My Days and Nights on the Battle-Field Part 10

"It is mean!" "It is cowardly!" "Floyd always was a rascal."

"We are betrayed!" "There is treachery!" said they.

"It is a mean trick for an officer to desert his men. If my troops are to be surrendered, I shall stick by them," said Major Brown.

"I denounce Pillow as a coward, and if I ever meet him, I'll shoot him as quick as I would a dog," said Major McLain, red with rage.

Floyd gave out that he was going to join Colonel Forrest, who commanded the cavalry, and thus cut his way out; but there were two or three small steamboats at the Dover landing. He and General Pillow jumped on board one of them, and then secretly marched a portion of the Virginia brigade on board. Other soldiers saw what was going on, that they were being deserted. They became frantic with terror and rage. They rushed on board, crowding every part of the boat.

"Cut loose!" shouted Floyd to the captain. The boats swung into the stream and moved up the river, leaving thousands of infuriated soldiers on the landing. So the man who had stolen the public property, and who did all he could to bring on the war, who induced thousands of poor, ignorant men to take up arms, deserted his post, stole away in the darkness, and left them to their fate.

General Buckner immediately wrote a letter to General Grant, asking for an armistice till twelve o'clock, and the appointment of commissioners to agree upon terms by which the fort and the prisoners should be surrendered.

"No terms, other than unconditional and immediate surrender can be accepted. I propose to move immediately upon your works," was General Grant's reply.

General Buckner replied, that he thought it very _unchivalrous_, but accepted the terms. He meant that he did not think it very honorable in General Grant to require an unconditional surrender. He professed to have a high sense of all that was n.o.ble, generous, honorable, and high-minded. But a few days before he had so forgotten those qualities of character, that he took some cattle from Rev. Mr. Wiggin of Rochester, Kentucky, one of his old acquaintances, and paid him with a check of three hundred dollars on the Southern Bank at Russelville. When Rev. Mr. Wiggin called at the bank and presented the check, the cashier told him that General Buckner never had had any money on deposit there, and the bank did not owe him a dollar! He cheated and swindled the minister, and committed the crime of forgery, which would have sent him to the state-prison in time of peace.

The morning dawned,--Sunday morning, calm, clear, and beautiful. The horrible nights were over and the freezing days gone by. The air was mild, and there was a gentle breeze from the south, which brought the blue-birds. They did not mind the soldiers or the cannon, but chirped and sang in the woods as merrily as ever.

I saw the white flag flying on the breastworks. The soldiers and sailors saw it, and cheered. General Grant had moved his head-quarters to the steamboat Uncle Sam, and, as I happened to be on board that boat, I saw a great deal that took place.

The gunboats, and all the steamboats, fifty or more, began to move up the river. Dense clouds of smoke rolled up from the tall chimneys. The great wheels plashed the sparkling stream. Flags were flying on all the staffs. The army began its march into the fort. The bands played. How grand the crash of the drums and the trumpets! The soldiers marched proudly. The columns were winding along the hills,--the artillery, the infantry, the cavalry, with all their banners waving, and the bright sunshine gleaming and glistening on their bayonets! They entered the fort, and planted their standards on the embankments. The gunboats and the field artillery fired a grand salute. From the steamboats, from the hillside, from the fort, and the forest there were answering shouts. The wounded in the hospitals forgot, for the moment, that they were torn and mangled, raised themselves on their beds of straw, and mingled their feeble cheers in the universal rejoicing!

Thirteen thousand men, sixty-seven pieces of artillery, and fifteen thousand small arms were surrendered. A motley, care-worn, haggard, anxious crowd stood at the landing. I sprang ash.o.r.e, and walked through the ranks. Some were standing, some lying down, taking no notice of what was going on around them. They were prisoners of war. When they joined the army, they probably did not dream that they would be taken prisoners. They were to be victorious, and capture the Yankees. They were poor, ignorant men. Not half of them knew how to read or write.

They had been deluded by their leaders,--the slaveholders. They had fought bravely, but they had been defeated, and their generals had deserted them. No wonder they were down-hearted.

Their clothes were of all colors. Some wore gray, some blue, some b.u.t.ternut-colored clothes,--a dirty brown. They were very ragged. Some had old quilts for blankets, others faded pieces of carpeting, others strips of new carpeting, which they had taken from the stores. Some had caps, others old slouched felt hats, and others nothing but straw hats upon their heads.

"We fought well, but you outnumbered us," said one.

"We should have beaten you as it was, if it hadn't been for your gunboats," said another.

"How happened it that General Floyd and General Pillow escaped, and left you?" I asked.

"They are traitors. I would shoot the scoundrels, if I could get a chance," said a fellow in a snuff-colored coat, clenching his fist.

"I am glad the fighting is over. I don't want to see another such day as yesterday," said a Tennesseean, who was lying on the ground.

"What will General Grant do with us? Will he put us in prison?" asked one.

"That will depend upon how you behave. If you had not taken up arms against your country, you would not have been in trouble now."

"We couldn't help it, sir. I was forced into the army, and I am glad I am a prisoner. I sha'n't have to fight any more," said a blue-eyed young man, not more than eighteen years old.

There were some who were very sullen and sour, and there were others who did not care what became of them.

I went up the hill into the town. Nearly every house was filled with the dying and the dead. The sh.e.l.ls from the gunboats had crashed through some of the buildings. The soldiers had cut down the orchards and the shade-trees, and burned the fences. All was desolation. There were sad groups around the camp-fires, with despair upon their countenances. O how many of them thought of their friends far away, and wished they could see them again!

The ground was strewed with their guns, cartridge-boxes, belts, and knapsacks. There were bags of corn, barrels of sugar, hogsheads of mola.s.ses, tierces of bacon, broken open and trodden into the mud.

I went into the fort, and saw where the great sh.e.l.ls from the gunboats had cut through the embankments. There were piles of cartridges beside the cannon. The dead were lying there, torn, mangled, rent. Near the intrenchments, where the fight had been fiercest, there were pools of blood. The Rebel soldiers were breaking the frozen earth, digging burial-trenches, and bringing in their fallen comrades and laying them side by side, to their last, long, silent sleep. I looked down the slope where Lauman's men swept over the fallen trees in their terrible charge; then I walked down to the meadow, and looked up the height, and wondered how men could climb over the trees, the stumps, the rocks, and ascend it through such a storm. The dead were lying where they fell, heroes every one of them! It was sad to think that so many n.o.ble men had fallen, but it was a pleasure to know that they had not faltered. They had done their duty. If you ever visit that battle-field, and stand upon that slope, you will feel your heart swell with grat.i.tude and joy, to think how cheerfully they gave their lives to save their country, that you and all who come after you may enjoy peace and prosperity forever.

How bravely they fought! There, upon the cold ground, lay a soldier of the Ninth Illinois. Early in the action of Sat.u.r.day he was shot through the arm. He went to the hospital and had it bandaged, and returned to his place in the regiment. A second shot pa.s.sed through his thigh, tearing the flesh to shreds.

"We will carry you to the hospital," said two of his comrades.

"No, you stay and fight. I can get along alone." He took off his bayonet, used his gun for a crutch, and reached the hospital. The surgeon dressed the wound. He heard the roar of battle. His soul was on fire to be there. He hobbled once more to the field, and went into the thickest of the fight, lying down, because he could not stand. He fought as a skirmisher. When the Rebels advanced, he could not retire with the troops, but continued to fight. After the battle he was found dead upon the field, six bullets having pa.s.sed through his body.

One bright-eyed little fellow, of the Second Iowa, had his foot crushed by a cannon-shot. Two of his comrades carried him to the rear. An officer saw that, unless the blood was stopped, he never would reach the hospital. He told the men to tie a handkerchief around his leg, and put snow on the wound.

"O, never mind the foot, Captain," said the brave fellow. "We drove the Rebels out, and have got their trench; that's the most I care for!" The soldiers did as they were directed, and his life was saved.

There in the trenches was a Rebel soldier with a rifle-shot through his head. He was an excellent marksman, and had killed or wounded several Union officers. One of Colonel Birges's sharpshooters, an old hunter, who had killed many bears and wolves, crept up towards the breastworks to try his hand upon the Rebel. They fired at each other again and again, but both were shrewd and careful. The Rebel raised his hat above the breastwork,--whi----z! The sharpshooter out in the bushes had put a bullet through it. "Ha! ha! ha!" laughed the Rebel, sending his own bullet into the little puff of smoke down in the ravine. The Rocky Mountain hunter was as still as a mouse. He knew that the Rebel had outwitted him, and expected the return shot. It was aimed a little too high, and he was safe.

"You cheated me that time, but I will be even with you yet," said the sharpshooter, whirling upon his back, and loading his rifle and whirling back again. He rested his rifle upon the ground, aimed it, and lay with his eye along the barrel, his finger on the trigger. Five minutes pa.s.sed. "I reckon that that last shot fixed him," said the Rebel. "He hasn't moved this five minutes."

He raised his head, peeped over the embankment, and fell back lifeless.

The unerring rifle-bullet had pa.s.sed through his head.

If you could go over the battle-ground with one of those sharpshooters, he would show you a little clump of bushes, and some stumps, where three or four of them lay on Sat.u.r.day, in front of one of the Rebel batteries, and picked off the gunners. Two or three times the artillerymen tried to drive them out with sh.e.l.ls; but they lay close upon the ground, and the sh.e.l.ls did not touch them. The artillerymen were obliged to cease firing, and retreat out of reach of the deadly bullets.

Some of the Rebel officers took their surrender very much to heart. They were proud, insolent, and defiant. Their surrender was unconditional, and they thought it very hard to give up their swords and pistols. One of them fired a pistol at Major Mudd, of the Second Illinois, wounding him in the back. I was very well acquainted with the Major. He lived in St. Louis, and had been from the beginning an ardent friend of the Union. He had hunted the guerillas in Missouri, and had fought bravely at Wilson's Creek. It is quite likely he was shot by an old enemy.

General Grant at once issued orders that all the Rebel officers should be disarmed. General Buckner, in insolent tones, said to General Grant that it was barbarous, inhuman, brutal, unchivalrous, and at variance with the rules of civilized warfare! General Grant replied:--

"You have dared to come here to complain of my acts, without the right to make an objection. You do not appear to remember that your surrender was unconditional. Yet, if we compare the acts of the different armies in this war, how will yours bear inspection? You have cowardly shot my officers in cold blood. As I rode over the field, I saw the dead of my army brutally insulted by your men, their clothing stripped off of them, and their bodies exposed, without the slightest regard for common decency. Humanity has seldom marked your course whenever our men have been unfortunate enough to fall into your hands.

At Belmont your authorities disregarded all the usages of civilized warfare. My officers were crowded into cotton-pens with my brave soldiers, and then thrust into prison, while your officers were permitted to enjoy their parole, and live at the hotel in Cairo. Your men are given the same fare as my own, and your wounded receive our best attention. These are incontrovertible facts. I have simply taken the precaution to disarm your officers and men, because necessity compelled me to protect my own from a.s.sa.s.sination."

General Buckner had no reply to make. He hung his head in shame at the rebuke.

Major Mudd, though severely wounded, recovered, but lost his life in another battle. One day, while riding with him in Missouri, he told me a very good story. He said he was once riding in the cars, and that a very inquisitive man sat by his side. A few rods from every road-crossing the railroad company had put up boards with the letters W. R. upon them.

"What be them for?" asked the man.

"Those are directions to the engineer to blow the whistle and ring the bell, that people who may be on the carriage-road may look out and not get run over by the train," the Major answered.

"O yes, I see."

The man sat in silence awhile, with his lips working as if he was trying to spell.

"Well, Major," he said at last, "it may be as you say. I know that w-r-i-n-g spells ring, but for the life of me I don't see how you can get an R into whistle!"

The fall of Fort Donelson was a severe blow to the Rebels. It had a great effect. It was the first great victory of the Union troops. It opened all the northwest corner of the Confederacy. It compelled General Johnston to retreat from Bowling Green, and also compelled the evacuation of Columbus and all Central Tennessee. Nashville, the capital of that State, fell into the hands of the Union troops.

On Sunday morning the Rebels at Nashville were in good spirits. General Pillow had telegraphed on Sat.u.r.day noon, as you remember, "On the honor of a soldier, the day is ours." The citizens shouted over it.

One sober citizen said: "I never liked Pillow, but I forgive him now. He is the man for the occasion."

Another, who had been Governor of the State,--a wicked, profane man,--said: "It is first-rate news. Pillow is giving the Yankees h.e.l.l, and rubbing it in!"[6] It is a vile sentence, and I would not quote it, were it not that you might have a true picture from Rebel sources.