born, but a blue-eyed, fair-haired son of the "Fatherland." He had not been in this "Land of the free and home of the brave" long enough to comprehend all its blessings, he being under twenty-one years of age, and not yet naturalized. He was a mechanic in the railroad shops, near Newberry, when the first call for volunteers was made. He laid aside his tools and promptly joined Company E (Captain Nance), of the Third South Carolina, called "Quitman Rifles."

He had a smooth, pleasant face, a good eye, and the yellow hair of his countrymen. His nature was all sunshine, geniality, and many a joke he practiced upon his comrades, taking all in good humor those passed upon him. One day, as a comrade had been "indulging" too freely, another accosted him with—

"Turn away your head, your breath is awful. What is the matter with you?"

Zobel, in his broad German brogue, answered for his companion. "Led 'em alone, dare been nodden to madder mid Mattis, only somding crawled in him and died."

He lost his leg at Knoxville and fell in the enemy's hands after [316] Longstreet withdrew, and was sent North with the other wounded. While in the loathsome prison pen, enduring all the sufferings, hardships, and horrors of the Federal "Bastile," he was visited by the German Consul, and on learning that he had not been naturalized, the Consul offered him his liberty if he would take the oath of allegiance to the North.

Zobel flashed up as with a powder burst, and spoke like the true soldier that he was. "What! Desert my comrades; betray the country I have sworn to defend; leave the flag under whose folds I have lost all but life? No, no! Let me die a thousand deaths in this hell hole first!"

He is living to-day in Columbia, an expert mechanic in the service of the Southern Railroad, earning an honest living by the sweat of his brow, with a clear conscience, a faithful heart, and surrounded by a devoted family.

That the campaign against Knoxville was a failure, cannot be wondered at under the circumstances. In the first place Longstreet's forces were too weak—the two thousand reinforcements to come from Virginia dwindled down to a few regiments of cavalry and a battery or two. The men were badly furnished and equipped—a great number being barefoot and thinly clad. Hundreds would gather at the slaughter pens daily and cut from the warm beef hides strips large enough to make into moccasins, and thus shod, marched miles upon miles in the blinding snow and sleet. All overcoats and heavy clothing had been left in Virginia, and it is a fact too well known to be denied among the soldiers of the South that baggage once left or sent to the rear never came to the front again.

Longstreet did not have the support he had the right to expect from his superiors and those in authority at Richmond. He had barely sufficient transportation to convey the actual necessaries of camp equippage, and this had to be used daily in gathering supplies from the surrounding country for man and beast. He had no tools for entrenching purposes, only such as he captured from the enemy, and expected to cross deep and unfordable rivers without a pontoon train. With the dead of winter now upon him, his troops had no shelter to protect them from the biting winds of the mountains or the blinding snow storms from overhead save only much-worn blankets and thin tent [317] flys five by six feet square, one to the man. This was the condition in which the commanding General found himself and troops, in a strange and hostile country, completely cut off from railroad connection with the outside world. Did the men murmur or complain? Not a bit of it. Had they grown disheartened and demoralized by their defeat at Knoxville, or had they lost their old-time confidence in themselves and their General? On the contrary, as difficulties and dangers gathered around their old chieftain, they clung to him, if possible, with greater tenacity and a more determined zeal. It seemed as if every soldier in the old First Corps was proud of the opportunity to suffer for his country—never a groan or pang, but that he felt compensated with the thought that he was doing his all in the service of his country—and to suffer for his native land, his home, and family, was a duty and a pleasure.

The soldiers of the whole South had long since learned by experience on the fields of Virginia, Maryland, and Pennsylvania, along the valleys of Kentucky, the mountains and gorges of Tennessee, and the swamps of the Mississippi, that war was only "civilized barbarism," and to endure uncomplaining was the highest attributes of a soldier. Civilization during the long centuries yet to come may witness, perhaps, as brave, unselfish, unyielding, and patriotic bands of heroes as those who constituted the Confederate Army, but God in His wisdom has never yet created their equals, and, perhaps, never will create their superiors.

CHAPTER XXVI

On the night of the 4th of December preparations were made to raise the siege around Knoxville and vacate the fortifications built around the city after a fortnight's stay in the trenches. The wagons had begun moving the day before, with part of the artillery, and early in [318] the night the troops north and west of the city took up the line of march towards Rutledge, followed by McLaws on the right.

Kershaw being on the extreme right of the army and next to the river on the South, could not move until the troops on the left were well underway, thus leaving us in position until near midnight. Lieutenant Colonel Rutherford commanded the rear guard of skirmishers, deployed several hundred yards on either side of the road. Our march was extremely fatiguing, the roads being muddy and badly cut up by the trains in our front. The weather was cold and bleaky; the night so dark that the troops could scarcely see their way, but all night long they floundered through the mud and slough—over passes and along narrow defiles, between the mountain and the river to their right—the troops trudged along, the greater portion of whom were thinly clad, some with shoes badly worn, others with none. Two brigades of cavalry were left near the city until daylight to watch the movements of the enemy. The next day we met General Ranson with his infantry division and some artillery on his long march from Virginia to reinforce Longstreet, but too late to be of any material service to the commanding General. Bragg's orders had been imperative, "to assault Knoxville and not to await the reinforcement."

Burnside did not attempt to follow us closely, as he was rather skeptical about leaving his strong positions around Knoxville with the chances of meeting Longstreet in open field. But strong Federal forces were on a rapid march to relieve the pressure against Knoxville—one column from the West and ten thousand men under Sherman were coming up from Chattanooga, and were now at Loudon, on the Tennessee.

Longstreet continued the march to Rodgersville, some fifty or sixty miles northeast of Knoxville, on the west bank of the Holston, and here rested for several days. It was the impression of the troops that they would remain here for a length of time, and they began building winter quarters. But Burnside feeling the brace of strong reinforcements nearing him, moved out from Knoxville a large detachment in our rear to near Bean Station (or Cross Roads), the one leading from Knoxville by way of Rutledge, the other from the eastern side of the Holston and over the mountain on the western side at Bean's Gap. Longstreet determined to retrace his steps, strike [319] Burnside a stunning blow, and, if possible, to capture his advance forces at Bean Station.

Here I will digress a few moments from my narrative to relate an incident that took place while encamped near Rodgersville, an incident that will ever remain fresh in the memory of all of the old First Division who witnessed it. It is with feelings of sorrow at this distant day to even recall it to mind, and it is with pain that I record it. But as I have undertaken to give a faithful and true story of the army life of the First Brigade, this harrowing scene becomes a part of its history. It was near the middle of the month. The sun had long since dropped out of sight behind the blue peaks of the distant Cumberland. All is still in camp; the soldiers, after their many hardships and fatiguing marches, rest, and soon all in sound slumber. Even the very voices of nature seemed hushed and frozen in the gloomy silence of the night. All is quiet, save in one lonely tent, apart some distance from the rest, before which walks a silent sentinel, as if he, too, feels the chilling effects of the sombre stillness. Murmurings soft and low in the one lighted tent are all that break the oppressive death-like silence. In the back ground the great forest trees of the mountain stand mute and motionless, not even a nod of their stately heads to a passing breeze, while far away to the south could be seen an occasional picket fire, making the surrounding objects appear like moving, grotesque phantoms. The heavens above were all bedecked with shimmering stars, pouring down upon the sleeping Valley of the Holston a cold and trembling light.

In the lonely tent sits a soldier, who is spending his last night on earth; by his side sits his little son, who has come far away over the mountains to spend the last moments with his father and see him die—not to die like a soldier wishes for death, but as a felon and outcast, the ignominious death at the stake. An occasional sob escapes the lips of the lad, but no sigh or tears of grief from the condemned. He is holding converse with his Maker, for to His throne alone must he now appeal for pardon. Hope on earth had gone. He had no friend at court, no one to plead his cause before those who had power to order a reprieve. He must die. The doomed man was an ignorant mountaineer, belonging to one of the regiments from North Georgia or Tennessee, and [320] in an ill-fated moment he allowed his longings for home to overcome his sense of duty, and deserted his colors—fled to his mountain home and sought to shelter himself near his wife and little ones in the dark recesses and gorges thereabout. He was followed, caught, returned to his command, courtmartialed, and sentenced to death—time, to-morrow.

During the days and nights that passed since the dread sentence had been read to him, he lay upon his rude couch in the guard tent all indifferent to his environments, and on the march he moved along with the guard in silence, gazing abstractedly at the blue vaults of heaven or the star-strewn, limitless space. That far away future now to him so near—that future which no vision can contemplate nor mortal mind comprehend—is soon to be unfolded. Little heed was paid to the comforting words of his sympathetic comrades in arms, who bid him hope, for the condemned man felt inwardly and was keenly conscious of the fact that he had been caught upon the crest of a great wave of destiny, soon to be swept away by its receding force to darkness, despair, death. "Fate had played him falsely."

To witness death, to see the torn and mangled remains of friends and comrades, are but incidents in the life of a soldier. While all dread it, few fear it. Yet it is upon the field of battle that it is expected—amid the din and smoke, the shouts of his comrades, the rattle of musketry, and the cannon's roar. There is the soldier's glory, his haven, his expected end; and of all deaths, that upon the battlefield, surrounded by victorious companions and waving banners, the triumphant shouts of comrades, is the least painful.

The grounds selected for the carrying out of the court's sentence were on a broad plateau, gently sloping towards the center on three sides. So well were the grounds and surroundings adapted to the end in view, that it seemed as if nature had anticipated the purposes of man.

By 9 o'clock the troops of the division were in motion, all under the command of Colonel James D. Nance, of the Third South Carolina, marching for the field of death. Kershaw's Brigade took the lead, and formed on the left of the hollow square. Wofford's on the right, with Bryan's doubling on the two, while Humphrey's closed the space at the west end of the square.

A detail of thirty men were made to do the firing, fifteen guns being loaded with powder and ball, the others with powder alone, this arrangement being made, perhaps, with a view to ease the qualms of conscience, should any of the guards have scruples of shedding the blood of a former comrade in arms. None could know positively who held the death-dealing guns. An opening was made at the lower end and the first platoon of guards entered with arms reversed, then the band playing the "Dead March," followed by the condemned and his son, the second platoon bringing up the rear. The cortege marched around the whole front of the lined-up troops, keeping step to the slow and dismal sounds of the "Dead March." The prisoner walked with the firm and steady step of a Sagamore, or an Indian brave marching and singing his death chants, to the place of his execution. His son was equally as courageous and self-possessed, not a tremor or faltering in either. At times the father and son would speak in low, soft tones to each other, giving and receiving, perhaps, the last messages, the last farewells on earth, the soldier-outcast being now under the very shadow of death.

After making the entire circuit of the square, the condemned was conducted to the open space at the eastern side, where a rude stake had been driven in the ground. To this he boldly walked, calmly kneeling in front, allowing himself to be bandaged and pinioned thereto. The guards had formed in double ranks, fifteen paces in front, his faithful son standing some distance to his right, calm, unmoved, and defiant, even in the face of all the terrors going on before him. The officer in charge gives the command, "ready," thirty hammers spring back; "aim," the pieces rise to the shoulders; then, and then only, the tension broke, and the unfortunate man, instead of the officer, cried out in a loud, metallic voice, "fire." The report of the thirty rifles rang out On the stillness of the morning; the man at the stake gives a convulsive shudder, his head tails listlessly on his breast, blood gushes out in streams, and in a moment all is still. The deserter has escaped.

The authorities at Washington had grown tired of Burnside's failure to either crush Longstreet or drive him out of East Tennessee, and had sent General Foster to relieve him, the latter General bringing with him the standing orders, "Crush or drive out Longstreet." How well [322] General Foster succeeded will be related further on. In obedience to the department's special orders, General Longstreet had, several days previous, sent Wheeler's Cavalry back to General Johnston, now commanding Bragg's Army. Our troops had heard the confirmation of the report of General Bragg's desperate battle at Missionary Ridge—his disastrous defeat his withdrawal to Dalton, and his subsequent relinquishment of command of the Army of Tennessee. This had no effect upon our troops, no more so than the news of the fall of Vicksburg just after Lee's bloody repulse at Gettysburg. The soldiers of the eastern Army had unbounded confidence in themselves and their commander, and felt that so long as they stood together they were invincible.

The enemy had fortified a position at Bean's Station, in a narrow valley between the Holston River and the Clinch Mountains, the valley being about two miles in breadth. This force Longstreet determined to capture, and his plans were admirably adapted to bring about the result. To the right of the enemy was the river; to their left, a rugged mountain spur; passable at only a few points. Part of our cavalry was to pass down the western side of the mountain, close the gaps in rear, the infantry to engage the enemy in front until the other portion of the cavalry could move down the east bank of the river, cross over, and get in the enemy's rear, thus cutting off all retreat. This part of the Valley of the Holston had been pretty well ravaged to supply the Federal Army, and our troops, with never more than a day's rations on hand at a time, had to be put on short rations, until our subsistence trains could gather in a supply and the neighborhood mills could grind a few days' rations ahead. Old soldiers know what "short rations" mean—next to no rations at all.

General Longstreet says of the morale of his army at this time: "The men were brave, steady, patient. Occasionally they called pretty loudly for parched corn, but always in a bright, merry mood. There was never a time we did not have corn enough, and plenty of wood with which to keep us warm and parch our corn. At this distance it seems as almost incredible that we got along as we did, but all were then so healthy and strong that we did not feel severely our really great hardship. Our serious trouble was in the matter of shoes and clothing."

Early on the morning of the 14th the troops were put in motion and marched rapidly down the almost impassable thoroughfare. Bushrod Johnston's Division being in the front, followed by McLaws'—Kershaw's Brigade in the lead. Part of Jenkins' Division was acting as escort for supply trains in the surrounding country, and that Division did not join the army for several days. Late in the day of the 15th we came in sight of the enemy's breastworks. The Federal artillery opened a furious fusilade upon the troops, coming down the road with their rifled guns and field mortars. Bushrod Johnston had filed to the left of the road and gotten out of range, but the screaming shells kept up a continual whiz through the ranks of Kershaw. The men hurried along the road to seek shelter under a bluff in our front, along the base of which ran a small streamlet. The greater portion of the brigade was here huddled together in a jam, to avoid the shells flying overhead. The enemy must have had presage of our position, for they began throwing shells up in the air from their mortars and dropping them down upon us, but most fell beyond, while a great many exploded in the air. We could see the shells on their downward flight, and the men pushed still closer together and nearer the cliff. Here the soldier witnessed one of those incidents so often seen in army life that makes him feel that at times his life is protected by a hand of some hidden, unseen power. His escape from death so often appears miraculous that the soldier feels from first to last that he is but "in the hollow of His hand," and learns to trust all to chance and Providence.

As a shell from a mortar came tumbling over and over, just above the heads of this mass of humanity, a shout went up from those farther back, "Look out! Look out! There comes a shell." Lower and lower it came, all feeling their hopelessness of escape, should the shell explode in their midst. Some tried to push backwards; others, forward, while a great many crowded around and under an ambulance, to which was hitched an old broken down horse, standing perfectly still and indifferent, and all oblivious to his surroundings. The men gritted their teeth, shrugged their shoulders, and waited in death-like suspense the falling of the fatal messenger—that peculiar, whirling, hissing sound growing nearer and more distinct every second. But instead of falling among the men, it fell directly upon the head [324] of the old horse, severing it almost from the body, but failed to explode. The jam was so great that some had difficulty in clearing themselves from the falling horse. Who of us are prepared to say whether this was mere chance, or that the bolt was guided and directed by an invisible hand?

Bushrod Johnston had formed on the left of the road; Kershaw marching over the crest of the hill in our front, and putting his brigade in line of battle on a broad plateau and along the foot hills of the mountains on the right. Here the troops were halted, to wait the coming up of the rest of the division and Jenkins' two brigades. The cannonading of the enemy was especially severe during our halt, and General Kershaw had to frequently shift his regiments to avoid the terrific force of the enemy's shells. It was not the intention of the commanding General to bring on a general engagement here until he heard from his cavalry beyond the river and those to the west of the mountain. The cavalry had been sent to cut off retreat and close the mountain passes, and the infantry was to press moderately in front, in order to hold the enemy in position.

Just before sunset, however, a general advance was made. One of Kershaw's regiments was climbing along the mountain side, endeavoring to gain the enemy's left, and as our skirmishers became hotly engaged, the movements of the regiment on the side of the mountain were discovered, and the enemy began to retire. Now orders were given to press them hard. The rattle of Bushrod Johnston's rifles on our left told of a pretty stiff fight he was having. As the long row of bristling bayonets of Kershaw's men debouched upon the plain in front of the enemy's works, nothing could be seen but one mass of blue, making way to the rear in great confusion. Our artillery was now brought up and put in action, our infantry continuing to press forward, sometimes at double-quick.

We passed over the enemy's entrenchments without firing a gun. Night having set in, and General Longstreet hearing from his cavalry that all in the enemy's rear was safe, ordered a halt for the night, thinking the game would keep until morning. During the night, however, by some misunderstanding of orders, the commander of the cavalry withdrew from the mountain passes, and the enemy taking advantage of [325] this outlet so unexpectedly offered, made his escape under cover of darkness. Here we had another truthful verification of the oft' quoted aphorism of Burns, about "the best laid plans of mice and men."

This last attempt of Longstreet to bring the enemy to an engagement outside of Knoxville proving abortive, the commanding General determined to close the campaign for the season, and to put his troops in as comfortable winter quarters as possible. This was found on the right or east bank of the Holston, near Morristown and the little hamlet of Russellville. The brigade crossed the Holston about the 17th of December, in a little flat boat, holding about two companies at a time, the boat being put backwards and forwards by means of a stout rope, the men pulling with their hands. A blinding sleet was falling, covering the rope continually with a sheet of ice, almost freezing the hands of the thinly clad and barefooted soldiers. But there was no murmuring nor complaint—all were as jolly and good-natured as if on a picnic excursion. Hardship had become a pleasure and sufferings, patriotism. There were no sickness, no straggling, nor feelings of self-constraint.

General Longstreet speaks thus of his army after he had established his camps and the subsistence trains began to forage in the rich valleys of the French Broad and Chucky Rivers and along the banks of Mossy Creek:

"With all the plentitude of provisions, and many things, which, at the time, seemed luxuries, we were not quite happy. Tattered blankets, garments, shoes (the later going—some gone) opened ways on all sides for piercing winter blasts. There were some hand looms in the country from which we occasionally picked up a piece of cloth, and here and there we received other comforts—some from kind, some from unwilling hands, which could nevertheless spare them. For shoes, we were obliged to resort to raw-hides, from beef cattle, as temporary protection from the frozen ground. Then we found soldiers who could tan the hides of our beeves, some who could make shoes, some who could make shoe pegs, some who could make shoe lasts, so that it came about that the hides passed rapidly from the beeves to the feet of the soldiers in the form of comfortable shoes."

We took up very comfortable quarters, in the way that comfort goes [326] with a soldier—cut off from the outside world. Only a few officers had the old army fly tents; the soldiers were each supplied, or rather had supplied themselves upon the battlefield of the enemy with small tent flies, about five by six feet, so arranged with buttons and button holes that two being buttoned together and stretched over a pole would make the sides or roof and the third would close the end, making a tent about six feet long, five feet wide, and four feet high, in which three or four men could sleep very comfortably. In the bitter weather great roaring fires were built in front during the night, and to which the soldier, by long habit, or a kind of intuition, would stretch his feet, when the cold would become unbearable under his threadbare blanket.

But notwithstanding all these disadvantages, the men of Kershaw's Brigade were bent on having a good time in East Tennessee. They foraged during the day for apples, chickens, butter, or whatever they could find to eat. Some of sporting proclivities would purchase a lot of chicken roosters and then fight, regiment against regiment, and seemed to enjoy as much seeing a fight between a shanghai and a dunghill, as a match between gaved Spanish games.

Many formed the acquaintance of ladies in the surrounding country, and they, too, Union as well as Southern, being cut off like ourselves—their husbands and brothers being either in the Northern or Southern Army—seemed determined on having a good time also. Dancing parties were frequent, and the ladies of Southern sympathies gave the officers and soldiers royal dinners.

In this connection, I will relate an anecdote told on our gallant Lieutenant Colonel Rutherford, of the Third, by a friend of his.

When the Third South Carolina Regiment of Infantry was in East Tennessee, in the month of January, 1864, not only did the soldiers find it difficult to get enough to eat, but their supply of shoes and clothing ran pretty low. Those who had extra pants or jackets helped their needy friends. Lieutenant Colonel Rutherford had turned over his extra pair of pants to some one, which left him the pair he wore each day as his only stock on hand in the pants line. Heavy snows fell. The regiment was encamped very near a pleasant residence, where a bevy of pretty girls lived. After an acquaintance of sometime, a snow-balling [327] was indulged in. It was observed that Colonel Rutherford used his every endeavor to constantly face the girls, who were pelting him pretty liberally on all sides. After awhile he slipped up and fell, but in his fall his face was downward, when lo! the girls discovered that he had a hole in his pants. Too good-natured to appear to see his predicament, no notice was seemingly taken of his misfortune; but as the officers were about going off to bed that night, the married lady said to him:

"Colonel, lay your pants on the chair at your room door tonight, and you will find them there again in the morning. We hope you won't mind a patch."

The Colonel, who was always so gallant in actual battle, and could not bear to turn his back to the Federal soldiers, was just as unwilling to turn his back to snow-balls, who happened to be Confederate lasses, and the reason therefor, although never told, was discovered by them.

The weather had gotten down to two degrees below zero, the ground frozen as hard as brick-bats, and the winds whistled gaily through our tattered tents, our teeth beating tattoo and our limbs shivering from the effects of our scanty clothing and shoes. But our wagons were gathering in supplies from the rich valleys of the French Broad and the Nolachucky, and while we suffered from cold, we generally had provisions sufficient for our want. By the middle of January we had to temporarily break up camp to meet the enemy, who had left Knoxville with the greater part of the army, and was marching up on the right banks of the French Broad to near Dandridge. General Foster seeing the penalty put upon General Burnside for not driving out Longstreet from East Tennessee, the former undertook to accomplish in this bitter weather what the latter had failed to do in comparative good season. Our cavalry, with Jenkins' Division, headed direct towards the moving column of the enemy, while McLaws' Division marched in the direction of Strawberry Plains, with a view to cutting off the enemy and forcing him to battle in an open field. But General Granger, in command of the Federal column, was too glad to cross the French Broad and beat a hasty retreat to Knoxville. We returned to our old camps, and waited, like Micawber, "for something to turn up."

By some disagreement or want of confidence in General McLaws by [328] the commanding General, he was relieved of his command, and General Kershaw being the senior Brigadier General of the division, was placed in command. What the differences were between General Longstreet and his Major General were never exactly understood by the soldiers. While General McLaws may have been a brave soldier and was well beloved by officers and men, still he was wanting in those elements to make a successful General of volunteer troops—dash, discipline, and promptness in action.

General Longstreet had bent all his energies to the repairing of the railroad through East Tennessee and Virginia, and as soon as this was accomplished, a limited number of soldiers were furloughed for twenty-one days. A large lot of shoes and clothing was sent us from Richmond, and this helped to make camp life more enjoyable. Not all the men by any means could be spared by furlough even for this brief period, for we had an active and vigilant foe in our front. Most of the men drew their furloughs by lot, those who had been from home the longest taking their chances by drawing from a hat, "furlough" or "no furlough."

While in winter quarters, during the spasm of chicken fighting, a difficulty occurred between Lieutenant A and Private B, of the Third, both good friends, and no better soldiers were ever upon a battlefield. These are not the initials of their names, but will answer the purpose at hand, and that purpose is to show the far-reaching results of the courtmartial that followed, and a decision reached under difficulties, that the most learned jurist might feel proud of.

I will say for the benefit of those not learned in the law of army regulations, that for an officer to strike a private he is cashiered, and for a private to strike an officer the penalty is either death or long imprisonment with ball and chain attachments.

Now it appeared to the officers who composed the courtmartial, Captain Herbert, Lieutenant Garlington, and the writer of this (all parties of the Third), that Lieutenant A had knocked Private B down. The officer appeared in his own defense, and gave in extenuation of his crime, that Private B had hit his (Lieutenant A's) chicken a stunning blow on the head while they were "petting" them between rounds. Now that decision of the courtmartial astonished our Colonel as much as the men [329] who were parties to the combat themselves. Now it read something like this—time, dress parade:

"Whereas, Lieutenant A, of Company ——, Third South Carolina, did strike Private B, of same company and regiment, with his fist in the face, that he should receive the severest of punishment; but, whereas, Private B did strike the game chicken in the hands of Lieutenant A, without cause or provocation, therefore both are equally guilty of a crime and misdemeanor, and should be privately reprimanded by the Colonel commanding."

Such a laugh as was set up, notwithstanding the grave countenance of the Colonel, was never heard on ordinary occasions.