My Days and Nights on the Battle-Field Part 9

The regiments followed. They were half-way up the hill, when a line of fire began to run round the crest.

"Down! down!" shouted Colonel Smith. The regiments fell flat, and the storm swept harmlessly over their heads. The Rebels cheered. They thought they had annihilated Colonel Smith's command. Up they rose, and rushed upon the enemy, pouring in their volleys, falling when the fight was hottest, rising as soon as the Rebels had fired. Thus they closed upon the enemy, and pushed him back over all the ground he had won in the morning, driving him into his works.

General Wallace was preparing to a.s.sault the works, when an officer dashed down the line with cheering news of success upon the left.

Returning now to General Smith's division, we see him preparing to storm the works near the northwest angle of the fort. Colonel Cook's brigade is directed to make a feint of attacking the fort. Major Cavender brings his heavy guns into position, and opens a furious cannonade, under cover of which Colonel Lauman is to advance upon the rifle-pits on the outer ridge. If he can get possession of those, Cavender can plant his guns there and rake the inner trenches.

Colonel Hanson's brigade,--the Second Kentucky, Twentieth Mississippi, and Thirtieth Tennessee, are in the rifle-pits. There are six pieces of artillery and another brigade behind the inner intrenchments, all ready to pour their fire upon the advancing columns. Colonel Hanson's men lie secure behind the trunks of the great forest oaks, their rifles thrust through between the logs. It is fifteen or twenty rods to the bottom of the slope, and there you find the fallen trees, with their branches interlocked, and sharp stakes driven into the ground. Beyond is the meadow where Lauman forms his brigade. The Rebels have a clear sweep of all the ground.

General Smith leads Lauman's men to the meadow, while Colonel Cook moves up on the left and commences the attack. The soldiers hear, far down on the right, Wallace's brigades driving the enemy from the hill.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE CHARGE OF LAUMAN'S BRIGADE.

1 Lauman's brigade.

2 Cook's brigade.

3 Cavender's batteries, with infantry.

4 Rebel rifle-pits.

5 Rebel inner works.]

It is almost sunset. The rays of light fall aslant the meadow, upon the backs of Lauman's men, and into the faces of the Rebels. The advancing brigade is in solid column of regiments, the Second Iowa in front, then the Twenty-fifth Indiana, the Seventh and Fourteenth Iowa,--four firm, unwavering lines, which throw their shadows forward as they advance.

Birges's sharpshooters, with their unerring rifles, are flung out on each flank.

The brigade halts upon the meadow. General Smith rides along the line, and informs them that they are to take the rifle-pits with the bayonet alone. He sits firmly on his horse, and his long gray hair, falling almost to his shoulders, waves in the evening breeze. He is an iron man, and he leads iron men. The Rebel cannon cut them through with solid shot, sh.e.l.ls burst above and around them, with loud explosions and terrifying shrieks from the flying fragments, men drop from the ranks, or are whirled into the air torn and mangled. There are sudden gaps, but not a man flinches. They look not towards the rear, but towards the front. There are the fallen trees, the hill, the line of two thousand muskets poised between the logs, the cannon thundering from the height beyond. There is no whispering in those solid ranks, no loud talking, nothing but the "Steady! steady!" of the officers. Their hearts beat great throbs. Their nerves are steel, their muscles iron. They grasp their muskets with the grip of tigers. Before them rides their General, his cap upon his sword, his long hair streaming like a banner in the wind. The color-bearer, waving the stars and stripes, marches by his side.

They move across the meadow. All around them is the deafening roar of the conflict. Cavender is behind them, Cook is upon their left, the enemy is in front, and Wallace away upon their right. They reach the fallen trees at the foot of the hill. The pile of logs above them bursts into flame. A deadly storm, more terrible than the fiercest winter blast, sweeps down the slope into their faces. There are lightning flashes and thunderbolts from the hill above. Men drop from their places, to lie forever still among the tangled branches. But their surviving comrades do not falter. On,--on,--creeping, crawling, climbing over the obstructions, unterrified, undaunted, with all the energy of life centred in one effort; like a tornado they sweep up the slope,--into the line of fire, into the hissing storm, up to the logs, into the cloud, leaping like tigers, thrusting the bayonet home upon the foe. The Rebels reel, stagger, tumble, run!

"HURRA----H!"

It is a wild, prolonged, triumphant shout, like the blast of a trumpet.

They plant their banners on the works, and fire their volleys into the retreating foe. Stone's battery gallops over the meadow, over the logs, up the hill, the horses leaping and plunging as if they, too, knew that victory was hanging in the scale. The gunners spring from their seats, wheel their pieces and throw their sh.e.l.ls, an enfilading fire, into the upper works.

"Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!" rings through the forest, down the line to Wallace's men.

"We have carried the works!" "We are inside!" shouts an officer bearing the welcome news.

The men toss their caps in the air. They shake hands, they shout, and break into singing. They forget all their hardships and sufferings, the hungry days, the horrible nights, the wounded and the dead. The success is worth all the sacrifice.

CHAPTER VI.

THE SURRENDER.

All through the night the brave men held the ground they had so n.o.bly won. They rested on snowy beds. They had no supper. They could kindle no fires to warm the wintry air. The cannon above them hurled down sh.e.l.ls, and sent volleys of grape, which screamed above and around them like the voices of demons in the darkness. The branches of the trees were torn from their trunks by the solid shot, and the trunks were splintered from top to bottom, but they did not falter or retire from that slope where the snow was crimsoned with the life-blood of hundreds of their comrades. Nearly four hundred had fallen in that attack. The hill had cost a great deal of blood, but it was worth all it cost, and they would not give it up. So they braved the leaden rain and iron hail through the weary hours of that winter night. They only waited for daybreak to storm the inner works and take the fort. Their ardor and enthusiasm was unbounded.

As the morning approached they heard a bugle-call. They looked across the narrow ravine, and saw, in the dim light of the dawn, a man waving a white flag upon the intrenchments. It was a sign for a parley. He jumped down from the embankment, and descended the hill.

"Halt! Who comes there?" shouted the picket.

"Flag of truce with a letter for General Grant."

An officer took the letter, and hastened down the slope, across the meadow, up to the house on the Dover road, where General Grant had his head-quarters.

During the night there had been a council of war at General Floyd's head-quarters. Nearly all the Rebel officers commanding brigades and regiments were there. They were down-hearted. They had fought bravely, won a victory, as they thought, but had lost it. A Rebel officer who was there told me what they said. General Floyd and General Pillow blamed General Buckner for not advancing earlier in the morning, and for making what they thought a feeble attack. They could have escaped after they drove McClernand across the brook, but now they were hemmed in. The prospect was gloomy. The troops were exhausted by the long conflict, by constant watching, and by the cold. What bitter nights those were to the men who came from Texas, Alabama, and Mississippi, where the roses bloom and the blue-birds sing through all the winter months.

What should be done? Should they make another attack, and cut their way out, or should they surrender?

"I cannot hold my position a half-hour. The Yankees can turn my flank or advance directly upon the breastworks," said General Buckner.

"If you had advanced at the time agreed upon, and made a more vigorous attack, we should have routed the enemy," said General Floyd.

"I advanced as soon as I could, and my troops fought as bravely as others," was the response from General Buckner,--a middle-aged, medium-sized man. His hair is iron gray. He has thin whiskers and a moustache, and wears a gray kersey overcoat, with a great cape, and gold lace on the sleeves, and a black hat with a nodding black plume.

"Well, here we are, and it is useless to renew the attack with any hope of success. The men are exhausted," said General Floyd,--a stout, heavy man, with thick lips, a large nose, evil eyes, and coa.r.s.e features.

"We can cut our way out," said Major Brown, commanding the Twentieth Mississippi,--a tall, black-haired, impetuous, fiery man.

"Some of us might escape in that way, but the attempt would be attended with great slaughter," responded General Floyd.

"My troops are so worn out and cut to pieces and demoralized, that I can't make another fight," said Buckner.

"My troops will fight till they die," answered Major Brown, setting his teeth together.

"It will cost the command three quarters of its present number to cut its way through, and it is wrong to sacrifice three quarters of a command to save the other quarter," Buckner continued.

"No officer has a right to cause such a sacrifice," said Major Gilmer, of General Pillow's staff.

"But we can hold out another day, and by that time we can get steamboats here to take us across the river," said General Pillow.

"No, I can't hold my position a half-hour, and the Yankees will renew the attack at daybreak," Buckner replied.

"Then we have got to surrender, for aught I see," said an officer.

"I won't surrender the command, neither will I be taken prisoner," said Floyd. He doubtless remembered how he had stolen public property, while in office under Buchanan, and would rather die than to fall into the hands of those whom he knew would be likely to bring him to an account for his villany.

"I don't intend to be taken prisoner," said Pillow.

"What will you do, gentlemen?" Buckner asked.

"I mean to escape, and take my Virginia brigade with me, if I can. I shall turn over the command to General Pillow. I have a right to escape if I can, but I haven't any right to order the entire army to make a hopeless fight," said Floyd.

"If you surrender it to me, I shall turn it over to General Buckner,"

said General Pillow, who was also disposed to shirk responsibility and desert the men whom he had induced to vote to secede from the Union and take up arms against their country.

"If the command comes into my hands, I shall deem it my duty to surrender it. I shall not call upon the troops to make a useless sacrifice of life, and I will not desert the men who have fought so n.o.bly," Buckner replied, with a bitterness which made Floyd and Pillow wince.

It was past midnight. The council broke up. The brigade and regimental officers were astonished at the result. Some of them broke out into horrid cursing and swearing at Floyd and Pillow.