# PERSONAL MEMOIRS OF  U. S. GRANT by Ulysses S. Grant      ## PREFACE. “Man proposes and God disposes.” There are but few important events in the affairs of men brought about by their own choice. Although frequently urged by friends to write my memoirs I had determined never to do so, nor to write anything for publication. At the age of nearly sixty-two I received an injury from a fall, which confined me closely to the house while it did not apparently affect my general health. This made study a pleasant pastime. Shortly after, the rascality of a business partner developed itself by the announcement of a failure. This was followed soon after by universal depression of all securities, which seemed to threaten the extinction of a good part of the income still retained, and for which I am indebted to the kindly act of friends. At this juncture the editor of the Century Magazine asked me to write a few articles for him. I consented for the money it gave me; for at that moment I was living upon borrowed money. The work I found congenial, and I determined to continue it. The event is an important one for me, for good or evil; I hope for the former. In preparing these volumes for the public, I have entered upon the task with the sincere desire to avoid doing injustice to any one, whether on the National or Confederate side, other than the unavoidable injustice of not making mention often where special mention is due. There must be many errors of omission in this work, because the subject is too large to be treated of in two volumes in such way as to do justice to all the officers and men engaged. There were thousands of instances, during the rebellion, of individual, company, regimental and brigade deeds of heroism which deserve special mention and are not here alluded to. The troops engaged in them will have to look to the detailed reports of their individual commanders for the full history of those deeds. The first volume, as well as a portion of the second, was written before I had reason to suppose I was in a critical condition of health. Later I was reduced almost to the point of death, and it became impossible for me to attend to anything for weeks. I have, however, somewhat regained my strength, and am able, often, to devote as many hours a day as a person should devote to such work. I would have more hope of satisfying the expectation of the public if I could have allowed myself more time. I have used my best efforts, with the aid of my eldest son, F. D. Grant, assisted by his brothers, to verify from the records every statement of fact given. The comments are my own, and show how I saw the matters treated of whether others saw them in the same light or not. With these remarks I present these volumes to the public, asking no favor but hoping they will meet the approval of the reader. U. S. GRANT. MOUNT MACGREGOR, NEW YORK, July 1, 1885. ### VOLUME I. CHAPTER I. ANCESTRY—BIRTH—BOYHOOD. CHAPTER II. WEST POINT—GRADUATION. CHAPTER III. ARMY LIFE—CAUSES OF THE MEXICAN WAR—CAMP SALUBRITY. CHAPTER IV. CORPUS CHRISTI—MEXICAN SMUGGLING—SPANISH RULE IN MEXICO—SUPPLYING TRANSPORTATION. CHAPTER V. TRIP TO AUSTIN—PROMOTION TO FULL SECOND-LIEUTENANT—ARMY OF OCCUPATION. CHAPTER VI. ADVANCE OF THE ARMY—CROSSING THE COLORADO—THE RIO GRANDE. CHAPTER VII. THE MEXICAN WAR—THE BATTLE OF PALO ALTO—THE BATTLE OF RESACA DE LA PALMA—ARMY OF INVASION—GENERAL TAYLOR—MOVEMENT ON CAMARGO. CHAPTER VIII. ADVANCE ON MONTEREY—THE BLACK FORT—THE BATTLE OF MONTEREY—SURRENDER OF THE CITY. CHAPTER IX. POLITICAL INTRIGUE—BUENA VISTA—MOVEMENT AGAINST VERA CRUZ—SIEGE AND CAPTURE OF VERA CRUZ. CHAPTER X. MARCH TO JALAPA—BATTLE OF CERRO GORDO—PEROTE—PUEBLA—SCOTT AND TAYLOR. CHAPTER XI. ADVANCE ON THE CITY OF MEXICO—BATTLE OF CONTRERAS—ASSAULT AT CHURUBUSCO—NEGOTIATIONS FOR PEACE—BATTLE OF MOLINO DEL REY—STORMING OF CHAPULTEPEC—SAN COSME—EVACUATION OF THE CITY—HALLS OF THE MONTEZUMAS. CHAPTER XII. PROMOTION TO FIRST LIEUTENANT—CAPTURE OF THE CITY OF MEXICO—THE ARMY—MEXICAN SOLDIERS—PEACE NEGOTIATIONS. CHAPTER XIII. TREATY OF PEACE—MEXICAN BULL FIGHTS—REGIMENTAL QUARTERMASTER—TRIP TO POPOCATAPETL—TRIP TO THE CAVES OF MEXICO. CHAPTER XIV. RETURN OF THE ARMY—MARRIAGE—ORDERED TO THE PACIFIC COAST—CROSSING THE ISTHMUS—ARRIVAL AT SAN FRANCISCO. CHAPTER XV. SAN FRANCISCO—EARLY CALIFORNIA EXPERIENCES—LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST—PROMOTED CAPTAIN—FLUSH TIMES IN CALIFORNIA. CHAPTER XVI. RESIGNATION—PRIVATE LIFE—LIFE AT GALENA—THE COMING CRISIS. CHAPTER XVII. OUTBREAK OF THE REBELLION—PRESIDING AT A UNION MEETING—MUSTERING OFFICER OF STATE TROOPS—LYON AT CAMP JACKSON—SERVICES TENDERED TO THE GOVERNMENT. CHAPTER XVIII. APPOINTED COLONEL OF THE 21ST ILLINOIS—PERSONNEL OF THE REGIMENT—GENERAL LOGAN—MARCH TO MISSOURI—MOVEMENT AGAINST HARRIS AT FLORIDA, MO.—GENERAL POPE IN COMMAND—STATIONED AT MEXICO, MO. CHAPTER XIX. COMMISSIONED BRIGADIER-GENERAL—COMMAND AT IRONTON, MO.—JEFFERSON CITY—CAPE GIRARDEAU—GENERAL PRENTISS—SEIZURE OF PADUCAH—HEADQUARTERS AT CAIRO. CHAPTER XX. GENERAL FREMONT IN COMMAND—MOVEMENT AGAINST BELMONT—BATTLE OF BELMONT—A NARROW ESCAPE—AFTER THE BATTLE. CHAPTER XXI. GENERAL HALLECK IN COMMAND—COMMANDING THE DISTRICT OF CAIRO—MOVEMENT ON FORT HENRY—CAPTURE OF FORT HENRY. CHAPTER XXII. INVESTMENT OF FORT DONELSON—THE NAVAL OPERATIONS—ATTACK OF THE ENEMY—ASSAULTING THE WORKS—SURRENDER OF THE FORT. CHAPTER XXIII. PROMOTED MAJOR-GENERAL OF VOLUNTEERS—UNOCCUPIED TERRITORY—ADVANCE UPON NASHVILLE—SITUATION OF THE TROOPS—CONFEDERATE RETREAT—RELIEVED OF THE COMMAND—RESTORED TO THE COMMAND—GENERAL SMITH. CHAPTER XXIV. THE ARMY AT PITTSBURG LANDING—INJURED BY A FALL—THE CONFEDERATE ATTACK AT SHILOH—THE FIRST DAY’S FIGHT AT SHILOH—GENERAL SHERMAN—CONDITION OF THE ARMY—CLOSE OF THE FIRST DAY’S FIGHT—THE SECOND DAY’S FIGHT—RETREAT AND DEFEAT OF THE CONFEDERATES. CHAPTER XXV. STRUCK BY A BULLET—PRECIPITATE RETREAT OF THE CONFEDERATES—INTRENCHMENTS AT SHILOH—GENERAL BUELL—GENERAL JOHNSTON—REMARKS ON SHILOH. CHAPTER XXVI. HALLECK ASSUMES COMMAND IN THE FIELD—THE ADVANCE UPON CORINTH—OCCUPATION OF CORINTH—THE ARMY SEPARATED. CHAPTER XXVII. HEADQUARTERS MOVED TO MEMPHIS—ON THE ROAD TO MEMPHIS—ESCAPING JACKSON—COMPLAINTS AND REQUESTS—HALLECK APPOINTED COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF—RETURN TO CORINTH—MOVEMENTS OF BRAGG—SURRENDER OF CLARKSVILLE—THE ADVANCE UPON CHATTANOOGA—SHERIDAN COLONEL OF A MICHIGAN REGIMENT. CHAPTER XXVIII. ADVANCE OF VAN DORN AND PRICE—PRICE ENTERS IUKA—BATTLE OF IUKA. CHAPTER XXIX. VAN DORN’S MOVEMENTS—BATTLE OF CORINTH—COMMAND OF THE DEPARTMENT OF THE TENNESSEE. CHAPTER XXX. THE CAMPAIGN AGAINST VICKSBURG—EMPLOYING THE FREEDMEN—OCCUPATION OF HOLLY SPRINGS—SHERMAN ORDERED TO MEMPHIS—SHERMAN’S MOVEMENTS DOWN THE MISSISSIPPI—VAN DORN CAPTURES HOLLY SPRINGS—COLLECTING FORAGE AND FOOD. CHAPTER XXXI. HEADQUARTERS MOVED TO HOLLY SPRINGS—GENERAL MCCLERNAND IN COMMAND—ASSUMING COMMAND AT YOUNG’S POINT—OPERATIONS ABOVE VICKSBURG—FORTIFICATIONS ABOUT VICKSBURG—THE CANAL—LAKE PROVIDENCE—OPERATIONS AT YAZOO PASS. CHAPTER XXXII. THE BAYOUS WEST OF THE MISSISSIPPI—CRITICISMS OF THE NORTHERN PRESS—RUNNING THE BATTERIES—LOSS OF THE INDIANOLA—DISPOSITION OF THE TROOPS. CHAPTER XXXIII. ATTACK ON GRAND GULF—OPERATIONS BELOW VICKSBURG. CHAPTER XXXIV. CAPTURE OF PORT GIBSON—GRIERSON’S RAID—OCCUPATION OF GRAND GULF—MOVEMENT UP THE BIG BLACK—BATTLE OF RAYMOND. CHAPTER XXXV. MOVEMENT AGAINST JACKSON—FALL OF JACKSON—INTERCEPTING THE ENEMY—BATTLE OF CHAMPION’S HILL. CHAPTER XXXVI. BATTLE OF BLACK RIVER BRIDGE—CROSSING THE BIG BLACK—INVESTMENT OF VICKSBURG—ASSAULTING THE WORKS. CHAPTER XXXVII. SIEGE OF VICKSBURG. CHAPTER XXXVIII. JOHNSTON’S MOVEMENTS—FORTIFICATIONS AT HAINES’S BLUFF—EXPLOSION OF THE MINE—EXPLOSION OF THE SECOND MINE—PREPARING FOR THE ASSAULT—THE FLAG OF TRUCE—MEETING WITH PEMBERTON—NEGOTIATIONS FOR SURRENDER—ACCEPTING THE TERMS—SURRENDER OF VICKSBURG. CHAPTER XXXIX. RETROSPECT OF THE CAMPAIGN—SHERMAN’S MOVEMENTS—PROPOSED MOVEMENT UPON MOBILE—A PAINFUL ACCIDENT—ORDERED TO REPORT AT CAIRO. ### VOLUME II. CHAPTER XL. FIRST MEETING WITH SECRETARY STANTON—GENERAL ROSECRANS—COMMANDING MILITARY DIVISION OF MISSISSIPPI—ANDREW JOHNSON’S ADDRESS—ARRIVAL AT CHATTANOOGA. CHAPTER XLI. ASSUMING THE COMMAND AT CHATTANOOGA—OPENING A LINE OF SUPPLIES—BATTLE OF WAUHATCHIE—ON THE PICKET LINE. CHAPTER XLII. CONDITION OF THE ARMY—REBUILDING THE RAILROAD—GENERAL BURNSIDE’S SITUATION—ORDERS FOR BATTLE—PLANS FOR THE ATTACK—HOOKER’S POSITION—SHERMAN’S MOVEMENTS. CHAPTER XLIII. PREPARATIONS FOR BATTLE—THOMAS CARRIES THE FIRST LINE OF THE ENEMY—SHERMAN CARRIES MISSIONARY RIDGE—BATTLE OF LOOKOUT MOUNTAIN—GENERAL HOOKER’S FIGHT. CHAPTER XLIV. BATTLE OF CHATTANOOGA—A GALLANT CHARGE—COMPLETE ROUT OF THE ENEMY—PURSUIT OF THE CONFEDERATES—GENERAL BRAGG—REMARKS ON CHATTANOOGA. CHAPTER XLV. THE RELIEF OF KNOXVILLE—HEADQUARTERS MOVED TO NASHVILLE—VISITING KNOXVILLE—CIPHER DISPATCHES—WITHHOLDING ORDERS. CHAPTER XLVI. OPERATIONS IN MISSISSIPPI—LONGSTREET IN EAST TENNESSEE—COMMISSIONED LIEUTENANT-GENERAL—COMMANDING THE ARMIES OF THE UNITED STATES—FIRST INTERVIEW WITH PRESIDENT LINCOLN. CHAPTER XLVII. THE MILITARY SITUATION—PLANS FOR THE CAMPAIGN—SHERIDAN ASSIGNED TO COMMAND OF THE CAVALRY—FLANK MOVEMENTS—FORREST AT FORT PILLOW—GENERAL BANKS’S EXPEDITION—COLONEL MOSBY—AN INCIDENT OF THE WILDERNESS CAMPAIGN. CHAPTER XLVIII. COMMENCEMENT OF THE GRAND CAMPAIGN—GENERAL BUTLER’S POSITION—SHERIDAN’S FIRST RAID. CHAPTER XLIX. SHERMAN S CAMPAIGN IN GEORGIA—SIEGE OF ATLANTA—DEATH OF GENERAL MCPHERSON—ATTEMPT TO CAPTURE ANDERSONVILLE—CAPTURE OF ATLANTA. CHAPTER L. GRAND MOVEMENT OF THE ARMY OF THE POTOMAC—CROSSING THE RAPIDAN—ENTERING THE WILDERNESS—BATTLE OF THE WILDERNESS. CHAPTER LI. AFTER THE BATTLE—TELEGRAPH AND SIGNAL SERVICE—MOVEMENT BY THE LEFT FLANK. CHAPTER LII. BATTLE OF SPOTTSYLVANIA—HANCOCK’S POSITION—ASSAULT OF WARREN’S AND WRIGHT’S CORPS—UPTON PROMOTED ON THE FIELD—GOOD NEWS FROM BUTLER AND SHERIDAN. CHAPTER LIII. HANCOCK’S ASSAULT—LOSSES OF THE CONFEDERATES—PROMOTIONS RECOMMENDED—DISCOMFITURE OF THE ENEMY—EWELL’S ATTACK—REDUCING THE ARTILLERY. CHAPTER LIV. MOVEMENT BY THE LEFT FLANK—BATTLE OF NORTH ANNA—AN INCIDENT OF THE MARCH—MOVING ON RICHMOND—SOUTH OF THE PAMUNKEY—POSITION OF THE NATIONAL ARMY. CHAPTER LV. ADVANCE ON COLD HARBOR—AN ANECDOTE OF THE WAR—BATTLE OF COLD HARBOR—CORRESPONDENCE WITH LEE RETROSPECTIVE. CHAPTER LVI. LEFT FLANK MOVEMENT ACROSS THE CHICKAHOMINY AND JAMES—GENERAL LEE—VISIT TO BUTLER—THE MOVEMENT ON PETERSBURG—THE INVESTMENT OF PETERSBURG. CHAPTER LVII. RAID ON THE VIRGINIA CENTRAL RAILROAD—RAID ON THE WELDON RAILROAD—EARLY’S MOVEMENT UPON WASHINGTON—MINING THE WORKS BEFORE PETERSBURG—EXPLOSION OF THE MINE BEFORE PETERSBURG —CAMPAIGN IN THE SHENANDOAH VALLEY—CAPTURE OF THE WELDON RAILROAD. CHAPTER LVIII. SHERIDAN’S ADVANCE—VISIT TO SHERIDAN—SHERIDAN’S VICTORY IN THE SHENANDOAH—SHERIDAN’S RIDE TO WINCHESTER—CLOSE OF THE CAMPAIGN FOR THE WINTER. CHAPTER LIX. THE CAMPAIGN IN GEORGIA—SHERMAN’S MARCH TO THE SEA—WAR ANECDOTES—THE MARCH ON SAVANNAH—INVESTMENT OF SAVANNAH—CAPTURE OF SAVANNAH. CHAPTER LX. THE BATTLE OF FRANKLIN—THE BATTLE OF NASHVILLE CHAPTER LXI. EXPEDITION AGAINST FORT FISHER—ATTACK ON THE FORT—FAILURE OF THE EXPEDITION—SECOND EXPEDITION AGAINST THE FORT—CAPTURE OF FORT FISHER. CHAPTER LXII. SHERMAN’S MARCH NORTH—SHERIDAN ORDERED TO LYNCHBURG—CANBY ORDERED TO MOVE AGAINST MOBILE—MOVEMENTS OF SCHOFIELD AND THOMAS—CAPTURE OF COLUMBIA, SOUTH CAROLINA—SHERMAN IN THE CAROLINAS. CHAPTER LXIII. ARRIVAL OF THE PEACE COMMISSIONERS—LINCOLN AND THE PEACE COMMISSIONERS—AN ANECDOTE OF LINCOLN—THE WINTER BEFORE PETERSBURG—SHERIDAN DESTROYS THE RAILROAD—GORDON CARRIES THE PICKET LINE—PARKE RECAPTURES THE LINE—THE BATTLE OF WHITE OAK ROAD. CHAPTER LXIV. INTERVIEW WITH SHERIDAN—GRAND MOVEMENT OF THE ARMY OF THE POTOMAC—SHERIDAN’S ADVANCE ON FIVE FORKS—BATTLE OF FIVE FORKS—PARKE AND WRIGHT STORM THE ENEMY’S LINE—BATTLES BEFORE PETERSBURG. CHAPTER LXV. THE CAPTURE OF PETERSBURG—MEETING PRESIDENT LINCOLN IN PETERSBURG—THE CAPTURE OF RICHMOND—PURSUING THE ENEMY—VISIT TO SHERIDAN AND MEADE. CHAPTER LXVI. BATTLE OF SAILOR’S CREEK—ENGAGEMENT AT FARMVILLE—CORRESPONDENCE WITH GENERAL LEE—SHERIDAN INTERCEPTS THE ENEMY. CHAPTER LXVII. NEGOTIATIONS AT APPOMATTOX—INTERVIEW WITH LEE AT MCLEAN’S HOUSE—THE TERMS OF SURRENDER—LEE’S SURRENDER—INTERVIEW WITH LEE AFTER THE SURRENDER. CHAPTER LXVIII. MORALE OF THE TWO ARMIES—RELATIVE CONDITIONS OF THE NORTH AND SOUTH—PRESIDENT LINCOLN VISITS RICHMOND—ARRIVAL AT WASHINGTON—PRESIDENT LINCOLN’S ASSASSINATION—PRESIDENT JOHNSON’S POLICY. CHAPTER LXIX. SHERMAN AND JOHNSTON—JOHNSTON’S SURRENDER TO SHERMAN—CAPTURE OF MOBILE—WILSON’S EXPEDITION—CAPTURE OF JEFFERSON DAVIS—GENERAL THOMAS’S QUALITIES—ESTIMATE OF GENERAL CANBY. CHAPTER LXX. THE END OF THE WAR—THE MARCH TO WASHINGTON—ONE OF LINCOLN’S ANECDOTES—GRAND REVIEW AT WASHINGTON—CHARACTERISTICS OF LINCOLN AND STANTON—ESTIMATE OF THE DIFFERENT CORPS COMMANDERS. CONCLUSION APPENDIX ## MAPS AND ILLUSTRATIONS BREVET SECOND LIEUTENANT U. S. GRANT AT THE AGE OF 21 YEARS, FROM AN OLD DAGUERREOTYPE TAKEN AT BETHEL, CLERMONT COUNTY, OHIO, IN 1843. ENGRAVED ON STEEL BY A. H. RITCHIE, N.A……………….. Frontispiece FAC-SIMILE OF HANDWRITING……………. Dedication BIRTHPLACE AT POINT PLEASANT, CLERMONT COUNTY; OHIO. ETCHED BY WM. E. MARSHALL MAP OF MONTEREY AND ITS APPROACHES MAP OF THE VALLEY OF MEXICO MAP OF THE BATTLE-FIELD NEAR BELMONT MAP SHOWING THE RELATIVE POSITIONS OF FORT HENRY AND FORT DONELSON MAP OF FORT DONELSON FAC-SIMILE OF GENERAL BUCKNER’S DISPATCH RELATING TO TERMS OF CAPITULATION, GENERAL GRANT’S REPLY, ” I PROPOSE TO MOVE IMMEDIATELY UPON YOUR WORKS,” AND GENERAL BUCKNER’S ANSWER ACCEPTING THE TERMS FOR THE SURRENDER OF FORT DONELSON, ALL FROM THE ORIGINAL DOCUMENTS MAP OF THE FIELD OF SHILOH MAP OF THE COUNTRY ABOUT CORINTH, MISSISSIPPI MAP OF THE BATTLES OF IUKA AND CORINTH MAP OF THE VICKSBURG CAMPAIGN MAP OF BRUINSBURG, PORT GIBSON AND GRAND GULF MAP OF THE COUNTRY ABOUT JACKSON, MISSISSIPPI MAP OF THE BATTLE OF CHAMPION’S HILL MAP OF BATTLE-FIELD OF BIG BLACK RIVER BRIDGE MAP OF THE SIEGE OF VICKSBURG MAP-LINE OF DEFENCES VICKSBURG TO HAINES’ BLUFF AND BLACK RIVER BRIDGE LIEUTENANT-GENERAL, U S GRANT, ENGRAVED ON STEEL, BY WM. E. MARSHALL Frontpiece (2nd Volume) MAP OF KNOXVILLE, NASHVILLE AND CHATTANOOGA MAP OF CHATTANOOGA AND VICINITY MAP OF THE BATTLEFIELD OF CHATTANOOGA MAP OF THE MERIDIAN CAMPAIGN MAP OF BERMUDA HUNDRED MAP OF SHERMAN’S CAMPAIGN, CHATTANOOGA TO ATLANTA MAP ILLUSTRATING SIEGE OF ATLANTA MAP OF WILDERNESS CAMPAIGN MAP OF THE BATTLE OF THE WILDERNESS MAP OF THE COUNTRY BETWEEN THE WILDERNESS AND SPOTTSYLVANIA COURT HOUSE MAP OF THE BATTLE OF SPOTTSYLVANIA MAP OF THE BATTLE OF NORTH ANNA MAP OF THE OPERATIONS BETWEEN THE PAMUNKEY AND THE JAMES RIVERS MAP OF CENTRAL VIRGINIA MAP OF THE BATTLE OF COLD HARBOR MAP OF RICHMOND MAP OF THE SHENANDOAH VALLEY CAMPAIGN MAP OF SHERMAN’S MARCH TO THE SEA MAP OF THE NASHVILLE CAMPAIGN SOUTH MAP OF FORT FISHER MAP OF SHERMAN’S MARCH NORTH MAP OF PETERSBURG AND FIVE FORKS MAP OF THE APPOMATTOX CAMPAIGN MAP OF JETERSVILLE AND SAILOR’S CREEK MAP OF HIGH BRIDGE AND FARMVILLE MAP OF APPOMATTOX COURT HOUSE ETCHING OF MCLEAN’S HOUSE AT APPOMATTOX WHERE GENERAL LEE’S SURRENDER TOOK PLACE FAC-SIMILE OF THE ORIGINAL TERMS OF LEE’S SURRENDER AS WRITTEN BY GENERAL GRANT MAP OF THE DEFENCES OF THE CITY OF MOBILE MAP OF THE SEAT OF WAR-1861 TO 1865  ## CHAPTER I. ### ANCESTRY—BIRTH—BOYHOOD. My family is American, and has been for generations, in all its branches, both direct and collateral. Mathew Grant, the founder of my branch in America, arrived in Dorchester, Massachusetts, in May 1630. In 1635 he moved to what is now Windsor, Connecticut, where he served as surveyor for the colony for more than forty years. He was also, for many years during that time, the town clerk. He was already married when he reached Dorchester, but all his children were born in America. His eldest son, Samuel, acquired land on the east side of the Connecticut River, opposite Windsor, which has remained in the hands of his descendants to this day. I am the eighth generation from Mathew Grant, and the seventh from Samuel. Mathew Grant’s first wife died a few years after they settled in Windsor, and he soon after married the widow Rockwell, who had travelled with him and his first wife, along with her first husband, on the ship Mary and John from Dorchester, England, in 1630. Mrs. Rockwell had several children from her first marriage, and more from her second. Through intermarriage, two or three generations later, I am descended from both of Mathew Grant’s wives. In the fifth generation, my great-grandfather, Noah Grant, and his younger brother, Solomon, served as officers in the English army in 1756 during the war against the French and Indians. Both were killed that year. My grandfather, also named Noah, was only nine years old at the time. When the Revolutionary War began, after the battles of Concord and Lexington, he joined a Connecticut company to support the Continental army and was present at the battle of Bunker Hill. He served until the surrender at Yorktown, meaning he was active through the entire Revolutionary War. He must have taken furlough some of the time—as I believe most soldiers of that era did—since he married in Connecticut during the war, had two children, and was widowed by the end of it. Soon afterward he moved to Westmoreland County, Pennsylvania, settling near the town of Greensburg in that county. He took with him his younger child, Peter Grant. The elder, Solomon, stayed with relatives in Connecticut until he was old enough to make his own way, then moved to the British West Indies. Not long after settling in Pennsylvania, my grandfather, Captain Noah Grant, married Miss Kelly. In 1799 he moved again, this time to Ohio, and settled where the town of Deerfield now stands. By now he had five children, including Peter, a son from his first marriage. My father, Jesse R. Grant, was the second child and the oldest son by the second marriage. Peter Grant moved early on to Maysville, Kentucky, where he was quite successful, married, had a family of nine children, and was drowned at the mouth of the Kanawha River, Virginia, in 1825. At that time, he was considered one of the wealthy men of the West. My grandmother Grant died in 1805, leaving seven children. This broke up the family. Captain Noah Grant was not especially good at saving money or property, and after the death of his second wife, he went—with his two youngest children—to live with his son Peter in Maysville. The rest of the children found homes near Deerfield, including my father, who lived with Judge Tod, father of the late Governor Tod of Ohio. My father was so industrious and independent that, I believe, his work more than compensated for the cost of his upkeep. He must have been warmly welcomed into the Tod family, for even to the end of his life he looked upon Judge Tod and his wife with all the respect he would have given parents, rather than benefactors. I have often heard him say that Mrs. Tod was the most admirable woman he had ever known. He stayed with the Tod family only a few years, just until he was old enough to learn a trade. He went first, I believe, to his half-brother, Peter Grant, who, though not a tanner himself, owned a tannery in Maysville, Kentucky. There he learned the trade, and after a few years returned to Deerfield to work for, and live with, a Mr. Brown, father of John Brown—“whose body lies mouldering in the grave, while his soul goes marching on.” I have often heard my father mention John Brown, especially after the events at Harper’s Ferry. Brown was still a boy when they lived in the same house, but my father knew him later and saw him as a man of great purity of character, with strong moral and physical courage, though a fanatic and extremist in whatever he supported. Attempting to invade the South and overthrow slavery with fewer than twenty men was certainly the act of an insane man. My father eventually went into business for himself, opening a tannery in Ravenna, the county seat of Portage County. In a few years he left Ravenna and opened a new tannery at Point Pleasant, Clermont County, Ohio.  During my father's youth, the West offered very limited educational opportunities, even for the wealthiest young people, and most had to rely almost exclusively on their own efforts for any schooling they could get. I often heard him say that the only schooling he received as a child was six months, when he was very young, too young really to take much from it, plus perhaps a “quarter's schooling” later, probably while living with Judge Tod. But his desire for learning was strong. He learned quickly and was an avid reader all his life, even up to his death at the age of eighty. Books were rare in the Western Reserve during his youth, but he read every book he could borrow from his neighbors. This scarcity taught him to study carefully everything he read, so by the time he finished a book he knew everything in it. The habit stayed with him for life. Even after reading daily newspapers—which he never neglected—he could recall all the key information they contained. He became an excellent English scholar and by the time he was twenty, he was a regular contributor to Western newspapers. From then until he was fifty, he was also an active debater in the regional debating societies, which were popular in the West at that time. He was always active in politics, although he was never a candidate for office—except, I believe, for being the first Mayor of Georgetown. He supported Jackson for the presidency, but he was a Whig, a great admirer of Henry Clay, and never again voted for any Democrat for high office after Jackson. My mother’s family had lived in Montgomery County, Pennsylvania, for generations. I know little about her ancestors. Her family took no interest in genealogy, so my grandfather, who died when I was sixteen, only knew his ancestry as far back as his grandfather. My father, however, was very interested in genealogy and, in his research, discovered that there was an entailed estate in Windsor, Connecticut, belonging to the family, to which his nephew, Lawson Grant—who is still living—was the heir. He became so interested in the matter that he got his nephew to authorize him to act on his behalf, and in 1832 or 1833, when I was about ten or eleven years old, he went to Windsor, proved the title beyond question, and finalized the owners’ claim for a consideration—three thousand dollars, I believe. I remember the event well, and I also remember him saying on his return that he found some widows living on the property who had little or nothing besides their homes. He refused to take any payment from these women. My mother’s father, John Simpson, moved from Montgomery County, Pennsylvania, to Clermont County, Ohio, around 1819, bringing his four children—three daughters and one son—with him. My mother, Hannah Simpson, was the third child and already over twenty years old. Her eldest sister was already married and had several children at the time. She still lives in Clermont County as of this writing, October 5, 1884, and is over ninety years old. Until her memory failed a few years ago, she thought the country was beyond saving when the Democratic party lost control in 1860. Her large family shared her views, except for one son who moved to Kentucky before the war. He was the only child who joined the volunteer army to suppress the rebellion. Her next oldest brother, now over eighty-eight, is also still living in Clermont County, only a few miles from the old family home, and remains just as mentally active as ever. He supported the Government during the war and still strongly believes that a Democratic party victory means national ruin that cannot be repaired. In June 1821, my father, Jesse R. Grant, married Hannah Simpson. I was born on April 27, 1822, at Point Pleasant, Clermont County, Ohio. In the fall of 1823, we moved to Georgetown, the county seat of Brown County, our neighboring county to the east. This remained my home until I left for West Point at age seventeen in 1839. The schools at that time were very poor. There were no free schools and no schools where students were classified by age or level. All schools were supported by subscription, and a single teacher—who was often a man or woman incapable of teaching much, even if they taught everything they knew—would have thirty or forty students, boys and girls, ranging from children just learning their ABCs to young women of eighteen and young men of twenty studying the highest level offered, the three R’s: “Reading, ’Riting, ’Rithmetic.” I never saw an algebra or any mathematical work beyond arithmetic in Georgetown until after I received my appointment to West Point. I then bought a book on algebra in Cincinnati, but, having no teacher, it was all Greek to me. My life in Georgetown was uneventful. From age five or six to seventeen, I attended the village subscription schools, except for the winters of 1836–37 and 1838–39. The first of these was spent in Maysville, Kentucky, attending the school of Richardson and Rand; the second in Ripley, Ohio, at a private school. I was not particularly studious and probably did not learn enough to justify the cost of board and tuition. In any case, both winters were spent repeating the same old arithmetic—which I already knew by heart—and learning: “A noun is the name of a thing,” which I had also heard my Georgetown teachers say so often that I believed it. But I do not mean this as criticism of my old teacher Richardson. He produced many fine scholars at his school, many of whom have become notable in state service. Two of my contemporaries there—who, I believe, attended no other school—have served in Congress, and one, maybe both, held other high offices; these are Wadsworth and Brewster. My father, from my earliest memories, was in comfortable circumstances, considering the times, his place of residence, and the community he lived in. Remembering his own limited opportunities for education, his greatest wish in his later years was that his children receive a good education. As I mentioned before, from the time I was old enough to attend, I never missed a single school term until I left home. This did not excuse me from working. In my early days, everyone in the region where I grew up worked to some extent, and the amount depended on their personal means. Only the very poor were exempt from labor. While my father managed a leather manufacturing business and worked at the trade himself, he also owned and farmed considerable land. I disliked the trade, preferring almost any other work; but I enjoyed farming and any work involving horses. Among our lands, we had fifty acres of forest within a mile of the village. In the fall, laborers were hired to cut enough wood to last the year. When I was seven or eight years old, I started hauling all the wood used in our house and shops. I couldn’t load the wagons at that age, but I could drive, and the choppers would load, while someone at home would unload. By the time I was about eleven, I was strong enough to hold a plow. From that age until seventeen, I did all the work with horses, such as breaking up the land, furrowing, plowing corn and potatoes, collecting the harvested crops, hauling all the wood, as well as caring for two or three horses and one or two cows, sawing wood for stoves, and more—all while still attending school. My reward was that my parents never scolded or punished me; they never objected to reasonable pleasures, such as fishing, going to the creek a mile away to swim in summer, visiting my grandparents in the neighboring county, fifteen miles away, taking a horse and sleigh in winter, or skating on ice when there was snow. While still quite young, I had visited Cincinnati, forty-five miles away, several times by myself; Maysville, Kentucky, often, and once even Louisville. The trip to Louisville was a major journey for a boy in those days. I also once drove a neighbor’s family in a two-horse carriage to Chillicothe, about seventy miles, as they were moving to Toledo, Ohio, and returned alone; on another occasion, I went similarly to Flat Rock, Kentucky, about seventy miles away. On the Flat Rock trip, I was fifteen. While staying at the house of a Mr. Payne, whom I was visiting with his brother—a neighbor from Georgetown—I saw a very fine saddle horse that I quite wanted, and proposed to Mr. Payne, the owner, to trade him for one of the two horses I was driving. Payne hesitated to trade with a boy, but after asking his brother, the latter said it was fine, since I could do as I liked with the horses. I was seventy miles from home with a carriage to return, and Mr. Payne mentioned he wasn’t sure his horse had ever worn a collar. I suggested we hitch him to a farm wagon and find out. It turned out the horse had never worn harness before, but he wasn’t vicious, and I was confident I could manage him. The trade was quickly made; I received ten dollars in addition. The next day, Mr. Payne of Georgetown and I started home. We did well for a few miles until a vicious dog frightened the horses, making them run. The new horse kicked at every bound. However, I managed to stop the horses before any harm occurred and without crashing. After a rest to calm them, we started again, but immediately the new horse kicked again and tried to run. The road soon reached the turnpike, and there was a twenty-foot embankment on the far side within half a mile. I stopped the horses right on the edge of the precipice. My new horse was trembling with fright, but he wasn’t as badly scared as my companion, Mr. Payne, who abandoned me and took a freight wagon to Maysville. Every time I tried to start, my new horse would begin kicking again. It was quite a dilemma. Once I reached Maysville, I could borrow a horse from my uncle who lived there, but it was still over a day’s travel. I finally took out my bandanna—the standard type of handkerchief then—and used it to blindfold my horse. In this way, I made it safely to Maysville the next day, no doubt surprising my friend. There, I borrowed a horse from my uncle, and we continued on our way the following day. About half my school days in Georgetown were spent at the school of John D. White, a North Carolinian and father of Chilton White, who served one term in Congress during the rebellion. Mr. White was always a Democrat, and Chilton followed in his father's footsteps. He had two older brothers—all three were my classmates at their father’s school—who went different ways. The second brother died before the rebellion; he was a Whig, then became a Republican. The oldest brother was a Republican and a brave soldier during the rebellion. Chilton is said to have often told of an early horse-trade of mine. According to him, a Mr. Ralston, who lived a few miles from the village, owned a colt I wanted. My father offered twenty dollars, but Ralston wanted twenty-five. I was so eager to have the colt that after Ralston left, I begged to be allowed to pay his price. My father agreed but told me twenty dollars was all the colt was worth. He instructed me to offer that, then twenty-two and a half if necessary, and if that failed, to pay the twenty-five. I immediately mounted a horse and went for the colt. When I reached Mr. Ralston’s, I told him: “Papa says I may offer you twenty dollars for the colt, but if you won’t take that, I’m to offer twenty-two and a half, and if you won’t take that, to give you twenty-five.” You wouldn’t need to be from Connecticut to guess the final price. This story is almost entirely true. I certainly made it clear I had come for the colt and intended to have him. I could not have been more than eight at the time. This trade caused me a lot of embarrassment. The story spread among the village boys, and I didn’t hear the end of it for a long time. Boys enjoy each other’s troubles—at least village boys did back then—and I’ve since noticed adults aren’t free of this trait. I kept the horse until he was four, when he went blind, and I sold him for twenty dollars. When I went to school at Maysville in 1836, at age fourteen, I recognized my colt as one of the blind horses working on the tread-wheel of the ferry-boat. I have described enough of my early life to give you a sense of it. I didn’t like to work; but I did as much as grown men now get paid to do, while also attending school. I had as many privileges as any boy in the village, probably more than most. I don’t remember ever being punished at home, either by scolding or by spanking. But school was different. The rod was frequently used there, and I was not spared. I can still picture John D. White—the teacher—with his long beech switch, always in hand. It was not always the same stick—switches were brought by the intended recipients themselves from a nearby beech wood, sometimes by the bundle. Often a whole bundle was used up in a single day. I never had any hard feelings toward my teacher, either while at school or later on when looking back. Mr. White was a kindhearted man, well respected in the community. He simply followed the universal custom of the time, the same one under which he had been educated himself. ## CHAPTER II. ### WEST POINT—GRADUATION. In the winter of 1838–39, I was attending school in Ripley, only ten miles from Georgetown, but spent the Christmas holidays at home. During this vacation, my father received a letter from the Honorable Thomas Morris, then United States Senator from Ohio. Upon reading it, he said to me, “Ulysses, I believe you are going to receive the appointment.” “What appointment?” I asked. “To West Point; I have applied for it.” “But I won’t go,” I replied. He said he thought I would, AND I THOUGHT SO TOO, IF HE DID. Truthfully, I had no objection to going to West Point except that I had a very lofty idea of the knowledge required to graduate. I did not believe I possessed these qualifications, and I dreaded the idea of failing. Four boys from our village, or nearby, had graduated from West Point, and never had anyone appointed from Georgetown failed, except for the one whose place I was to fill. He was the son of Dr. Bailey, our nearest and closest neighbor. Young Bailey had been appointed in 1837. Before the January examination, realizing he could not pass, he resigned and attended a private school, remaining there until the next year when he was reappointed. Before the next examination, he was dismissed. Dr. Bailey was a proud and sensitive man, and took his son’s failure so seriously that he forbade his return home. There were no telegraphs back then to spread news quickly, no railroads west of the Alleghanies, and few to the east; and, above all, no reporters intruding into people's private lives. Therefore, it did not become widely known that there was a vacancy at West Point from our district until I was appointed. I assume Mrs. Bailey confided to my mother that Bartlett had been dismissed, and that the doctor had forbidden his son’s return. The Honorable Thomas L. Hamer, one of the most capable men Ohio ever produced, was our member of Congress at the time and had the right to make the nomination. He and my father had belonged to the same debating society (often being pitted against each other), and had been close friends from early adulthood up to a few years before. Politically, they differed: Hamer was a lifelong Democrat, while my father was a Whig. They had a heated argument—over an action of President Jackson's, I believe the removal of the deposit of public moneys—after which they never spoke until after my appointment. I believe both regretted their estrangement and would have welcomed a reconciliation at any time; but neither would make the first move. Because of this, my father would not write to Hamer for the nomination. Instead, he wrote to Thomas Morris, Senator from Ohio, informing him of the vacancy at West Point from our district and that he would be pleased if I could be appointed. I suppose this letter was passed on to Mr. Hamer, and, as there was no other applicant, he gladly appointed me. This healed the rift between them, never to open again. Besides my father's reasoning that “he thought I would go,” there was another strong reason. I always had a great desire to travel. I was already the best-travelled boy in Georgetown, except for the sons of one man, John Walker, who had emigrated to Texas with his family and returned as soon as he had the means. During his short stay in Texas he formed a much different opinion of the country than one would today. I had been east to Wheeling, Virginia, north to the Western Reserve in Ohio, west to Louisville, and south to Bourbon County, Kentucky, and had ridden or driven nearly all over the surrounding fifty miles from home. Going to West Point would let me visit the two great cities of the continent, Philadelphia and New York. That was enough. After seeing those places, I would almost have welcomed a steamboat or railroad accident bad enough to make me temporarily ineligible to enter the Academy. Nothing of the sort happened, so I had to go forward with the plan. Georgetown has a remarkable record for a western village. It has always been a democratic town from its earliest days. Probably there was never a time during the rebellion when, if given the chance, the town wouldn't have chosen Jefferson Davis as President of the United States over Mr. Lincoln or any other leader of his party—unless it was right after some of John Morgan’s raiders, during his notable raid through Ohio, spent a few hours in the village. The Confederate soldiers took whatever they found—horses, boots and shoes, especially horses—and many demanded meals from families. For some families, this must have been a more welcome task than serving Union soldiers. The line between Rebel and Union sympathizers was so stark that it even divided the churches. There were churches in that region of Ohio where treason was regularly preached, and where, to gain membership, hostility to the government, the war, and emancipation of the slaves was far more crucial than belief in the Bible’s authority or credibility. Some men in Georgetown fulfilled all the requirements for such churches. Yet this small western village, with a population, including old and young, men and women, of about a thousand—just about enough to form a single regiment if every man were able-bodied—provided the Union army with four general officers and one colonel, all West Point graduates, and nine generals and field officers of Volunteers, as far as I can recall. Of the West Point graduates, all had become citizens elsewhere by the time the rebellion began, except perhaps General A. V. Kautz, who had remained in the army after graduation. Two of the colonels entered service from other locations. The other seven—General McGroierty, Colonels White, Fyffe, Loudon, and Marshall, Majors King and Bailey—were all Georgetown residents at the start of the war, and all who survived returned after the war. Major Bailey, the earlier cadet from Georgetown, was killed in West Virginia in his first battle. As far as I know, every Georgetown boy who entered West Point after my time has graduated. I boarded a steamer at Ripley, Ohio, for Pittsburgh, around the middle of May 1839. Western boats at that time didn’t run on set schedules, but would stop anywhere, for any duration, to take on passengers or freight. I’ve personally been delayed two or three days at a place even after steam was up and all but one gangplank pulled in, and long after the announced departure time. This time, there were no such delays, and we reached Pittsburgh in about three days. From Pittsburgh, I preferred the canal to Harrisburg over the faster stagecoach. The canal offered better views of Western Pennsylvania’s scenery, and, truthfully, I somewhat dreaded reaching my destination at all. At that time, the canal was popular for travel, and, with the comfortable packet boats of the day, no mode of transport was more pleasant if time didn’t matter. Between Harrisburg and Philadelphia there ran a railroad—the first I’d ever seen except the one over which I’d crossed the Alleghanies with a canal boat. On the route from Harrisburg, I thought the height of rapid travel had been achieved. We went at least eighteen miles an hour when at full speed, and probably averaged twelve miles an hour the whole way. It felt like space was being conquered. I stayed five days in Philadelphia, saw almost every street in the city, attended the theater, visited Girard College (then under construction), and later got scolded from home for loitering so long. My stay in New York was shorter but enough to see the city well. I reported at West Point on May 30th or 31st, and about two weeks later passed my entrance examination without trouble, much to my own surprise. A military life had no appeal for me, and I had no intention of staying in the army even if I graduated—which I did not expect. The encampment before academic studies began was tedious and dull. When August 28th came—the date for leaving camp for the barracks—I felt as if I had been at West Point forever, and if I stayed until graduation, I might never leave. I did not eagerly pursue my studies; in fact, I rarely ever read a lesson twice during my whole time as a cadet. I couldn’t sit in my room doing nothing. The Academy’s fine library lets cadets borrow books to read in their quarters. I spent more time with these, especially novels, than on coursework. I read all of Bulwer’s works published at the time, Cooper’s, Marryat’s, Scott’s, Washington Irving’s, Lever’s, and many more I don’t remember now. Mathematics was very easy for me, so when January came, I passed the examination with good standing. In French, the only other subject in the first year’s courses, my standing was low. In fact, if the class had been reversed, I would have been near the top. During my four years, I never quite ended up at either extreme of my class in any subject. I came close in French, artillery, infantry and cavalry tactics, and conduct. Early in the session of Congress meeting in December 1839, a bill came up to abolish the Military Academy. I saw in this a respectable way to receive a discharge and read the debates with great interest, but grew impatient with the slow progress—as I selfishly wanted the bill to pass. It never did, and a year later, though I still found the time dragging, I would have regretted seeing the Academy closed. My hope then was to get through the course, secure a detail for a few years as assistant professor of mathematics at West Point, and eventually land a permanent job as a professor in some respectable college; but events always shaped my course differently from my plans. After two years, the class received the usual furlough—from the end of June examinations to August 28th. Those weeks were the happiest of my life. My father had sold his business in Georgetown—where I’d spent my youth, and which I still saw in daydreams as my future home if I ever retired comfortably. He moved to Bethel, just twelve miles away in Clermont County, and bought a young horse, never before harnessed, for my special use under saddle during my leave. Most of my time passed with old schoolmates—those ten weeks seemed shorter than one week at West Point. People familiar with the Academy know the cadet corps is divided into four companies for military exercises. These are led by cadet officers selected by the superintendent and commandant for their military bearing and ability. The adjutant, quartermaster, four captains, and twelve lieutenants are chosen from the first (Senior) class; sergeants from the second (junior) class; and corporals from the third (Sophomore) class. I had not been “called out” as a corporal, but when I returned from furlough, I found myself the second-to-last—about my usual rank in all tactics—of eighteen sergeants. The promotion was too much for me. That year, my standing by number of demerits matched my standing among the sergeants, and I was dropped, serving my fourth year as a private. During my first encampment, General Scott visited West Point and reviewed the cadets. With his commanding presence, large physique, and splendid uniform, I thought him the finest example of manhood I had ever seen, and the most enviable. I knew I could never resemble him physically, but I did, for a moment, have a feeling that I might one day stand in his place on review—though I had no intention at the time of staying in the army. My experience with a horse trade ten years earlier, and its resulting ridicule, was still fresh enough that I did not share this feeling even with my closest friend. The next summer, President Martin Van Buren visited West Point and also reviewed the cadets; he did not leave the same impressive mark on me as Scott. In fact, I considered General Scott and Captain C. F. Smith, the Commandant of Cadets, as the two men most to be envied in the nation. I retained the deepest respect for both until their deaths. The last two years at the Academy passed more quickly than the first two, but to me, they still seemed to last about five times longer than Ohio years. At last, all examinations were completed and the class members were asked to record their preference of service branch and regiment. I wanted to join the cavalry—or dragoons, as they were called then—but there was only one regiment of dragoons at the time, and, besides being fully staffed, it had at least four brevet second lieutenants awaiting placement. I listed dragoons as my first choice, 4th infantry as my second, and received the latter. Once again, we had furlough—or more properly, leave of absence, as we were now commissioned officers—this time until the end of September. Again, I returned to Ohio to spend time with old schoolmates; and again, I found a fine saddle horse ready for my use, as well as a horse and buggy. But I was not physically able to enjoy myself as much as before. For six months before graduation, I suffered from a severe cough (called “Tyler’s grip”), and I was badly weakened, weighing only one hundred and seventeen pounds—just what I weighed entering the Academy, despite having grown six inches in height. Consumption ran in my father’s family; two of his brothers died from it, making my symptoms more worrisome. The brother and sister next younger than myself both died of it during the war, and in 1843, I seemed to be the likeliest victim. Since my choices of service had different uniforms, I could not get my suit until my assignment was confirmed. I left my measurements with a tailor, telling him to wait until I notified him whether it should be infantry or dragoons attire. Notification took several weeks, and then it took at least a week to get the instructions to the tailor and two more to have the uniform made and sent. This wait was agonizing. I was eager to wear my uniform and see how I looked—and probably also wanted my old schoolmates, especially the girls, to see me in it. Whatever pride I had was soon knocked out of me by two little incidents soon after my uniform arrived, and I never got over my distaste for military dress. Shortly after receiving my new suit, I put it on and rode to Cincinnati. As I was riding through the city, imagining everyone was admiring me, feeling much as I did when I first saw General Scott, a little bareheaded and barefoot urchin, in ragged pants held up by a single strap—suspenders were called “gallows” then—and a shirt that hadn’t seen a wash-tub in weeks, yelled at me: “Soldier! will you work? No, sir—ee; I’ll sell my shirt first!!” The memory of the horse trade and its consequences returned at once. The other incident happened at home. Opposite our house in Bethel stood the old stage tavern, where “man and beast” were accommodated. The stableman was rather fond of drink but had a sense of humor. When I returned, I found him parading the streets, and working in the stable, barefoot but wearing a pair of sky-blue nankeen pants—the same color as my uniform trousers—with a white cotton strip sewn down the outside seams to imitate mine. Many thought the joke tremendous fun, and it was much enjoyed; but I did not find it so amusing. For the rest of my leave, I spent my time visiting friends in Georgetown and Cincinnati, and from time to time, other towns in that part of Ohio. ## CHAPTER III. ### ARMY LIFE—CAUSES OF THE MEXICAN WAR—CAMP SALUBRITY. On September 30th, I reported for duty at Jefferson Barracks, St. Louis, with the 4th United States Infantry. At that time, it was the largest military post in the country, garrisoned by sixteen companies of infantry—eight from the 3rd regiment and the remainder from the 4th. Colonel Steven Kearney, one of the most capable officers of the day, commanded the post, and under him discipline remained at a high standard but without burdensome rules or regulations. Every drill and roll-call had to be attended, but during the intervals officers were free to enjoy themselves, leave the garrison, and go where they pleased, without having to submit a written application specifying their whereabouts and duration—so long as they returned in time for their next duty. In my early days in the army, it seemed to me that many of the older officers, when placed in command of posts, seemed more focused on issuing orders that would annoy their subordinates and make them uncomfortable. However, I noticed, a few years later, when the Mexican War broke out, these same officers often found they suffered from ailments that completely disqualified them for active field service—and they had the moral courage to declare it. They were right in doing so, though they did not always call their affliction by the proper name. At West Point, I had a classmate—who in our final year also became my roommate—F. T. Dent, whose family lived about five miles west of Jefferson Barracks. Two of his unmarried brothers were living at home at the time, and since I had brought my horse, saddle, and bridle from Ohio, I soon found my way to White Haven, the name of the Dent estate. Finding the family pleasant, I began to visit frequently. At home, besides the young men, there were two daughters—one, a schoolgirl of fifteen, the other, a girl of eight or nine. There was an older daughter, seventeen, who had been attending boarding school in St. Louis, but who, though done with school, had not yet returned home—she was in the city spending the winter with relatives, the family of Colonel John O’Fallon, well known in St. Louis. In February, she returned to her country home. After this, it seemed my visits grew even more frequent and certainly more enjoyable. We would often take walks or go riding on horseback to visit neighbors, until I became quite well acquainted in that area. Sometimes one of the brothers or a younger sister would accompany us. Had the 4th Infantry remained at Jefferson Barracks, it is possible—even probable—that this routine might have continued for several years without my ever discovering that anything serious was happening with me; but in the following May, a turn of events made my feelings so obvious that there was no mistaking them. At this time, the annexation of Texas was the subject of intense debate in Congress, in the press, and among individuals. President Tyler's administration, then in power, was making every effort to secure the annexation, which had become the dominant issue of the day. While these debates unfolded, much of the single rifle regiment in the Army—the 2nd Dragoons, which had been dismounted a year or two earlier and renamed the “Dismounted Rifles”—was stationed at Fort Jessup, Louisiana, about twenty-five miles east of the Texas line, to monitor the border. Around the 1st of May, the 3rd Infantry was ordered from Jefferson Barracks to Louisiana to camp near Fort Jessup and await further orders. The troops boarded steamers and were headed down the Mississippi within days after receiving this directive. Around the same time, I was granted a twenty-day leave of absence to visit my parents in Ohio. I had to go to St. Louis to catch a steamer for Louisville or Cincinnati, or whichever steamer happened to be heading up the Ohio River. Before I left St. Louis, orders arrived at Jefferson Barracks for the 4th Infantry to follow the 3rd. A messenger was dispatched to stop me from leaving, but he didn’t reach me in time—I had already gone, completely unaware of these new events. A day or two after I arrived in Bethel, I received a letter from a classmate and fellow lieutenant in the 4th, informing me of the circumstances and advising me not to open any letters postmarked St. Louis or Jefferson Barracks until my leave had ended, saying he would pack up my things and take them with him. His advice was unnecessary, as I received no further letters. I now realized I was very eager to get back to Jefferson Barracks, and I understood the reason without explanation. My leave required me to report for duty at Jefferson Barracks at the end of twenty days. Though I knew my regiment had gone up the Red River, I didn’t intend to break the letter of my leave; besides, if I had tried to go directly to Louisiana, I would not have arrived before my leave expired. Accordingly, at the close of the twenty days, I reported for duty to Lieutenant Ewell, in command at Jefferson Barracks, and presented him with my leave papers. After reading the order—leaves were generally phrased, “at the end of which time he will report for duty with his proper command”—he said he would issue me an order to join my regiment in Louisiana. I then requested a few days’ leave before departing, which he readily granted. This was the same Ewell who later became a prominent Confederate general during the Civil War. He was highly respected in the old army and proved himself a courageous and capable officer in two wars—both of which I considered unjust. I quickly obtained a horse and rode to the country, taking no baggage with me, naturally. There is a small creek—the Gravois—between Jefferson Barracks and my destination, and at that time there wasn’t a bridge crossing it anywhere along its length. Ordinarily, there’s not enough water in the creek to run a coffee mill, and at low tides, sometimes none at all. On this occasion, heavy rains had turned it into a torrent. When I reached the creek, I found it overflowing and the current swift. I paused to consider my options. One of my superstitions has always been, when setting out to do something, never to turn back or quit until the task is finished. I’ve often set off for places I’d never been, not knowing the way, relying on directions along the road; and if I missed the place, instead of turning back, I'd keep going until I found a road leading the right direction and approach from the other side. So, I entered the stream, and instantly my horse was swimming, and I was being swept downstream in the current. I guided the horse toward the far bank and soon made it across, thoroughly soaked but otherwise unharmed. I continued to my destination and borrowed dry clothes from my future brother-in-law. Though we weren’t the same size, the clothes served until I got my own. Before I returned, I gathered up the courage—though in the most awkward way possible—to reveal my feelings, which had become clear when I learned the 4th Infantry was leaving Jefferson Barracks. The young lady later admitted that, though until then she had never regarded me as more than a pleasant visitor, she, too, had felt an unaccountable sadness when the regiment left. Before we parted, we agreed that at the earliest opportunity, we would unite our lives, and not let a regiment's removal come between us. This was in May 1844. It was not until August 22, 1848, that this pledge was fulfilled. My duties held me on the Louisiana frontier with the Army of Observation during the annexation period; then I was away throughout the Mexican War—prompted more by the army's actions than by annexation itself. During that time, Miss Dent and I corresponded regularly, though we met only once in those four years and three months. In May 1845, I secured a twenty-day leave, visited St. Louis, and obtained her parents’ consent—something I had not requested before. As stated earlier, I never intended to remain a career soldier, but hoped to prepare myself for a college professorship. Soon after settling at Jefferson Barracks, I wrote to Professor Church—Mathematics professor at West Point—asking him to request me as his assistant when the next detail was due. Assistant professors at West Point are all officers, chosen for their ability in the subject they teach. Professor Church’s reply was entirely positive, and I have no doubt I would have been selected within a year or two if the Mexican War had not intervened. I outlined for myself a course of study to pursue at the post, with regularity if not absolute consistency. During my seven months at Jefferson Barracks, I reviewed my West Point mathematics and read many valuable histories and the occasional novel. To help my memory, I kept a notebook in which I regularly wrote down my recollections of everything I had read since my last entry. When the regiment moved out (while I was absent), Lieutenant Haslett of the 4th Infantry packed my things—including my journal—and took them along. I never saw the notebook again, nor did I ever keep another, except for some periods while traveling abroad. I’ve often worried that the book might one day turn up and fall into the hands of some malicious person who would publish it. Its appearance would embarrass me as much as my youthful horse-trading, or my later chastisement for wearing improper uniform. The 3rd Infantry had set up camp on the Fort Jessup reservation, about midway between the Red River and the Sabine. Our orders were to set up camp in the same vicinity and await further instructions. Those authorized selected a site in the pine woods between Natchitoches and Grand Ecore, about three miles from each, on high ground away from the river. The site was named Camp Salubrity, and the name was well-deserved. The camp sat on a high, sandy, pine ridge, with fresh springs in the valleys in front and behind. Cool, pure water was plentiful, and the elevation kept us above the swarms of aggressive mosquitoes so common in the area. In the valleys, mosquitoes swarmed in countless numbers, but they never reached the ridge. The regiment spent six months at this camp before the first death occurred—and that was accidental. No official reason was given for moving the 3rd and 4th Infantry to the western border of Louisiana, but it was generally understood to be in anticipation of Texas annexation. Ostensibly, we were there to prevent filibustering into Texas, but in reality, it was a warning to Mexico in case she threatened war. Most officers were indifferent to annexation’s outcome, but not all. Personally, I was strongly against it and to this day consider the resulting war one of the most unjust ever waged by a stronger against a weaker nation. It was an example of a republic following the poor example set by European monarchies by disregarding justice in their quest for new territory. Texas originally belonged to the Republic of Mexico, stretching from the Sabine River to the Rio Grande and from the Gulf of Mexico to the United States and New Mexico (another Mexican state at the time). It was vast, but sparsely populated until Americans, permitted by Mexico, began to settle it. These settlers largely ignored the central government, brought slavery with them from the beginning—even though Mexico’s constitution did not and still does not permit that institution. Before long, they set up their own government, and an ongoing war (in name) existed between Texas and Mexico until 1836, when hostilities nearly ceased after Santa Anna, the Mexican President, was captured. Soon afterward, the same people who had settled Texas (with Mexican permission), then established slavery, then seceded when they felt strong enough, offered Texas and themselves to the United States. In 1845, this offer was accepted. The occupation, separation, and annexation of Texas, from start to finish, was a calculated effort to gain territory from which new slave states could be created for the American Union. Even if annexation itself could be justified, the manner in which war was then forced on Mexico cannot. Annexationists wanted more territory than they could ever claim as part of the new acquisition. As an independent state, Texas had never exercised jurisdiction over the land between the Nueces and the Rio Grande. Mexico had never recognized Texas as independent and argued that even if independent, the state had no rightful claim south of the Nueces. It’s true that a treaty made between the Texans and Santa Anna while he was under duress ceded all the lands between the Nueces and Rio Grande—but he was a prisoner of war and his life hung in the balance. He knew, too, that he deserved execution by the Texans, should they ever capture him. If the Texans had executed him, they would only have followed Santa Anna’s own example a few years before, when he had the entire garrison of the Alamo and villagers of Goliad executed. When Texas was occupied after annexation, the Army of Occupation—under General Taylor—was ordered to move into the disputed area. The army did not stop at the Nueces and seek to negotiate a boundary settlement, but instead moved beyond, seemingly to provoke Mexico into starting the war. Still, to the credit of the American nation, after conquering Mexico and with the country effectively in our possession (so that we could have taken it all or dictated any terms), we paid a substantial sum for the additional lands—more than they were worth to Mexico, though they were incalculably valuable to us. They might have been obtained by other, less violent means. The Southern rebellion was largely a consequence of the Mexican War. Like individuals, nations pay a price for their wrongdoing. Our punishment came in the bloodiest and most costly war of modern times. The 4th Infantry went into camp at Salubrity in May 1844, instructed to await further orders. At first, officers and men lived in standard tents. As the summer heat increased, these tents were covered with sheds for shade. The summer passed in social activities among the officers, visiting those at and near Fort Jessup twenty-five miles away, visiting Red River planters, and the people of Natchitoches and Grand Ecore. Relations between local residents and the army officers were very pleasant. My memories of Camp Salubrity and the people I met there remain very agreeable, and I am sure the few surviving officers who were there share the feeling. I can recall only two officers of the 4th Infantry besides myself who were at Camp Salubrity with the regiment and are still alive. With war looming, and serving in a regiment with an unusually high number of officers detailed away on special duties, my hopes of an instructor's position at West Point faded. At that time, quartermasters, commissaries, and adjutant-generals were appointed from the line of the army and retained their regimental commissions unless both their line and staff ranks matched. Lieutenants were generally given captaincies to fill staff vacancies. If they made captain in the line before becoming a major in the staff, they could choose which commission to keep. In the 4th Infantry in 1844, at least six line officers were on staff duty and thus permanently detached from the regiment. Given these circumstances, I abandoned any rigorous course of reading and from then on read only for my own amusement—and not much for that—until after the war. I kept a horse, spent most of the day outdoors, and fully recovered from the cough I brought with me from West Point, as well as any signs of consumption. I’ve often thought that my life and health were saved by the exercise and exposure imposed by an administrative action and a war I did not support. As summer ended and the weather cooled, our tents stopped providing comfortable shelter; and with “further orders” still absent, we took it upon ourselves to improve things. Men were set to work preparing timber to build huts, and soon all were comfortably housed—privates as well as officers. The government spent little or nothing for this improvement. The following winter was spent much more pleasantly than the summer had been. Local planters along the “coast”—as the Red River bottomlands were called—occasionally hosted parties, and the climate was delightful. Late in the brief session of Congress in 1844-45, the bill to annex Texas to the United States was passed. It was presented to President Tyler on March 1, 1845, and promptly signed. When the news reached us, we waited again for “further orders.” They did not come immediately, and on May 1, I requested and received a twenty-day leave to visit St. Louis, for reasons previously described. Early in July, the long-awaited orders arrived, but only sent the regiment to New Orleans Barracks. We arrived before mid-month, and waited again for more directions. Yellow fever was raging in New Orleans during our stay, and the city’s streets took on the appearance of a perpetually quiet Sunday. I remember only one time this quiet seemed disturbed. One morning at dawn, hearing a rifle shot nearby, I looked out to see a couple of groups of men nearby. I later learned that “it was nothing; only a couple of gentlemen settling a dispute with rifles at twenty paces.” I don’t recall if either was killed or even wounded, but no doubt the matter was settled satisfactorily and “honorably,” as those involved saw it. I doubt I would ever have the courage to fight a duel. If anyone wronged me enough for me to wish to kill him, I wouldn't agree to let him choose the weapons, time, place, or distance for the encounter. If, on the other hand, I had wronged anyone so much that he deserved to kill me, I would offer any reasonable atonement if convinced of my fault. My opposition to dueling runs deeper than anything I have stated here. Most duels, I believe, have happened simply because those involved lacked the moral courage to decline. At Camp Salubrity, and later at New Orleans Barracks, the 4th Infantry was commanded by Colonel Vose, then an elderly gentleman who had not overseen a drill in years. However, at the prospect of war, he felt it his duty to refresh his tactics. Upon settling into our new post, he took command at battalion drill. After only two or three evolutions, he dismissed the battalion, turned toward his quarters, and suddenly dropped dead. He had not complained of ill health, but evidently died of heart disease. He was a highly respected man of exemplary habits—not the cause of his own demise. ## CHAPTER IV. ### CORPUS CHRISTI—MEXICAN SMUGGLING—SPANISH RULE IN MEXICO—SUPPLYING TRANSPORTATION. In early September, the regiment departed from New Orleans for Corpus Christi, now in Texas. Ocean steamers weren’t yet common, so the journey was made aboard sailing vessels. At that time, the channel at the mouth of Corpus Christi Bay was no more than three feet deep; thus, disembarkation had to be managed using small steamers, at an island in the channel called Shell Island, where the ships anchored several miles from shore. This made unloading slow, and since the army only had one or two steamers, several days were required to land a single regiment with all its supplies, camp and garrison equipment, and so on. Fortunately, the weather was pleasant throughout, but the heavy land-swell meant that when the ship and steamer were on opposite sides of a wave, they drifted a considerable distance apart. Men and baggage were lowered down to a point above the lower deck of the steamer, and when ship and steamer happened to be close together in the trough of the waves, the load was swung over the steamer and quickly lowered to its deck. After coming ashore and serving guard duty for several days on Shell Island—about six miles from the ship—I needed, for one reason or another, to return onboard. While on the Suviah—I believe that was our ship’s name—I heard a tremendous commotion from the far end of the vessel, marked by excited sailor language, including shouts of “damn your eyes,” and the like. In a moment or two, the captain, who was a highly excitable little man, dying of consumption and weighing barely over a hundred pounds, came rushing out wielding a sabre nearly as big and heavy as he was, exclaiming that his crew had mutinied. It was necessary to support the captain without question, and in a short time, all sailors accused of mutiny were in irons. For a moment, I wished I hadn’t come aboard just then. Since the men accused of mutiny let themselves be put in irons without fighting back, I later doubted whether they even knew they had mutinied until told so. When it was time to leave the ship again, I figured I had learned enough about using the single and double pulleys—which were used for lowering passengers from the upper deck to the steamer below—and decided to lower myself unassisted. Without telling anyone what I planned, I climbed the railing, gripped the center rope just beneath the upper block, put a foot on the hook under the lower block, and stepped off—just as someone shouted, “hold on.” Too late. I tried to “hold on” with all my strength, but my heels shot upward and my head went down so fast my grip broke, and I plunged headfirst into the water, about twenty-five feet below, at such speed I felt as though I’d never stop. When I surfaced—being a fair swimmer and not having lost my composure—I swam about until a bucket was lowered for me, and I was hauled up, unscathed and not even scratched. I doubt anyone on board felt the slightest sympathy seeing me climb out intact. I found the whole episode amusing myself. The captain of the Suviah died from his illness a few months later, likely before the supposed mutineers stood trial. I hope they went free, since, as I said, I’ve always felt the mutiny was imagined by a weak and very sick man. Once ashore or on Shell Island, making our way to Corpus Christi was long and tedious. If I recall, there was only a single small steamer to carry troops and baggage when the 4th Infantry arrived, with others obtained later. The distance from Shell Island to Corpus Christi was roughly sixteen to eighteen miles. The channel to the bay was so shallow that even the small steamer had to be dragged across the bottom when loaded. At most, only one trip a day could be accomplished. The problem was later corrected by deepening the channel and adding more vessels suited for such navigation. Corpus Christi is near the head of the bay bearing its name, where the Nueces River flows into tidewater, on the bay’s west bank. When United States troops first occupied it, there was a small Mexican village, likely with fewer than a hundred people. In addition, there was a modest American trading post, selling goods to Mexican smugglers. Everything was packed into compact bundles of about one hundred pounds each, suitable for pack mules—two to a typical mule, three for larger ones. Most of the trade was in leaf tobacco and domestic cotton goods and calicoes. Before the army arrived, the Mexicans offered little in exchange but silver. The leaf tobacco business was enormous, considering how few people needed to be supplied. Nearly every Mexican over ten years old—many younger—smoked cigarettes. Just about every Mexican carried a pouch of leaf tobacco, crumbled by hand, and a bundle of corn husks for wrappers. Smokers rolled their own cigarettes as they went. Up until the time I describe, and for years after—I believe until President Juarez’s administration—the growing, processing, and selling of tobacco was a government monopoly, accounting for most internal revenue. Prices were extremely high, making tobacco smuggling quite profitable. The difficulty of getting tobacco was likely why everyone, men and women alike, used it then. When I attended West Point, I found that the very fact that tobacco was strictly forbidden—with harsh punishment just for possessing it—made most cadets, myself included, try to pick up the habit. I failed at the time and for many years after, but most succeeded in their boyish ambition. Under Spanish rule, Mexico was forbidden from producing anything Spain could supply, which ruled out growing grapes, olives, and many other goods well suited to the climate and soil. The country was governed solely for “revenue”—and tobacco, which did not grow in Spain but is native to Mexico, became a major resource to secure this goal. The native population had used “the weed” longer than any recorded history of this continent. Bad habits—if not checked by law or public pressure—spread faster and more widely than good ones, so Spanish colonists soon took up tobacco use nearly as broadly as native Mexicans. To maximize revenue, Spain limited cultivation to specific areas—subletting the privilege at very high prices. Whatever tobacco was grown there had to be sold to the government, and the consumer price depended solely on the authorities’ greed and the people’s ability to pay. All governing laws originated in Spain, with officers appointed by the Crown and sent to the New El Dorado to enforce them. Mexicans were raised to be ignorant of how to make laws or govern themselves. After achieving independence, following years of struggle, it made perfect sense for them to keep the existing laws. The only difference was that Mexico enacted them herself and collected the revenue. The tobacco tax, bringing in so much money, was among the last—if not the very last—of the unpopular tariffs to be repealed. Now citizens can grow any crop the land supports. Tobacco is cheap, and all qualities can be produced. Its use is nowhere near as widespread as when I first visited. Gradually, the "Army of Occupation" gathered at Corpus Christi. Once complete, its forces included seven companies of the 2nd Regiment of Dragoons, four companies of light artillery, five regiments of infantry—the 3rd, 4th, 5th, 7th, and 8th—and one regiment of artillery serving as infantry—altogether no more than three thousand men. General Zachary Taylor was in command. There were enough troops to set up drill and discipline, preparing both men and officers to the fullest for combat. The ranks were filled by men who had enlisted during peacetime for seven dollars a month—generally a lower quality than the volunteers recruited later to fight specifically in the war, or the volunteers in the Union army. Yet, the men in the Mexican War were courageous, and the regular army officers—from the highest to lowest—were thoroughly trained professionals. For its size and armament, I don’t believe any more effective army has ever fought a battle than General Taylor’s in his first two engagements on Mexican—or Texan—soil. Just sending U.S. troops to the edge of the disputed territory, far from any Mexican town, wasn’t enough to provoke fighting. We were sent to incite a conflict, but it was vital that Mexico start it. Congress’s willingness to declare war was uncertain; but if Mexico attacked, the President could announce, “Whereas, war exists by the acts of, etc.,” and push ahead with the conflict energetically. Once war began, very few public figures would dare oppose it. Experience shows that anyone who hinders his nation during wartime, whatever the cause, never earns praise in life or history. He’d do better to call for “war, pestilence, and famine” than to resist a war already underway. Even the defeated rebel’s legacy will be more honorable than a Northerner who helped the enemy while benefiting from his own government’s protection. The best posthumous reputation the stay-at-home traitor can get is oblivion. Since Mexico showed no readiness to approach the Nueces and push the “invaders” out, it became necessary for us to come close enough to be attacked. Preparations were made to move the army to the Rio Grande, near Matamoras. The goal was to position ourselves near the greatest population center possible, without actually entering territory to which we made no claim. The distance from Corpus Christi to Matamoras is about one hundred and fifty miles. Fresh water is scarce, so the march lengths had to be determined by how far it was between water sources. Besides the rivers and streams, there were occasional pools—some probably created by traders traveling between Corpus Christi and the Rio Grande, some by the buffalo. At that time there wasn’t a single house, cultivated field, or domestic herd between Corpus Christi and Matamoras. The army needed a large wagon train to haul camp and garrison equipment, officers’ baggage, food for the troops, and some grain for the horses and animals brought from the north, where they were used to having their feed provided. The army didn’t have much transportation. Wagons and harnesses were easily supplied from the North, but mules and horses were not so easily found. American traders and Mexican smugglers stepped in to help. Contracts for mules ran from eight to eleven dollars apiece. Smugglers supplied the animals, taking payment in the previously mentioned goods. I doubt the Mexicans got goods valued at more than five dollars per animal, and likely didn’t pay anything but their labor to acquire them. That’s trade; that’s war. The government paid the contractor the agreed cash price. Between the Rio Grande and the Nueces there was at that time a large herd of wild horses—probably as numerous as the buffalo once roaming further north, before their rapid destruction began. Mexicans used to catch these horses by the hundreds and bring them into American settlements for sale. A quality animal could be bought for eight to twelve dollars; purchased wholesale, they cost thirty-six dollars a dozen. Some of these horses were bought for the army and proved very useful. They were generally quite strong, resembling Norman horses, with thick manes and tails. Several officers got these horses for themselves, and they proved as useful as northern horses—actually better whenever grazing was the only forage. There was no urgent need to hurry, so several months were spent making preparations to move. Meanwhile, the army engaged in all the regular duties of officers and soldiers. Twice, as I recall, small convoys were sent from Corpus Christi, with cavalry escorts, to San Antonio and Austin, carrying paymasters and funds for small garrisons stationed there. General Taylor encouraged officers to join these expeditions. I went on one in December 1845. At that time, the distance from Corpus Christi to San Antonio was estimated at about one hundred and fifty miles. Now that there are roads, it is likely much less. From San Antonio to Austin we estimated one hundred and ten miles, and the return from Austin to Corpus Christi as over two hundred miles. I know now the road distance between San Antonio and Austin is just over eighty miles, so we must have greatly overestimated. Back then, not a single person lived between Corpus Christi and about thirty miles shy of San Antonio, where a few scattered Mexican settlements dotted the San Antonio River. In at least one of these hamlets, people lived underground for protection against the Indians. The land was full of game—deer, antelope, and plenty of wild turkeys along the streams and in nut-bearing woods. About twenty-five miles above Corpus Christi, on the Nueces, stood the remains of a town called San Patricio, with a few log cabins; its people had all been massacred by Indians or driven off. San Antonio’s population was about half American, half Mexican. From there to Austin, there wasn’t a residence except at New Braunfels, on the Guadalupe River. There, a colony of Germans had settled just that year. In any case, they lived in small huts, little better than temporary soldier shelters. From Austin to Corpus Christi, only a small community remained at Bastrop, with some farms along the Colorado River; beyond that, there were no settlements except one home—occupied by one man and one female slave—at the old town of Goliad. Some of the old houses still stood. Goliad had once been a considerably-sized village for that place and time, but a few years before, a Mexican massacre had killed or driven off every inhabitant. Along with the massacre of prisoners at the Alamo, San Antonio, around the same time—over three hundred lives lost—these events gave the strongest justification the Texans had for waging such a relentless war. Indeed, until the Mexican War, hostilities between Texans and Mexicans were so intense that neither side felt safe near the other unless they had a clear advantage in numbers or arms. The man we found there seemed like an old friend; he had moved from near Fort Jessup, Louisiana, where officers of the 3rd and 4th Infantry and 2nd Dragoons had known his family. He had come ahead of his family to prepare a home for them. ## CHAPTER V. ### TRIP TO AUSTIN—PROMOTION TO FULL SECOND LIEUTENANT—ARMY OF OCCUPATION. When our party left Corpus Christi, it was quite large. It included the cavalry escort, Paymaster Major Dix, his clerk, and the officers who, like myself, were simply on leave. However, all the officers on leave, except Lieutenant Benjamin—who was later killed in the Valley of Mexico—Lieutenant (now General) Augur, and myself, decided to spend their allotted time at San Antonio and return from there. We were all required to be back at Corpus Christi by the end of the month. The paymaster was delayed in Austin for so long that, if we had waited for him, we would have exceeded our leave. Therefore, we decided to start back immediately with the animals we had, relying mainly on grass for their food. It was a good six days’ journey. We had to sleep on the prairie every night, except at Goliad and possibly one night on the Colorado, with no shelter and only the food we carried with us and prepared ourselves. The journey was dangerous because of the risk from Indians, and there were also white men in Texas whom I would not have wanted to meet in a secluded place. Lieutenant Augur became seriously ill before we reached Goliad, when we were far from any habitation. To make matters worse, his horse—a mustang likely captured from the band of wild horses I previously mentioned, and already quite old when caught—gave out completely. It became absolutely necessary to push ahead to Goliad to find shelter for our sick companion. With a lot of patience and very slow progress, we finally reached Goliad and secured shelter and a bed for our patient. We stayed over a day, hoping Augur would recover enough to travel. He did not, and since we knew Major Dix would be coming along in a few days with his empty wagon-train and escort, we arranged with our Louisiana friend to take good care of the sick lieutenant until relieved, and then continued our journey. I had never been much of a sportsman; I had rarely gone hunting and seldom saw any game even when I looked for it. On this trip, there was not a minute during our travel between San Patricio and the settlements on the San Antonio River, from San Antonio to Austin, and again from the Colorado River back to San Patricio, when deer or antelope weren’t plentiful. Each officer carried a shotgun, and every evening after making camp, some would go out and soon return with enough venison and wild turkeys for the whole camp. I, however, never participated and never fired my gun—except once, when, during our extra day at Goliad, Benjamin and I decided to go down to the creek—which was lined with pecan and other timber—and bring back a few turkeys. We had barely reached the edge of the timber when I heard the flutter of wings above, and, in an instant, saw two or three turkeys flying off. Soon more followed, then more still, until a flock of twenty or thirty birds had taken flight right over my head. The whole time, I just watched the turkeys fly away, my gun resting on my shoulder, without ever thinking to raise it at them. When I reflected on it later, I realized that I was hopeless as a sportsman, and returned to the house. Benjamin remained out and brought back as many turkeys as he wanted. After our second night at Goliad, Benjamin and I set out to complete the journey alone. We got to Corpus Christi just in time to avoid being “absent without leave.” We did not meet a single person—not even an Indian—during the rest of the journey, except at San Patricio. While we were gone for three weeks, a new settlement had been started there, likely because existing houses were available and the proximity of troops offered safety from Indians. On the evening of our first day out from Goliad, we heard the most eerie howling of wolves, directly ahead. The prairie grass was tall, preventing us from seeing them, but the sound suggested they were close. To my ears, it sounded like there were enough wolves to devour our party, horses and all, in one meal. The area of Ohio I was from was not densely populated, but wolves had been driven out long before I left. Benjamin was from Indiana, even less settled, where wolves still roamed the prairies. He understood the animal’s ways and how a few could make it sound like there were many. He calmly continued toward the noise. I followed him, lacking the courage to turn back to our sick companion. I'm sure that if Benjamin had suggested returning to Goliad, I would have agreed, maybe even protested that it was cruel to leave Augur sick there in the first place. But Benjamin didn’t suggest going back. When he finally spoke, he asked, “Grant, how many wolves do you think are in that pack?” Knowing where he was from, and suspecting he thought I might overestimate, I decided to show familiarity with the animal by guessing a low number and answered, “Oh, about twenty,” as if it was nothing. He smiled and rode on. Within a minute, we were right on top of them, before they saw us. There were just TWO. Sitting on their haunches with their mouths together, they had made all the noise we’d heard for the last ten minutes. I often recall this event when I hear the noise of a few disappointed politicians who have deserted their group; there always seem to be more until they’re actually counted. A week or two before leaving Corpus Christi on this trip, I had been promoted from brevet second-lieutenant, 4th Infantry, to full second-lieutenant, 7th Infantry. Frank Gardner of the 7th was promoted to the 4th by the same orders. We immediately requested to be transferred back to our old regiments. When I returned, I found that our requests had been approved in Washington. While with the 7th Infantry, I served in Captain Holmes’s company; he later became a lieutenant-general in the Confederate Army. I never encountered him during the Civil War, nor did he distinguish himself much in that high rank. My transfer took me to Captain McCall’s company, who resigned after the Mexican War and settled in Philadelphia. He promptly volunteered at the outbreak of the Civil War and soon became a major-general in the Union Army. I was not fortunate enough to see him again after he left the Army. He was held in the highest regard both as a soldier and a gentleman, and my relations with him were always very pleasant. The preparations for the advance out of Corpus Christi moved along just as swiftly in the absence of some twenty or more lieutenants as if we had all been present. The main task was securing mules and breaking them for harness. The process was slow, but entertaining. The animals sold to the government were all young and unbroken—even to the saddle—and were just as wild as the wild horses of the prairie. Usually, a group of Mexicans, partners in the delivery, would bring in a number of mules. The mules would be driven into a stockade, or corral, enclosing an acre or more of ground. The Mexicans—who were all expert with the lasso—would enter the corral on horseback, with lassos attached to the saddles. Soldiers assigned as teamsters and blacksmiths would also enter, the teamsters with ropes for halters, the blacksmiths with branding irons and a fire. A lasso was thrown over a mule’s neck, which then would bolt to the end of the rope, bucking wildly. During this, another Mexican would lasso a forefoot, bringing the mule to the ground, where it was held by the teamsters while the blacksmith branded it with “U. S.” Ropes were then put about the neck with a slipknot for control. Two men would hold the ropes as the mule was freed from other restraints and allowed to get up, and they would guide it, with some difficulty, to a picket rope outside, where it was secured. The delivery for that mule was then complete. This routine was repeated for every mule and wild horse in the army of occupation. Breaking the animals to harness was less cruel, and much more amusing. It is well known that when domestic animals have been used for specific purposes over generations, their descendants are generally suited to those purposes. At that time in Northern Mexico, the mule—or its horse and ass ancestors—were rarely used except as saddle or pack animals. In any case, the Corpus Christi mule resisted the harness with spirit. The treatment to break their resistance was decisive and effective. The soldiers were mostly foreigners who had enlisted in large cities, and with the exception of a few draymen, most had never driven a mule team before—or even driven any animal to harness. Numbers working together, however, can accomplish what twice their number individually cannot. Five mules were assigned to each wagon. A teamster would pick five animals of similar color and appearance for his team. With a crew of helpers, he would approach each animal, avoiding their heels. Two ropes, with slipknots, would be fixed around each mule's neck in case one needed to be restrained. They were then led out, harnessed by force, and hitched to the wagon in their assigned positions. Two men stayed on each side of the leader, with lassos tight, and one man controlled each of the others. When all was set, they loosened the hold and started the team. Typically, the first action was all five mules leaping into the air, backs arched, hind legs extended. After doing this for a bit, the leaders would bolt, tightening the breeching and making the wheel mules feel they were being unfairly restrained, causing them to sit or even lay down. In time, all were trained to do their duty—if not cheerfully, at least obediently—but never during the war was it safe to let a Mexican mule get completely loose. By the end, all the drivers were true teamsters. I recall one mule that had worked in harness for some time at Corpus Christi, and all the way to opposite Matamoras and then to Camargo, where he broke loose at night. He didn’t run off immediately but lingered around for a day or two, even coming up to the feed trough; but he always kept out of the teamster’s reach. Eventually, tired of constant efforts to catch him, he disappeared. Only a Mexican with a lasso could have caught him. Regulations did not permit spending a dollar to hire a man with a lasso to catch that mule, but they did allow the “expenditure of the mule,” so long as a certificate stated that he had run away without fault on the part of the quartermaster responsible for him, and authorized purchasing another mule. I am a credible witness, as I was regimental quartermaster at the time. While at Corpus Christi, all the officers who enjoyed riding kept horses. They cost little to buy, and when picketed, fed themselves without expense. Not long before the army moved, I had three—but a sad accident took them all at once. A colored boy who cared for them—along with handling my tent, that of a classmate and fellow-lieutenant, and cooking for us, all for about eight dollars a month—was riding one to water while leading the other two. The led horses pulled him from his seat and all three bolted. They were never seen again. Some time later, someone mentioned my loss to Captain Bliss, General Taylor’s Adjutant-General. “Yes; I heard Grant lost five or six dollars’ worth of horses the other day,” he replied. That was a slander; they were saddle-broken when I got them and cost nearly twenty dollars. I never suspected the colored boy intentionally let them go; if not for their escape, he could have ridden one of them on the long march that was then coming. ## CHAPTER VI. ### ADVANCE OF THE ARMY—CROSSING THE COLORADO—THE RIO GRANDE. At last, the preparations were complete and orders were given for the advance to begin on March 8th. General Taylor had an army of no more than three thousand men. One battery, the siege guns, and all the convalescent troops were sent by water to Brazos Santiago, at the mouth of the Rio Grande. A guard stayed behind at Corpus Christi to look after public property and tend to those too sick to be moved. The rest of the army, probably no more than twenty-five hundred men, was divided into three brigades, with the cavalry acting independently. Colonel Twiggs, with seven companies of dragoons and a battery of light artillery, set out on the 8th. He was followed by the three infantry brigades, with a day’s gap between each command. Thus, the rear brigade did not leave Corpus Christi until March 11th. Given the massive armies moved simultaneously over narrow roads, through dense forests, and across wide rivers in our recent war, it seems odd now that a force of less than three thousand men would be separated into four columns, each a day apart. General Taylor opposed any sort of plundering by the troops, and in this case, I am sure he regarded the enemy as the injured party and was unwilling to do them harm beyond what his orders from Washington required. His orders to the troops required strict respect for the rights of all peaceful people and payment of the highest price for any supplies taken for army use. All officers in foot regiments who owned horses were allowed to ride them on the march as long as it didn't interfere with their military duties. As mentioned earlier, after losing my "five or six dollars' worth of horses" shortly before, I decided not to get another and to make the journey on foot. My company commander, Captain McCall, had two good American horses, which were worth much more there, where native horses were cheap, than in the States. He rode one himself and wanted the other for his servant. He was quite concerned about whether I intended to get another horse before the march. I told him no; I belonged to a foot regiment. I didn't understand his concern at the time, but as we were about to depart, he said, "There, Grant, is a horse for you." It turned out he couldn't bear the idea of his servant riding through a long march while his lieutenant walked. He had found a mustang, a three-year-old colt only recently captured, which had been bought by one of the regiment’s colored servants for three dollars. It was probably the only horse in Corpus Christi at that time that could have been bought for a reasonable price. Five dollars—about a sixty-six percent increase in price—convinced the owner to part with the mustang. I was reluctant to take him, because I felt, being in a foot regiment, that it was my duty to march with the men. But I saw how much it mattered to the Captain, and accepted the horse for the trip. The day we started was the first time the horse had ever been saddled. Still, I had little trouble breaking him, though for the first day we had frequent disagreements about which way to go, and sometimes about whether to go at all. At no point that day could I choose exactly where in the column to march; but after that, he was as manageable as any horse in the army, and none held up better on the trip. He never ate a bite of food on the journey except for the grass he could reach at the end of his picket rope. A few days out from Corpus Christi, the massive herd of wild horses that roamed between the Nueces and the Rio Grande at that time was seen directly ahead of the column, only a few miles away. It was the very band from which the horse I was riding had been captured a few weeks earlier. The column stopped to rest, and several officers, myself included, rode two or three miles to the right to see the size of the herd. The region was rolling prairie, and from the higher ground, only the earth’s curve limited what we could see. To our right and left, as far as the eye could reach, stretched the herd. There was no estimating how many there were; I doubt they could all have been corralled at once in the state of Rhode Island or Delaware. If they had, they'd have been so crowded the pasture would have run out the first day. People who saw the Southern buffalo herds fifteen or twenty years ago can get a sense of the size of the Texas wild horse herds in 1846. At the point where the army reached the Little Colorado River, the stream was quite wide and deep enough for navigation. The water was brackish and the banks were lined with timber. Here, the entire army gathered before attempting the crossing. The army did not have a pontoon train, and at that time, the troops were not trained in bridge building. To make matters worse, this was the first time the army faced possible opposition. Buglers, hidden by brush on the opposite shore, sounded the “assembly” and other military calls. Like the wolves mentioned earlier, they gave the impression of a large force, and if the troops matched the noise, they would have overwhelmed General Taylor and his men. In reality, there were probably just a few troops, mainly watching the “invaders'” movements. Some of our cavalry rushed forward, forded, and swam across the river, quickly scattering all opposition. I don't remember a single shot being fired. The troops waded across the stream, which was up to their necks at its deepest point. Teams were ferried over by tying a long rope to the end of the wagon tongue, passing it between the two swing mules and alongside the lead one, fastening its bridle as well as the bridles of the rear mules to it, and taking the end to men on the opposite bank. The riverbank on both sides was steep. A rope long enough for the span of the river was tied to the back axle of the wagon, and men in the rear used it to keep the wagon from pushing the mules into the water. This rope also served to bring the forward one back to be reused. For a short stretch, the water was deep enough to make the little Mexican mules swim, but they—and the wagons—were pulled through so quickly by the men handling the rope that there was no time for the animals to become stubborn. In this way, the artillery and supplies of the "army of occupation" crossed the Colorado River. Around mid-March, the advance of the army reached the Rio Grande and camped near the riverbanks, opposite the city of Matamoras, almost under the guns of a small fort at the lower end of town. At that time, there wasn't a single dwelling between Corpus Christi and the Rio Grande. The work of building defenses began immediately. The engineers planned the fort, but the work was carried out by the soldiers under the supervision of their officers, with the chief engineer providing overall direction. The Mexicans, angered by our close presence, sent some troops across the river above us, which made it unsafe for small groups of men to venture far beyond camp. They captured two companies of dragoons, led by Captains Thornton and Hardee. The latter later became a general on the Confederate side in the Civil War, and was the author of the tactics first used by both armies. Lieutenant Theodric Porter, of the 4th infantry, was killed while out with a small detachment, and Major Cross, the assistant quartermaster-general, was also killed not far from camp. There was no supply base closer than Point Isabel on the coast, north of the mouth of the Rio Grande, and twenty-five miles away. The enemy—if the Mexicans could be called that at that point, since war had not yet been declared—surrounded us in such numbers that it was not safe to send a wagon train for supplies with any escort that could be spared. I have already said that General Taylor’s entire command on the Rio Grande numbered less than three thousand men. He did have a few more troops at Point Isabel or Brazos Santiago. The wagons of supplies brought from Corpus Christi were running low. Work on the defenses was pushed as fast as possible so that a minimum number of men might be able to hold the fort. Every available man was kept at work from early morning until nightfall. Even with this effort, the fort was not finished until supplies were so scarce that further delay in replenishing them was out of the question. By late April, the fort was partially defensible, and the 7th Infantry, led by Major Jacob Brown, was stationed there with a few pieces of artillery. All supplies on hand, except enough to get the rest of the army to Point Isabel, were left with the garrison, and the march began with the remainder of the command, taking every wagon along. Early on the second day after setting out, the force reached its destination without opposition from the Mexicans. There was some delay in getting supplies ashore from ships anchored in the open roadstead. ## CHAPTER VII. ### THE MEXICAN WAR—THE BATTLE OF PALO ALTO—THE BATTLE OF RESACA DE LA PALMA—ARMY OF INVASION—GENERAL TAYLOR—MOVEMENT ON CAMARGO. While General Taylor was away with most of his army, the small garrison upriver was under siege. As we lay in our tents on the sea-shore, we could clearly hear the artillery from the fort on the Rio Grande. The war had begun. There was absolutely no way to get news from the garrison, and any information from outside could only be unfavorable. I can’t say what General Taylor felt during this tense time; but for myself, as a young second lieutenant who had never heard a hostile gun before, I regretted enlisting. Many men, when they sense battle approaching, are eager to join the fight. When they say so themselves, they rarely convince others that they are as eager as they claim, and as danger draws near, they grow more subdued. This rule isn’t universal, as I have known a few men who always longed for a fight when there was no enemy close, and who lived up to their word when battle finally arrived. But such men are rare. On May 7th, the wagons were all loaded and General Taylor started his return, his army reinforced at Point Isabel but still fewer than three thousand strong, to relieve the garrison on the Rio Grande. The road from Point Isabel to Matamoras crosses an open, rolling, treeless prairie, until the timber lining the Rio Grande’s bank is reached. This river, like the Mississippi, flows through a rich alluvial valley in a highly winding fashion, sometimes running in all directions within a few miles. The river once ran by Resaca de la Palma, about four or five miles east of its current channel. The old riverbed at Resaca had filled in spots, leaving a series of small lakes. The timber that had grown along both banks, and some distance outward, still stood. This timber was encountered six or eight miles from the besieged garrison, at a spot known as Palo Alto—“Tall trees” or “woods.” During the morning of May 8th, as we neared Palo Alto, an army clearly larger than ours was seen drawn up in line of battle just ahead of the woods. Their bayonets and spearheads gleamed menacingly in the sun. The force was mainly cavalry armed with lances. Where we stood, the grass was tall, nearly reaching the soldiers’ shoulders, very stiff, and each blade pointed and as sharp as a darning needle. General Taylor halted before his column reached the range of the Mexicans’ artillery. He then formed a line of battle facing the enemy. His artillery—two batteries and two eighteen-pounder iron guns drawn by oxen—were positioned at intervals along the line. A battalion commanded by Lieutenant-Colonel Childs, from the artillery, was held in reserve at the rear. Once these preparations were complete, orders were given for one platoon from each company to stack arms and go to a stream off to the right to fill their canteens and those of their fellow company members. When everyone was back in line, the command to advance was given. As I looked down the long line of about three thousand armed men, advancing toward a larger similarly armed force, I thought what an immense responsibility General Taylor must have felt, commanding such an army and so far from friends. The Mexicans opened fire on us right away, first with artillery, then with infantry. At first, their shots fell short and we kept advancing. As we got closer, cannon balls started passing through our ranks. However, during this advance, no one was hurt because the shots struck the ground long before reaching us, ricocheting through the grass so slowly that the men could see them coming, step aside, and let them pass. When we got close enough for our artillery to be effective, a halt was called, and both sides opened fire. General Taylor’s infantry was equipped with flintlock muskets and paper cartridges filled with powder, buckshot, and ball. At a range of a few hundred yards, a man could fire at you all day without your noticing. The artillery generally consisted of six-pounder brass guns firing only solid shot; however, General Taylor also had three or four twelve-pounder howitzers firing shells, as well as the previously mentioned eighteen-pounders with their long range. This was a powerful arsenal. The Mexicans’ infantry was armed much like ours, but their artillery only fired solid shot. We had a considerable advantage with our artillery. The artillery moved forward a few yards in front of the line and opened fire. The infantry stood at order arms, watching the effect of our fire on the enemy and being careful to step out of the path of Mexican shots. It was clear the eighteen-pounders and howitzers inflicted serious damage. On our side, there was little or no loss while we held this position. During the battle, Major Ringgold, a skilled and brave artillery officer, was mortally wounded, and Lieutenant Luther of the artillery was also hit. A few advances were made during the day, and by dusk, it became clear the Mexicans were falling back. We advanced again and, by the end of the battle, held nearly the same ground the enemy had occupied at the start. In this last maneuver, our troops came under brisk fire, resulting in some casualties. A cannonball passed through our ranks not far from me; it took off an enlisted man’s head and the lower jaw of Captain Page of my regiment, while splinters from the dead soldier’s musket and bits of his bone and brain knocked down two or three others, including Lieutenant Wallen—injuring them to varying degrees. Our losses for the day were nine killed and forty-seven wounded. At dawn on the 9th, Taylor’s army was ready to recommence the battle; but when we advanced, we found the enemy had completely withdrawn during the night. In front of us, the chaparral was impassable except along roads or trails, with only occasional clearings. A group moving through could easily be ambushed. It was better that a few men should be caught this way, rather than the whole army, but it was essential to relieve the garrison at the river. To reach them, we had to get through the chaparral. I assume these were General Taylor’s thoughts. He halted a short distance beyond where the Mexicans had been the day before, and chose Captain C. F. Smith, from the artillery, and Captain McCall, of my company, each to take a hundred and fifty picked men and scout for the enemy’s location. This left me in command of the company, a great honor and responsibility. Smith and McCall met no resistance until reaching the group of ponds I described before, at Resaca. The Mexicans had crossed and formed their lines on the other bank. There, they had strengthened their position a little by piling dead trees and brush in their front, and positioning artillery to cover the open areas. Smith and McCall spread out on each side of the road as best they could and exchanged long-range fire with the enemy. Word was sent back, and the whole army advanced. As we came up, we deployed similarly. I was with the right wing and led my company through any gaps in the thicket, making use of every clearing that would let me approach the enemy. Eventually, without realizing it, I drew quite close. Bullets began to whiz thick over our heads, chopping off chaparral limbs all around. We couldn’t see the enemy, so I ordered my men to lie down—and didn’t need to reinforce the order. We held our position until it was clear the enemy wasn’t firing at us, and then withdrew to find better ground for an advance. By then, our left had made progress. A section of artillery had been captured by the cavalry, some prisoners taken. The Mexicans were giving way everywhere and many likely had abandoned the fight early. I eventually found a clear opening between two ponds. There seemed to be a few men ahead, and I charged them with my company. There was no resistance, and we captured a wounded Mexican colonel and a few men. Just as I was sending these prisoners to the rear with a guard of two or three, a private came from the front with one of our officers who had been badly wounded, farther ahead than I was. The ground had already been charged over. My achievement was like that of the soldier who boasted he had cut off an enemy’s leg—when asked why not the head, replied, “Someone else already did.” This left no doubt in my mind that the battle of Resaca de la Palma would have been won exactly as it was, even if I hadn’t been there. There was no further resistance. On the evening of the 9th, the army camped on its old ground near the Fort, and the garrison was relieved. The siege had lasted several days, but there were few casualties. Major Jacob Brown of the 7th Infantry, the commanding officer, had been killed, and in his honor the fort was named. Since then, a town of considerable size has grown up on the ground once occupied by the fort and troops, which has also taken his name. To those of us who fought, the battles of Palo Alto and Resaca de la Palma seemed like major events; but we did not truly grasp their significance until they were described and discussed by the Press in the North and their reports returned to us. At about this same time, we heard that war officially existed between the United States and Mexico, due to the latter country’s actions. On learning this, General Taylor moved our camps to the south or west bank of the river, and Matamoras was occupied. We then became the “Army of Invasion.” Until now, Taylor’s command consisted only of regular troops; but once the invasion began, one-year volunteers started arriving. The army stayed in Matamoras until enough reinforcements arrived to justify a move inland. General Taylor was not one to trouble the administration with endless demands—he tried to do his best with what he was given, and considered his responsibility to go no further. If he thought he was being sent to do the impossible with the resources provided, he would likely have informed those in charge and left it to them to decide what should be done. If their judgment went against his, he would have pressed on and done his best with what he had, without airing grievances in public. Few soldiers could face danger or responsibility with more composure. Such qualities are rarer than genius or physical courage. General Taylor was never one to put on a big show, either in uniform or in entourage. In dress he was perhaps too plain, rarely wearing anything in the field that marked his rank or even showed he was an officer; but every soldier in the army knew him and respected him. I remember only one time I saw him in uniform, and another when I heard he wore it. On both occasions it proved unfortunate. The first was at Corpus Christi. He decided to review his army before starting the march and gave orders to that effect. Colonel Twiggs was then second in command, and given charge of the review. Colonel and Brevet Brigadier-General Worth, very unlike Taylor in his manner of uniform, was next in rank, and claimed superiority based on his brevet when circumstances put him or Twiggs in temporary command. Worth refused to attend the review as Twiggs’s subordinate until the matter was decided by higher authority, which cancelled the review and sent the issue to Washington for resolution. General Taylor was at that time only a colonel by actual rank, and a brigadier-general by brevet. However, the President placed him in duty with the rank his brevet gave. Worth was not so assigned, but by commanding a division he must have drawn the pay of his brevet rank, according to the army regulations then in place. The question was sent to Washington, but no answer came until after the army had reached the Rio Grande. The decision went against Worth, who immediately tendered his resignation and left the army, probably heading north aboard the same vessel that brought it. That kept him out of the battles of Palo Alto and Resaca de la Palma. Either his resignation wasn’t accepted, or Worth withdrew it before any decision was made. In any case, he rejoined the army in time to command his division at the battle of Monterey, and served through the end of the war. The second time General Taylor was said to have worn his uniform was to receive a visit from the Flag Officer of the naval squadron at the mouth of the Rio Grande. While our army was encamped there, the Flag Officer notified General Taylor of a planned visit to pay his respects. Knowing naval officers always wore full uniform on such occasions, General Taylor thought it only proper to receive him similarly. He had his uniform taken out, cleaned, and put on ahead of the meeting. The Flag Officer, knowing Taylor’s dislike of uniforms and thinking civilian dress would be a compliment, left his uniform off for this call. The meeting was reportedly awkward for both, and most of the conversation was apologetic. We passed the time quite pleasantly at Matamoras while we waited for volunteers. It’s likely that most important people from the occupied area fled before our arrival, but with those who remained, relations were good. The General’s policy was to allow no looting, nor to take private property for public or individual use without fair compensation, so that the people enjoyed a better market than they had ever known before. Among the troops that joined us at Matamoras was an Ohio regiment, in which Thomas L. Hamer—the Member of Congress who had given me my appointment to West Point—served as major. He told me at that time that he could have taken the colonelcy, but since he knew he would be appointed a brigadier-general, he preferred to start with the lower rank. As I mentioned before, Hamer was one of the most capable men Ohio ever produced. At the time, he was in his prime, being under fifty years old, and had an impressive physique, suggesting he would live a long life. But he fell ill before reaching Monterey and died within a few days. I have always believed that, had he lived, he would have become President of the United States during the term that was later filled by President Pierce. If Hamer had held that office, his fondness for me was such that I have little doubt I would have been appointed to one of the army's staff corps—probably the Pay Department—and would now be preparing to retire. Neither of these speculations is unreasonable, and I mention them to show how little men control their own destinies. With reinforcements having arrived, the movement from Matamoras to Camargo—the head of navigation on the Rio Grande—began in August. Holding the Rio Grande line was all that was necessary unless there was an intention to invade Mexico from the North. If that was the case, the most natural route to take was the one General Taylor chose. This route entered a pass in the Sierra Madre Mountains at Monterey, through which the main road runs to Mexico City. Monterey itself was a strategic point to hold, even if simply maintaining the Rio Grande line covered all the territory we wished to occupy at that time. It is built on a plain two thousand feet above sea level, where the air is invigorating and the climate healthy. On August 19, the army began marching toward Monterey, leaving a small garrison at Matamoras. The troops—except for the artillery, cavalry, and the brigade to which I belonged—were moved up the river to Camargo on steamers. Since there were only two or three steamers, the boats needed to make several trips before all the troops were transported. The troops who marched did so along the south side of the river. Lieutenant-Colonel Garland, of the 4th Infantry, was the brigade commander and, for this march, commanded the entire marching force. After just one day, he realized that marching by day in that latitude during August was not healthy, especially for men from the North. Therefore, he changed the marching orders, substituting night marches, which turned out to be much better for the men. When we reached Camargo, we found a city of tents outside the Mexican hamlet. I was assigned as quartermaster and commissary for the regiment. The teams that had been more than enough to transport all our supplies from Corpus Christi to the Rio Grande over Texas's flat prairies were completely inadequate for the reinforced army’s needs in mountainous country. To make up for the shortfall, pack mules were hired, along with Mexicans to pack and drive them. I was in charge of the few wagons assigned to the 4th Infantry and of the pack train to support them. There were not enough men in the army who knew how to manage such a train, so we needed the help of Mexican handlers experienced in this work. Even then, it was quite a challenge. The troops would begin their march early each day. After they left, the tents and cooking gear had to be packed up so they could be tied to the mules’ backs. Sheet-iron kettles, tent poles, and mess chests were all awkward items to pack in this way. It took several hours to get ready each morning, and by the time we were prepared, some of the mules loaded first would be tired of standing so long with their packs on. Sometimes, one would suddenly bolt, arch its back, and kick until it scattered its load; others would lie down and try to dislodge their packs by rolling onto them; some, with tent poles as part of their load, would guide one end of a tent pole around one side of a sapling while walking on the other side. I do not recall ever having used a curse word in my life, but I would certainly excuse anyone who did so when put in charge of a train of Mexican pack mules at such a time. ## CHAPTER VIII. ### ADVANCE ON MONTEREY—THE BLACK FORT—THE BATTLE OF MONTEREY—SURRENDER OF THE CITY. The advance from Camargo began on September 5th. The army was divided into four columns, each separated by a day’s march. The lead column reached Cerralvo in four days and paused there for the rest of the troops to catch up. By the 13th, the rear-guard had arrived, and that same day the advance resumed, with each division still separated by a day’s march. The leading division halted again at Marin, twenty-four miles from Monterey. Both Marin and Cerralvo were nearly deserted; as we approached, men, women, and children could be seen fleeing and scattered across the hills. Yet when the townspeople returned, they found all their abandoned property untouched, which must have given them a favorable impression of Los Grengos—“the Yankees.” From Marin, the army moved as a single force. On the 19th, General Taylor encamped with his army at Walnut Springs, three miles from Monterey. The town stands on a small stream coming out of a mountain pass and is backed by a range of moderately high hills. To the north, between the city and Walnut Springs, stretches a wide plain. On this plain, just outside the city’s last houses, stood a strong fort, enclosed on all sides, which our army called the “Black Fort.” Its guns covered the approaches to the city as far as their range allowed. Two detached spurs of hills or mountains to the north and northwest of the city were also fortified. The Bishop’s Palace stood on one of these elevations. The road to Saltillo leaves the western end of the city and passes under the fire of the guns from these hills. The eastern end was defended by two or three small detached fortifications, manned with artillery and infantry. To the south lay the previously mentioned mountain stream, and behind that, the foot-hills. The plaza at the center of the city was, in fact, the citadel. All the streets leading from it were guarded by artillery, with cannons entrenched behind temporary parapets. The rooftops near the plaza were converted into infantry strongholds by stacking sandbags as parapets. These were the defenses of Monterey in September 1847. General Ampudia commanded a force of at least ten thousand men. General Taylor’s force numbered about six thousand five hundred, organized into three divisions under Generals Butler, Twiggs, and Worth. The troops camped at Walnut Springs while engineer officers, under Major Mansfield—who later became a General during the Civil War—began their reconnaissance. Major Mansfield determined that it was possible to maneuver troops around, beyond the range of the Black Fort and the northwestern fortifications, to reach the Saltillo road. Controlling this road would cut the enemy off from receiving further supplies, and possibly from all interior communication. General Worth, with his division reinforced, was assigned to seize the Saltillo road and take the outer defenses in that quarter. He set out early in the afternoon of the 20th. Meanwhile, Generals Butler and Twiggs positioned their divisions to threaten the eastern and northern sides of the city and their fortifications, supporting General Worth’s movement. Worth’s mission was considered the main assault on Monterey, with all other operations aimed at supporting it. His march that day was unopposed, but the enemy heavily reinforced the Bishop’s Palace and other forts on their left. General Worth reached a defensible position just outside the range of the enemy’s guns on the northwest heights and bivouacked for the night. His accompanying engineer officers—Captain Sanders and Lieutenant George G. Meade, who would later command the victorious Union army at Gettysburg—reconnoitered the Saltillo road under cover of night. During the night of the 20th, General Taylor established a battery consisting of two twenty-four-pounder howitzers and a ten-inch mortar, positioned to fire on Black Fort. A natural depression in the plain, deep enough to shield men standing in it from the fort’s fire, was selected, and the battery was set up on the closest crest to the enemy. The 4th Infantry, then consisting of only six under-strength companies, was ordered to support the artillery while they dug in and prepared their guns. At the time, I was regimental quartermaster and was ordered to remain in charge of camp and public property at Walnut Springs. It was assumed the regiment would return to camp in the morning. The battery site was reached and the work completed without alerting the enemy. At daybreak, both sides opened fire, and what seemed to me then like intense fury ensued. My curiosity got the better of my judgment; I mounted a horse and rode to the front to see the action. I had not been there long when the order to charge was given; lacking the moral courage to return to camp—where I had been told to stay—I joined the regiment in the charge. As the troops left the depression, they came under fire from Black Fort. Advancing, they also drew fire from the batteries covering the east, or lower, end of the city, as well as musketry. In just a few minutes, about a third of the men involved in the charge were killed or wounded. To escape the fire, we retreated not backwards, but eastward, moving perpendicular to the direct road from Walnut Springs into the city. I believe I was the only member of the 4th Infantry in the charge who was mounted. When we reached safety, the regiment halted and reassembled—whatever was left of it. The adjutant, Lieutenant Hoskins, was not in robust health and became very fatigued from running in the charge and retreat. Seeing me on horseback, he wished he could be mounted too. I offered him my horse, which he accepted. A few minutes later, I spotted a soldier—one of the quartermaster’s men—on horseback nearby. I ran to him, took his horse, and quickly rejoined the regiment. Soon we were moving again; the next safe spot I recall was a field of cane or corn northeast of the lower batteries. The adjutant to whom I had loaned my horse was killed, and I was assigned to act in his place. This charge was either poorly planned or badly executed. We belonged to the brigade led by Lieutenant-Colonel Garland, who had been ordered to charge the lower batteries and capture them if possible without excessive loss, primarily to create a diversion in support of Worth, whose action was intended to be decisive. By maneuvering the brigade left, Garland could have led his men outside the range of Black Fort’s fire and advanced toward the northeast angle of the city with considerable cover. In reaching the lower end of Monterey, there was no excessive loss of life, other than what Garland’s command suffered. Meanwhile, Quitman’s brigade—guided by an engineer officer—reached the eastern end of the city, finding cover in the houses with minimal loss. Colonel Garland’s brigade also arrived at the outskirts. With help from troops who reached rooftops and were able to fire into a small battery protecting the lower city, that battery was quickly seized, and its guns turned against another enemy position. This secured the entrance into the eastern part of the city, and the houses shielded our troops as long as they remained still. On the west side, General Worth reached the Saltillo road after some fighting but with little loss. He turned from this new position and captured the forts on both heights in that quarter. This gave him control of the upper, or west, end of Monterey. Troops from both Twiggs’s and Butler’s divisions occupied the east end of town, but Black Fort to the north and the central plaza remained under enemy control. Our camps at Walnut Springs, three miles away, were guarded by a company from each regiment. A Kentucky volunteer regiment guarded the mortars and howitzers firing on Black Fort. In practical terms, Monterey was now under siege. Nothing significant was done by U.S. troops on the 22nd; however, the enemy kept up ineffectual fire at us from Black Fort and the remaining batteries they held in the east. During the night, they evacuated these; by morning on the 23rd, we held undisputed control of Monterey’s eastern end. Twiggs’s division held the lower end of the city and was well protected from enemy fire. But the streets leading to the plaza—all Spanish or Spanish-American towns have a central square called a plaza—were covered in all directions by artillery. The houses were flat-roofed, mostly one or two stories high, and around the plaza the roofs were lined with infantry sheltered by sandbag parapets. Advancing into the city was therefore very dangerous. Moving along streets not leading to the plaza, our men were protected from enemy view and fire except at intersections, but at these points, they invariably met volleys of musketry and grape-shot. The 3rd and 4th infantry regiments advanced nearly to the plaza in this manner but with heavy casualties. The 3rd Infantry lost a significant proportion of its officers—there were only five companies and perhaps twelve officers present, and five officers were killed. When within a block of the plaza, this small combined force—ten companies in total—was halted. Taking cover and keeping watch, our men waited for an enemy head to show above the sandbags on nearby rooftops. Any sign drew a sharp volley from our rifles.  We had not held this position long before we noticed our ammunition was running low. I volunteered to return to our starting point, report our situation to General Twiggs, and request more ammunition. At that moment, we were holding ground off the street, behind the houses. My ride back was fully exposed. Before starting, I positioned myself on the side of the horse farthest from the enemy, holding onto the cantle of the saddle with one foot and draping an arm over the neck—leaving the rest of me exposed. I set off at a full gallop. Only at intersections did my horse come under fire, but I crossed so quickly I was usually safely beyond the block before the enemy could react. I made it through without a scratch. During my ride, I saw a sentry in front of a house and stopped to ask his purpose. Discovering the house was full of wounded American officers and soldiers, I dismounted and went inside. There I found Captain Williams of the Engineer Corps, wounded in the head, likely fatally, and Lieutenant Territt, also severely wounded, his bowels protruding from his wound. There were several soldiers as well. I promised to report their situation, left, remounted, and continued at speed, soon reaching the troops at the east end. Before more ammunition could be collected, the two regiments I had just left were seen returning, running the same gauntlet out as they had going in, but with relatively little additional loss. The movement had been countermanded and the troops withdrawn. The poor wounded officers and men I had encountered fell into enemy hands that night, and died. While this occurred in the east, General Worth, with a small force, advanced toward the plaza from the opposite end. He used a better tactic to approach the plaza—the citadel—than we did in the east. Instead of following open streets, he advanced through the houses, cutting openings from one to another. This way, with little loss of life, he got close enough overnight that by morning, Ampudia, the Mexican commander, opened negotiations for surrender. This ended all further fighting. Terms of surrender were quickly agreed upon. The prisoners were paroled and allowed to keep their horses and personal belongings. Seeing the Mexican garrison of Monterey march out as prisoners aroused my sympathy, and I believe most of our army felt the same. Many prisoners were cavalry, armed with lances and riding miserable, half-starved horses that barely looked fit to leave town, and the men appeared hardly better. I reflected on how little these soldiers cared about the reasons for the war, and how little they likely understood “what it was all about.” After Monterey’s surrender, our camp life was quiet until midwinter. As on the Rio Grande, the local people who stayed in their homes soon grew very friendly with the “Yankees.” In fact, thanks to our commander’s humane policy, I think most Mexicans actually regretted our departure as much as they had regretted our arrival. Property and people were well protected, and the locals enjoyed a market for their goods such as they had never had before. The educated and wealthy classes, as elsewhere, had abandoned their homes and stayed away as long as we occupied them, but they were a very small part of the population. ## CHAPTER IX. ### POLITICAL INTRIGUE—BUENA VISTA—MOVEMENT AGAINST VERA CRUZ—SIEGE AND CAPTURE OF VERA CRUZ. The Mexican War was a political conflict, and the administration conducting it aimed to gain party advantage from it. General Scott was the head of the army, and, as a soldier of acknowledged professional ability, his claim to command the forces in the field was nearly indisputable and apparently not denied by President Polk or his Secretary of War, Marcy. Scott was a Whig, while the administration was Democratic. General Scott was also known to have political aspirations, and nothing gains popularity for a candidate for high office like military victories. Therefore, it would not do to give him command of the “army of conquest.” The plans Scott submitted for a campaign in Mexico were disapproved by the administration, and he replied, perhaps a bit disrespectfully, that if a soldier’s plans were not to be supported, success could not be expected. This occurred on May 27, 1846. Four days later, General Scott was notified he need not go to Mexico. General Gaines was next in rank, but he was too old and feeble for field command. Colonel Zachary Taylor—a brigadier-general by brevet—was thus left in command. He was also a Whig, but was not thought to have political ambitions; nor did he. But after the fall of Monterey, his third battle and third complete victory, the Whig newspapers at home began naming him as their party’s candidate for the Presidency. Something had to be done to counter his growing popularity. He could not be recalled from field duty after such victories—that would have been too transparent. It was ultimately decided to send General Scott to Mexico in chief command and to authorize him to carry out his original plan: capture Vera Cruz and march to the capital of the country. It was likely assumed that Scott’s ambition would prompt him to sideline Taylor or ruin his Presidential prospects, and yet it was hoped Scott himself would not gain sufficient popularity to secure the office for himself. The administration faced a highly awkward problem. It was engaged in a war of conquest that needed to be brought to a successful end, or its political goals would not be achieved. Yet, all the capable officers of required rank belonged to the opposing party, and the man chosen for his lack of political ambition had now become a leading candidate for the Presidency. His chances needed to be swiftly diminished. The challenge was to accomplish this without losing the conquest and without allowing another general of the same political party to gain similar popularity. In fact, Mr. Polk’s administration made every preparation to disgrace Scott, or, more accurately, to push him into such frustration that he might disgrace himself. General Scott had opposed conquest by way of the Rio Grande, Matamoras, and Saltillo from the outset. Now, in command of all forces in Mexico, he withdrew most of Taylor’s regular troops, leaving only enough volunteers, in his view, to hold the line then occupied by the invading army. In fact, Scott did not believe it important to hold anything beyond the Rio Grande, and authorized Taylor to retreat to that line if he wished. General Taylor protested the depletion of his army, and his later move toward Buena Vista suggests he did not share his chief’s opinion regarding the inessential nature of conquest beyond the Rio Grande. Scott calculated the numbers and materials needed to capture Vera Cruz and march on the country’s capital, two hundred and sixty miles inland. He was promised everything he requested and seemed to have not only the President’s confidence, but also his sincere good wishes. These promises were all broken. Only about half the troops pledged were actually provided; other necessary material was withheld, and Scott had hardly left for Mexico before the President tried to replace him with Senator Thomas H. Benton as lieutenant-general. When Congress refused this, the President requested legislative authority to assign a junior above a senior of the same grade, intending to make Benton a major-general and place him in command, but Congress also declined this. Thus, Scott remained in command; however, every general appointed under him was of the opposing political party, and several were personally hostile to him. General Scott arrived at Brazos Santiago or Point Isabel, at the mouth of the Rio Grande, late in December 1846, and proceeded at once upriver to Camargo, where he had written for General Taylor to meet him. However, Taylor had already gone to or toward Tampico, intending to establish a post there, having started before learning of Scott’s presence in the country. Under these circumstances, Scott had to issue his orders withdrawing troops from Taylor without the personal consultation he had planned. General Taylor’s victory at Buena Vista, on February 22nd, 23rd, and 24th, 1847, with an army made up almost entirely of volunteers who had never before been in battle, and over a numerically larger force, made his nomination for the Presidency by the Whigs a certainty. He was nominated and elected in 1848. I believe he sincerely regretted this turn in his fortunes, preferring the peace of a quiet life, free from attack, to the honor of holding the highest office available, the Presidency of the United States. When General Scott took command of the invading army, I was in General David Twiggs’s division under Taylor; but under the new orders, my regiment was transferred to General William Worth’s division, where I remained until the war’s end. The troops withdrawn from Taylor to take part in the Vera Cruz campaign were assembled at the mouth of the Rio Grande, preparing for embarkation to their destination. I found General Worth different from any commander I had previously served under. He was nervous, impatient, and restless on the march, or when facing important or responsible duty. There was no real reason to rush the march, since it would take weeks to assemble enough shipping at the embarkation point, yet General Worth moved his division with a haste that would have been praiseworthy if headed to relieve a besieged garrison. The lengths of the marches were determined by the distances between water sources for the troops, and these varied. On at least one occasion, after covering the full intended day’s distance and once the troops were in camp preparing food, General Worth ordered the tents struck and made the march that night rather than the next day. Some commanders can move troops for maximum distance with minimal fatigue, while others exhaust them quickly without achieving much. General Worth was of the latter type. However, he enjoyed a fine reputation for his fighting spirit, and thus inspired loyalty among his officers and men. The army camped on the sand beach near the mouth of the Rio Grande for several weeks, waiting for transports to take them to their new theater of operations. All the transports were sailing vessels. The voyage was long, and many troops spent over thirty days at sea from embarking at the mouth of the Rio Grande to landing south of Vera Cruz. The trip was uncomfortable for both officers and men. The transports were designed to carry freight and offered little in the way of passenger quarters, and the climate only added to everyone’s discomfort. Transports carrying troops assembled in the harbor of Anton Lizardo, about sixteen miles south of Vera Cruz, as they arrived, and there they waited for the rest of the fleet that would bring artillery, ammunition, and supplies from the North. Among the fleet was a small steam propeller dispatch boat—the first of its kind I had ever seen, and likely the first seen by anyone with the army. At that time, ocean steamers were rare, and those that existed were sidewheelers. This small vessel moved through the fleet so quickly and quietly, with its propeller hidden beneath the water, that it drew much attention. I remember that Lieutenant Sidney Smith of the 4th Infantry, with whom I happened to be standing on the deck of a ship as this propeller passed, exclaimed, “Why, the thing looks as if it was propelled by the force of circumstances.” Finally, on March 7, 1847, the small army of ten or twelve thousand men given to Scott to invade a country of seven or eight million people—a mountainous country offering the greatest natural advantages for defense—was fully assembled and ready to begin the dangerous task of landing from vessels anchored in the open ocean. The landing took place inside the small island of Sacrificios, about three miles south of Vera Cruz. The vessels could not approach the shore closely, so everything had to be brought in by lighters or surf-boats; General Scott had arranged for these before leaving the North. Sometimes the breakers were high, making landing slow. The men could get ashore quickly, since they could wade when they reached shallow water, but the camp and garrison equipment, provisions, ammunition, and stores all had to be protected from salt water, so their landing took several days. The Mexicans were very kind in this respect, offering almost no opposition to our landing aside from an occasional shot from their nearest fort. During the debarkation, one such shot struck and killed Major Albertis. No other round, I believe, came anywhere near the same distance. On March 9, the troops were landed, and the investment of Vera Cruz, from the Gulf of Mexico south of the city to the Gulf again on the north, was quickly and easily completed. The landing of supplies continued until everything was brought ashore. Vera Cruz, at this time and up until 1880, was a walled city. The wall ran from the water’s edge south of town to the water again in the north, with fortifications set at intervals and at the corners. In front of the city, on an island half a mile out in the Gulf, stood San Juan de Ulloa, an enclosed fortification of considerable size and strength for its era. Against modern artillery, such land forts and walls would be a liability rather than a strength. After the invading army had established camps out of range of the city’s guns, batteries were set up—under cover of darkness—far in advance of the main lines. These batteries were entrenched and protected by defensive works. Had the Mexicans attempted a sortie at any point, the men manning the batteries could have been quickly reinforced without serious exposure to fire from the enemy’s main defenses. No earnest attempt was ever made to storm the batteries or dislodge our troops. The siege continued with brisk firing on our side until March 27, by which time a substantial breach had been made in the city wall. At this point, General Morales, who was both Governor of the city and of San Juan de Ulloa, began a correspondence with General Scott regarding surrender of the town, forts, and garrison. On March 29, Vera Cruz and San Juan de Ulloa were occupied by Scott’s army. About five thousand prisoners and four hundred artillery pieces, along with large quantities of small arms and ammunition, fell into the hands of our victorious force. The casualties on our side during the siege totaled sixty-four officers and men, killed and wounded. ## CHAPTER X. ### MARCH TO JALAPA—BATTLE OF CERRO GORDO—PEROTE—PUEBLA—SCOTT AND TAYLOR. General Scott had fewer than twelve thousand men at Vera Cruz. He had been promised by the administration a much larger force—at least he claimed he had, and he was a man of veracity. Twelve thousand was a very small army for penetrating two hundred and sixty miles into enemy territory and besieging the capital, a city of well over one hundred thousand inhabitants at that time. Furthermore, any route selected led through mountain passes that were easily defended. In fact, there were only two possible roads for an army from Vera Cruz to the City of Mexico: one by Jalapa and Perote, the other by Cordova and Orizaba. These two routes joined on the great plain that extends to the City of Mexico after passing through the mountain range. It was very important to get the army away from Vera Cruz as soon as possible to avoid yellow fever, or vomito, which usually strikes the city early in the year and is very deadly to those not acclimated. However, the transportation expected from the North was arriving very slowly. It was absolutely necessary to have enough transport to supply the army to Jalapa, sixty-five miles inland and above the coastal fevers. At that point, the country is fertile, and an army the size of Scott’s could sustain itself there indefinitely. Not counting the sick, the weak, and the garrisons for the captured city and fort, the moving column was now less than ten thousand strong. This force was divided into three divisions, under Generals Twiggs, Patterson, and Worth. Avoiding the vomito was so urgent that as soon as there was sufficient transportation for one division, the advance began. On April 8th, Twiggs’s division started for Jalapa. Patterson followed very soon after with his division. General Worth was to bring up the rear as soon as enough transportation was available to carry six days’ rations, ammunition, and necessary equipment for his troops. Worth's division did not depart Vera Cruz until April 13th. The leading division encountered the enemy at Cerro Gordo, about fifty miles west on the road to Jalapa, and set up camp at Plan del Rio, about three miles from the fortifications. Patterson’s division reached Plan del Rio soon after Twiggs. The two divisions were then secure against an attack from Santa Anna, who commanded the Mexican forces. In any case, they faced the enemy without reinforcements and without interference until April 18th. General Scott had remained in Vera Cruz to expedite field preparations, but on the 12th, after learning of the situation at the front, he quickly advanced to take personal command. He immediately began preparations for an assault on the position held by Santa Anna and his troops. Cerro Gordo is one of the higher spurs of the mountains, about twelve to fifteen miles east of Jalapa. Santa Anna had chosen this point as the most defensible against an invading army. The road, said to have been built by Cortez, zigzags around the mountain side and was defended at every turn by artillery, with deep chasms or mountain walls on either side. A direct attack along the road was impossible, and a flanking movement seemed equally so. After Scott arrived, he ordered reconnaissance missions to find or create a path to the rear of the enemy’s works without a frontal attack. These were carried out under Captain Robert E. Lee, assisted by Lieutenants P. G. T. Beauregard, Isaac I. Stevens, Z. B. Tower, G. W. Smith, George B. McClellan, and J. G. Foster of the Corps of Engineers—officers later renowned on different sides during the Civil War. The reconnaissance was completed, and the work of cutting and making roads around the enemy’s flank was finished by the 17th, all accomplished without Santa Anna or his troops knowing, and over terrain he had thought impassable. On the same day, Scott issued his order for the attack on the 18th. The attack took place as ordered, and perhaps there hadn’t been a battle in the Mexican War—or any other war—where pre-battle orders so accurately predicted what actually happened. Under the engineers' guidance, roads had been constructed across chasms to the right, with walls so steep men could barely climb them—animals could not. These were made under cover of night, without catching enemy attention. The engineers led the way and the troops followed. Artillery was lowered down steep slopes by hand, with the men using strong ropes on the rear axle, moving the guns one piece at a time; those at the ropes holding their ground atop the slope, paying out gradually, while a few at the front guided the piece. Similarly, the guns were hauled up the opposite slopes by hand. This way, Scott’s troops reached their assigned positions behind most of the enemy’s entrenchments, undetected. The attack commenced—the Mexican reserves behind the works quickly retreated, and those in the entrenchments surrendered. On the left, General Pillow’s command made a strong demonstration, no doubt holding part of the enemy in place and contributing to the victory. I do not claim to give full details of all the battles, but only of the parts I witnessed. Troops engaged elsewhere suffered losses on both sides, but the battle was won as described here. The enemy was completely surprised and the victory overwhelming; about three thousand prisoners were taken by Scott, along with a large amount of ordnance and supplies. The prisoners were paroled, the artillery secured, and the small arms and ammunition destroyed. The battle of Buena Vista also likely played an important role in Scott’s victory at Cerro Gordo and in his entire campaign from Vera Cruz to the plains leading to Mexico City. The only army Santa Anna had for protecting his capital and the passes west of Vera Cruz was the one facing General Taylor. He probably wouldn’t have gone as far north as Monterey to attack U.S. forces if he knew his country was threatened further south. When Taylor moved to Saltillo, then advanced to Buena Vista, Santa Anna crossed the desert to face the invading army, hoping to defeat it and return to confront Scott at the mountain passes west of Vera Cruz. His attack on Taylor was disastrous for the Mexican army, but despite that, he marched his troops nearly a thousand miles (by the path he took) to reach Cerro Gordo in time to fortify before Scott arrived. Had he succeeded at Buena Vista, his troops would likely have put up much stiffer resistance at Cerro Gordo. If the battle of Buena Vista hadn’t been fought, Santa Anna would have had time to move more slowly to meet the invasion further south, and with an army not demoralized or reduced by defeat. After the battle, the victorious army moved on to Jalapa, a beautiful, productive, and healthy area well above the fevers of the coast. Jalapa, however, is still in the mountains, and between there and the great plain, the entire road is easy to defend. It was important, therefore, to take control of the main route from the coast to the capital as far as where it leaves the mountains, before the enemy could reorganize and barricade the way. Worth’s division was chosen to move forward for this purpose, marching to Perote on the plain, near where the road exits the mountains. There is a low, strong fort on the plain before the town, known as the Castle of Perote. This offered no resistance and fell into our hands, along with its weaponry. Now Scott had only nine or ten thousand men west of Vera Cruz, and with about four thousand of them soon due to complete their term of enlistment, a lengthy delay followed. The troops were in a healthy climate where they could survive indefinitely, even if their route back to Vera Cruz was cut off. It became clear that the men whose enlistments would end before Mexico City could possibly be captured would not stay beyond their original term. To avoid forcing them to pass through Vera Cruz during vomito season, Scott decided to discharge them immediately. This reduced Scott's field force to about five thousand men. Early in May, Worth and his division left Perote and marched to Puebla. The roads were wide and the terrain open, except for one pass through a spur of mountains from the south, which the road had to cross. Still, the small force was divided into two groups, a day apart. Nothing of great note occurred on the way, except that while stopped at Amozoque—a day’s march east of Puebla—a force of Mexican cavalry, two or three thousand strong, appeared about a mile to our right. A couple of batteries with two or three infantry regiments were dispatched after them and the cavalry soon disappeared. On May 15th, we entered Puebla. General Worth remained in command at Puebla until late May, when General Scott arrived. During the march and while in Puebla, Worth’s restlessness, especially under responsibility, became obvious. During his brief command, numerous enemy forces lingered near the city in numbers much greater than his own. The brigade I served with changed quarters three times in about a week—first near the plaza in the city’s center, then to the western entrance, then to the extreme east. On one occasion, Worth kept the troops in line under arms all day with three days’ cooked rations in their packs, riding from one command to another, warning of Santa Anna’s supposed approach with vastly superior numbers. After General Scott arrived in late May, nothing more was heard of Santa Anna and his supposed legions. There were, as always, some mounted Mexicans watching us and seeking to capture stragglers or small parties that went too far out, but these retreated when any sizable group of our soldiers approached. After Scott arrived, I was sent as quartermaster, with a large wagon train, two days’ march back, to obtain forage. We had less than a thousand men as escort, yet never considered ourselves in danger. We gathered full loads at two plantations, each of which could easily have supplied as much again. There had been major delays in securing Congressional approval for the troops requested by the administration. A bill to authorize the creation of ten additional regiments for the war, to be attached to the regular army, had been pending since early in the 1846–47 session, but it did not become law until mid-February. Officer appointments then had to be made, men recruited and equipped, and the entire force transported to Mexico. It was August before Scott received enough reinforcements to justify resuming the advance. Even then, his moving column numbered barely more than ten thousand, organized into four divisions, commanded by Generals Twiggs, Worth, Pillow, and Quitman. There was also a cavalry corps under General Harney, composed of detachments from the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd dragoons. The advance began August 7th, with Twiggs’s division in the lead; the other three divisions followed, a day apart. Marches were short to allow quick concentration if attacked. I had now seen battle under the two top commanders leading armies in a foreign land. The contrast between them was striking. General Taylor never wore a uniform, dressing solely for comfort. He inspected the field personally, often alone, and even when accompanied by staff officers, there was no formal order in their movement. He frequently sat his horse sideways—with both feet on one side—especially on the battlefield. Scott was the complete opposite: he always wore the full uniform prescribed or allowed by law for inspecting lines. Advance word was sent to all division and brigade commanders to expect the commanding general at a specific hour, so the whole army would be under arms to salute him as he passed. On these occasions, he would be dressed in his formal uniform, cocked hat, aiguillettes, sabre, and spurs. His full staff, as well as all officers on staff duty—engineers, inspectors, quartermasters, and others—joined the procession, also in uniform and in prescribed order. Orders were meticulously prepared, and clearly intended to be a record of ensuing events. Their ways of expressing themselves were equally different. Scott was precise in language, cultivated his own unique style, proud of his rhetoric, and not shy about referring to himself—even in the third person. He would praise himself without embarrassment. Taylor, by contrast, was not a talkative man, but in writing he could make his meaning absolutely clear. He expressed what he wanted to say in the fewest well-chosen words, never sacrificing clarity for the sake of impressive phrasing. Yet, despite these differences, both were great and successful soldiers—true, patriotic, and upright in their dealings. Both were pleasant to serve under—Taylor was pleasant to serve with. Scott relied more on reports from staff officers, while Taylor saw things for himself and gave orders as needed, unconcerned with how they would sound in history. ## CHAPTER XI. ### ADVANCE ON THE CITY OF MEXICO—BATTLE OF CONTRERAS—ASSAULT AT CHURUBUSCO—NEGOTIATIONS FOR PEACE—BATTLE OF MOLINO DEL REY—STORMING OF CHAPULTEPEC—SAN COSME—EVACUATION OF THE CITY—HALLS OF THE MONTEZUMAS. The army’s march from Puebla to Mexico City passed over the Rio Frio mountain, the highest point of the road rising about eleven thousand feet above sea level. This mountain pass could have been easily defended, but it was not; the advance division reached the summit just three days after leaving Puebla. Mexico City lies west of the Rio Frio mountain, on a plain backed by another mountain situated six miles farther west, with still others even closer to the north and south. Between the west base of Rio Frio and the city are three lakes: Chalco and Xochimilco on the left, and Texcoco on the right, the latter stretching to the eastern edge of the city. Chalco and Texcoco are separated by a narrow strip of land, which is where the direct road to the city runs. Xochimilco lies even farther south and left of the road, connected to Lake Chalco by a narrow channel. To the right of the road, a rocky mound called El Penon rises out of the flat terrain that separates the lakes. The base and summit of this mound were fortified with earthworks, making a direct assault unfeasible. Scott’s army quickly regrouped around Ayotla and other points near the eastern end of Lake Chalco. Reconnaissance missions were sent as close as gunshot range to El Penon, while the engineers searched for a route south of Lake Chalco to flank the city and approach from the south and southwest. A path was found around the lake, and by August 18th troops occupied St. Augustin Tlalpam, a town about eleven miles due south from the city’s plaza. Between St. Augustin Tlalpam and the city stood the San Antonio hacienda and the village of Churubusco, with Contreras to the southwest. Except for St. Augustin Tlalpam, all these positions were fortified and heavily garrisoned. Contreras sat on the side of a mountain, at its base, among chaotic volcanic rocks extending nearly to San Antonio, further complicating movement towards the city from the south. The brigade I was assigned to—Garland’s, part of Worth’s division—was sent to confront San Antonio, two or three miles from St. Augustin Tlalpam along the road to Churubusco and Mexico City. San Antonio is set squarely in the valley, its surface just slightly above lake level, and except to the southwest, the ground was cut up with deep, water-filled ditches. To the southwest is the Pedregal—volcanic rock as described before—over which cavalry or artillery was impassable, and even infantry would struggle, especially against opposition. From Garland’s position, no attack could be made on San Antonio’s defenses except from the front, across a narrow causeway over flat terrain, all of which was covered by the enemy’s guns. If Contreras, some three miles west and south, were captured, forces could move from there to the right flank of all enemy positions between us and the city. With this in mind, General Scott ordered us to hold our front without attacking until further instructions. On August 18th, the day we reached San Augustin Tlalpam, Garland’s brigade secured a spot within easy range of the forward entrenchments at San Antonio, where our troops were protected by an artificial embankment built for some other purpose. General Scott immediately sent his engineers to survey the works around Contreras, and on the 19th, maneuvers began to position troops for an attack on the enemy there. The Pedregal to the north and northeast and the mountain to the south made flanking the enemy’s positions very difficult, as their defenses sat squarely between these natural obstacles. Nonetheless, a road was built during the day and night of the 19th, enabling our troops to reach north and west of the enemy. This campaign, like Cerro Gordo, showcased the engineer corps’ exceptional skill. In both cases, tasks that looked daunting at first were made easier for the troops because of the engineers’ expertise. The very strength of these positions was converted by the engineers’ work into cover for the assault force as they advanced. All the troops under Scott in the valley of Mexico, except part of General Quitman’s division at San Augustin Tlalpam and Garland’s brigade at San Antonio, fought in the battle of Contreras or moved under orders to support those engaged. Assault began on the morning of the 20th, and in less than half an hour, the position was captured, yielding many prisoners and vast stores of arms. General Riley’s brigade played the most prominent role in the final attack due to its position, but both volunteers and regulars performed admirably. From where we waited in Garland’s brigade, we could see the success at Contreras and troops moving to flank and rear of the forces opposing us. The Mexicans all the way back to the city could see this, too, and their demeanor clearly showed their dismay. As soon as they began retreating, we advanced and found they had already abandoned our immediate front. Clarke’s brigade, also from Worth’s division, then moved west over the tip of the Pedregal, and after skirting north far enough to clear San Antonio, turned east and got onto the causeway towards Churubusco and Mexico City. As they neared Churubusco, Lieutenant Colonel Hoffman on the left attacked a tête-de-pont and drew the enemy into battle. An hour later, Garland was ordered to advance directly along the causeway; we arrived in time to take part in the fight. San Antonio was found empty, likely abandoned as soon as the enemy saw the stars and stripes above Contreras. The troops who fought at Contreras, and those heading to join the battle, moved along a causeway west and parallel to the road through San Antonio and Churubusco. General Scott expected these men to advance north far enough to flank the Churubusco defenders before turning east to meet the San Antonio road, but they did not manage this, and the battle of Churubusco proved to be the fiercest fought in the valley of Mexico. Scott arrived on the battlefield during this time and directed two brigades under Shields to move north and attack the enemy’s right. Shields complied, but not without intense fighting and heavy losses. In the end, the enemy broke, leaving us prisoners, artillery, and small arms. The rest of the causeway held by the enemy, right up to the city gates, was taken in the same way. I recall that at this point, some of the artillerymen captured had been deserters from General Taylor’s army on the Rio Grande. Both the strategy and tactics General Scott demonstrated on August 20th, 1847, are, in my opinion, flawless even after so many years. As mentioned, the engineer officers’ work in reconnoitering and leading various commands was so thorough that Scott could give orders to his subordinates with the same precision as if on a routine march—at least up to the point where attacks began. After that, the enemy often forces changes not previously anticipated. The enemy outside the city outnumbered us at least three to one, but faced with repeated defeats, their morale collapsed, and Mexico City could have been taken with little more fighting. In fact, Captain Philip Kearney—who later became a general in the Civil War—rode with a cavalry squadron to the city gates and would likely have led his men inside except he was badly wounded there, as were several officers. He had not heard the order to halt. General Franklin Pierce had joined the army in Mexico, at Puebla, shortly before the advance on the capital began. Consequently, he had not participated in any previous engagements before Contreras. On the afternoon of the 19th, his horse fell, injuring him painfully. The next day, when his brigade and other troops were ordered to attack the enemy’s flank and rear along the road to the city, General Pierce tried to accompany them. He wasn’t fully recovered, fainted, and was unable to continue. This incident led to unfair and unjust criticism of him when he later ran for President. Whatever one thinks of Pierce’s qualifications for the presidency, he was a gentleman and a courageous man. Though I did not support him politically, I knew him better than any other volunteer general. General Scott chose not to enter the city at this time because Mr. Nicholas P. Trist, the United States commissioner for negotiating peace with Mexico, was with the army. Either he or Scott—or likely both—thought that a treaty would be more possible while the Mexican government still held the capital, than if it were dispersed and the city occupied by invaders. Regardless, we did not enter then. The army set up along the mountain slopes south of the city, as far west as Tacubaya. Negotiations began at once with Santa Anna, then effectively the Mexican government and the commander of all forces defending the country. A truce was signed, forbidding either side from strengthening positions or bringing in reinforcements during the armistice, but allowing Scott to draw supplies from the city for his army during this period. Negotiations began immediately and continued vigorously between Mr. Trist and Mexican commissioners until September 2nd. At that point, Mr. Trist delivered his ultimatum: Mexico was to cede Texas absolutely, and also New Mexico and California to the United States for a set sum to be determined later. I do not believe Mr. Trist had any leeway about the borders. The war was a war of conquest, motivated by certain interests, and likely, private orders required new territory suitable for making new states. In any case, the Mexicans were so offended by the proposed terms that they began defensive preparations without formally ending the armistice. The truce terms had already been broken once, when teams carrying supplies for our army were sent into the city; the first wagon train was threatened by a mob. The authorities apologized and denied responsibility, so from then on, to avoid agitating the Mexican people and soldiers, our supply teams entered at night when troops were in barracks and civilians asleep. The incident was overlooked and talks continued. But after a second violation reported around September 4th, Scott wrote a strong note to President Santa Anna about it, and, unsatisfied with the reply, declared the armistice over. General Scott, with Worth’s division, was now occupying Tacubaya, a village four miles southwest of Mexico City, spreading from its base up the mountainside for about half a mile. Over a mile to the west and also above the plain, stands Molino del Rey. The mill is a long, one-story stone building stretching several hundred feet. At the time, Scott believed part of the mill was used as a foundry for cannons, but this proved untrue; its real value to Mexicans was the large store of grain it held. The building’s flat roof was lined with sandbags, making the top a formidable defensive post for infantry. Nearby, Chapultepec is a mound rising some three hundred feet above the plain, almost directly between Molino del Rey and the western city districts. It was fortified on its summit and rocky, steep flanks. Mexico City’s water comes from two aqueducts supported by strong stone arches. One draws water from mountain streams by Molino del Rey, running north along the west base of Chapultepec, then along the center of a wide road to Garita San Cosme, and from there, both aqueduct and road run east into the city. The second aqueduct starts at Chapultepec’s east base, fed by a spring, and runs northeast to the city. Both aqueducts, in broad roadways, created spaces on either side. The supporting arches shielded advancing or defending troops. On San Cosme road, parapets stood across the street, each with a gun embrasure and supporting infantry. At the turn where road and aqueduct head from north to east, stood a parapet with a gun and infantry backup, and the houses north of San Cosme road, facing south and overlooking the road to Chapultepec, were filled with infantry behind sandbag parapets. The roads to the city gates—San Cosme and Belen—where the aqueducts enter, were heavily fortified. Wide, deep, water-filled ditches lined both routes. Such were Mexico City’s defenses in September 1847, on the approaches used by Scott. Before the Mexican war, Scott had shown great favor to General Worth—and continued to do so through most of the war—but for some reason, Worth had grown distant. Scott took this rather personally, but did not retaliate. In fact, he tried to restore their friendship by giving Worth full authority to plan and carry out the Molino del Rey battle without interference. The effort failed, and the generals remained distant or even hostile toward each other. The battle of Molino del Rey took place September 8th. On the night of the 7th, Worth summoned his brigade and regimental commanders, with their staffs, to his quarters for orders. The plan was to move into striking distance of the mills before dawn. The engineers had scouted the ground and provided all the necessary information for a proper approach and attack. By daylight on the 8th, the troops designated for Molino had reached their positions. The ground south of the mills was covered by artillery from Chapultepec’s summit as well as lighter nearby batteries. Nevertheless, the charge went forward, and victory was swift. Worth’s men entered the mills from every door, and the enemy fled quickly back to Chapultepec. If this victory had been immediately exploited, it’s likely that Americans and Mexicans would have reached Chapultepec’s defenses nearly at the same time, allowing us to take the fortress without further bloodshed. The defenders could not easily have fired on us without hitting their own men. As it was, five days later, more valuable lives were lost assaulting works that could almost have been ours on the 8th. I do not criticize the failure to seize Chapultepec then; the route of the defenders could not have been foreseen, and to take advantage of an unexpected opportunity, the commanding general must either be on the spot to give orders, or troops must proceed without them. Still, it is generally good practice to pursue a retreating enemy unless ordered otherwise. The casualties at Molino del Rey were heavy for the small force engaged, especially among the officers. I entered the mills with the earliest troops. Passing through to the north side facing Chapultepec, I noticed that armed Mexicans still occupied the roof, just feet from many of our men. Finding no ladder or stairs to the roof, I gathered a few soldiers and had a nearby cart brought up and set the shafts against the wall, bracing the wheels so it couldn’t roll. Using the shafts as a makeshift ladder reaching within three or four feet of the roof, I climbed up, followed by a few men, but found a private soldier had already beaten me there. There were still several Mexicans, including a major and five or six lower-ranking officers, who had not yet escaped before we took the building. They remained armed, while the lone soldier patrolled, guarding the prisoners he had rounded up single-handedly. I halted the sentry, collected the officers’ swords, and, with help from my men, broke the muskets against the wall and threw them to the ground below. With Molino del Rey captured, the troops—with the exception of a suitable guard left to hold the site and property—returned to their quarters in Tacubaya. The engagement was brief, but the killed and wounded were numerous for the size of the force involved. During the night of the 11th, batteries were set up that could fire upon the fortifications of Chapultepec. The bombardment began early on the morning of the 12th, but there was no further engagement that day apart from the artillery. General Scott assigned General Pillow to capture Chapultepec, but did not leave the details to his discretion. Two assaulting columns, each made up of two hundred and fifty volunteers, were formed for the event. They were commanded by Captains McKinzie and Casey, respectively. The assault was successful, but it was costly in casualties. In later years, if not at the time, the battles of Molino del Rey and Chapultepec have seemed to me to have been entirely unnecessary. Once the assaults on the garitas of San Cosme and Belen were decided upon, the road leading east to the former gate could easily have been reached, without fighting, by moving south of the Mills until far enough west to be out of range, then turning north to the road above mentioned; or, if it was desirable to keep the two attacking columns closer together, the troops could have moved east to come onto the aqueduct road, staying beyond the range of Chapultepec’s guns. Similarly, the troops intended to attack Belen could have kept east of Chapultepec, also staying out of range, and joined the aqueduct road. Had this approach been taken, Molino del Rey and Chapultepec would both have had to be evacuated, as they would have been flanked. General Quitman, a volunteer from Mississippi, who was well-respected by the army both as a soldier and as a person, commanded the column advancing against Belen. General Worth led the column headed for San Cosme. When Chapultepec fell, the advance began along the two aqueduct roads. I was on the route to San Cosme, and witnessed most of what happened there. When we met resistance, our troops protected themselves by staying beneath the arches supporting the aqueduct, moving forward one arch at a time. We did not face significant obstacles until we came within gunshot of the point where our road intersected the one leading east to the city—the spot where the aqueduct turns at a right angle. I have previously described this position’s defenses. There were only three commissioned officers with me at the front that I can recall—one was Lieutenant Semmes of the Marine Corps. I believe Captain Gore and Lieutenant Judah, of the 4th Infantry, were the others. Our advance was stopped temporarily by a single artillery piece at the road’s angle and by infantry occupying the rooftops behind it. To the west of the road from where we were, there was a house at the southwest corner formed by the San Cosme road and the road we were moving along. A stone wall extended from the house along each of these roads for some distance, then curved back until it formed a yard around the house. I watched for my chance and slipped across the road, getting behind the south wall. Proceeding cautiously to the west corner of the enclosure, I looked around and, seeing no one, continued carefully until I reached the east-west road. I then went back to the troops and called for volunteers. All those nearby, about a dozen, immediately offered their services. Telling them to carry their arms at a trail, I waited for an opening and got them across the road, under cover of the wall beyond, before the enemy could get off a shot. Our men under the aqueduct arches closely watched the enemy entrenchments and rooftops, firing whenever a head appeared above the parapet. Thus, we made the crossing without loss. Once we reached a safe position, I again directed my small group to carry their arms at a trail, not to fire at the enemy unless ordered, and to move carefully, following me until we reached the San Cosme road. That would put us on the flank of the soldiers operating the gun on the road, with no obstacles between us and them. On reaching the southwest corner of the enclosure mentioned earlier, I saw some United States troops pushing north through a shallow ditch nearby—they had arrived since my earlier reconnaissance. This was Captain Horace Brooks’s artillery company, acting as infantry. I briefly explained to Brooks what I had discovered and planned to do. He said, since I knew the ground and he did not, I should lead and he would follow. As soon as we got onto the road leading to the city, the enemy troops manning the gun on the parapet retreated, and those on nearby rooftops followed; our men pursued them so closely—joined by the troops we had left under the arches—that we captured a second line across the road, about halfway to the garita. No further reinforcements had arrived except Brooks’s company, and our advanced position could not be held by such a small force. It was given up, but retaken later that day, with some losses. Worth’s command continued to advance now that the way was open. Later that day, while scouting, I found a church south of the road, whose belfry looked as if it could command the ground behind the gate of San Cosme. I brought an officer of the voltigeurs, along with a mountain howitzer and a crew to work it. Since the road was held by the enemy, we crossed fields to the south to reach the church, which meant wading through several ditches, chest-deep in water and thick with water plants. However, these ditches were only eight or ten feet wide. The howitzer was taken apart and carried to the church. When I knocked, a priest—though very polite—refused to admit us. In my limited Spanish, I explained that he could save property by opening the door, and would certainly save himself from being a prisoner, at least for a while; besides, I intended to come in, regardless. He soon realized it was in his best interest to open the door, though he didn’t look pleased about it. The gun was taken to the belfry and reassembled. We stood no more than two or three hundred yards from San Cosme. The shots from our little gun dropped in on the enemy and caused great confusion. Why they didn’t send a small group to capture us, I don’t know. We had no infantry or any other defense except that one gun. The effect our gun had on the troops near the city gate was so significant that General Worth noticed from his position. > He was so pleased that he sent a staff officer, Lieutenant Pemberton—later Lieutenant-General commanding the defenses of Vicksburg—to bring me to him. He expressed his satisfaction with the service the howitzer in the church steeple was providing, saying that every shot was effective, and ordered a captain of voltigeurs to report to me with another howitzer to be placed with the one already doing such valuable service. I couldn’t bring myself to tell the General that there simply wasn’t room in the steeple for another gun, because he would probably have seen that as backtalk from a second lieutenant. I took the captain with me, but did not use his gun. The night of September 13th was spent by General Worth's troops in the houses near San Cosme and in line facing the enemy’s general position across to Belen. The troops I was with spent the night in houses north of the road into the city, making passageways from one house to the next in the direction of the town. During the night, Santa Anna and his army—except for deserters—left the city. He released all the convicts imprisoned there, no doubt hoping they would cause us trouble before morning; but several hours after Santa Anna’s departure, the city's authorities sent a delegation to General Scott to request—if not demand—an armistice, with respect to church property, citizens' rights, and the city government's authority over local affairs. General Scott refused to burden himself with such conditions, but assured them that anyone who stayed within our lines and behaved themselves would be protected.  General Quitman had advanced successfully along his route on the 13th so that at night his command was at nearly the same position at Belen as Worth’s troops were at San Cosme. Following General Scott’s meeting with the city council, orders were given for the careful entry of both columns the next morning. Worth’s troops were instructed to stop at the Alameda, a park near the city’s west end. Quitman was to proceed directly to the Plaza and take possession of the Palace—a large building on the east side that housed Congress, national courts, all public offices, the President’s residence, as well as museums, reception rooms, and more. This building is commonly referred to as the “Halls of the Montezumas.” ## CHAPTER XII. ### PROMOTION TO FIRST LIEUTENANT—CAPTURE OF THE CITY OF MEXICO—THE ARMY—MEXICAN SOLDIERS—PEACE NEGOTIATIONS. Upon entering the city, the troops were fired upon by the released convicts, and possibly by deserters and hostile citizens. The streets were deserted, and the place looked like a “city of the dead,” except for shots from unseen attackers on rooftops, from windows, and around corners. During this firing, the lieutenant-colonel of my regiment, Garland, was badly wounded. Lieutenant Sidney Smith of the 4th Infantry was also mortally wounded; he died a few days later, and through his death, I was promoted to first lieutenant. I had gone into the Battle of Palo Alto in May, 1846, as a second lieutenant, and I entered the city of Mexico sixteen months later with the same rank, after being present at every engagement possible for any one man, and serving in a regiment that lost more officers during the war than it ever had present at any one battle. My regiment lost four commissioned officers, all senior to me, in steamboat explosions during the Mexican war. The Mexicans were less discriminating; sometimes they picked off my juniors instead. General Scott soon followed the troops into the city, in full state. I am surprised that he was not fired upon, but I believe he was not; in any case, he was unharmed. Scott first took quarters in the “Halls of the Montezumas,” and from there issued wise and prudent orders for governing the conquered city and for suppressing the hostile acts of the liberated convicts mentioned earlier—orders which deserve the respect of all who examine them. Lawlessness was soon brought under control, and Mexico City became a quiet, law-abiding town once more. People started appearing in the streets without fear of the invaders. Shortly after, most of the troops were sent from the city to villages at the base of the mountains, four or five miles to the south and southwest. > NOTE.—For many years preceding the Mexican war, it was General Scott’s favored idea to establish a soldiers’ home in the United States, modeled after similar institutions abroad, particularly, I believe, in France. He recommended this regularly, or at least often, in his annual reports to the Secretary of War, but never received serious consideration. Now, after conquering the region, he assessed various large towns and cities occupied by our troops, in proportion to their ability to pay, and appointed officers to collect the money. In addition, he had acquired, through captures at Cerro Gordo, sales of captured government tobacco, and other sources, sums that increased this fund to about $220,000. Parts of this fund were distributed among the rank and file, given to the wounded in hospitals, or used for other purposes, leaving a balance of about $118,000 still unspent at the war’s end. After the war, when all the troops had returned home, General Scott applied to have this money—which had not been turned into the U.S. Treasury—used to establish the homes he had previously recommended. This fund formed the basis for the Soldiers’ Home in Washington City and one in Harrodsburg, Kentucky. The latter fell out of use many years ago. In fact, it never housed many soldiers, and I believe it was ultimately sold. Whether General Scott agreed with the Mexican war and how it was started, I cannot say. His orders to the troops showed only a soldier’s spirit, probably mixed with some desire to secure his own lasting fame. On the other hand, General Taylor’s orders, I think, suggest that he held the administration responsible for the war and felt his only duty was to perform his role faithfully. Both generals deserve the praise of their fellow citizens and remembrance in the nation’s gratitude for generations to come. Earlier in this narrative I indicated that the plain, reached after crossing the mountains to the east of Perote, extends through Puebla to Mexico City. The army’s route to Puebla passes over a mountain spur coming from the south; this pass could be easily defended by a smaller force against a larger one. Also, the highest point between Vera Cruz and Mexico City is over Rio Frio mountain, which could likewise have been defended successfully by an inferior force. However, by moving north of the mountains—about thirty miles north of Puebla—both these passes could have been avoided. The road from Perote to Mexico City by this northern route is as level as the prairies of the West. Arriving due north of Puebla, troops could have detached a force to take the city and then, proceeding west with the rest of the army, encountered no mountains before reaching Mexico City. While it’s true this road would have brought troops in by Guadalupe—a town, church, and mountain spur two miles north of the capital, all sharing the same name—and at this spot Lake Texcoco comes close to the mountain, which was fortified at the base and sides, the troops could have passed north of the mountain and arrived just a few miles to the northwest, flanking the position as they actually did from the south. It has always seemed to me that the northern route to Mexico City would have been the better choice. But later experience has taught me two things: first, events are clearer in hindsight; second, the most self-assured critics are usually those who know the least about what they criticize. I know enough about the Mexican war to heartily approve most of the generalship, while disagreeing with only a little of it. It makes sense that an important city like Puebla would not be bypassed; perhaps it was natural to use the direct road. Still, Puebla could have been bypassed, ensuring its evacuation and occupation, without the danger of facing the enemy in difficult mountain passes. In the same way, Mexico City could have been approached with no risk of opposition except in the open field. But General Scott’s successes answer all criticism. He invaded a populous nation, penetrating two hundred and sixty miles inland, with an army never equal to even half the size of his opponents; he had no logistical base; the enemy was always defended, always on the defensive—yet he won every battle, captured the capital, and conquered the government. Credit is certainly due the troops involved, but the planning and strategy were the general’s. I had now marched and fought under both General Scott and General Taylor. Scott divided his force of 10,500 men into four columns, departing a day apart when moving from Puebla to the national capital, even though an enemy army more than twice as large awaited him. The road was broad and the country clear except at Rio Frio mountain. Taylor did the same when advancing on an enemy—often moving in even smaller groups. At the time, I never doubted the infallibility of either general in military matters. I assumed they moved in small bodies because more men couldn't cross a single road in one day with artillery and necessary trains. Later, I found this belief to be mistaken. The Civil War, which followed as a direct result of the Mexican war, could never have been won if larger bodies of troops could not be moved together than had been done under Scott and Taylor. Every victory in Mexico was against far greater numbers. There were two reasons for this. Both Scott and Taylor commanded armies that are rarely assembled. At Palo Alto and Resaca-de-la-Palma, Taylor had a small army, but it was made up completely of regulars, excellently drilled and disciplined. Every officer, from the top down, was professionally trained—perhaps not all at West Point, but in the camp, in garrison, and many in Indian wars. The rank and file may have been inferior, in terms of raw potential, compared to later volunteer soldiers, but they were brave, and drill and discipline drew out all their ability. Probably no better army, man for man, ever faced an enemy than Taylor’s in the first two battles of the Mexican War. The volunteers who came later were of better overall material, though they lacked training or discipline at first. Still, they fought alongside disciplined soldiers and professional officers, and entered battle with a confidence they would otherwise have lacked. They quickly became soldiers themselves. We would once again have these advantages if faced with war. The Mexican army of that era was hardly a true organization. Private soldiers were drafted from the lower classes whenever needed without asking their consent; they were poorly clothed, even worse fed, and rarely paid. They were simply released when no longer needed. The lower-grade officers weren’t much better than the men. Nevertheless, I have seen some of these men make stands as brave as any I have witnessed from soldiers. Today, Mexico has a standing army larger than that of the United States. They have a military school modeled after West Point, their officers are trained, and doubtless generally brave. The Mexican war of 1846–1848 could not happen in the modern era. The Mexicans have shown a patriotism that we could well emulate, though we should add more concern for truth. They celebrate the anniversaries of Chapultepec and Molino del Rey as great victories; these dates are recognized as national holidays. While U.S. troops won both battles, it came at a great cost in lives compared to Mexican losses. In both cases, as in many others, the Mexicans stood as firm as any troops ever did. The problem seemed to be with inexperienced officers, who, after a certain point, would yield—not because they were thoroughly beaten, but because they believed they had fought enough. Modern Mexican authorities grow passionate when discussing these victories and take pride in the large amount of money we ultimately paid. Meanwhile, twenty years after the end of the most massive war ever known, we in the United States have writers—professing devotion to the country—arguing that the Union forces were not truly victorious; they claim, in effect, that we were simply battered from Donelson to Vicksburg and Chattanooga, and in the East from Gettysburg to Appomattox, with the rebellion ending only when it was physically exhausted. The amount of romanticism in both stories is the same. I would not have us celebrate the anniversaries of our victories, nor make those of our defeats into days of humiliation and prayer. But I do wish to see honest history written. Such history will give full credit to the courage, endurance, and skills of American citizens, regardless of their region or the side on which they fought. The justice of the victorious cause will, I am confident, be acknowledged by every American someday. For now, and as long as eyewitnesses to the great war of the sections still live, there will be those who cannot be consoled over the loss of what they believed to be a sacred cause. In time, even Southerners may come to wonder how their ancestors ever fought for or justified institutions that permitted the ownership of people as property. After the capital fell and the Mexican government was dispersed, it appeared likely that a long period of military occupation might be required. General Scott immediately began preparing orders, regulations, and laws for this possibility. He intended to make the country pay all occupation expenses, but without placing a burden on the people. His plan was to levy direct taxes on the various states, and to collect duties on all imports at whatever ports remained open. From the start, private property had not been taken by the army or individuals without full payment, and this policy would continue. There were not enough troops in the valley of Mexico to garrison many points, but with no enemy army of significant size left, reinforcements could be brought from the Rio Grande, and new volunteers continued to arrive, all through Vera Cruz. Military control was established in Cuernavaca (fifty miles south of Mexico City), Toluca (almost as far west), and Pachuca, a mining town of great significance about sixty miles northeast. Vera Cruz, Jalapa, Orizaba, and Puebla were already occupied. Meanwhile, the Mexican government had fled with Santa Anna, and for a time it was doubtful whether the U.S. commissioner, Mr. Trist, would find anyone willing to negotiate. However, a provisional government was soon set up in Queretaro, and Trist started peace talks. Before terms were finalized, he was ordered back to Washington, but General Scott convinced him to stay since an agreement was nearly reached, and if he could secure a treaty as contemplated, the administration would have to accept it. The treaty was finally signed on February 2, 1848, and accepted by the U.S. government. It is known as the “Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo,” and gave the United States the Rio Grande as Texas’s border, as well as all lands then forming New Mexico and Upper California, for $15,000,000. Soon after entering Mexico City, opposition from Generals Pillow and Worth, and Colonel Duncan toward General Scott became very obvious. Scott claimed they had demanded the President remove him. I do not know if this is true, but I do know of their open hostility to their commander. Eventually, he placed them under arrest and charged them with insubordination and disrespect. This action led to a crisis for the commanding general. He had said from the beginning that the administration had opposed him; that it failed to provide men and supplies as promised; that the President had shown duplicity, if not outright treachery, by seeking Benton’s appointment; now, the administration displayed its hostility openly. Around the middle of February, orders came convening a court of inquiry, made up of Brevet Brigadier-General Towson, the Army’s paymaster-general, Brigadier-General Cushing, and Colonel Belknap, to investigate both the accused and the accuser. Soon after, new orders from Washington relieved Scott of field command and gave it to Major-General William O. Butler of Kentucky. This order also released Pillow, Worth, and Duncan from arrest. If a change was necessary, selecting General Butler seemed agreeable to everyone, as far as I recall hearing. Many considered the treatment of General Scott harsh and unfair. Perhaps his vanity had led him to say and do things that provided the administration with a reason to do what it wanted and intended all along. The court investigated the accuser as much as the accused. The proceedings were adjourned before finishing to reconvene in Frederick, Maryland. General Scott then left the country, and never again had anything but nominal command of the army until early 1861. He was certainly not supported in his efforts to enforce discipline among the high ranks. The political efforts to unseat the two successful generals resulted in both becoming presidential candidates. General Taylor was nominated in 1848 and elected. Four years later, General Scott received the nomination but was soundly defeated, and the party that nominated him died after that loss. ## CHAPTER XIII. ### TREATY OF PEACE—MEXICAN BULL FIGHTS—REGIMENTAL QUARTERMASTER—TRIP TO POPOCATAPETL—TRIP TO THE CAVES OF MEXICO. The treaty of peace between the two countries was signed by the commissioners of each side early in February 1848. It took a considerable amount of time for the treaty to reach Washington, receive approval from the administration, and be finally ratified by the Senate. Naturally, the army assumed that there would be no more fighting, and officers and men were, of course, eager to return home. However, knowing delays were inevitable, they managed to make the best of the situation. Every Sunday, there was a bull fight for those willing to pay fifty cents for a ticket. I attended one of them—just one—not wanting to leave the country without seeing its national sport. The sight, however, was sickening to me. I could not understand how people could take pleasure in watching the suffering of animals—and often men—as they seemed to do at these events. At these shows, usually four to six bulls are killed. The audience sits around the ring where the exhibition is held, with seats arranged so each one is higher than the one in front, allowing everyone a full view. Once everything is prepared, a bull is let into the ring. Three or four men come in, mounted on horses that are more skeleton than flesh—blind or blindfolded, and so weak that they can barely make a sudden turn without risking a fall. The men wield spears with needle-sharp tips. Other men on foot enter, equipped with red flags and small explosives about the size of a musket cartridge. Each explosive has a barbed needle to fasten it to the bull by piercing the skin. Before the animal is released, several explosives are attached to it. The pain from the needles is infuriating, but when the explosives start going off, the animal becomes frantic. As the bull lunges at one horseman, another stabs him with a spear. If the bull turns to the last tormentor, a man on foot offers the red flag; the bull charges and is allowed to take it on his horns, only to be blinded by the flag dropping over his eyes before it is jerked away and the torment starts again. When the animal is driven to utter frenzy, the horsemen withdraw, and the matadores—literally, “killers”—enter with long, sharp knives, aiming to dodge the bull's attack and strike at the heart as he passes. If that fails, the bull is finally lassoed, held fast, and killed by stabbing the spinal column just behind the horns. He is dragged out by horses or mules, and another bull is brought in for the same ordeal. On the occasion I attended, one bull was not distracted by attacks from behind or by the red flag, but charged directly ahead, managing to get his horns under a horse and throw horse and rider violently to the ground. The horse was killed, and the rider lay as if dead. The bull was then lassoed and killed in the usual way. The supposed dead man was carried out on a litter. When the bull and horse were dragged out, a new bull came into the ring. Among the crowd was the very same man who had just been taken out as a corpse, now lively enough to continue watching—eager not to miss the misfortunes of others who might not be so lucky. The crowd was somewhat disgusted to see him alive again. I admit I felt sorry for the bull and horse. I did not stay for the end; but while I was there, not one bull was killed as prescribed. Today, bull fights are banned in the Federal District—which covers an area around Mexico City somewhat larger than the District of Columbia—and they are not common anywhere else in the country. During one of my recent visits to Mexico, bull fights were organized in my honor at Puebla and at Pachuca. I was not notified in advance, or I would have declined and stopped the performance; as it was, I politely refused to attend both times. Another popular pastime among Mexicans in those days—enjoyed by nearly everyone, male and female, old and young, priest and layman—was playing Monte. Regular feast weeks were held every year at what was then called St. Augustin Tlalpam, eleven miles from town. Gambling tables catered to every class of people. Many booths had tlackos—the country’s copper coin, four of which made up six and a quarter cents in American currency—piled high with some silver for those who could not wager more than a few pennies at a time. Other booths dealt mainly in silver, with a few doubloons as backup if luck ran against the bank. In some, only gold coins were used, and the wealthy were said to bet away their whole estates in a single day. All this is now gone. As for myself, I was kept fairly busy during the winter of 1847-48. My regiment was stationed in Tacubaya. I served as regimental quartermaster and commissary. General Scott had not been able to get clothing for troops from the North, and the men were in great need of clothes. We had to buy materials locally, as best as we could find, and hire people to sew them into “Yankee uniforms.” One city quartermaster was assigned this job, but clothing was so scarce it was taken as soon as it was made. A regiment would be happy to get a dozen uniforms at a time. I had to manage this for the 4th Infantry. Additionally, our regimental fund was depleted, and some of the band musicians had been unpaid for months. Back then, regimental bands were funded partly from government pay and partly from the regimental fund. There was legal authority to enlist a certain number of men as musicians; some received non-commissioned officer pay, the rest got paid as privates. This was not enough to attract a band leader or skilled players for some instruments. In garrison, there were ways to keep up the regimental fund enough to pay musicians extra, start libraries and recreation areas, subscribe to magazines, and provide comforts to the men. The best way to raise money was to issue bread to the soldiers instead of flour. The ration was eighteen ounces per day of flour or bread; and a hundred pounds of flour makes a hundred and forty pounds of bread. This saving was bought by the commissary for the benefit of the fund. In our emergency, I rented a bakery in the city, hired Mexican bakers, bought fuel and supplies, and got a contract from the army’s chief commissary to bake a large amount of hard bread. In two months, I raised more money for the fund than my entire pay during the war. While I was stationed at Monterey, I’d done the same for the post fund, though there the only gain was in converting flour to bread. In the spring of 1848, a group of officers got permission to visit Popocatapetl, the highest volcano in America, taking an escort with them. I joined, and many of the group later became well-known. Among those who “went south” and rose to high rank were Lieutenant Richard Anderson, who led a corps at Spottsylvania; Captain Sibley, a major general who later served the Khedive of Egypt; Captain George Crittenden, later a Confederate general; S. B. Buckner, who surrendered Fort Donelson; and Mansfield Lovell, who commanded at New Orleans before it fell to Union troops. Of those who stayed with the Union were Captain Andrew Porter, Lieutenant C. P. Stone, and Lieutenant Z. B. Tower. There were others whose names I don’t recall. At a small village (Ozumba) at the foot of Popocatapetl—where we planned to begin the ascent—we hired guides and two pack mules with forage for our horses. High on the mountain there was a deserted, one-room house called the Vaqueria, once used by men tending cattle on the slopes. The grazing land there was excellent when we saw it, and some cattle, descendants of the old domestic herd, remained, now gone wild. It was possible to ride to the Vaqueria, though the trail was dangerous in spots—narrow passages with sheer drops to roaring streams on one side and steep walls on the other. At one point, one of our mules, loaded with two sacks of barley about as big as itself, brushed against the mountain and tumbled to the bottom. The slope was steep but not vertical, and the mule rolled all the way down. We thought it surely dead, but later, when we set up camp, the same mule reappeared with its load and owner, unharmed thanks to the barley sacks, and the owner having found a way up the trail. The night at the Vaqueria was one of the most unpleasant I’ve experienced. It was bitterly cold, and it rained heavily. Higher on the mountain, the rain turned to snow. The wind blew fiercely. The log cabin had no roof on one side, and roofing on the other side that was little better than a sieve. Sleep was out of the question that night. As soon as daylight came, we started for the summit. The wind was strong and it was still cloudy, though there was no rain or snow. The clouds hid the country below, except for rare glimpses whenever the wind parted them for a moment. The wind whipped the loose snow off the mountain in such drifts it was almost impossible to stand upright. We struggled upward until it was clear we could not reach the summit before dark—if at all in such weather—so we decided to turn back. The descent, although rapid and easy, was still dangerous until we got below the snow line. At the cabin, we mounted our horses and returned to Ozumba by nightfall. The fatigue and lack of sleep compelled us to bed early. Our beds were simply spots on the dirt floor with a blanket. We soon fell asleep, but before morning, one after another of our group woke in agony with severe pain in the eyes. Not one escaped it. By morning, half the party had eyes so swollen they were completely shut; others were in just as much pain. The pain felt like being stuck repeatedly with a red-hot needle. We stayed in quarters until afternoon, bathing our eyes in cold water, which helped a lot. Before night, the pain was gone, though the swelling lasted, and about half still could not open their eyes. Nonetheless, we decided to start back, with those who could see leading horses for those who could not. We traveled six miles to the village of Ameca Ameca and stopped overnight. The next morning, all felt better and had no more pain. The weather was clear and Popocatapetl looked brilliant, its top seemingly just a mile away, inviting us to try again. About half wanted to attempt the climb a second time; the rest—including myself—felt we had had enough of mountain climbing and decided instead to visit the great caves of Mexico, some ninety miles away on the Acapulco road. The group that made the second attempt reached the crater at the summit, facing far less hardship than on the first try. Three of them—Anderson, Stone, and Buckner—wrote accounts of the trip that were published at the time. I made no notes, nor have I read about it since, but I can recall it all as clearly as if it were yesterday. In the last five years, I have visited Ameca Ameca and the next village twice, and nothing about the scene had changed much from my memory. Our group moved south through the valley to Cuantla, about forty miles from Ameca Ameca. The latter sits at the foot of Popocatapetl, about eight thousand feet above sea level. The slope down is gradual as one heads south. Still, as we traveled to Cuantla, one would not guess the descent was enough to change the climate or the land’s produce notably, but it was. When we left in the morning, we were in a temperate climate with crops and fruits like those in the United States; by evening, we were in the tropics, surrounded by oranges, bananas, coffee, and sugar-cane. It seemed we had traveled on a plain all day, but always in the direction water flows. Soon after Mexico City fell, an armistice was reached, imposing limits beyond which neither army’s troops could go while it was in place. We knew nothing of these boundaries. As we neared Cuantla, bugles sounded, and soldiers rushed from the guardhouse at the edge of town toward us. We halted. I tied a white handkerchief to a stick as a flag of truce and headed toward the town, with Captains Sibley and Porter following a few hundred yards back. I was detained at the guardhouse while a messenger went to the commanding general, who agreed to receive me. After a few minutes with him, my two comrades arrived. The Mexican general pointed out that our being there broke the armistice. Since we had no orders from our commanding general and did not know the rules, he let us occupy a vacant house outside the guard for the night, promising a guide to put us on the road to Cuernavaca the next morning. Cuernavaca lies west of Cuantla. The route between them passes through tropical landscapes, rich in scenery. About halfway, the road crosses a low mountain pass where there is a very old town, mostly inhabited by full-blooded Indians, few of whom spoke Spanish. The stone houses were mostly one-story, and the narrow streets likely dated from before Cortez’s time, their paving laid over the natural surface rather than being graded. We had a cart—probably the first wheeled vehicle ever to enter that town. On a hill overlooking the town stood the tomb of an ancient king; it was said the locals held it and the king’s memory in high reverence. We climbed up and examined the tomb, but found nothing remarkable in its architecture or construction. The next day, we moved on to Cuernavaca. After a day’s rest in Cuernavaca, our party set off again, heading for the great Mexican caves. Within a few miles, we were again stopped by a guard and told the armistice forbade further travel in that direction. After convincing the guard we were just tourists hoping to see natural wonders before leaving the country, they took us to a large hacienda nearby and instructed us to stay until their commanding general could respond to a message, which they promised to send at once. Night fell with no reply, but the captain thought it would arrive by morning. The next morning, still no answer. The same happened the second night. Eventually, we learned that no message had ever been sent. We then decided to continue on unless another force stopped us. After a few hours’ travel, we reached another town, where a similar scene played out. The commanding officer sent a guide to lead us around the village, and we were set back on our path. This was the last such interruption. That night, we stayed at a large coffee plantation, about eight miles from the cave we sought. It must have been a Saturday night; the peons had just been paid and spent much of the night gambling their meager earnings away. Their wagers were mostly in copper, and I doubt any had received as much as twenty-five cents in coins. Still, they were as excited as if gambling for thousands. I recall one poor fellow, after losing his last tlacko, took off his shirt and, in great excitement, wagered it on the turn of the next card. Monte was the game, and the playing took place outdoors near the officers’ quarters. The next morning, we were at the mouth of the cave early, equipped with guides, candles, and rockets. We explored about three miles in from the entrance and found a series of chambers of enormous size and great beauty when illuminated with our rockets. We discovered stalactites and stalagmites of all sizes. Some stalactites were many feet in diameter, stretching from ceiling to floor; some stalagmites were only a few feet high from the floor. The formation continues constantly, and many centuries from now, these stalagmites will reach the ceiling and become complete columns. The stalagmites were all somewhat concave on top, and the cavities held water. Water drips through the roof, a drop at a time—sometimes several minutes apart—and is often charged with mineral content. Evaporation happens slowly, leaving the minerals behind. Over time, this forms the immense columns, many weighing thousands of tons, which support the roofs of the vast chambers. I remember at one point in the cave, one column was so massive that there was only a narrow passage on each side. Some in our group were content with their exploration before reaching the usual point the guides took visitors and started back without guides. When they reached the large column I mentioned, they walked all the way around it and began retracing their steps deeper into the mountain, unaware of what they were doing. When the rest of us had finished exploring, we started back with our guides but hadn't gone far before seeing the torches of an approaching group. We couldn't figure out who it could be, since we all had entered together and no one else was at the entrance. Soon enough, we realized it was our friends. It took them some time to figure out how they ended up there. They were sure they had gone straight for the cave's mouth and had walked far enough to reach it. ## CHAPTER XIV. ### RETURN OF THE ARMY—MARRIAGE—ORDERED TO THE PACIFIC COAST—CROSSING THE ISTHMUS—ARRIVAL AT SAN FRANCISCO. My experience in the Mexican War was a great advantage to me later on. Aside from the many practical lessons it taught, the war brought nearly all the officers of the regular army together, allowing us to become personally acquainted. It also brought us into contact with volunteers, many of whom served in the Civil War later. In my particular case, I had attended West Point at about the right time to meet most of the graduates who were of the suitable age at the outbreak of the Civil War to be trusted with large commands. Graduating in 1843, I was at the military academy from one to four years with all cadets who graduated between 1840 and 1846—seven classes in total. These classes included more than fifty officers who later became generals on one side or the other in the rebellion, many holding high commands. I had also served with and known all the older officers who became prominent in the rebellion during our time in Mexico: Lee, J. E. Johnston, A. S. Johnston, Holmes, Hebert, and several others on the Confederate side; McCall, Mansfield, Phil. Kearney, and others on the National side. The acquaintance I made was immensely helpful to me during the Civil War—I mean what I learned about the character of those I would later face. I don't claim that all military movements, or even most, were planned specifically according to my knowledge of the opposing commanders. But my understanding of my adversaries was certainly influenced by this. Most people tend to imagine a commander of a large army they don't know personally to have almost superhuman abilities. For example, much of the Union army and most of the press treated General Lee this way, but I had known him personally and knew he was just as mortal as anyone; and it was a good thing that I realized this. The peace treaty was finally ratified, and the United States troops were ordered to evacuate Mexico. Early in June, the troops in Mexico City began to withdraw. Many, including the brigade I was attached to, gathered at Jalapa, above the area affected by vomito, awaiting transports at Vera Cruz; but despite this precaution, my regiment and others camped on the sand beach in the July sun for about a week before embarking, while fever raged fiercely in Vera Cruz, less than two miles away. I can recall only one person—an officer—who died from the disease. My regiment was sent to Pascagoula, Mississippi, for the summer. As soon as we settled in, I was granted a four-month leave and went to St. Louis. On August 22, 1848, I married Miss Julia Dent, the lady I have mentioned before. We visited my family in Ohio and, at the end of my leave, went to my post at Sackett’s Harbor, New York. The following April, I was ordered to Detroit, Michigan, where I spent two years with little of note happening. The current constitution of Michigan was ratified during this time. According to one of its provisions, all U.S. citizens residing in the state at the time of ratification also became citizens of Michigan. While I was in Detroit, there was an election for city officers. Mr. Zachariah Chandler was the Whig candidate for mayor and was elected, even though the city was then considered Democratic. All the officers stationed there who offered to vote were allowed to do so. I did not cast a vote, preferring not to consider myself a Michigan citizen. This was Mr. Chandler’s first involvement in politics, a career he pursued with great success, eventually earning the friendship, respect, and affection of his fellow Americans. In the spring of 1851, the Detroit garrison was transferred to Sackett’s Harbor. The next spring, the entire 4th Infantry was sent to the Pacific Coast. It was decided that Mrs. Grant should first visit my parents for a few months and then stay with her own family in St. Louis until an opportunity arose to bring her west. In April, the regiment gathered at Governor’s Island, New York Harbor, and on July 5th, eight companies sailed for Aspinwall. We numbered just over seven hundred people, including the families of both officers and soldiers. We secured passage on the old steamer Ohio, then under Captain Schenck of the navy. It wasn’t decided until a few days before departure that the 4th Infantry would travel on the Ohio; so, a full passenger list had already been booked. Adding more than seven hundred people made the steamer uncomfortably crowded, especially considering the July tropics. We reached Aspinwall in eight days. At that time, the town’s streets were eight to ten inches underwater, and people got around on raised walkways. July is the height of the rainy season on the Isthmus. Periodically, the rain would pour down in torrents, soon followed by a blazing tropical sun. These cycles of rain and sunshine repeated all afternoon. I wondered how anyone could live in Aspinwall for months, and even more why anyone would try. In the summer of 1852, the Panama railroad was only finished up to where it crosses the Chagres River. From there, passengers were taken by boat to Gorgona, where they took mules for the remaining twenty-five miles to Panama. Those who traveled across the Isthmus at that time will remember that the Chagres River boats were propelled by local men, who wore little clothing. Each boat carried thirty to forty passengers. The crews consisted of six men per boat, each with a long pole. Along each side of the boat was a plank wide enough to walk on comfortably. The men would start at the bow, set one end of their pole on the river bottom, press the other end against their shoulders, and then walk to the stern as quickly as possible. In this way, they could manage about a mile to a mile and a half an hour against the current. As regimental quartermaster, I was responsible for government property and also for overseeing transportation. The steamship company in New York had agreed to carry the regiment to California, including the trip across the Isthmus. Each man was allowed a certain amount of baggage, and saddle animals were supposed to be provided for all officers and disabled persons. The regiment—with the exception of one company left to guard government property, mainly camp and garrison supplies, along with soldiers who had families—took boats, as described, to Gorgona. From there, they marched to Panama, where they boarded a steamer anchored three or four miles from town. I, with one company of troops, all the soldiers with families, and all the tents, mess chests, and camp kettles, was sent to Cruces, a town a few miles farther up the Chagres River than Gorgona. There I met an American contractor who had agreed to provide transportation for the regiment at a certain price per hundred pounds of freight and per saddle animal. But when we arrived at Cruces, there wasn’t a mule, pack or saddle, to be found. The contractor promised the animals would arrive in the morning. The next morning he claimed they were on their way from somewhere and would appear during the day. This continued until I realized he couldn't get the animals at the prices he had agreed to. The unusually large number of passengers from the steamer created a record demand for mules to carry baggage. Some travelers paid up to forty dollars for a mule to ride the twenty-five miles—when at other times, such a mule might only sell for ten dollars locally. Meanwhile, cholera had broken out, and people were dying hourly. To reduce the disease’s impact, I allowed the company with me to go ahead to Panama. The captain and the doctors went with the men, leaving me alone with the sick and soldiers with families. The rest of the regiment in Panama also suffered from the disease; however, onboard accommodations for the healthy were better and the sick were treated in a hospital set up on an old hulk anchored a mile offshore. There were also hospital tents on Flamingo Island, which stands in the bay. I was at Cruces about a week before transportation finally began to show up. About a third of those with me died either at Cruces or on the way to Panama. There was no representative from the transportation company at Cruces to consult with or to take responsibility for getting transportation at any price that would guarantee it. I therefore dismissed the contractor and negotiated a new agreement with a local, at more than double the original rate. Eventually, we made it to Panama. The steamer couldn’t leave until the cholera diminished, so the regiment was delayed further. In all, between the Isthmus and the Pacific side, we were held up for six weeks. About one-seventh of those who left New York Harbor with the 4th Infantry on July 5th now lie buried on the Isthmus of Panama or on Flamingo Island in Panama Bay. One amusing incident occurred while we were anchored in Panama Bay. Among us was Lieutenant Slaughter, who was extremely prone to seasickness. Simply seeing the wave of a tablecloth as it was being spread could make him ill. After graduation, Slaughter was ordered to California and traveled by sailing ship around Cape Horn—a seven-month voyage, during which he was sick the entire time, never worse than while lying at anchor after arrival. Upon landing, he learned that his assignment had been a mistake; he should have been ordered to the northern lakes instead. He returned by way of the Isthmus and was sick all the way. But when he got back east, he was again ordered to California, this time for good, and at this point, he was on his third trip—just as sick as ever and had been so over a month. I remember him well: elbows on the table, chin in his hands, truly looking miserable. At last, he said, “I wish I had taken my father’s advice; he wanted me to go into the navy; if I had done so, I should not have had to go to sea so much.” Poor Slaughter! That was his final sea voyage. He was killed by Indians in Oregon. By the end of August, the cholera had lessened enough that it was considered safe to continue. The disease did not recur on the way to California, and we arrived in San Francisco early in September. ## CHAPTER XV. ### SAN FRANCISCO—EARLY CALIFORNIA EXPERIENCES—LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST—PROMOTED CAPTAIN—FLUSH TIMES IN CALIFORNIA. San Francisco at that time was a bustling place. Gold mining, or placer digging as it was then called, was at its peak. Steamers ran daily between San Francisco and both Stockton and Sacramento. Passengers and gold from the southern mines arrived on the Stockton boat; from the northern mines, on the Sacramento boat. In the evenings when these boats arrived, Long Wharf—there was only one wharf in San Francisco in 1852—was filled with people crowding to meet the miners as they came to sell their “dust” and to “have a good time.” Among the crowd were runners for hotels, boarding houses, or restaurants; others were penniless adventurers, well-mannered and presentable, always looking to befriend someone with money in hopes of being invited for a meal at a restaurant. Many of these were young men from good families, well-educated and raised with gentlemanly manners. Their parents were able to support them while they were young and to give them good educations, but couldn’t maintain them after. From 1849 to 1853, people of this sort rushed to the Pacific coast. Everyone believed fortunes could be easily found in the gold fields. Some achieved more than their most hopeful dreams; but for every one of these, hundreds were disappointed—many now lie in unknown graves, others died broken, and many, though not vicious by nature, became criminals or outcasts. Many real events from early California surpass anything a novelist could invent for strangeness and interest. Those early days in California revealed true character. It was far away then, and the journey was costly. The fortunate could travel by Cape Horn or by the Isthmus of Panama; but most pioneers crossed the plains with ox-teams, a journey taking an entire summer. It was considered lucky to arrive with even a yoke of worn-out cattle. Most other resources were spent on equipping themselves at the Missouri River. Once arrived, immigrants found themselves far from home, in a strange land. Time was short—the little they could earn from selling what was left of their outfit wouldn’t last long at California prices. Many became discouraged. Others rolled up their sleeves and took whatever work they could find. These usually succeeded. Many young men, previously trained in professions and unaccustomed to manual labor, quickly understood they would need to start with any work available. Some supplied masons and carpenters with materials—carrying planks, bricks, or mortar—while others drove stages, drays, or baggage wagons until something better turned up. Some grew discouraged early, spending time looking for people to buy them a drink or idling in restaurants and gambling houses where a free lunch was provided daily. Such establishments welcomed them because they sometimes brought in miners, who became good customers. My regiment spent a few weeks at the Benicia barracks, and was then ordered to Fort Vancouver on the Columbia River, then in Oregon Territory. During the winter of 1852–53 the territory was divided, with all land north of the Columbia taken from Oregon to create Washington Territory. Prices for all supplies were so high on the Pacific coast from 1849 until at least 1853 that it would have been impossible for army officers to live on their pay, if they hadn’t been allowed to buy commissary supplies at New Orleans wholesale prices. A cook could not be hired for a captain's pay—the cook could earn more elsewhere. In Benicia, in 1852, flour was 25 cents per pound; potatoes were 16 cents; beets, turnips, and cabbage, 6 cents; onions, 37 1/2 cents; meat and other things in similar proportion. By 1853 at Vancouver, vegetables were somewhat cheaper. Three other officers and I decided we would raise our own crop and hopefully profit by selling the surplus. I bought a pair of horses that had crossed the plains that summer and were very poor, but they quickly recovered and made a good team for breaking ground. I did the work of breaking up the land, while the other officers planted potatoes. Our crop was enormous, but the Columbia River rose dramatically in June from melting mountain snow and flooded most of our crop, killing it. This saved us from having to dig it up, because by then, everyone seemed to think agriculture would be profitable. In 1853, more than three-quarters of all potatoes raised were left to rot or had to be thrown away. The only potatoes we sold were to our own mess. While I was stationed on the Pacific coast, we were free from Indian wars. There were a number of remnants of tribes near Portland, Oregon, and Fort Vancouver in Washington Territory. Most had acquired several vices of civilization but none of its virtues, except in rare cases. The Hudson’s Bay Company had operated trading posts in the Northwest for years before the United States had a presence on the Pacific. They still had posts along the Columbia River and one at Fort Vancouver while I was there. Their dealings had brought out the better qualities of the Native people. The company had started farming to supply Indians with bread and vegetables, raised some cattle and horses, and taught the Indians to do farm and herd work. They always paid the Indians for their work and provided goods of consistent quality and price. Before Americans arrived, pelts were the medium of exchange between Indians and white traders. Afterward, it became silver coin. If an Indian sold a horse and was paid in a fifty-dollar gold piece—a common occurrence—the first thing he did was to exchange it for American half dollars, which he could count. He would then begin shopping, paying for each item separately as he got it. He would not trust anyone else to add up the bill for a single payment. At that time, fifty-dollar gold pieces, not U.S. government-issued, were common on the Pacific coast and were called slugs. The Indians along the lower Columbia as far as the Cascades and on the lower Willamette died off rapidly during the year I spent in that area; in addition to inheriting the vices of white people, they contracted their diseases as well. Measles and smallpox were especially deadly. Before the arrival of whites, their main ailments were brought on by long fasting, exertion from hunting, or overeating. Instinct rather than reason had taught them a remedy: the steam bath. This was made much like a bake-oven, large enough for a man to lie in. Bushes were set in two rows about six feet long and two or three feet apart; other bushes connected the rows at one end. The tops were tied together and the whole plastered over with wet clay until no air holes remained. Just inside the open end, a hole was dug in the floor for holding water. These ovens were always built by a stream or spring. For a bath, a fire was made and stones were heated; water filled the cavity at the front. When the stones were hot enough, the patient would crawl inside the oven; a blanket covered the opening, and hot stones were put in the water until the heat became intolerable. Afterwards the patient was pulled out and plunged into the nearby cold stream. This may have worked for their usual ills, but against measles or smallpox, it was fatal. During my year on the Columbia, smallpox completely wiped out one remnant band and severely reduced others. I don’t think any recovered until the Hudson’s Bay Company doctor intervened and set up a hospital. Nearly every case he treated recovered. I myself never saw the steam bath treatment but heard about it from witnesses. I personally observed the decimation among the Indians and the hospital, a Hudson’s Bay building only a stone’s throw from my quarters, was set up to help them. The death of Colonel Bliss, of the Adjutant General’s Department, on July 5th, 1853, promoted me to captain of a company stationed at Humboldt Bay, California. Notice reached me by September, and I promptly set off to join my new command. At that time, the only way to reach Humboldt was to take passage on a San Francisco sailing vessel sent for lumber. Redwood, a type of cedar that in the West fills the role of white pine in the East, grew abundantly around Humboldt Bay. Many sawmills processed this lumber for the San Francisco market, and sailing vessels both transported the wood and provided the only link between Humboldt and the rest of the world. I had to stay in San Francisco for several days before finding a suitable vessel. This gave me a good chance to compare San Francisco in 1852 with the city in 1853. As mentioned before, in 1852 there was just one wharf—Long Wharf. By 1853, the town had expanded out into the bay beyond what had previously been the wharf’s end. Streets and houses stood on pilings where, the year before, the largest ships anchored or tied up. There was no filling under the streets or buildings. San Francisco looked much the same as the year prior, with eating, drinking, and gambling houses still highly visible and public. These occupied first floors, with doors always wide open. Any hour of day or night, walking down streets near the waterfront, one could see faro games being played in nearly every block. Often, there were holes in the street, large enough to drop a man into the water below. I have little doubt that many who came to the Pacific during the gold rush and were never heard from again—or who stopped writing home—ended up in watery graves under houses or streets built over San Francisco Bay. Besides gambling at cards, there was high-stakes gambling in city lots. These were sold “On Change,” much as stocks are now traded on Wall Street. At the time of purchase, brokers paid the full cash price, but the buyer only put up a margin, paying two or three percent a month on the difference, plus commissions. The sand hills, some nearly impossible for walkers to reach, were divided and mapped into fifty vara lots—a vara being a Spanish yard. These lots began at very low prices but were bought and resold at higher and higher prices until they climbed to thousands of dollars. Brokers made excellent profits, as did some buyers sharp enough to quit before the final crash. As the city expanded, sand hills behind town provided material for filling in more of the bay under the houses and streets, pushing the city further out. The first temporary houses over water soon gave way to more substantial buildings. The city’s business district now sits on solid ground made where the largest ships once anchored. When I visited San Francisco again in 1854, gambling houses were gone from public view. The city had become more staid and orderly. ## CHAPTER XVI. ### RESIGNATION—PRIVATE LIFE—LIFE AT GALENA—THE COMING CRISIS. During this time, my family was still in the East. It now consisted of my wife and two children. I saw no way to support them on the Pacific Coast with just my army pay. Therefore, I decided to resign and, in March, requested a leave of absence until the end of the following July, submitting my resignation to take effect then. I left the Pacific Coast very attached to it, fully expecting to make it my future home. That hope remained foremost in my mind until the Lieutenant-Generalcy bill was introduced in Congress during the winter of 1863-4. The passage of that bill, and my promotion, dashed my last hope of ever becoming a resident of the far West. In late summer 1854, I rejoined my family and met a son I had never seen, born while I was on the Isthmus of Panama. Now, at age thirty-two, I was to begin another struggle to support us. My wife owned a farm near St. Louis, where we went, but I lacked the means to stock it. A house also needed to be built. I worked very hard, never missing a day for bad weather, and completed the project in a modest way. If there was nothing else to do, I would load a cord of wood on a wagon and take it into the city for sale. I managed to get by until 1858, when I was struck with fever and ague. I had suffered from this disease as a boy in Ohio, and it now lasted more than a year. While it didn't keep me indoors, it greatly reduced the amount of work I could do. In the fall of 1858, I sold all my stock, crops, and farming tools at auction and gave up farming. That winter, I entered into a partnership with Harry Boggs, a cousin of Mrs. Grant, in the real estate agency business. I spent the winter in St. Louis, but didn't bring my family to town until spring. Our business might have prospered if I could have waited for it to grow, but as it was, there was only enough work for one person and not enough to support two families. While living in St. Louis and engaged in the real estate agency, I ran for the office of county engineer—a respected and well-paid position, which would have been very welcome to me at the time. The officeholder was appointed by the county court, which had five members. My opponent had the advantage of being native-born (I was an adopted citizen) and won the position. After that, I withdrew from my partnership with Boggs and, in May 1860, moved to Galena, Illinois, where I took a clerkship in my father’s store. While living in Missouri, I had my first chance to vote in a Presidential election. Having been in the army since before reaching adulthood, I had thought little about politics, though I was a Whig by upbringing and greatly admired Mr. Clay. But the Whig party had ceased to exist before I ever got the opportunity to vote. The Know-Nothing party had taken its place but was declining, and the Republican party was just forming—it was still in a chaotic state and not even named yet. It barely existed in the Slave States except at borders near Free States. In St. Louis City and County, what later became the Republican party was then known as the Free-Soil Democracy and led by the Honorable Frank P. Blair. Most of my neighbors knew me as a former army officer with Whig leanings. They too had been Whigs, and when their party died, many joined the Know-Nothings or American Party. There was a lodge near my home, and I was invited to join. I accepted, was initiated, attended a meeting a week later—and never went to another one after that. I make no excuses for being a member of the American party for a week; I still believe native-born citizens of the United States should have as much protection and as many privileges in their own country as those who choose to make it their home. Still, all secret, oath-bound political parties are dangerous in any nation, regardless of how pure or patriotic the motives that first bring them together. No political party should exist, or can exist, whose foundation is opposition to freedom of thought and the right to worship God “according to the dictate of one’s own conscience,” or according to the creed of any religious group. Nevertheless, if a sect tries to put its laws above State laws and the two come into conflict, this claim must be opposed and suppressed no matter the cost. Before the Mexican war, there were only a few true abolitionists—people who carried their hostility to slavery into every election, from justice of the peace up to the Presidency. They were vocal but not numerous. The vast majority of people in the North, where slavery did not exist, were opposed to it and saw its presence in any part of the country as unfortunate. They didn't hold the slave States responsible for it, and believed in protecting the right to slave property until a satisfactory solution could be found to end the institution. Opposition to slavery wasn't a central belief of either political party. In some areas, more anti-slavery men were Democrats, in others, Whigs. But with the start of the Mexican war, and especially after the annexation of Texas, “the inevitable conflict” began. As the 1856 Presidential election—the first at which I could vote—approached, party feelings ran high. The Republican party was seen in the South and border States not only as opposing the extension of slavery, but as favoring the outright abolition of the institution without compensation. Many people who should have known better seemed haunted by terrible visions. Many educated and otherwise sensible individuals believed that emancipation meant social equality. Treason against the government was openly advocated and not condemned. It seemed clear to me that the election of a Republican President in 1856 would mean the secession of all the Slave States and lead to rebellion. Under the circumstances, I preferred a candidate whose election would avoid or delay secession, rather than see the country plunged into a war with no predictable outcome. If a Democrat, chosen by the unanimous vote of the Slave States, was elected, there would be no excuse for secession for at least four years. I hoped passions might cool during that time and the catastrophe be avoided. If not, I believed the country would be better prepared to meet and resist the crisis. So I voted for James Buchanan for President. Four years later, the Republican party succeeded in electing its candidate. The world has seen the result: four million enslaved people were freed, they were given the vote, and their children could attend public schools. The nation still lives, and people are just as free as before to choose, if they wish, to avoid social intimacy with blacks, just as among whites. While living in Galena, I was officially just a clerk supporting myself and my family on a set salary. In reality, my situation was different. My father had never lived in Galena, but had established my two brothers there; the brother just younger than me managed the business, with help from our youngest brother. When I moved there, my father's plan was to withdraw completely from the business and turn it over to his three sons. But the brother who had built up the business was dying of consumption, and it was considered best not to make any changes while he was still alive. He lived until September 1861, when he finally succumbed to that insidious disease, which always leads its victims to believe they are getting better right up until the end. A more honorable man never conducted business. In September 1861, I was occupied elsewhere with duties that demanded all my attention. During the eleven months I lived in Galena before the first call for volunteers, I was strictly focused on my work and made few acquaintances outside of customers and people in the same trade. When the November 1860 election arrived, I hadn't lived in Illinois long enough to gain citizenship and therefore could not vote. At the time, I was actually glad, because my pledges would have compelled me to vote for Stephen A. Douglas, who stood no chance of winning. The real contest was between Mr. Breckinridge and Mr. Lincoln—between minority rule and majority rule. Between those two, I wanted Mr. Lincoln to win. During the campaign, excitement ran high, and torchlight processions often enlivened the normally quiet streets of Galena. I didn't march with either party but occasionally visited with the “Wide Awakes”—the Republicans—in their rooms and helped supervise their drills. From the Chicago nomination until the campaign’s end, it was clear that if the Republican candidate won, some Southern States would secede. I still hoped that the four years since a party first nominated an anti-slavery extension candidate had been enough for extreme pro-slavery sentiment to cool and for Southerners to hesitate before making such a momentous leap. But I was wrong. The Republican candidate was elected, and serious, solid people throughout the Northwest—and, I assume, across the North—felt grim but resolute after this outcome. Much discussion centered on whether the South would follow through on its threat to secede and form a separate government, with slavery as its foundation. Some people believed that slavery was a “Divine” institution, just as there are people now who believe Mormonism and polygamy were ordained by God. We can forgive them for these beliefs, but not for their practice. Most thought there would be some turmoil; that the most extreme Southern States would pass secession ordinances, but the general impression was the move would be so obviously self-destructive that it wouldn’t spread far or last long. Doubtless, the founders of our government—at least the majority—considered the confederation of the colonies as an experiment. Each colony saw itself as a separate government, and the confederation was primarily for mutual protection from foreign threats and to prevent internal strife. If any State had wanted to leave while there were only thirteen, I don't believe its right would have been seriously contested, though the choice might be regretted. The situation changed after the Constitution was ratified by all the colonies, and even more so when amendments were added. If any State ever had the right to withdraw after that, it certainly ended with the creation of new States, especially for those new States themselves. Florida, and all the States west of the Mississippi—purchased by the collective treasury—never had that right. Texas and territories gained through annexation were acquired at great cost, with both blood and money, and Texas—bigger than any European state except Russia—was allowed to keep state ownership of all lands within its borders. For Texas to withdraw after everything spent and done to bring her in would have been the height of ingratitude and injustice. Yet if separation had happened, Texas would have gone with the South, due to her institutions and geography. Secession was illogical as well as impractical; it was revolution. The right of revolution, however, is inherent. If a people are oppressed by their government, they naturally have the right to free themselves—if strong enough—either by withdrawing or by overthrowing it for a government they find better. But any people or part of a people who resort to this course stake their lives, their property, and every claim for protection as citizens on the result. Victory—or the conqueror’s terms—must be the outcome. In the conflict between the States, the South could have honestly said, “We do not want to associate with you Northerners any longer; we know our institution of slavery offends you, and as your numbers increase, it may be endangered. So long as you allowed us to control the government, and, with some northern allies, to enact laws making your section a guard for our property, we were content to remain with you. You submitted to our rule, but it looks now as if you no longer intend to, so we will leave the Union.” Instead, the seceding States shouted, “Let us alone; you have no constitutional power to interfere with us.” Newspapers and people in the North echoed this claim. Individuals could ignore the constitution, but the Nation had to obey and enforce it according to the strict interpretation Southerners themselves held. The truth is, the constitution never considered such a situation as existed from 1861 to 1865—its framers never imagined it could happen. Had they, they might have allowed the right of a State or States to withdraw, rather than face civil war. The framers were wise for their time, and aimed to secure freedom for themselves and their descendants. It is unreasonable to suppose that one generation can create the best and only government for all future generations, especially under unknown conditions. When our constitution was framed, the only significant energy converted for human use was from streams and the air; primitive machines powered by water existed, and sails had been set for ships, but steam power and telegraphs weren't even imagined. Instant communication around the world would have seemed like witchcraft or a deal with the devil. Circumstances changed as much materially as immaterially. We should not, and cannot, be bound by rules made in such different times for unforeseen emergencies. The founders themselves would have insisted their authority was not absolute. Had they witnessed what secession became, they would certainly have resisted it. During the winter of 1860-61, I traveled extensively in the Northwest. We had customers in all the towns of southwest Wisconsin, southeast Minnesota, and northeast Iowa. These people generally knew I had been a captain in the regular army and served through the Mexican War. Wherever I stayed, people would gather at the public house to talk about the future late into the night. At that time, my own views matched those later officially expressed by Mr. Seward: “the war would be over in ninety days.” I held that belief until after the battle of Shiloh. I now believe there would have been no further battles in the West after Fort Donelson was taken if all the troops there had been under a single commander who acted on the victory. I have little doubt now that most Southerners would have opposed secession in 1860 and 1861 if there had been a fair, calm discussion, with every legal voter’s ballot counting equally and no intimidation. But the question was never calmly debated. Demagogues—too old to fight if war came—others who overvalued their own political talents, and refused to risk themselves, railed against the North: its supposed aggressions, its interference with Southern rights, and more. They called Northerners cowards and abolitionists, claimed that one Southerner equaled five Northerners in battle, and said if the South stood firm, the North would back down. Mr. Jefferson Davis, in a speech at La Grange, Mississippi, before that State seceded, said he would agree to drink all the blood spilled south of Mason and Dixon’s line if war came. The young men who would have to do the fighting believed all these statements about both Northern aggression and cowardice, and demanded separation. Most legal voters in the South did not own slaves; they lived in hilly or poor areas, with few opportunities to even learn to read or write, and little stake in the contest—if anything, their interests lay with the North; they too needed liberation. Under the old order, they were regarded by the ruling slave-owning class as “poor white trash,” allowed to vote only if they did so as instructed. I know this last statement may be disputed, and some may bring forth stories claiming that before the war, the vote was just as free in the South as anywhere else. But despite all such claims, I stand by my statement. Shotguns weren't used, and masked men didn’t ride out at night to scare voters; yet a deep conviction prevailed in every State that a class with a supposed divine right should control public affairs, by whatever means were needed. The ends justified the methods. The pressure may have been gentle, but it was absolute. There were, indeed, two political parties in every State, both strong and respectable, but both were equally loyal to the institution of slavery—the top priority for Southern politics. Slaveholders were the minority but controlled both parties. If politics had ever divided slaveholders and non-slaveholders, the majority would have had to yield, or there would have been civil war. I don't blame the Southern people entirely for this state of affairs. There was a time when slavery was unprofitable, and debate about it took place almost solely in areas where it existed. Virginia and Kentucky once nearly abolished slavery themselves: one State defeated the measure on a tie vote, the other missed it by one. But once slavery became profitable, all talk of ending it stopped where it remained; and, as human nature dictates, arguments were raised in its defense. The cotton gin probably had much to do with justifying slavery. The winter of 1860-61 is remembered by those who are now middle-aged as a time of great excitement. South Carolina quickly seceded after the results of the Presidential election became known. Other Southern States planned to follow. In several of them, sentiment supporting the Union was so strong it had to be suppressed by force. Maryland, Delaware, Kentucky, and Missouri—though all Slave States—did not pass ordinances of secession. However, all were represented in the so-called congress of the Confederate States. The Governor and Lieutenant-Governor of Missouri in 1861, Jackson and Reynolds, both supported the rebellion and sought refuge with the enemy. The governor soon died, and the lieutenant-governor assumed his position; he issued proclamations as governor of the state, was recognized by the Confederate Government, and maintained this claim until the rebellion collapsed. The South argued for state sovereignty, yet claimed the right to force any states they wanted—including all slave states—into their confederation. They did not seem to see this as inconsistent. The fact is, Southern slave-owners believed that slave ownership somehow granted them a kind of nobility—a right to govern, regardless of the interests or wishes of those who did not own slaves. They first convinced themselves of the divine origin of the institution, and next, that the institution was only safe in the hands of lawmakers who owned slaves themselves. Meanwhile, President Buchanan's administration appeared helpless and declared that the federal government had no power to intervene, that the nation could not save itself. Mr. Buchanan had at least two cabinet members who were just as committed—in mild terms—to secession as Mr. Davis or any other Southern leader. One of them, Floyd, the Secretary of War, dispersed the army so that much of it could be captured when hostilities began, and distributed cannons and small arms from northern arsenals throughout the South so that they would be ready when treason required them. The navy was scattered in a similar way. The President did not stop his cabinet from preparing for war against their own government—either by depleting its resources or moving them to the South—until a de facto government was established with Jefferson Davis as its President and Montgomery, Alabama, as its capital. The secessionists then had to leave the cabinet. In their own view, they were now aliens in their native country. Loyal men replaced them. Treason in the executive branch was halted. But the damage had already been done; it was like locking the stable after the horse was stolen. Throughout the difficult winter of 1860-61, when Southerners were so defiant that they would not allow anyone within their borders to express opposition to their views, it took real courage for a person to stand up and declare loyalty to the Union. On the other hand, in the North, some prominent individuals stated that the government had no authority to force the South to obey national laws, and that if the North tried to raise armies to go south, those armies would have to march over the speakers’ dead bodies. Some of the Northern press made similar declarations. When the time came for the President-elect to travel to the nation’s capital to be sworn in, it was considered unsafe for him to travel—not only as President-elect, but even as an ordinary private citizen. Instead of traveling in a special car and receiving well-wishes from supporters at stations along the way, he had to stop and be secretly brought into the capital. He vanished from public view during the journey, and the next the country heard, his arrival had been announced at the capital. There is little doubt that if he had openly traveled the entire way, he would have been assassinated. ## CHAPTER XVII. ### OUTBREAK OF THE REBELLION—PRESIDING AT A UNION MEETING—MUSTERING OFFICER OF STATE TROOPS—LYON AT CAMP JACKSON—SERVICES TENDERED TO THE GOVERNMENT. March 4th, 1861 arrived, and Abraham Lincoln was sworn in to uphold the Union against all its enemies. The secession of one state after another followed, until eleven had left the Union. On April 11th, Fort Sumter, a national fort in the harbor of Charleston, South Carolina, was fired upon by Southern forces and captured a few days later. The Confederates declared themselves foreigners, and thereby forfeited their right to claim protection under the Constitution of the United States. We did not accept their claim to being foreigners, but nonetheless, they lost the right to expect better treatment than any other foreign country making war on an independent nation. After the attack on Sumter, President Lincoln issued his first call for troops, soon followed by a proclamation convening Congress in extra session. The call was for 75,000 volunteers for ninety days’ service. If the shot fired at Fort Sumter “was heard around the world,” then the President’s call for 75,000 men was heard throughout the Northern states. There was not a state north of a million inhabitants that would not have supplied the entire number faster than arms could have been provided, had it been necessary. As soon as the news of the call for volunteers reached Galena, posters went up calling for a meeting of citizens at the courthouse that evening. Business stopped completely; excitement swept the town; for a while no party divisions remained—everyone was a Union man, determined to avenge the insult to the national flag. That evening, the courthouse was packed. Although I was a relative newcomer, I was called upon to preside, likely because of my army experience and previous service. With some embarrassment and prompting, I managed to state the meeting’s purpose. Speeches were invited, but at that moment it likely would have been unsafe to deliver anything but patriotic addresses. In truth, no one present seemed inclined to do otherwise. The two main speakers were B. B. Howard, the postmaster and formerly a Breckinridge Democrat in the previous fall’s election, and John A. Rawlins, an elector on the Douglas ticket. E. B. Washburne, whom I did not know at the time, arrived after the meeting started and later told me he was surprised that Galena could not provide its own presiding officer for such an event without relying on a stranger. He then came forward, was introduced, and made a speech, appealing to the meeting’s patriotism. After the speeches, volunteers were called for to form a company. Illinois’s quota was set at six regiments, and it was believed that only one company would be accepted from Galena. The company was quickly formed and officers and non-commissioned officers elected before the meeting ended. I declined the captaincy before voting commenced but announced my willingness to support the company in any way I could and that I would be found in service if war came. After that meeting, I never returned to our leather store to put up a package or conduct any other business. The women of Galena showed as much patriotism as the men. They could not enlist, but decided to send their first company to the field in uniform. They sought me for a description of the standard United States infantry uniform, collected funds and bought the materials, arranged for tailors to cut out the clothing, and made the garments themselves. Within days, the company was uniformed and ready to report to the state capital for assignment. All the men turned out on the morning after enlistment, and I took charge, dividing them into squads and supervising their drills. When they were ready to go to Springfield, I accompanied them and stayed until they were assigned to a regiment. So many more volunteers stepped forward than had been requested that Governor Richard Yates felt overwhelmed with the decision on whom to accept. The legislature, in session at the time, provided help by passing a law authorizing the governor to accept the services of ten additional regiments—one from each congressional district—for one month, to be paid by the State, but pledged to enter United States service if further called during their term. Even with this help, the governor still faced challenges. By the war’s end, he was like the President when he had the varioloid: “finally, he had something to give to everyone who wanted it.” In due course, the Galena company was mustered into United States service, becoming part of the 11th Illinois Volunteer Infantry. I believed my responsibilities ended at Springfield, and prepared to return home by the evening train, leaving at nine o’clock. Until then, I do not recall having been introduced to Governor Yates or speaking with him, though I recognized him as we stayed at the same hotel and I often saw him at meals. That evening, as I was leaving the supper room before the governor, I stood at the front door as he came out. He greeted me using my old army title, “Captain,” and said he had heard I would be leaving the city. I confirmed this. He said he would appreciate it if I stayed overnight and visited the Executive office the next morning. I agreed to his request and was asked to visit the Adjutant-General’s office to offer any help I could, the governor noting that my army experience would be very valuable. I accepted. My old army experience indeed proved very useful. I was no clerk, nor did I have any aptitude for it. The only reliable place I ever found to put a paper for easy retrieval was in my side coat pocket or in the hands of a careful clerk or secretary. However, I had served as quartermaster, commissary, and adjutant in the field. Army forms were familiar to me, and I could direct how they should be completed. A clerk in the Adjutant-General’s office made up for my weaknesses. The ease with which Illinois later settled its accounts with the government after the war shows the competence of Mr. Loomis as an accountant on a large scale. He remained in the office until then. As I have mentioned, the legislature empowered the governor to accept the services of ten additional regiments. I supervised the mustering of these regiments into State service. They gathered at the most convenient railroad centers in each congressional district. I assigned officers to muster in some of them, but mustered three in southern Illinois myself. One was to gather at Belleville, about eighteen miles southeast of St. Louis. When I arrived, only one or two companies had shown up. The full regiment could not assemble for at least five days. This gave me several idle days, which I decided to spend in St. Louis. At the time, a sizable force of state militia was stationed at Camp Jackson, on the edge of St. Louis. It is quite likely that Governor Claiborne Jackson intended these troops to seize the United States arsenal and the city of St. Louis. Why they did not, I don’t know. The arsenal was guarded by only a small garrison—two companies, I believe—under Captain N. Lyon. Had it not been for the timely intervention of Hon. F. P. Blair, I have little doubt that St. Louis would have fallen into rebel hands, along with the arsenal and all its arms and ammunition. Blair was a leader among Union supporters in St. Louis in 1861. There was no state government in Missouri then willing to authorize raising troops or commissioning officers to protect U.S. property, but Blair probably secured some type of authority from the President to raise troops in Missouri and muster them into federal service. In any case, he did raise a regiment and took command as Colonel. With this force, he reported to Captain Lyon and placed himself and his regiment under Lyon’s orders. It was rumored that, thus reinforced, Lyon intended to attack Camp Jackson and capture the militia. I went down to the arsenal that morning to see the troops assemble. I had known Lyon for two years at West Point and later in the regular army. I knew Blair by sight, having heard him speak during the 1858 campaign, though we had never met. As the troops marched out of the arsenal grounds, Blair, mounted, was outside organizing them for their march. I introduced myself and spoke briefly, expressing support for his mission. This was my first personal connection with Honorable—later Major-General—F. P. Blair. Camp Jackson surrendered without a fight, and its garrison was marched to the arsenal as prisoners of war. Until then, the enemies of the government in St. Louis had acted bold and defiant, while Union men remained quiet but determined. The opposition’s headquarters occupied a prominent public position on Pine Street, near Fifth, where the rebel flag was openly displayed. Union supporters also had a meeting place somewhere in the city, though I did not know its location, and I doubt they were bold enough to display the national flag outside. As soon as news of Camp Jackson’s capture reached the city, everything changed. Unionist sentiment became vocal, assertive—some might say intolerant. Unionists publicly declared their beliefs and would not tolerate disrespect for the Union. The secessionists grew quiet but were deeply resentful. Formerly the bullies, they were now chastened. The Union men ordered the rebel flag taken down from the building on Pine Street. The command was given authoritatively, and the flag was removed, never to be raised again in St. Louis. I witnessed these events. I had heard of the camp’s surrender and that its garrison was headed to the arsenal. I had watched the troops depart in the morning and wished them success. Now, I decided to go to the arsenal, await their arrival, and congratulate them. Taking a streetcar at the corner of 4th and Pine streets, I saw a crowd silently gathered in front of the headquarters, intent on lowering the flag. Groups of people also lined the street, also quiet but seething with anger and resentment at what they saw as an attack on “their” flag. Before the car left, a neatly dressed young man—what we’d now call a “dude”—boarded, agitated and cursing the Union and those he thought had committed such an outrage against a free people. There was only one other passenger. Expecting sympathy now that he was away from the “mud sills” forcing “a free people” to remove their flag, the young man turned to me and said, “Things have come to a —— pretty pass when a free people can’t choose their own flag. Where I come from, if a man dares to speak for the Union, we hang him from the nearest tree.” I answered, “After all, we are not so intolerant in St. Louis as we might be; I haven’t seen a single rebel hung yet, nor heard of one; though plenty of them deserve it.” The young man became silent and so crestfallen that I believe if I’d ordered him off the car, he would have gone quietly, muttering to himself about “more Yankee oppression.” By nightfall, the former defenders of Camp Jackson were all inside the walls of the St. Louis arsenal, now prisoners of war. The next day, I left St. Louis for Mattoon, Illinois, to muster in the regiment from that congressional district—the 21st Illinois Infantry, which I would later command as colonel. I mustered one more regiment before my service to the State came to an end. Brigadier-General John Pope was stationed at Springfield as United States mustering officer the entire time I served the State. An Illinois native, he knew most of the state’s prominent men, while I was a newcomer and knew few. While I was on duty at Springfield, senators, congressmen, former governors, and state legislators were nearly all at the capital. My only acquaintance among them was the governor, whom I served, and, by chance, Senator S. A. Douglas. I knew only two congressmen: Washburne, who represented my district and lived in my town, whom I met at the meeting when Galena’s first company of volunteers was raised, and Philip Foulk, whom I had known in St. Louis. I had spent three years at West Point with Pope and served with him briefly during the Mexican War under General Taylor. I saw quite a bit of him while working for the State. On one occasion he encouraged me to join United States service, and I replied that I intended to do so if there was a war. He mentioned his connections with Illinois public leaders, saying he could arrange recommendations for me and that he would help. I declined any endorsements to gain permission to serve my country. Soon after this conversation with General Pope, I returned home for a few days and wrote the following letter from Galena to the Adjutant-General of the Army. GALENA, ILLINOIS, May 24, 1861. COL. L. THOMAS Adjt. Gen. U. S. A., Washington, D. C. SIR:—Having served for fifteen years in the regular army, including four years at West Point, and believing that everyone educated at the government's expense is obligated to offer their services in its defense, I have the honor, very respectfully, to offer my services until the close of the war in whatever capacity may be assigned. Considering my present age and length of service, I believe I am competent to command a regiment, if the President chooses to entrust me with one. Since the President’s first call, I have been serving on the staff of this State’s Governor, assisting with the organization of our state militia, and I continue in this role. A letter sent to me at Springfield, Illinois, will reach me. I am, very respectfully, Your obedient servant, U. S. GRANT. This letter failed to receive a reply from the Adjutant-General of the Army. I presume it was barely read by him, and certainly never submitted to a higher authority. After the war, General Badeau, having heard about this letter, requested a copy from the War Department. The letter could not be found, and no one recalled ever having seen it. I did not make a copy when I wrote it. Long after General Badeau’s request, General Townsend, who had become Adjutant-General of the Army, discovered the letter while packing up papers before moving his office. It had not been destroyed, but it also had not been properly filed. I felt some hesitation in suggesting a rank as high as colonel of a regiment, feeling somewhat doubtful about my ability to fill the position. But I had seen nearly every colonel mustered in from Illinois, and some from Indiana, and I felt that if they could command a regiment properly and with credit, then so could I. With little to do after mustering in the last of the regiments authorized by the State legislature, I asked and received from the governor a week’s leave of absence to visit my parents in Covington, Kentucky, directly across from Cincinnati. General McClellan had become a major-general and set up his headquarters in Cincinnati. In reality, my purpose was to see him. I had known him slightly at West Point, where we served one year together, and also in the Mexican War. I hoped that, upon seeing me, he would offer me a position on his staff. I called at his office on two consecutive days but was unable to see him either time, and so I returned to Springfield. ## CHAPTER XVIII. ### APPOINTED COLONEL OF THE 21ST ILLINOIS—PERSONNEL OF THE REGIMENT—GENERAL LOGAN—MARCH TO MISSOURI—MOVEMENT AGAINST HARRIS AT FLORIDA, MO.—GENERAL POPE IN COMMAND—STATIONED AT MEXICO, MO. While I was away from the State capital at this time, the President issued his second call for troops—this time for 300,000 men for three years or the duration of the war. This brought all the regiments then in the State service into the United States service. These regiments had chosen their officers from the highest to the lowest ranks, and they were accepted as they were, except for two cases. A Chicago regiment, the 19th Infantry, had elected a very young man as colonel. When it came time to take the field, the regiment requested another appointment as colonel, making the original appointee lieutenant-colonel instead. The 21st Infantry, which I had mustered in at Mattoon, refused to serve under the colonel they had chosen in any capacity. While I was still away, Governor Yates appointed me colonel of this regiment. A few days later I took charge and set up camp on the fairgrounds near Springfield. My regiment largely consisted of young men from the best social circles in their region of the State. There were sons of farmers, lawyers, doctors, politicians, merchants, bankers, and ministers, as well as older men who had held such positions themselves. Some men were prone to go astray, and the colonel they had elected had shown himself perfectly capable of nurturing the reckless tendencies in his men. It was said he would sometimes take the guards from their posts to join him in a night out in the nearby village. When the prospect of battle arose, the regiment wanted another leader. For a few days, it was difficult to bring all the men under control; however, the majority favored discipline, and with a little regular army punishment, everyone was brought to a satisfactory level of order. The ten regiments that had volunteered in the State service for thirty days, it will be remembered, did so with a promise to enter National service if called upon during that period. When they volunteered, the government had only asked for ninety-day enlistments. Now men were needed for three years or the war. They believed this change in terms released them from the promise to re-enlist. When I was appointed colonel, the 21st Regiment was still in the State service. Around the time they were to be mustered into the U.S. service—those who were willing to go—two Congressmen from Illinois, McClernand and Logan, arrived in the capital, and I was introduced to them. I had never met either before, though I had read a lot about them—especially Logan—in the newspapers. Both were Democrats, and Logan had been elected from the southern district of the State, winning by 18,000 votes over his Republican opponent. His district was originally settled by Southerners, and as secession began, they sympathized with the South. Some joined the Southern army early on. Others were preparing to do so. Still others rode the country at night condemning the Union, making it necessary to guard railroad bridges against sabotage, just as in Kentucky or any border slave state. Logan’s popularity was unbounded; he knew almost enough people by their first names to form a congressional district. As Logan went in politics, so went his district. The Republican papers pressed him to declare his position on the main issues of the time, and some criticized him harshly for his silence. Logan would not be pushed into making a statement by threats. However, before Congress adjourned its special session (called soon after the President’s inauguration), Logan gave a speech declaring his unwavering loyalty and devotion to the Union. I had not seen that speech, so my first impressions of Logan came from reading strong criticism of him. McClernand, on the other hand, had taken an early and clear stance for the Union; he was praised by Republican papers. The gentlemen who introduced the Congressmen asked if I would object to their addressing my regiment. I hesitated. It was just days before those men who were willing would be mustered in for three years or the war. I was concerned, not sure how Logan’s speech would affect the men. But since McClernand—whose views were clear—would be speaking with him, I agreed. McClernand spoke first, and Logan followed with a speech he has rarely equaled for force and eloquence. His words expressed loyalty and devotion to the Union, inspiring my men to such a degree that they would have volunteered to stay in the army as long as an enemy bore arms against the country. They enlisted in U.S. service almost to a man. General Logan returned to his part of the State and devoted himself to raising troops. The very men who had once made guarding the roads in southern Illinois necessary now became Union defenders. Logan entered the service as colonel of a regiment and quickly rose to major-general. His district, which at first had promised a great deal of trouble for the government, filled every troop quota without any draft. In fact, every call for volunteers drew more men than were needed. To this day, the War Department credits that congressional district with supplying more men for the army than its quota required. I stayed in Springfield with my regiment until July 3, when I received orders to proceed to Quincy, Illinois. By then, the regiment was well disciplined and both officers and men were skilled at company drill. There was a direct railroad to Quincy from Springfield, but I thought marching would be good preparation for the troops. We had no transport for our camp and garrison equipment, so wagons were hired, and on July 3, we set out. There was no rush, but we made good marches each day until we crossed the Illinois River. There, I received a dispatch: the regiment’s destination had changed to Ironton, Missouri; I was to halt and wait for a steamer coming up the Illinois River to take us to St. Louis. The boat grounded on a sandbar a few miles below our camp, so we waited several days. Before it got free, word came that an Illinois regiment was surrounded by rebels at a point on the Hannibal and St. Joe Railroad west of Palmyra, Missouri, and I was ordered to go immediately to their relief. We took the train and reached Quincy in a few hours. When I left Galena to take command of the 21st Regiment, I brought my oldest son, Frederick D. Grant, then eleven years old. Upon being ordered by rail to Quincy, I wrote to Mrs. Grant, expecting her to worry about such a young boy facing danger, that I would send Fred home from Quincy by river. She replied promptly and strongly disapproved, urging that he be allowed to remain with me. Her letter arrived too late—Fred was already on his way up the Mississippi to Dubuque, Iowa, from where he could take a train to Galena. As we neared what I thought might be “a field of battle,” my feelings were far from pleasant. I had taken part in all the Mexican engagements possible for one person, but never as commander. Had I been lieutenant-colonel under another colonel, I think I’d have felt less anxiety. Before we crossed the Mississippi at Quincy, my fears were eased; the men supposedly besieged began straggling into town. I suspect both sides got scared and ran away. I moved my regiment to Palmyra and stayed a few days, until relieved by the 19th Illinois Infantry. Then I went to Salt River, where the railroad bridge had been destroyed by the enemy. Colonel John M. Palmer, at that time in command of the 13th Illinois, was guarding the workers repairing the bridge. Palmer outranked me and commanded both regiments while we served together. The bridge was finished in about two weeks, and I received orders to move against Colonel Thomas Harris, said to be camped at the small town of Florida, about twenty-five miles south of us. At that time, we had no transportation and the region around Salt River was sparsely settled, so it took several days to gather enough teams and drivers to move our camp equipment for nearly a thousand men, along with a week’s provisions and some ammunition. While preparations were underway, I was at ease. But when we set out and found every house deserted, I was far from comfortable. In the twenty-five miles we marched, we saw no one except two horsemen on a crossing road, who fled as soon as they spotted us. I kept my men in formation and forbade them to enter or take anything from the empty houses. We camped on the road for the night and started out early the next morning. Harris had been encamped in a creek bottom for water. The hills on both sides of the creek are quite high—probably more than a hundred feet. As we approached the brow of the hill, expecting to see Harris’s camp with his men ready to meet us, my heart rose until it felt like it was in my throat. I would have given anything to be back in Illinois, but I did not have the courage to stop and reconsider; I kept moving forward. When we reached a point from which the valley below was visible, I halted. The camp where Harris had been just days earlier was plainly visible, but his troops were gone. My heart returned to its place. Immediately, it occurred to me that Harris had been just as afraid of me as I was of him. I had never seen things that way before, but it was a lesson I never forgot. From then until the end of the war, I never again felt such fear when facing an enemy, though I always felt some anxiety. I never forgot that my opponent had just as much reason to fear my force as I did his. That lesson was a valuable one. Asking around in the village of Florida, I learned that Colonel Harris, having discovered my intended movement while I was gathering transportation, took the initiative and withdrew from Florida before I had left Salt River. He widened the distance between us by forty miles. The next day I headed back to our old camp at Salt River bridge. The local residents who had returned after our passing and found their homes intact were now out at their doors to greet us. They must have been led to believe that the National troops brought death and destruction wherever they went. Soon after our return to Salt River bridge, I was ordered with my regiment to the town of Mexico. General Pope was then in command of the district covering all of Missouri between the Mississippi and Missouri Rivers, with headquarters in the village of Mexico. I was put in charge of a sub-district embracing the troops nearby—about three regiments of infantry and a section of artillery. Another regiment camped beside mine. I took command of all the troops, and the first night sent the other regiment’s commander the parole and countersign. Not wanting to be less courteous, he sent me his regiment’s countersign for the night in return. When told that the countersign I’d given applied to both his and my regiments, he had trouble accepting what he saw as an unwarranted interference of one colonel over another. No doubt he attributed it to the presumption of a West Point graduate over a volunteer. But the matter was soon settled and there was no further trouble. Two or three regiments, newly arrived in Mexico before mine, had lacked proper discipline. The men habitually entered houses uninvited, helping themselves to food and drink, or demanding it from the people. They carried muskets while out of camp and forced everyone they met to take the oath of allegiance. I immediately issued orders forbidding soldiers from entering private homes without invitation or taking private property for personal or government use. Afterward, the people were left in peace and no longer afraid. The people of Mexico treated me with the greatest courtesy as long as I stayed there. Up to that time, my regiment’s drill had not gone beyond the company level, except for some drill on our march from Springfield to the Illinois River. Now there was an opportunity to practice battalion drill. When I was at West Point, the army used Scott’s tactics and flintlock muskets. I had not consulted a tactics manual since graduation. In that subject, I was near the bottom of my class. In the Mexican War (summer 1846), I had served as regimental quartermaster and commissary and had not participated in a battalion drill since. The arms had changed since then and Hardee’s tactics were now standard. I obtained a manual and studied one lesson, planning to limit the first day’s drill to the commands I had learned. Repeating the process daily, I thought I’d finish the volume in due course. We were encamped just outside town, among scattered houses with gardens. When I got my regiment in line and rode to the head, I quickly saw that following the lesson I’d studied would require tearing down houses and fences to make enough space. I soon realized that Hardee’s tactics—a translation from the French with his name added—was basically common sense and progress applied to Scott’s system. The commands were shorter and the maneuvers quicker. Under the old tactics, nearly every change was preceded by a “halt,” then came the maneuver, then a “forward march.” The new tactics allowed all these changes while advancing. I found no difficulty giving commands to get my regiment where it needed to go and around all obstacles. I doubt my officers ever noticed I had never before studied the tactics I used. ## CHAPTER XIX. ### COMMISSIONED BRIGADIER-GENERAL—COMMAND AT IRONTON, MO.—JEFFERSON CITY—CAPE GIRARDEAU—GENERAL PRENTISS—SEIZURE OF PADUCAH—HEADQUARTERS AT CAIRO. I had not been in Mexico long when, while reading a St. Louis paper, I saw that the President had asked the Illinois delegation in Congress to recommend some citizens of the State for the position of brigadier-general, and that they had unanimously recommended me first on a list of seven. I was greatly surprised, because, as I have mentioned, my acquaintance with the Congressmen was very limited and I did not know of anything I had done to inspire such confidence. The next day's papers announced that my name, along with three others, had been sent to the Senate, and a few days later our confirmation was announced. When I was appointed brigadier-general I immediately thought it proper that one of my aides should come from the regiment I had been commanding, so I selected Lieutenant C. B. Lagow. While living in St. Louis, I had shared a desk in the law office of McClellan, Moody, and Hillyer. Differences in views among the members of the firm regarding the issues of the day, as well as tough economic times in the border cities, had led to the firm’s dissolution. Hillyer was a young man in his twenties, and very talented. I asked him to join my staff. I also wished to include someone from my new home in Galena. During the previous fall’s Presidential campaign, a young lawyer named John A. Rawlins had distinguished himself as one of the State’s ablest speakers. He had also run as an elector on the Douglas ticket. When Sumter was fired upon and the Union's integrity threatened, no one was readier to serve his country than he. I immediately wrote, asking him to accept the position of assistant adjutant-general with the rank of captain on my staff. He was about to enter the service as major of a new regiment forming in the northwestern part of the State, but he gave this up and accepted my offer. Neither Hillyer nor Lagow showed a particular interest or special skills suited to military duties, and the former resigned during the Vicksburg campaign; the latter I relieved after the battle of Chattanooga. Rawlins, however, stayed with me as long as he lived, eventually rising to brigadier general and chief-of-staff to the General of the Army—an office created for him—before the war ended. He was a capable man, very resolute, and could say “no” to a request so distinctly that the petitioner immediately understood that it was final. General Rawlins was valued in other ways as well. I became very attached to him. Not long after my promotion, I was ordered to Ironton, Missouri, to command a district in that part of the State, and I took the 21st Illinois, my old regiment, with me. Several other regiments were sent to the same place about the same time. Ironton is on the Iron Mountain railroad, about seventy miles south of St. Louis, nestled among hills nearly reaching the height of mountains. When I arrived, around August 8th, Colonel B. Gratz Brown—later Governor of Missouri and 1872 Vice-Presidential candidate—was in command. Some of his troops were ninety days’ men whose time had already expired. The men had only the clothes they volunteered in, much of it so worn it barely stayed on. General Hardee—the author of the tactics I had not studied—was reportedly at Greenville, about twenty-five miles further south, with five thousand Confederate troops. Under these circumstances, Colonel Brown’s command was very demoralized. A cavalry squadron could have ridden into the valley and captured the whole force. Brown himself was more pleased to see me on that occasion than he ever has been since. I relieved him and sent all his men home within a day or two, to be mustered out of service. Within ten days of arriving at Ironton, I was ready to take the offensive against the enemy at Greenville. I sent a column east out of the valley, instructing them to swing around south and west and come onto the Greenville road ten miles south of Ironton. Another column marched directly and set up camp where the two columns were to meet. I planned to ride out the next morning to take personal command of the movement. My experience against Harris in northern Missouri had given me confidence. But when the evening train arrived, it brought General B. M. Prentiss with orders to take command of the district. His orders did not relieve me directly, but I knew that by law I was senior, and at that time even the President could not assign a junior officer to command over a senior of the same grade. I therefore briefed General Prentiss on the troop dispositions and the general situation, and left for St. Louis that same day. The movement against the rebels at Greenville then went no further. From St. Louis, I was directed to Jefferson City, the State capital, to take command. General Sterling Price of the Confederate army was believed to be threatening the capital, Lexington, Chillicothe, and other large towns in central Missouri. I found many troops in Jefferson City, but everything was in complete confusion, and no one knew where all the units actually were. Colonel Mulligan, a brave man, was commanding but was not yet experienced in his new profession and did not know how to maintain discipline. I found that volunteers had claimed, or been given, permission—sometimes from the department commander—to raise regiments, battalions, or companies, with officers commissioned based on how many men they brought in. Recruiting stations were all over town, marked by hastily painted signs over the doors announcing the branch of service and recruitment period. The law required all volunteers to serve for three years or the duration of the war, but in Jefferson City, in August 1861, men were recruited for six months, one year, or without agreeing to serve outside the State. Many recruits came from regiments already stationed there, already bound for three years if the war lasted. The city was filled with Union refugees, driven to seek safety with National troops by guerilla bands. They were in terrible condition and would have starved without government support. Most escaped with a team or two—perhaps a yoke of oxen, a mule, or a horse in the lead—and threw into the wagon a little bedding, clothing, and some food. Everything else was left behind and taken by their former neighbors. For a Union man who stayed in Missouri during the rebellion, unless he was constantly under National troop protection, life meant unending struggles with his neighbors. I stopped the recruiting activities and posted troops around the outskirts to guard all approaches. Soon, order was restored. After only a few days in Jefferson City, I was ordered from department headquarters to fit out an expedition to Lexington, Booneville, and Chillicothe, with instructions to collect all the funds from the banks in those cities and send them to St. Louis. As the western army still lacked transportation, we had to seize teams belonging to rebel sympathizers or hire those owned by Union men. This provided work for some of the refugees who had teams suitable for our purposes. They took up this work eagerly. Troops were moved westward as quickly as possible—some twenty miles or more. Within a week or so of taking command in Jefferson City, I had all the troops, except for a small garrison, advanced and was planning to join them the following day. But my campaigns had not really started, because, while sitting at my office door waiting to depart for the front, I saw an officer of rank approaching. He turned out to be Colonel Jefferson C. Davis. I had never met him before, but he introduced himself by handing me orders directing him to relieve me. These orders also instructed me to report to department headquarters in St. Louis without delay for important special instructions. With only about an hour before the day's only regular train, I turned over to Colonel Davis my orders and quickly briefed him on the progress made to carry out departmental instructions. I had only one staff officer at the time, and did the detail work generally handled by an adjutant-general myself. An hour after I was relieved of command, I was on my way to St. Louis, leaving my staff officer to follow the next day with our horses and baggage. The “important special instructions” I received the following day assigned me to command the district of southeast Missouri, which included all territory south of St. Louis and all of southern Illinois. Initially, I was to take personal command of a combined expedition to capture Colonel Jeff. Thompson, a kind of independent or partisan commander contesting our control of southeast Missouri. Troops were to move from Ironton to Cape Girardeau, sixty or seventy miles southeast on the Mississippi River; the Cape Girardeau forces were ordered to move to Jacksonville, ten miles toward Ironton; and troops at Cairo and Bird’s Point, where the Ohio and Mississippi rivers meet, were to be ready to go down the Mississippi to Belmont, eighteen miles below, to move west from there when their commanding officer arrived. I was the officer selected for this. Cairo was to become my headquarters once the expedition ended. Following my orders, I set up temporary headquarters at Cape Girardeau and directed the commanding officer at Jackson to notify me when General Prentiss arrived from Ironton. Hired wagons ran night and day carrying additional rations to Jackson for the departing troops. Neither General Prentiss nor Colonel Marsh, commanding at Jackson, knew their final destination. I wrote all the instructions for the planned movement and kept them with me until I heard our forces had met at Jackson. Two or three days after I arrived at Cape Girardeau, word arrived that General Prentiss was approaching Jackson. I immediately set out to meet him there and deliver his orders. As I turned the first street corner on my journey, I saw a column of cavalry moving down the next street. I took another route to meet the head of the column and found General Prentiss himself, with a large escort. He had halted his troops at Jackson for the night, but had come to Cape Girardeau himself, ordering his command to follow the next morning. I gave the General his orders—which required him to stay at Jackson—but he was greatly displeased at being placed under another brigadier-general, especially as he considered himself the senior. He had been a brigadier at Cairo while I was a mustering officer at Springfield, without any rank. But we were nominated for United States service at the same time, and our commissions both bore the date of May 17th, 1861. By virtue of my prior army rank, I was, by law, the senior. General Prentiss failed to get word to his troops to stay at Jackson, and early the next morning they were reported approaching Cape Girardeau. I then issued a forceful order for the General to countermarch his command back to Jackson. He complied, but, upon getting them there, bade his command farewell and went to St. Louis to report himself. This ended the expedition. The impact was slight, as Jeff. Thompson was mobile with no fixed place for even nominal headquarters. He was as comfortable in Arkansas as Missouri and evaded any superior force. Prentiss was sent to another part of the State. General Prentiss made a significant mistake on this occasion, one he would not have repeated later in the war. When I got to know him better, I much regretted this episode. Because of it, he was not in the field during the West's principal campaign, and his juniors were promoted while he was in a position where promotion was impossible. He would have been next to me in rank in the district of southeast Missouri, thanks to his service in the Mexican War. He was a brave and dedicated soldier. No one in service was more genuine in his commitment to our cause; none more willing to make sacrifices or risk his life for it. On September 4th, I moved my headquarters to Cairo and found Colonel Richard Oglesby in command. We had not met, at least not to my knowledge. After my promotion, I had ordered my brigadier-general’s uniform from New York, but it had yet to arrive, so I was still in civilian dress. The Colonel’s office was full of people, mostly from Missouri and Kentucky, seeking help or making complaints. He apparently did not hear my name when I was introduced, for when I picked up a sheet of paper from his desk and wrote out the order assuming command of the district of southeast Missouri, assigning Colonel Richard J. Oglesby to command Bird’s Point, and handed it to him, he looked surprised, as if he needed someone to identify me. Nevertheless, he yielded the office without issue. The day after I took command at Cairo, a man introduced himself as a scout for General Fremont. He told me he had just arrived from Columbus, twenty miles down the Mississippi on the Kentucky side, and that troops were about to depart from there to seize Paducah, at the mouth of the Tennessee. There was no time to lose; I sent a telegram to the department commander reporting this information and added that I was making arrangements to leave that night to secure the important location ahead of the enemy. There were plenty of steamers moored at Cairo and many boatmen in town. In just a few hours, the boats were manned, fueled, and ready. Troops were ordered aboard. The distance from Cairo to Paducah is about forty-five miles. Not wanting to arrive before daylight on the 6th, I had the boats anchor midstream to await the proper time to start. When I received no reply to my first telegram, I sent another stating I would leave for Paducah that night unless further orders arrived. Hearing nothing, we set off before midnight and arrived early the next morning, beating the enemy by about six or eight hours. It was very fortunate that the expedition against Jeff. Thompson had been cancelled. Had it continued, the enemy would have seized and fortified Paducah, causing us major difficulties. When the National troops entered Paducah, the citizens were completely surprised. I never again saw such fear and shock on people's faces. Men, women, and children came out looking pale and alarmed at the sight of Union forces. They had been expecting Confederate troops that day. In fact, nearly four thousand men from Columbus were just ten or fifteen miles away, on their way to occupy the town. Although I had only two regiments and one battery, the enemy did not know this and retreated to Columbus. I posted my troops at the best points to guard the roads into the city, left gunboats to guard the river fronts, and was ready to leave for Cairo by noon. Before leaving, I issued a brief printed proclamation to the citizens of Paducah, assuring them of our peaceful intentions, promising protection for those who continued their usual work, and guaranteeing government protection for all. This seemed to relieve them, but most would have preferred the other army. I quickly reinforced Paducah with troops from Cape Girardeau; a few days later, General C. F. Smith, an accomplished soldier, arrived at Cairo and was assigned to command the post at the mouth of the Tennessee. Soon, the place was well fortified and a detachment sent to occupy Smithland, at the mouth of the Cumberland. At that time, Kentucky’s state government was Confederate-leaning, but wanted to keep an armed neutrality between North and South. The governor actually seemed to believe the State had the right to stay neutral. The Confederates already held two towns in Kentucky—Columbus and Hickman. At the very moment Union troops were entering Paducah from the Ohio side, General Lloyd Tilghman—a Confederate—along with his staff and a small detachment, was leaving the town in the opposite direction, while, as mentioned earlier, almost four thousand Confederate troops were on Kentucky soil approaching the town. Yet, in the governor's and his allies’ view, this did not justify the National government’s “invasion.” I informed the State legislature of my actions, and the majority approved. Upon my return to Cairo, I found that department headquarters had authorized me to take Paducah “if I felt strong enough,” but shortly afterward I was reprimanded for corresponding with the legislature and warned against doing so again. Soon after taking command at Cairo, General Fremont made arrangements for exchanging prisoners captured at Camp Jackson in May. I was ordered to allow them through my lines to Columbus if they had the proper credentials. I had personally known a number of these men before the war. Those acquaintances were welcomed at my headquarters without disrupting normal business. On one occasion, when several were present in my office, my intention to visit Cape Girardeau the next day to inspect the troops there was mentioned. Something later delayed my trip; meanwhile, a government steamer was passing some twenty miles above Cairo when it was stopped by a rebel artillery section with an escort. A major—one of those who had been at my headquarters the day before—immediately boarded and searched, demanding my surrender directly. It took some effort to convince him I was not there. This officer was Major Barrett, of St. Louis. I had known his family before the war. ## CHAPTER XX. ### GENERAL FREMONT IN COMMAND—MOVEMENT AGAINST BELMONT—BATTLE OF BELMONT—A NARROW ESCAPE—AFTER THE BATTLE. From the occupation of Paducah up to early November, nothing significant happened with the troops under my command. I received reinforcements from time to time, and the men were drilled and disciplined in preparation for the service ahead. By November 1st, I had at least 20,000 men, most of them well-drilled and ready to face any equal force who, like themselves, had not yet seen battle. They were growing impatient with being idle for so long, almost within earshot of the enemy’s guns whom they had volunteered to fight. On one or two occasions, I requested permission to move against Columbus. Columbus could have been taken soon after the occupation of Paducah; but by November it was so strongly fortified that capturing it would have required a large force and a lengthy siege. In late October, General Fremont took the field in person, moving from Jefferson City against General Sterling Price, who was then in Missouri with a considerable command. Around the beginning of November, I was directed from department headquarters to stage a demonstration on both sides of the Mississippi River, with the goal of keeping the rebels at Columbus within their lines. Before my troops could be dispatched, I was informed that about 3,000 enemy troops were on the St. Francis River, about fifty miles west or southwest of Cairo, and was ordered to send another force against them. I immediately sent Colonel Oglesby with enough troops to match the reported enemy numbers. On November 5th, more word came that the rebels were about to detach a large force from Columbus to move by boat down the Mississippi and up the White River in Arkansas to reinforce Price, and I was instructed to stop this movement if possible. I therefore sent a regiment from Bird’s Point, under Colonel W. H. L. Wallace, to overtake and reinforce Oglesby, with orders to march to New Madrid, some distance below Columbus on the Missouri side. At the same time, I ordered General C. F. Smith to move all troops he could spare from Paducah directly against Columbus, but to halt a few miles from the town and wait for further orders from me. Then I gathered all available troops at Cairo and Fort Holt, except for suitable guards, and moved them down the river on steamers escorted by two gunboats, accompanying them myself. My force was a bit over 3,000 men, consisting of five regiments of infantry, two guns, and two companies of cavalry. We traveled downriver on November 6th to about six miles from Columbus, landed some men on the Kentucky side, and set up pickets to connect with the troops from Paducah. I had no orders involving an attack by Union troops, nor did I plan any such attack when I left Cairo. However, after we started out, I could see that the officers and men were excited at the chance to finally do what they had volunteered for—fight the enemies of their country. I did not see how I could maintain discipline or keep my men’s confidence if we returned to Cairo without at least making an effort. Columbus was, by then, heavily fortified and had a garrison much larger than my force. Therefore, it would not do to attack that point. Around 2 a.m. on November 7th, I received information that the enemy was crossing troops from Columbus to the west bank, presumably to go after Oglesby. Knowing there was a small Confederate camp at Belmont, directly opposite Columbus, I quickly decided to go downriver, land on the Missouri side, capture Belmont, break up the camp, and then return. Accordingly, I pulled back the pickets above Columbus, and at daybreak the boats left shore. Within an hour, we were disembarking on the west bank of the Mississippi, just out of range of the Columbus batteries. The land on the west shore, opposite Columbus, is low, marshy in some areas, and broken up by sloughs. The soil is fertile, and the forest trees are large and dense. There were some small clearings between Belmont and our landing site, but most of the region was covered by native forest. We landed in front of a cornfield. When the landing began, I took a regiment downstream to post it as a guard against surprise. At that time, I had no staff officer whom I could trust with that duty. In the woods, a short way below the clearing, I found a dry depression, which became a slough or bayou in high water. I placed the men in this hollow, gave them their instructions, and ordered them to stay there until properly relieved. These troops, along with the gunboats, were to protect our transports. Up to this point, the enemy seemed to have no idea of our intentions. From Columbus, they could of course see our gunboats and transports loaded with troops. But with the threat from Paducah on the land side, it would be unlikely that if Columbus was our intended target, we would separate our forces by a wide river. They likely thought we aimed to draw a large force from the east bank, then embark ourselves, land on the east bank, and make a sudden assault on Columbus before their divided command could unite. Around eight o’clock, we began marching by flank from the debarkation point. After going about a mile or a mile and a half, I halted at marshy ground with a heavy forest in front and deployed much of my force as skirmishers. At this point, the enemy realized we were heading for Belmont and sent troops to meet us. Soon after, our line encountered their skirmishers and fighting began. For about four hours, the conflict intensified, with the enemy gradually forced back until he was driven into his camp. Early in the action, my horse was shot out from under me, but I got another from one of my staff and stayed close to the advance until we reached the river. The officers and men at Belmont came under fire for the first time. Up to reaching the rebel camp, they behaved as well as any veterans could have. At this point, though, they became demoralized by their sudden victory and missed the full rewards of success. The enemy was pursued so closely that when they reached the clear ground of their camp, they fled in haste over the river bank, which shielded them from our fire and view. This hasty retreat at the end allowed the Union soldiers to move through the *abatis*—the only man-made defense the enemy had—without resistance. As soon as they reached the camp, our men put down their weapons and started searching tents for trophies. Some senior officers were little better than the enlisted men, riding about from group to group, delivering speeches about the Union cause and the achievements of the command.  All this time, the troops we had fought for four hours were hiding under the river bank, prepared to surrender if called upon. But when they saw we were not pursuing, they worked their way upriver and came up the bank between us and our transports. Meanwhile, I spotted two steamers coming from the Columbus side toward the west shore above us, packed with soldiers from boiler deck to roof. Some of my men were firing captured guns at empty steamers downriver, out of range, and cheering at every shot. I tried to redirect their fire to the loaded steamers above, which were a much nearer target, but my efforts were in vain. At length, I told my staff officers to set fire to the camps. This drew fire from the enemy’s guns on the heights of Columbus. They had held their fire before, perhaps fearing to hit their own men, or thinking, until the camp was set ablaze, that it was still held by their friends. At this point, the men we had driven over the bank could be seen in line upriver between us and our transports. The alarm of being “surrounded” spread. The enemy’s gunfire and the threat of encirclement quickly restored the discipline of officers and men. At first, some officers seemed to think that being surrounded meant a hopeless situation, with nothing to do but surrender. But when I insisted we had fought our way in and could fight our way out just as well, it seemed to open their eyes. The line formed promptly, and we headed back to our boats, with the men again deployed as skirmishers. The enemy was encountered, but this time their resistance was weak. Once again, the Confederates sought shelter under the river banks. We could not stop to take prisoners, because the troops we saw crossing the river had already disembarked and were now closer to our transports than we were. It made sense to get them behind us, and we were not troubled again on our way to the boats. Since fighting began, our wounded had been carried to houses at the rear, near the debarkation area. I now ordered the troops to bring the wounded to the boats. After this had gone on for a while, I rode down the road, alone and without even a staff officer, to check on the guard I had posted over the approach to our transports. I knew the enemy had crossed from Columbus in significant numbers and could be expected to attack as we embarked. This guard would be the first to confront them and, since they were in a natural trench, could hold back the enemy for some time. To my surprise, I found not a single man in the entrenchment. Returning to the boat, I found the officer who had commanded the guard and learned that he had withdrawn his men when the main force fell back. At first, I ordered them to return, but seeing that it would take too long to reassemble and march them back, I canceled the order. Then, fearing the enemy we had seen crossing below might take us by surprise, I rode alone into the cornfield in front of our position to see if the enemy was advancing. The corn was so tall and thick that visibility was limited even for someone on horseback. Even asserting sight down the rows, the overhanging corn made the view brief and obscured. I had gone only a few hundred yards when I saw a group of troops marching by, not fifty yards away. Watching them for a moment, I then turned my horse toward the river and started back, first walking, then, when I thought myself out of sight, riding as fast as possible. When I reached the bank, I still had to ride a few hundred yards to the nearest transport. The cornfield in front of our transports ended at the edge of thick woodland. By the time I returned, the enemy had entered this forest and was firing briskly on our boats. Our men, apart from details still getting wounded from the front, were now either aboard or very near the transports. Those who weren't soon boarded, and the boats pushed off. I was the only Union soldier between the rebels and our transports. The captain of a boat that had just left the bank but hadn’t started moving recognized me, ordered the engineer to hold, and had a plank laid out for me. My horse seemed to understand what was needed. There was no regular path down the bank, and anyone familiar with the Mississippi knows its natural banks are close to vertical. My horse put his front feet over the edge and, supporting himself well, slid down the bank and trotted onto the boat, twelve or fifteen feet away, over a single gangplank. I dismounted and immediately went to the upper deck. The Mississippi River was low on November 7th, 1861, so the banks rose above men's heads standing atop the steamer decks. The rebels were some distance from the river, so their fire was high and caused us little harm. Our smokestack was riddled with bullets, but only three men were wounded on the boats, two of whom were soldiers. I entered the captain’s room next to the pilothouse and threw myself on the sofa, but left almost right away to see what was happening on deck. I had barely left when a musket ball penetrated the room, struck the head of the sofa, passed through, and lodged in the foot. When the enemy opened fire on the transports, our gunboats responded with vigor. They were well out in the stream and some distance downstream, needing only minimal elevation to clear the riverbanks. Their position nearly enfiladed the enemy line as it moved through the cornfield. The effect was severe, as was visible at the time and later confirmed. We were quickly out of range and proceeded peacefully back to Cairo, every man feeling that Belmont was a great victory and proud of his part in it. Our loss at Belmont was 485 killed, wounded, and missing. About 125 of our wounded were captured by the enemy. We returned with 175 prisoners and two guns, and spiked four more. The enemy’s official report listed their losses at 642 killed, wounded, and missing. We engaged about 2,500 men, not counting the guard left with the transports. The enemy had about 7,000, but this includes the troops brought over from Columbus who were not part of Belmont’s first defense. The two objectives for fighting at Belmont were fully achieved. The enemy abandoned any plan of sending troops from Columbus. Their losses were significant for that stage of the war. Columbus was overrun by people searching for wounded or dead relatives to take home for treatment or burial. I later learned, after moving further south, that Belmont caused more mourning than almost any other battle up to that time. Union troops gained a self-confidence at Belmont that stayed with them throughout the war. The day after the battle, I met some officers from General Polk’s command, arranged permission to bury our dead at Belmont, and began negotiating a prisoner exchange. When our men went to bury the dead, they were first brought below the point where our transports had been attacked. Some officers wished to see the field, but the request was refused, with the explanation that we had no dead there. While on the truce boat, I told an officer—whom I had known at West Point and during the Mexican War—that I had been in the cornfield near their troops as they passed; I had been on horseback and was wearing a soldier’s overcoat at the time. This officer, a member of General Polk’s staff, replied that both he and the General had seen me and that Polk had said to his men, “There is a Yankee; you may try your marksmanship on him if you wish,” but no one fired at me. Belmont was strongly criticized in the North as an entirely unnecessary battle, with no results or prospect of results from the start. If it had not been fought, Colonel Oglesby would probably have been captured or destroyed with his three thousand men. Then I would truly have been at fault. ## CHAPTER XXI. ### GENERAL HALLECK IN COMMAND—COMMANDING THE DISTRICT OF CAIRO—MOVEMENT ON FORT HENRY—CAPTURE OF FORT HENRY. While at Cairo, I often met the rebel officers from the Columbus garrison. They seemed fond of coming up on steamers under flags of truce. On two or three occasions, I went down in the same way. When one of their boats was seen approaching under a white flag, a gun would be fired from the lower battery at Fort Holt, sending a shot across their bow as a signal to stop. I would then take a steamer with my staff and sometimes a few other officers to receive the party. Among them were several officers I had known before, either at West Point or in Mexico. Seeing these officers—who had been trained both in school and real war, which is much more effective training—impressed upon me the significant advantage the South enjoyed over the North at the outbreak of the rebellion. The South had about thirty to forty percent of the nation's trained soldiers. They had no standing army, so these trained officers found positions with troops from their own States. In this way, what military education and experience they had was spread across their entire army. The whole force was strengthened by their presence. The North also had many educated and trained soldiers—but most were still in the army and generally kept their original commands and ranks for many months after the war began. In the Army of the Potomac, there was a “regular brigade,” where, from the commanding officer down to the youngest second lieutenant, all were professionally trained. Many of the batteries were the same; all four officers per battery had the required education. Some of these served under division commanders with no military training at all in the early battles. This situation gave me the idea—which I shared while at Cairo—that the government ought to disband the regular army, except for the staff corps, and notify the disbanded officers that they would receive no pay during the war except as volunteers. The register should be maintained, but any officers not serving as volunteers at war's end should have their names removed. On November 9th, two days after the battle of Belmont, Major-General H. W. Halleck replaced General Fremont as commander of the Department of the Missouri, which now included Arkansas and western Kentucky east to the Cumberland River. From the battle of Belmont until early February 1862, the troops under my command did little except prepare for the long struggle ahead. At that time, the enemy held a line stretching from the Mississippi River at Columbus to Bowling Green and Mill Springs, Kentucky. Each of these positions was heavily fortified, as were points on the Tennessee and Cumberland Rivers near the Tennessee state line. The Tennessee forts were called Fort Heiman and Fort Henry, and on the Cumberland was Fort Donelson. At these points, the two rivers came within eleven miles of each other. The rifle-pit lines at each place extended at least two miles back from the water, so the garrisons were actually seven miles apart. These positions were extremely important for the enemy—and equally important for us to capture. With Fort Henry in our hands, we would have a navigable river open to us up to Muscle Shoals, Alabama. The Memphis and Charleston Railroad meets the Tennessee at Eastport, Mississippi, and runs close to the river up to the shoals. This railroad was critically important to the enemy; if we captured Fort Henry, it would be useless to them for cross-country traffic. Fort Donelson was the gateway to Nashville—a site of great military and political value—opening up a wealthy region far east into Kentucky. Holding both points would force the enemy back to the Memphis and Charleston Railroad or the border of the cotton states, and, as mentioned, the railroad would be lost to them for through communication. After Halleck's arrival, my command was renamed from the District of South-east Missouri to the District of Cairo, and the small district led by General C. F. Smith—including the mouths of the Tennessee and Cumberland Rivers—was added under my authority. Early in January 1862, General McClellan, through my department commander, directed me to launch a reconnaissance in support of Brigadier-General Don Carlos Buell, who commanded the Department of the Ohio from Louisville and was facing General S. B. Buckner and a larger Confederate force at Bowling Green. It was believed Buell would soon move against the enemy, and my demonstration was meant to keep troops from being transferred from Columbus, Fort Henry, or Donelson to aid Buckner. I immediately ordered General Smith to send a force up the west bank of the Tennessee to threaten forts Heiman and Henry; at the same time, McClernand took 6,000 men out into western Kentucky, threatening Columbus with one column and the Tennessee River with another. I joined McClernand’s command. The weather was terrible—snow and rain fell continuously, and the already poor roads became nearly impossible. We spent over a week struggling through mud, snow, and rain, and the soldiers suffered severely. The objective was achieved; the enemy did not reinforce Bowling Green, and General George H. Thomas fought and won the battle of Mill Springs before we returned. Based on this expedition, General Smith reported that he believed Fort Heiman could be captured. The fort stood on high ground, completely commanding Fort Henry across the river, and if we took it—with the help of our gunboats—we could ensure Fort Henry’s capture as well. Smith's report confirmed my own previously held views: that the best option for us was to operate up the Tennessee and Cumberland Rivers. Once we did, the enemy would be forced to retreat from Kentucky entirely. On January 6th, before being ordered on this expedition, I had asked permission to travel to St. Louis to present this plan to my department commander. Now that General Smith—an able officer—had supported my views, I renewed my request to visit St. Louis on what I considered important military business. My leave was granted, but coldly. I barely knew General Halleck, never having met him at West Point or during the Mexican War. He received me so uncordially that I probably expressed my plan awkwardly, and soon found myself cut off, as if my proposal were ridiculous. I returned to Cairo feeling quite discouraged. Flag-officer Foote commanded the small fleet of gunboats near Cairo and, although from a different branch, was under General Halleck’s orders. He and I discussed military matters openly, and he fully agreed with me about the feasibility of a campaign up the Tennessee. Despite the rebuff, on January 28th, I again suggested by telegraph that "if permitted, I could take and hold Fort Henry on the Tennessee." This time, I had the support of Flag-officer Foote, who sent a similar message. On January 29th, I wrote in detail to support the idea. On February 1st, I received full orders from department headquarters to advance on Fort Henry. The expedition set out on February 2nd. In February 1862, quite a few steamers were laid up at Cairo for lack of river traffic, since the Mississippi was closed below that point. There were also many men in town whose work was on the river, from captains to deckhands. Nevertheless, there were not enough boats or crew to move all 17,000 men I intended to take up the Tennessee at once. I loaded the available boats with more than half the troops and sent General McClernand ahead in command. I followed on a later boat and found that McClernand had properly stopped nine miles below Fort Henry. Seven gunboats under Flag-officer Foote went with the advance. The transports had to return to Paducah to bring up a division from there under General C. F. Smith.  Before sending the boats back, I wanted to get the troops as close to the enemy as possible without coming within range of their guns. There was a stream joining the Tennessee on the east, apparently just at long range below the fort. Because of the narrow divide between the Tennessee and Cumberland Rivers at this point, the stream must usually be minor, but when we were there in February, it was a torrent. Landing troops south of the stream would greatly help our siege of Fort Henry. To find out if we could do this, I boarded the gunboat Essex and asked Captain Wm. Porter, the commanding officer, to approach the fort and draw its fire. After moving some distance past the stream’s mouth, we drew fire from the fort, though it fell well short. I decided to bring the troops to the upper side of the creek and turn back when the enemy opened fire with a rifled gun whose shot flew far beyond us and the stream. One shot came very close to where Captain Porter and I stood, struck the deck near the stern, penetrated through the cabin, and exited into the river. We immediately turned back, and the troops disembarked below the creek’s mouth. After the landing was completed, I returned with the transports to Paducah to hurry up the rest of the troops. I made it back on the 5th with the advance, and the others followed as fast as the steamers could carry them. By 10 p.m. on the 5th, the whole command was not yet assembled. Eager to start before the enemy could reinforce heavily, I issued orders for an advance at 11 a.m. on the 6th, confident all troops would be present by then. Fort Henry occupied a river bend that let its water battery shoot directly down the stream. The camp outside the fort was fortified, with rifle pits and outworks running two miles back toward Donelson and Dover. The garrison of the fort and camp was about 2,800, with strong reinforcements from Donelson stopped some miles away. There were seventeen heavy guns in the fort. The river was extremely high, flooding the banks except where the bluffs met the water. Part of Fort Henry’s ground was covered by two feet of water. Downriver, the water extended hundreds of yards into the woods on the east bank. On the west bank, Fort Heiman stood on high ground, completely dominating Fort Henry. The distance from Fort Henry to Donelson was only eleven miles. These two positions were so important to the enemy—AS HE SAW IT—that it was natural to expect reinforcements would come from every possible direction. Prompt action on our part was essential. The plan was for the troops and gunboats to move at the same time. The troops would surround the garrison, and the gunboats would attack Fort Henry at close quarters. General Smith was to land a brigade from his division on the west bank the night of the 5th and get it behind Fort Heiman. At the appointed hour, the troops and gunboats set out. General Smith found that Fort Heiman had been evacuated before his men arrived. The gunboats soon engaged the water batteries at point-blank range, but the troops meant to surround Fort Henry were delayed by the lack of roads, dense forests, and high water where in dry weather there would have been little trouble. This delay did not affect the outcome. At our first appearance, Tilghman had sent all his men, except about one hundred to man the fort's guns, to outworks on the road to Dover and Donelson, putting them out of reach of our navy’s fire. Before any attack on the 6th, he had ordered them to retreat to Donelson. In his later report, Tilghman stated that the defense was intended only to buy his troops time to escape. Tilghman was captured with his staff and ninety men, as well as all the fort’s weapons, ammunition, and supplies. Our cavalry pursued the retreating troops toward Donelson and caught up with two guns and a few stragglers, but the enemy had such a head start that only stragglers were actually overtaken. All of the gunboats involved were hit multiple times. However, the damage—other than what could be repaired cheaply—was slight, except to the Essex. A shell pierced that ship’s boiler and exploded it, killing and injuring forty-eight men, including nineteen soldiers assigned to support the navy. Several times during the war such assignments were made when the navy was short-handed. After Fort Henry fell, Captain Phelps commanding the ironclad Carondelet, at my request, moved up the Tennessee River and destroyed the Memphis and Ohio Railroad bridge. ## CHAPTER XXII. ### INVESTMENT OF FORT DONELSON—THE NAVAL OPERATIONS—ATTACK OF THE ENEMY—ASSAULTING THE WORKS—SURRENDER OF THE FORT. I notified the department commander of our victory at Fort Henry and that on the 8th I planned to take Fort Donelson. However, the rain kept falling so heavily that the roads became impassable for artillery and wagon trains. Besides, it would not have been wise to proceed without the gunboats. At the very least, this would have meant leaving behind a valuable part of our available force. On the 7th, the day after Fort Henry fell, I took my staff and the cavalry—a part of one regiment—and conducted a reconnaissance to within about a mile of the outer line of works at Donelson. I had known General Pillow in Mexico, and believed that with any size force, no matter how small, I could march right up to within gunshot of any defenses he had to hold. I told my staff officers this at the time. I knew Floyd was in command, but he was no soldier, and I assumed he would give in to Pillow’s claims. As expected, I met no opposition during the reconnaissance and, besides learning the lay of the land on the way and around Fort Donelson, discovered there were two roads we could use for marching: one leading to the village of Dover, the other to Donelson. Fort Donelson sits two miles north, or downriver, from Dover. The fort, as it stood in 1861, covered about one hundred acres. On the east, it faced the Cumberland River; to the north, it faced Hickman’s Creek, a small stream then deep and wide due to river backwater; on the south was another small stream, or rather a ravine, flowing into the Cumberland, also filled with backwater. The fort stood on high ground, some areas as much as a hundred feet above the Cumberland. Strong protection was given to the heavy guns in the water batteries by cutting out positions for them in the bluff. To the west there was a line of rifle pits some two miles back from the river at the farthest point. This line generally followed the crest of high ground, but in one place crossed a ravine that opened into the river between the village and the fort. The ground inside and outside this entrenched line was very uneven and mostly wooded. Trees outside the rifle-pits had been cut down for some distance and felled so their tops pointed outward from the defenses. The limbs were trimmed and sharpened, forming an *abatis* in front of most of the line. Outside this entrenched line, and extending about half its length, is a ravine running north and south and emptying into Hickman Creek north of the fort. The entire slope of this ravine next to the works was one long *abatis*. General Halleck began making every effort to get me reinforcements as soon as I left Cairo. General Hunter sent men liberally from Kansas, and a large division under General Nelson from Buell’s army was also dispatched. The War Department ordered the consolidation of fragments of companies being recruited in the Western States to make full companies, and then consolidate companies into regiments. General Halleck neither approved nor disapproved of my advance on Fort Donelson. He did not communicate with me about it at all. He told Buell on the 7th that I would march against Fort Donelson the next day; but on the 10th he directed me to strongly fortify Fort Henry, especially on the land side, saying he was sending me entrenching tools for that purpose. I received this order in front of Fort Donelson.  I was extremely eager to reach Fort Donelson because I knew how important the place was to the enemy and expected he would quickly reinforce it. I felt that 15,000 men on the 8th would be more effective than 50,000 a month later. I therefore asked Flag-Officer Foote to order his gunboats still near Cairo to move up the Cumberland River without waiting for those sent to Eastport and Florence; but the others returned in time, and we started on the 12th. I had moved McClernand out a few miles the night before to keep the road clear. As we were about to leave, my first reinforcements arrived by transport. This was a brigade of six full regiments commanded by Colonel Thayer of Nebraska. Since the gunboats were going to Donelson via the Tennessee, Ohio, and Cumberland rivers, I directed Thayer to turn about and travel under their convoy. I left Fort Henry with 15,000 men, including eight batteries and part of a regiment of cavalry, and, meeting no obstacles to slow us down, the advance reached the front of the enemy's works by noon. That afternoon and the following day were spent taking up positions to make the investment as complete as possible. General Smith had been instructed to leave part of his division to guard forts Henry and Heiman. He left General Lew. Wallace with 2,500 men. With the rest of his division he occupied our left, reaching to Hickman Creek. McClernand was on the right and covered the roads going south and southwest from Dover. His right reached the backwater up the ravine leading to the Cumberland south of the village. The troops did not dig trenches, but the terrain was such that they were as well protected from enemy fire as if they had. Our line generally followed the crest of ridges. Artillery was protected by placing the guns in dug-out positions. The troops not manning the guns were well sheltered by positioning themselves just behind the crest. The greatest hardship came from lack of shelter. It was midwinter and, during the siege, there was rain and snow, thawing and freezing alternately. Campfires could be allowed only far down the hill, out of view of the enemy, and not too many of the men could be there at once. On the march from Fort Henry, many men had discarded their blankets and overcoats. There was therefore much discomfort and real suffering. During the 12th and 13th, and until Wallace and Thayer arrived on the 14th, the National forces—just 15,000 men, with no trenches—faced an entrenched army of 21,000, with little direct conflict except what we initiated. Only one gunboat had arrived. Each day brought a little skirmishing as our troops moved into favorable positions, but there was no actual fighting except once, on the 13th, in front of McClernand’s command. That general had tried to capture a troublesome enemy battery. Without orders or authority, he sent three regiments to attack. The battery was in the enemy’s main line, defended by his whole army. Predictably, the assault failed, and our losses were severe considering the small force engaged. In this attack, Colonel William Morrison was badly wounded. Up to this point, surgeons with the army had no trouble finding room in houses near our lines for all the sick and wounded; but now the hospitals were overflowing. Still, thanks to the energy and skill of the surgeons, the suffering was not as great as it could have been. The hospital arrangements at Fort Donelson were as good as possible, considering the bad weather, lack of tents, and the sparsely populated country where most buildings were small. After Captain Walke returned to Fort Henry on the 10th, I asked him to take the vessels from his Tennessee expedition and seize the Cumberland as far toward Donelson as possible. He set off immediately, but only took his own gunboat, the Carondelet, towed by the steamer Alps. Captain Walke arrived a few miles below Donelson on the 12th, shortly after noon. About when the advance of our troops came within gunshot of the fort on land, he engaged the water batteries at long range. On the 13th I informed him of my arrival the previous day and the placement of our batteries, asking him to attack again that day to try to create a diversion. The attack was made, and many shots landed inside the fort, causing some alarm, as we now know. The investment on the land side was made as complete as our numbers allowed. During the night of the 13th, Flag-Officer Foote arrived with the ironclads St. Louis, Louisville, and Pittsburg, and the wooden gunboats Tyler and Conestoga, escorting Thayer’s brigade. On the morning of the 14th, Thayer was landed. Wallace, whom I had ordered over from Fort Henry, also arrived at about the same time. Up to that point, he had been commanding a brigade in General C. F. Smith’s division. These troops were now returned to their original division, and General Lew. Wallace was given command of a new division consisting of Thayer’s brigade and other reinforcements arriving that day. This new division was positioned in the center, enabling the two flanking divisions to close in and strengthen our line. The plan was for our troops to contain the enemy within his defenses, while the gunboats would attack the water batteries at close range and silence their guns if possible. Some of the gunboats were to try to pass the batteries and get above the fort and the village of Dover. I had ordered a reconnaissance with the aim of positioning troops above Dover on the river if needed. If the gunboats could achieve this position, it would only have been a matter of time—and a short time at that—before the garrison would be forced to surrender. By three in the afternoon of the 14th, Flag-Officer Foote was ready and advanced on the water batteries with his entire fleet. Once in range of the enemy’s batteries, the advance was slow, but all available guns fired steadily on the fort. I watched the navy’s advance from a position on shore. The lead vessel got very close to the water battery—no more than two hundred yards, I think—and I soon saw one, then another, dropping downriver, visibly disabled. Soon, the entire fleet followed, ending that day’s engagement. The gunboat carrying Flag-Officer Foote, after being struck some sixty times (with several shots near the waterline), was hit in the pilot-house. This shot killed the pilot, destroyed the wheel, and wounded Foote himself. The tiller-ropes of another vessel were cut, making her drift helplessly. Two others had their pilot-houses so damaged they hardly protected the men at the wheel. The enemy was clearly shaken by the naval assault, but they were elated to see our disabled vessels drifting downriver out of control. I only witnessed our gunboats falling back and felt very dejected by the setback. Later reports show that the enemy wired news of a great victory to Richmond. The sun set on February 14th, 1862, with our army still confronting Fort Donelson, far from comforted. The weather turned bitterly cold; the men were without tents or adequate fires, and, as mentioned earlier, many had no coats or blankets. Two of our strongest gunboats were disabled, presumably unable to help in the near future. That night, I went to bed uncertain if I would have to entrench my position and send for tents or build huts under the hills for the men. On the morning of the 15th, before dawn, a messenger from Flag-Officer Foote delivered a note, asking me to come see him on the flagship and saying he was too injured from the previous day’s fight to come to me. I prepared to leave at once. I directed my adjutant-general to inform each division commander of my absence and instruct them to hold their positions and not begin any action until further orders. Given the heavy rains for weeks and the constant use of the roads between the troops and the landing (four to seven miles below), the roads were now cut up to the point of barely being passable. The intense cold on the night of the 14th to 15th had frozen the ground solid, making horseback travel even slower than it was through mud; but I went as quickly as conditions allowed. When I reached the fleet, I found the flagship anchored out in the stream. A small boat was waiting for me and I was soon aboard with the flag-officer. He briefly explained his position after the engagement of the previous evening and suggested that I entrench while he took his disabled boats to Mound City for repairs, believing he could return in ten days. I understood the urgent need to send his gunboats for repairs, and did not rule out the possibility that I might have to lay siege. But the enemy spared me from this situation. When I left the National line to visit Flag-Officer Foote, I had no thought of any engagement on land unless I started it myself. The battle conditions were much better for us than in the first two days of the investment. From the 12th to the 14th we had only 15,000 men of all arms and no gunboats. Now we had been reinforced by six naval vessels, a whole new division under General L. Wallace, and 2,500 men from Fort Henry belonging to C. F. Smith’s division. Nevertheless, the enemy made the first move. As I stepped ashore, I met Captain Hillyer of my staff, pale with fear—not for his own safety, but for the safety of our army. He told me the enemy had come out in full force and attacked and scattered McClernand’s division, which was in full retreat. As I have said, the roads were so bad that fast progress was impossible, but I returned to my command as quickly as I could. The attack had struck the National right. I was four or five miles north of our left. Our line was about three miles long. To reach the point of disaster, I had to go past the divisions of Smith and Wallace. I saw no signs of panic along Smith’s section; Wallace, closer to the scene, had taken part in the action. He had timely sent Thayer’s brigade to back up McClernand and thus helped keep the enemy within his lines. Everything looked favorable for us on the left and center. But on the right, the scene was different. The enemy had come out at full strength to break through and escape. McClernand’s division bore the brunt of the assault from their combined force. His men fought bravely until their cartridge boxes were empty. There was plenty of ammunition close by, lying in boxes on the ground, but at that stage of the war not all of our regimental, brigade, or even division commanders were trained to make sure their men were always resupplied in battle. When the men ran out of ammunition, they could not stand against a force that still had plenty. The division broke and part of it fled, but most, since they were not pursued, simply fell back out of enemy range. It must have been about then that Thayer sent his brigade between the enemy and our troops who had no ammunition. In any case, the enemy pulled back into their defenses and stayed there until I returned to the field. I saw the men standing in groups, talking in the most excited manner. No officer seemed to be giving any directions. The soldiers had their muskets, but no ammunition, even though there were tons of it close at hand. I heard some of the men say that the enemy had come out with knapsacks and haversacks filled with rations. They seemed to think this meant the enemy was determined to stay out and fight as long as their provisions lasted. I turned to Colonel J. D. Webster, of my staff, who was with me, and said: “Some of our men are pretty badly demoralized, but the enemy must be worse off, since he tried to force his way out but fell back. Whoever attacks first now will be victorious, and the enemy will have to move quickly if he wants to get ahead of me.” I decided to make the assault at once on our left. It was clear to me that the enemy had started to march out with almost his entire force, except for a few pickets, and if we could attack on the left before the enemy could reposition his forces along the line, we would find little opposition except from the intervening *abatis*. I directed Colonel Webster to ride with me and call out to the men as we passed: “Fill your cartridge-boxes, quick, and get into line; the enemy is trying to escape and he must not be permitted to do so.” This worked like a charm. The men only needed someone to give them a command. We rode quickly to Smith’s quarters, where I explained the situation to him and directed him to charge the enemy’s works in his front with his whole division, telling him that he would find nothing but a very thin line to oppose him. The general moved out incredibly fast, going ahead himself to keep his men from firing while they worked their way through the *abatis* standing between them and the enemy. The outer line of rifle-pits was passed, and on the night of the 15th, General Smith, with much of his division, bivouacked within the enemy’s lines. There was now no doubt that the Confederates would have to surrender or be captured the next day. From later accounts, there seems to have been much panic, especially among the high-ranking officers, in Dover during the night of the 15th. General Floyd, the commanding officer, who had enough talent for any civil position, was not a soldier and likely did not have the qualities of one. He was further unfit for command because his conscience must have troubled him and made him afraid. As Secretary of War he had taken a solemn oath to support the Constitution of the United States and uphold it against all enemies. He had betrayed that trust. As Secretary of War, he was reported through the northern press to have scattered the small army the country had so that most of it could be picked up in detail when secession happened. About a year before leaving the Cabinet he had moved arms from northern to southern arsenals. He stayed in President Buchanan’s Cabinet until around January 1, 1861, even while working hard for the establishment of a confederacy made from United States territory. No wonder he was afraid to fall into the hands of National troops. No doubt, had he been captured, he would have been tried for misappropriating public property, if not for treason. General Pillow, next in command, was conceited and prided himself much on his service in the Mexican war. He telegraphed to General Johnston, at Nashville, after our men were already inside the rebel rifle-pits and almost as he was making his own escape, that the Southern troops had been very successful all day. Johnston sent the dispatch to Richmond. While the officials in the capital were reading it, Floyd and Pillow were fleeing. A council of war was held by the enemy, in which all agreed that it would be impossible to hold out any longer. General Buckner, who was third in rank in the garrison but by far the most capable soldier, seems to have felt it was his duty to hold the fort until the general in charge of the department, A. S. Johnston, got back to his headquarters at Nashville. Buckner’s report shows, however, that he saw Donelson was lost and that trying to hold the place any longer would only sacrifice the command. Being told that Johnston was already in Nashville, Buckner also agreed that surrender was the only option. Floyd handed over command to Pillow, who refused it. It then fell to Buckner, who accepted the responsibility. Floyd and Pillow took all the river transports at Dover and, before morning, were on their way to Nashville with the brigade previously commanded by Floyd and some other troops, about 3,000 in total. Some marched up the east bank of the Cumberland; others went on the steamers. During the night, Forrest also, with his cavalry and some other troops—about a thousand in all—made their way out, passing between our right and the river. They had to ford or swim across the back-water in the little creek just south of Dover. Before daylight, General Smith brought me the following letter from General Buckner: > HEADQUARTERS, FORT DONELSON, > February 16, 1862. > > SIR:—In consideration of all the circumstances governing the present situation of affairs at this station, I propose to the Commanding Officer of the Federal forces the appointment of Commissioners to agree upon terms of capitulation of the forces and fort under my command, and in that view suggest an armistice until 12 o’clock to-day. > > I am, sir, very respectfully, > Your ob’t se’v’t, > S. B. BUCKNER, > Brig. Gen. C. S. A. > > To Brigadier-General U. S. Grant, > Com’ding U. S. Forces, > Near Fort Donelson. To this I replied as follows: > HEADQUARTERS ARMY IN THE FIELD, > Camp near Donelson, > February 16, 1862. > > General S. B. BUCKNER, > Confederate Army. > > SIR:—Yours of this date, proposing armistice and appointment of Commissioners to settle terms of capitulation, is just received. No terms except an unconditional and immediate surrender can be accepted. I propose to move immediately upon your works. > > I am, sir, very respectfully, > Your ob’t se’v’t, > U. S. GRANT, > Brig. Gen. To this I received the following reply: > HEADQUARTERS, DOVER, TENNESSEE, > February 16, 1862. > > To Brig. Gen'l U. S. GRANT, > U.S. Army. > > SIR:—The distribution of the forces under my command, caused by an unexpected change of commanders, and the overwhelming force under your command, compel me, despite the Confederate arms' notable success yesterday, to accept the ungenerous and unchivalrous terms you propose. > > I am, sir, > Your very obedient servant, > S. B. BUCKNER, > Brig. Gen. C.S.A.    General Buckner, as soon as he sent the first of the above letters, notified his different commanders along the line of rifle-pits that he had made a proposal for the surrender of the garrison, and instructed them to notify the Union troops in their front so that any fighting would stop. White flags were placed at intervals along the rifle-pits, but none over the fort itself. As soon as I received Buckner's last letter, I mounted my horse and rode to Dover. I found that General Wallace had arrived an hour or more before me. I assume that, seeing white flags in his front, he rode up to find out their purpose and, since he wasn't fired upon or halted, continued until he found himself at General Buckner's headquarters. I had spent three years at West Point with Buckner and later served with him in the army, so we knew each other quite well. During our conversation, which was very cordial, he told me that if he had been in command, I would not have reached Donelson as easily as I did. I replied that if he had been in command, I would not have tried in the same way: I surrounded their lines with fewer troops than they had available to defend, while also sending a brigade of 5,000 men around by water; I was relying quite a bit on their commander to let me get safely up to the outside of their works. I asked General Buckner about the size of the force he had to surrender. He answered that he couldn't say with much accuracy; all the sick and weak had been sent to Nashville while we were near Fort Henry; Floyd and Pillow had escaped during the night, taking many men with them; Forrest, and possibly others, had also escaped the preceding night. He couldn't give the number of casualties, but said I would not find fewer than 12,000 nor more than 15,000. He asked for permission to let parties go outside the lines to bury his dead, who had fallen on the 15th during their attempted breakout. I gave orders that his permit to pass our lines should be honored. I have no reason to think this privilege was misused, but it made our guards so accustomed to seeing Confederates passing back and forth that I am sure many slipped past our pickets unnoticed. Most of those who escaped that way probably felt they had had enough of war and left intending to stay out of the army. Some even came to me and asked for permission to leave, saying they were tired of the war and would not fight again, and I told them to go. The exact number of Confederates at Fort Donelson can never be known with certainty. The highest number admitted by any Southern writer is from Colonel Preston Johnston, who gave the figure as 17,000. But this is almost certainly too low. The commissary general of prisoners reported issuing rations to 14,623 Fort Donelson prisoners at Cairo as they passed through. General Pillow reported 2,000 killed and wounded; however, he had less chance to know the real numbers than the officers of McClernand’s division, since most of the killed and wounded fell outside their works, in front of that division, and were buried or cared for by Buckner after the surrender when Pillow was already a fugitive. Floyd and Pillow are known to have escaped the night of the 15th, taking at least 3,000 men with them. Forrest escaped with about 1,000, and others left singly and in squads all during the night. It is likely that the Confederate force at Donelson, on February 15, 1862, was about 21,000 in total. On the day Fort Donelson fell, I had 27,000 men to oppose the Confederate lines and to guard the road for four or five miles to the left, over which all our supplies had to be hauled by wagon. After the surrender on the 16th, more reinforcements arrived. During the siege, General Sherman was sent to Smithland, at the mouth of the Cumberland River, to forward reinforcements and supplies to me. At that time, he outranked me, and there was no authority that allowed a junior officer to command a senior of the same rank. But each boat bringing supplies or reinforcements also brought notes of encouragement from Sherman, who asked me to call upon him for any help I might need and told me that if I wanted him at the front, I could send for him and he would waive rank. ## CHAPTER XXIII. ### PROMOTED MAJOR-GENERAL OF VOLUNTEERS—UNOCCUPIED TERRITORY—ADVANCE UPON NASHVILLE—SITUATION OF THE TROOPS—CONFEDERATE RETREAT—RELIEVED OF THE COMMAND—RESTORED TO THE COMMAND—GENERAL SMITH. The news of the fall of Fort Donelson brought great joy throughout the North. In the South, and especially in Richmond, the impact was equally discouraging. I was promptly promoted to the rank of Major-General of Volunteers, and the Senate confirmed it. All three of my division commanders received promotion to the same rank, and the colonels commanding brigades were made brigadier-generals in the volunteer service. My superior, who was in St. Louis, telegraphed his congratulations to General Hunter in Kansas for his role in securing the fall of Fort Donelson by sending reinforcements so quickly. To Washington he telegraphed that the victory belonged to General C. F. Smith: “promote him,” he said, “and the whole country will applaud.” On the 19th, a formal order was published in St. Louis, expressing thanks to Flag-officer Foote and me, along with the forces under our command, for the victories on the Tennessee and Cumberland. I received no other acknowledgment from General Halleck. However, General Cullum, his chief of staff at Cairo, wrote me a warm letter of congratulations on his own behalf. I was highly satisfied with General Smith’s promotion, as I was with all the promotions that were made. My opinion was then, and remains now, that after Fort Donelson fell, the way was clear for the National forces to move throughout the Southwest with little resistance. If a single general, willing to take responsibility, had commanded all the troops west of the Alleghanies, he could have marched to Chattanooga, Corinth, Memphis, and Vicksburg with the troops at hand. With volunteering happening rapidly across the North, there soon would have been enough troops at each of these centers to mount offensive operations against any enemy force nearby. Swift advances and capturing rebellious territory would have motivated more volunteering, so that reinforcements could have been supplied as quickly as transportation allowed. On the other hand, tens of thousands of strong young men still remained at home in the southwestern states in February 1862. Many had no particular wish to join the Confederate army. If we had extended our lines to protect their homes, many of them might never have enlisted. But Providence decided otherwise. The enemy was given time to gather armies and fortify new positions, and twice later he nearly pushed his northwestern front up to the Ohio River. I immediately informed the department commander about our victory at Fort Donelson and explained that the way was now open to Clarksville and Nashville. I said that unless I received contrary orders, I would take Clarksville on the 21st and Nashville around the 1st of March. Both cities are on the Cumberland River above Fort Donelson. Since I received no instruction from headquarters, I sent General C. F. Smith to Clarksville at the appointed time, and he found the place already abandoned. The captures of Forts Henry and Donelson had broken the enemy's line stretching from Columbus to Bowling Green, and it was known that he was retreating from the eastern point of this line, with Buell following or at least advancing. I would have sent troops to Nashville when I sent them to Clarksville, but my transportation was limited and I had many prisoners to send north. None of Buell’s reinforcements arrived until February 24. Then General Nelson came up with orders to report to me with two brigades, having already sent one brigade to Cairo. I knew General Buell was advancing on Nashville from the north, and my scouts advised that the rebels were leaving, trying to take as many supplies as possible. At that time, Nashville was one of the best-supplied posts in the South. I had no need for more reinforcements, and thinking Buell would want his troops back, I ordered Nelson to proceed to Nashville without disembarking at Fort Donelson. I sent a gunboat for escort as well. The Cumberland River was very high; the railroad bridge at Nashville had been burned, and all riverboats had been destroyed or were about to be. Nashville is on the west side of the Cumberland, and Buell was approaching from the east. I thought the steamers carrying Nelson’s division could help ferry the rest of Buell’s forces across. I instructed Nelson to communicate with Buell as soon as possible, and if he found Buell more than two days away from Nashville, to return below the city and wait for orders. However, Buell had already arrived personally at Edgefield, opposite Nashville, and Mitchell’s division arrived that same day. Nelson immediately occupied the city. After Nelson left, and before I learned of Buell’s arrival, I notified department headquarters that unless I received orders to the contrary, I would go to Nashville myself on the 28th. Hearing nothing in response, I did as I had indicated to my superior. On arriving at Clarksville, I saw a group of steamers at the shore—the same boats that had brought Nelson’s division—and troops were boarding. I landed and visited the commanding officer, General C. F. Smith. Once he saw me, he showed an order he had just received from Buell: > NASHVILLE, February 25, 1862. > > GENERAL C. F. SMITH, > Commanding U. S. Forces, Clarksville. > > GENERAL:—The landing of a portion of our troops, contrary to my intentions, on the south side of the river has forced me to hold this side at all costs. If the enemy goes on the offensive, and I am assured by reliable persons that he intends to do so, my force here is entirely inadequate, consisting of only 15,000 men. I must request that you come forward with all available forces under your command. I consider the situation so important that I think it necessary to make this communication a direct order, and I am sending four boats—the Diana, Woodford, John Rain, and Autocrat—to bring you up. In five or six days, my force will probably be large enough to relieve you. > > Very respectfully, your obedient servant, > D. C. BUELL, > Brigadier-General Commanding. > > P.S.—The steamers will leave here at midnight. General Smith said this order was nonsense. However, I told him it would be best to obey. The General responded, “of course I must obey,” and said his men were embarking as quickly as possible. I continued on to Nashville and inspected the positions taken by Nelson’s troops. I did not see Buell that day, so I wrote him a note saying I had been in Nashville since early morning and had hoped to meet him. When I returned to the boat, we met. His forces were still on the east side of the river, and the steamers that had brought Nelson’s division were mostly at Clarksville to bring Smith’s division. I told General Buell that my information showed the enemy was retreating as quickly as possible. General Buell insisted there was fighting happening just ten or twelve miles away. I said, “Quite likely; Nashville had valuable stores of arms, ammunition, and food, and the enemy is probably trying to take all he can. The fighting is probably with the rear-guard who are protecting the supply trains.” Buell was very certain about the danger that Nashville faced from an enemy attack. I replied that, lacking definite information, I believed my sources were correct. He answered that he “knew.” “Well,” I said, “I do not know; but as I came by Clarksville, General Smith’s troops were embarking to join you.” Smith’s troops were sent back the same day. The enemy was only trying to escape from Nashville, not return to it. At this time, General Albert Sidney Johnston commanded all Confederate troops west of the Allegheny Mountains, except those in the far south. On the National side, the forces facing him were at first split into three, then four separate departments. Johnston had a major advantage in having complete command over all troops that could be deployed at one point, while Union forces, divided into independent commands, could only be coordinated by orders from Washington. At the start of 1862, Johnston’s forces east of the Mississippi held a line stretching from Columbus on his left to Mill Springs on his right. As we have seen, Columbus, both sides of the Tennessee River, the west bank of the Cumberland, and Bowling Green were all strongly fortified. Mill Springs was entrenched. The National troops did not occupy any territory south of the Ohio except for three small garrisons along its bank and a force out from Louisville facing Bowling Green. Johnston’s numbers were probably smaller than the Union’s, but this was offset by his being the sole commander of all Confederate forces in the West, operating in territory where his supporters secured his lines without needing extra troops. When General George H. Thomas attacked the enemy at Mill Springs and thoroughly defeated him—inflicting a loss of about 300 killed and wounded—and Forts Henry and Heiman fell to the Union with their guns and about 100 prisoners, these setbacks seemed to discourage the Confederate commander so much that he immediately began retreating from Bowling Green to Nashville. He arrived there on February 14, while Donelson was still under siege. Buell followed with part of the Army of the Ohio, but as he had to march, he did not reach the east bank of the Cumberland opposite Nashville until the 24th, and then with only one division. The bridge at Nashville had been destroyed and all boats were removed or disabled, making it possible for a small garrison to have held the city against any Union troops that could have reached it within ten days after the force left Bowling Green. Johnston seemed to wait quietly at Nashville to see what happened at Fort Donelson, on which he had risked the control of most of Kentucky and Tennessee. It is true that the two senior generals at Fort Donelson were sending him optimistic dispatches, even claiming great Confederate victories up to the night of the 16th—when they must have been preparing to escape individually. Johnston made a fatal error in giving such an important command to Floyd, whom he must have known was no soldier, even if he had the makings of one. Pillow’s appointment as second-in-command was also a mistake. If these officers had been assigned to him for this specific duty, he should have left a small garrison at Nashville under a trustworthy officer, and with the rest of his troops, gone to Donelson himself. Even if he had been captured, the result couldn’t have been worse. Johnston lost his nerve at the first approach of Union troops. On February 8, he wrote to Richmond: “I think the gunboats of the enemy will probably take Fort Donelson without the necessity of employing their land force in cooperation.” After the fort fell, he gave up Nashville and Chattanooga without making an effort, and retreated into northern Mississippi, where he would meet his fate six weeks later. From the time I left Cairo, I was unusually unfortunate in not receiving dispatches from General Halleck. The order of February 10, directing me to fortify Fort Henry—especially the land side—and saying that entrenching tools had been sent for that purpose, reached me after Donelson was already under siege. I received nothing direct to indicate that the department commander knew we had taken Donelson. I was reporting regularly to the chief of staff, who had been sent to Cairo soon after the troops left there, to receive all front-line reports and telegraph the details to St. Louis headquarters. Cairo was the southern end of the telegraph line. Another wire was immediately started from Cairo to Paducah and Smithland, at the mouths of the Tennessee and Cumberland rivers. All of my dispatches were sent to Cairo by boat, but many addressed to me were sent to the operator at the end of the advancing wire, and he failed to forward them. This operator later turned out to be a rebel; he deserted his post shortly afterwards and went south with his dispatches. A telegram from General McClellan to me, dated February 16—the day of the surrender—ordering me to give a full report on the situation, did not reach my headquarters until March 3. On March 2nd, I received orders dated March 1st to move my command back to Fort Henry, leaving only a small garrison at Donelson. From Fort Henry, expeditions were to be sent against Eastport, Mississippi, and Paris, Tennessee. We left Donelson on the 4th, and that same day I was back on the Tennessee River. On March 4th, I also received the following dispatch from General Halleck: > MAJ.-GEN. U. S. GRANT, > Fort Henry: > > You will place Maj.-Gen. C. F. Smith in command of the expedition, and remain yourself at Fort Henry. Why have you not followed my orders to report the strength and positions of your command? > > H. W. HALLECK, > Major-General. I was surprised. This was the first indication I had that General Halleck had requested information about the strength of my command. On the 6th, he wrote to me again: “Your going to Nashville without authority, and when your presence with your troops was of the utmost importance, was a matter of very serious complaint at Washington, so much so that I was advised to arrest you on your return.” This was the first I knew of his objections to my going to Nashville. That place was not outside the limits of my command, which, as had been clearly stated in orders, were “not defined.” Nashville is west of the Cumberland River, and I had sent troops that had reported to me for duty to occupy the city. I turned over the command as directed and then replied to General Halleck courteously, but asked to be relieved from further duty under him. Later, I learned that General Halleck had been demanding reinforcements, promising to accomplish something important if only he could get enough troops. McClellan asked him what force he had at his disposal. Halleck telegraphed me to provide the information as far as my command was concerned, but I never received any of his messages. Eventually, Halleck reported to Washington that he had repeatedly ordered me to report the strength of my force, but could get nothing from me; that I had gone to Nashville, outside the limits of my command, without his authority, and that my army was more demoralized by victory than the army at Bull Run had been by defeat. General McClellan, based on this information, ordered that I should be relieved from duty and that an investigation should be conducted into any charges against me. He even authorized my arrest. Thus, in less than two weeks after the victory at Donelson, the two leading generals in the army were corresponding about what to do with me, and in less than three weeks I was essentially under arrest and without a command. On March 13th I was restored to command, and on the 17th Halleck sent me a copy of an order from the War Department stating that reports of my misconduct had reached Washington and directing him to investigate and report the facts. He also sent a copy of a detailed dispatch from himself to Washington entirely clearing me; but he did not tell me that it was his own reports that had caused all the trouble. On the contrary, he wrote to me, “Instead of relieving you, I wish you, as soon as your new army is in the field, to assume immediate command, and lead it to new victories.” Because of this, I felt very grateful to him, and believed it was his intervention that had set me right with the government. I never learned the truth until General Badeau uncovered the facts in his research for his history of my campaigns. General Halleck clearly thought General C. F. Smith was a much more suitable officer to command all the forces in the military district than I was, and to make him available for such command, wanted his promotion to take precedence over mine and those of the other division commanders. It was probably the general opinion that Smith’s long service in the army and distinguished achievements made him the more proper person for such command. In fact, I was rather inclined to this view myself at that time, and would have served as faithfully under Smith as he had under me. But this did not justify the messages General Halleck sent to Washington, or his later failure to tell me about them while pretending to explain my superiors’ actions. Upon receiving the order restoring me to command, I proceeded to Savannah on the Tennessee River, where my troops had advanced. General Smith was glad to see me and did not hesitate to strongly criticize the way I had been treated. He was on his sickbed at the time, from which he never recovered. His death was a severe loss to our western army. His personal courage was unquestioned, his judgment and professional abilities were unmatched, and he had the confidence of both those he commanded and those above him. ## CHAPTER XXIV. ### THE ARMY AT PITTSBURG LANDING—INJURED BY A FALL—THE CONFEDERATE ATTACK AT SHILOH—THE FIRST DAY’S FIGHT AT SHILOH—GENERAL SHERMAN—CONDITION OF THE ARMY—CLOSE OF THE FIRST DAY’S FIGHT—THE SECOND DAY’S FIGHT—RETREAT AND DEFEAT OF THE CONFEDERATES. When I resumed command on March 17th, I found the army divided: about half was on the east bank of the Tennessee at Savannah, one division was at Crump’s Landing on the west bank about four miles farther up, and the rest were at Pittsburg Landing, five miles above Crump’s. The enemy was concentrated at Corinth, the junction of the two most important railroads in the Mississippi Valley—one connecting Memphis and the Mississippi River with the East, and another leading south to all the cotton states. Another railroad linked Corinth with Jackson, in West Tennessee. If we seized Corinth, the enemy would lose railroads for transporting armies or supplies until they could reach the line running east from Vicksburg. Corinth was the major strategic point in the West, between the Tennessee and Mississippi rivers and between Nashville and Vicksburg. I immediately ordered all the troops at Savannah to move to Pittsburg Landing, knowing the enemy was fortifying at Corinth and gathering an army there under Johnston. I planned to march against that army as soon as Buell, who had been ordered to reinforce me with the Army of the Ohio, arrived; the west bank of the river was the best launch point. Pittsburg is only about twenty miles from Corinth, and Hamburg Landing, four miles further up the river, is a mile or two closer. Soon after assuming command, I selected Hamburg as the position for the Army of the Ohio upon their arrival. The roads from Pittsburg and Hamburg to Corinth come together about eight miles out. Placing the troops this way would allow more roads to march on for the advance, all within supporting distance. Before I arrived at Savannah, Sherman, who had joined the Army of the Tennessee and taken command of a division, had led an expedition on steamers, escorted by gunboats, to the Eastport area, about thirty miles south, aiming to destroy the railroad east of Corinth. The heavy rains before this had turned the lowlands into impassable swamps. Sherman landed his troops and set out to complete the expedition’s goal, but the river rose so quickly that water backed up the tributaries, threatening to cut off their route back to the boats, so they had to return before reaching the railroad. The artillery had to be pulled by hand through water to get back to the boats. On March 17th, the army at the Tennessee River was organized into five divisions, commanded by Generals C. F. Smith, McClernand, L. Wallace, Hurlbut, and Sherman. General W. H. L. Wallace was temporarily in charge of Smith’s division, as General Smith, as I have mentioned, was bedridden. Reinforcements were arriving daily, and as they assembled they were organized, first into brigades, then into a division, which was placed under General Prentiss, who had reported to me. General Buell was approaching from Nashville with 40,000 veterans. By March 19th, he was at Columbia, Tennessee, eighty-five miles from Pittsburg. Once all reinforcements arrived, I planned to take the initiative and march on Corinth; I did not expect to need fortifications, though the matter was considered. McPherson, my only military engineer, was told to lay out a line of entrenchments. He did so but reported it would have to be built behind the current encampment. The new line, while nearer the river, was still too far from the Tennessee or even from the creeks to be easily supplied with water, and if attacked, those creeks would be under enemy control. Truthfully, I saw our campaign as an offensive one and could not imagine the enemy would leave strong fortifications to go on the offensive, knowing we would attack them if they stayed put. Still, every precaution was taken and every effort made to keep informed about enemy movements. Meanwhile, Johnston’s cavalry was pushing out toward our front, and occasional clashes occurred with our outposts. On April 1st, this cavalry became bolder, moving close to our lines, signaling some advance was planned. On April 2nd, Johnston left Corinth in force to attack my army. On the 4th, his cavalry rushed in and captured a small picket—six or seven men—stationed about five miles from Pittsburg on the Corinth road. Colonel Buckland immediately sent a relief force, soon following with a full regiment, and General Sherman followed Buckland, bringing the rest of a brigade. They pursued the enemy about three miles beyond where the picket was captured, and after dark, Sherman returned to camp and reported the incident to me by letter. At that time a large enemy force was massing to our west, along the Mobile and Ohio railroad line. I was more concerned for the safety of Crump’s Landing than for Pittsburg. While I doubted the enemy could truly capture either place, I feared a sudden raid on Crump’s could destroy our transports and supplies stored there—and that the enemy could escape before Wallace could be reinforced. I believed Lew Wallace’s position was strong enough that it did not require changing. My usual routine was to spend the days at Pittsburg and return to Savannah in the evening. I intended to move my headquarters to Pittsburg, but since Buell was expected daily and would likely arrive at Savannah, I stayed there a few days longer to meet him. Continuous skirmishing at our front, however, had become so common from about April 3rd that I did not leave Pittsburg at night until I felt certain there would be no more trouble until morning. On Friday the 4th, the day Buckland advanced, I was badly injured when my horse fell with me, and partly on me, as I tried to reach the front where firing had been heard. The night was completely dark with torrential rain; nothing could be seen except for the flashes of lightning. In these conditions, I had to trust my horse entirely to stay on the road. However, soon after setting out, I met General W. H. L. Wallace and Colonel (later General) McPherson coming from the front. They assured me everything was quiet regarding the enemy. As I was returning to the boat, my horse slipped and fell, trapping my leg under him. Thanks to the soft ground from the recent heavy rains, I was spared from serious injury and a long recovery. Still, my ankle was badly hurt, and my boot had to be cut off. For the next two or three days, I could only walk on crutches. On the 5th, General Nelson with a division of Buell’s army, reached Savannah, and I ordered him to move up the east bank of the river, so he could be ferried to Crump’s Landing or Pittsburg as needed. I learned that General Buell himself would arrive at Savannah the next day and wished to see me. The situation at Pittsburg Landing had been so pressing for several days that I did not want to be away during the day. So, I decided to have a very early breakfast and ride out to meet Buell, to save time. Buell had actually arrived the night of the 5th, but did not notify me, so I was unaware until later. While I was at breakfast, heavy firing was heard toward Pittsburg Landing, so I quickly headed there, sending Buell a note explaining why I couldn't meet him at Savannah. On the way up river, I ordered the dispatch boat to stop at Crump’s Landing so I could talk with General Lew Wallace. I found him waiting on a boat, apparently expecting me, and directed him to have his troops ready to move on my orders. He responded that his troops were already under arms and prepared. Up to that moment, I was still not sure Crump’s Landing wouldn’t be targeted. But when I arrived at the front, around 8 a.m., I found the attack on Pittsburg was clear, and only a small guard was needed at Crump’s to protect our supplies. Captain Baxter, a quartermaster on my staff, was sent back to order General Wallace to march to Pittsburg by the road nearest the river. Captain Baxter noted this order. By about 1 p.m., still hearing nothing from Wallace and badly needing reinforcements, I sent two more staff officers, Colonel McPherson and Captain Rowley, to bring up his division. They found him heading toward Purdy, Bethel, or some other point west—thus farther from Pittsburg than when he started. The direct road between his position and Pittsburg Landing ran near the river. Our troops had built a bridge over Snake Creek with Wallace’s help, precisely to make mutual support possible if needed. Wallace did not arrive in time to take part in the first day’s fighting. General Wallace later claimed that Captain Baxter's order was only to join the right of the army, and the road he took would have led him to the Pittsburg to Purdy road, where it meets Owl Creek on Sherman’s right; but that is not where I ordered him, nor where I wanted him to go. I have never understood why any further order was needed beyond telling him to proceed to Pittsburg Landing, without specifying a route. His was one of three veteran divisions familiar with battle, and its absence was sorely felt. Later in the war, General Wallace would not have made the mistake he did on April 6th, 1862. I expect he hoped by his chosen route to come around the enemy's flank or rear, and thus make a dramatic move for both his reputation and the country's good. Two or three miles from Pittsburg Landing was a log meeting-house called Shiloh. It stood on a ridge dividing the waters of Snake and Lick Creeks, the former flowing into the Tennessee just north of Pittsburg Landing, the latter to the south. This spot was the key to our position and was held by Sherman. His division was completely inexperienced, none of it having seen action before; but I thought this inexperience was outweighed by his skill as a commander. McClernand was on Sherman’s left with troops who had fought at Forts Henry and Donelson, and were therefore veterans as far as western troops could be at this war stage. Next in line came Prentiss with another raw division, and on the far left, Stuart with a brigade from Sherman’s division. Hurlbut was behind Prentiss, concentrated and held in reserve during the attack. General C. F. Smith’s division was on the right, also in reserve. General Smith was still ill in Savannah, though within earshot of the fighting. His presence would have been invaluable had he been healthy enough to attend. Leadership of his division passed to Brigadier-General W. H. L. Wallace, an admirable and able officer, and a veteran as well from service in the Mexican War and recent battles at Henry and Donelson. Wallace was mortally wounded during the first day, and with the resulting command change, the effectiveness of his division suffered. Our troops formed a continuous line from Lick Creek on the left to Owl Creek, a branch of Snake Creek, on the right, facing almost directly south, or slightly west. These streams were all swollen at the time, which helped protect our flanks. The enemy was therefore forced to attack directly in front, which he did with intense vigor, causing us heavy losses but taking even heavier casualties himself. The Confederate attacks were so relentless that our lines of tents were soon captured. The battlefield was rolling and thickly wooded, with open patches and significant underbrush—giving both sides some cover. The enemy made several attempts to turn our right flank, where Sherman was stationed, but each was repulsed with heavy losses. Still, the front assault was so fierce that to keep them from flanking us, the Union troops had to move back several times toward Pittsburg Landing. By nightfall, our line was about a mile behind its morning position.  During one of the retreats on the 6th, General Prentiss’s division did not move back with the rest, leaving his flanks exposed so the enemy captured him and about 2,200 of his officers and men. General Badeau records the time as around 4 p.m. on the 6th, which may be right, although I recall it being later. General Prentiss himself said it was half-past five. I visited him, as I did each division commander that day, repeatedly; to my memory, the last visit was about 4:30, when his division was holding firm and the General was calm, as if expecting victory. Whether it was four or later, the rumor that he and his men were surprised and captured in their camps is completely false. If Prentiss and his command had truly been captured in bed, as was widely believed at the time (and still by thousands today), there would not have been a bitter, all-day battle, resulting in thousands of Confederate casualties. Except for a brief period right after Prentiss was captured, the Union army maintained an unbroken line all day from Snake Creek or its offshoots on the right to Lick Creek or the Tennessee River above Pittsburg on the left. There was never an hour during the day without heavy firing, and often hard fighting, somewhere on the line—though rarely at every point at once. It was Southern daring against Northern endurance and courage. Three of the five divisions engaged that Sunday were completely untried, many soldiers receiving their weapons en route from home to the field. Some had arrived only a day or two earlier and barely knew how to load their muskets. The officers were just as inexperienced. Given these factors, it’s not surprising that some regiments broke at the first fire. I remember two instances in particular, where regimental colonels led their men from the field at the first sound of enemy bullets. In both cases, the colonels were natural cowards, unfit for military command; but not so the men and officers they led away from danger. Many of these same troops, who fled in panic at their first taste of battle at Shiloh, would later prove themselves as fine soldiers as ever fought. During all of Sunday, I was constantly moving from one part of the field to another, giving directions to the division commanders. While moving along the line, I never thought it necessary to stay long with Sherman. Although his troops were under fire for the first time, Sherman’s constant presence inspired such confidence in both officers and men that they performed on that bloody battlefield as well as any veterans could have. McClernand was next to Sherman, and the hardest fighting took place in front of these two divisions. On that day, the 6th, McClernand told me how much he benefited from having such a capable commander supporting him. If Sherman had been unable to remain on the field that day due to injury, it would have been a serious blow to the troops at Shiloh. And it was nearly so—on the 6th Sherman was shot twice, once in the hand and once in the shoulder (the ball tore his coat and caused a slight wound), and a third bullet went through his hat. In addition, several of his horses were shot during the day. Because the nature of the battle prevented us from using cavalry at the front, I formed our cavalry into a line in the rear to stop stragglers—of whom there were many. When enough of these stragglers recovered from their fright and could be gathered together, they would be sent to reinforce any part of the line needing support, regardless of their original companies, regiments, or brigades. At one point during the day, I rode back as far as the river and met General Buell, who had just arrived; I do not remember the exact time, but there were probably four or five thousand stragglers lying under cover of the river bluff, panic-stricken. Most of them would have been shot where they lay, without resistance, rather than take up their muskets and return to the front for self-defense. My meeting with General Buell took place on the dispatch boat that ran between the landing and Savannah. It was brief, and focused mainly on getting his troops across the river. As we left the boat together, Buell noticed the men lying under cover by the riverbank and began to berate them, trying to shame them into rejoining their regiments. He even threatened them with shells from the nearby gunboats. But these efforts were in vain. Most of these men later proved just as brave as any who helped save the battle after initially fleeing. I have no doubt this sight convinced General Buell that a line of retreat might be essential at that moment. Had he arrived by the front instead of through the rear among the stragglers, he would have felt and thought differently. If he had come through the Confederate rear, he would have seen a scene much like our own. The distant rear of an army in battle is not the best place to accurately judge the situation at the front. Later in the war, while stationed between the Tennessee and Mississippi rivers, I learned the panic in the Confederate lines was little different from that in our own; some locals even estimated there were as many as 20,000 Confederate stragglers, although this was surely an exaggeration. The situation at the close of Sunday was as follows: along the top of the bluff just south of the log house at Pittsburg Landing, Colonel J. D. Webster of my staff had arranged twenty or more pieces of artillery facing south or up the river. This artillery line was on the crest of a hill overlooking a deep ravine that opened into the Tennessee. Hurlbut, with his division intact, held the right of this artillery, extending west and perhaps a bit north. McClernand came next in the line, facing more to the west. His division maintained its organization and was ready for duty. Sherman came next, his right extending to Snake Creek. His command, like the others, was organized and ready, just as its commander was, to serve in whatever capacity was needed. Naturally, all three divisions were somewhat shattered and their numbers depleted from the day’s fighting. W. H. L. Wallace’s division, mainly due to confusion from changes in division and brigade commanders under heavy fire, lost its organization and did not hold a position in the line as a division. Prentiss’ command was also gone as a division—many of its men were killed, wounded, or captured—but it fought bravely before its final dispersal and contributed significantly to Shiloh’s defense. The right of my line was near the bank of Snake Creek, a short distance above the bridge built by the troops to connect Crump’s Landing and Pittsburg Landing. Sherman had stationed troops in a log house and outbuildings overlooking both the bridge—over which Wallace was expected—and the creek above. Sherman was repeatedly attacked in this position before night, but held it until he voluntarily moved forward to make room for Lew Wallace, who arrived after dark. As mentioned, there was a deep ravine in front of our left. The Tennessee River was very high, and the water in the ravine was considerable. Here the enemy made a last desperate attempt to turn our flank but was driven back. The gunboats Tyler and Lexington, commanded by Gwin and Shirk, along with the artillery under Webster, supported the army and prevented further enemy advances. Before any of Buell’s troops reached the west bank of the Tennessee, the firing had almost entirely stopped; the enemy made no real attempt to advance. There was some artillery fire from an unseen enemy, with a few shells passing beyond us, but I do not recall hearing a single musket ball. As his troops arrived in the dusk, General Buell marched several regiments partway down the hill and they fired briskly for several minutes, but I do not believe a single man in this firing was injured. The attack had run its course. General Lew Wallace, with 5,000 effective men, arrived after firing had ceased and was stationed on the right. Night fell as Wallace arrived, along with the advance of Nelson’s division, but none—except night itself—came in time to materially assist the brave men who saved Shiloh on that first day, despite the odds. Buell's loss on April 6 was two men killed and one wounded, all from the 36th Indiana Infantry. The Army of the Tennessee lost at least 7,000 men that day. The presence of two or three regiments from Buell’s army on the west bank before the firing stopped had no effect on preventing the capture of Pittsburg Landing. Before the firing had ceased on the 6th, I was already so confident that victory would be ours the next day, if only we could take the initiative, that I personally visited each division commander before any reinforcements arrived. I instructed them to send out strong lines of skirmishers at first light, push forward until encountering the enemy, and then follow with their entire divisions in support, engaging as soon as the enemy was found. I told Sherman about the assault at Fort Donelson, saying the same tactics would win at Shiloh. Victory was assured with Wallace’s arrival, even without further support, though I was glad to see Buell’s reinforcements and credit them for all that could be done. During the night of the 6th, the rest of Nelson’s division from Buell’s army crossed the river and prepared to advance in the morning, forming the left wing. Two other divisions, Crittenden’s and McCook’s, arrived by transport from Savannah and were on the west bank early on the 7th. Buell commanded them in person. My force was thus nearly doubled in both numbers and effectiveness. That night, heavy rain fell and our troops were left exposed without shelter. I made my headquarters under a tree a few hundred yards from the riverbank. My ankle, badly swollen from being injured in a fall from my horse the previous Friday night, was so painful I could not rest. The torrential rain alone would have made sleep impossible, even without the pain. Sometime after midnight, growing restless from the storm and the pain, I moved to the log house under the bank. This building was being used as a hospital, and throughout the night wounded men were brought in, their injuries treated, limbs amputated when necessary, and every effort made to save lives and ease suffering. The sight was even harder to bear than enemy fire, and I soon chose to return to my tree in the rain. Our advance on the morning of the 7th revealed the enemy positioned in the camps occupied by our troops before the battle—more than a mile back from their most advanced position the day before. It is now known they had not yet learned of Buell’s arrival. Possibly they fell back both to seek shelter in our tents during the rain and to escape the shells the gunboats dropped on them every fifteen minutes that night. On the morning of the 7th, the Union troops were positioned as follows: General Lew Wallace on the right; Sherman to his left; then McClernand, then Hurlbut. On our extreme left, next to the river, was Nelson from Buell’s army. Crittenden was next after Nelson, and on Crittenden's right was McCook, who formed the extreme right of Buell’s command. My former command thus formed the right wing, while Buell’s troops made up the left wing. These positions remained generally constant through the day, until the enemy was driven from the field. Soon, the battle raged all along the line, but on this second day, everything favored the Union. Now, we were the attackers. All day long the enemy was driven back, just as we had been the day before, until he finally retreated in haste. The last position he held was near the road from the landing to Corinth—left of Sherman and right of McClernand. Around three o’clock, being near that spot and seeing the enemy was breaking everywhere, I gathered a couple of regiments, or parts of regiments, formed them in line, and led them forward myself to prevent premature or long-range firing. There was a clearing at this point between us and the enemy, suitable for a charge, though exposed. I knew the enemy was ready to break, and just needed encouragement to flee and rejoin their comrades who had already gone. I stopped within musket range, let the troops pass, gave the command “CHARGE,” and they rushed forward with loud cheers, breaking the enemy’s last line. > \[NOTE.—Since writing this chapter I have received from Mrs. W. H. L. Wallace, widow of the gallant general killed in the first day’s fight at Shiloh, a letter from General Lew Wallace to him dated the morning of the 5th. At the date of this letter, it was well known that Confederate troops were out along the Mobile & Ohio Railroad west of Crump’s Landing and Pittsburg Landing, and were also gathering near Shiloh. This letter shows that at that time General Lew Wallace was taking steps in case reinforcements needed to pass between Shiloh and his position, which extended westward from Crump’s Landing. He sent the letter along the road from Adamsville to the Pittsburg Landing and Purdy road. These roads meet nearly a mile west of the crossing over Owl Creek, where our right was situated. In the letter, General Lew Wallace says he will send “to-morrow” (and since the letter says “April 5th” as well, it must have been written on the 4th) some cavalry to report to General W. H. L. Wallace at his headquarters, suggesting it would be good for General W. H. L. Wallace to send a company of his own back with them, so the cavalry at the two landings could become familiar with the roads and “act promptly in case of emergency as guides to and from the different camps.” > > This changes significantly what I have said—and what others have said—about General Lew Wallace’s actions at Shiloh. It shows that, with the limited experience he had at the time, he would naturally take the road he did, unless ordered otherwise. > > His mistake, and what probably led to his apparent slowness, was in advancing some distance after realizing that the fighting—which would have begun directly to his front and then to the left—had fallen back, ultimately well in the rear of his advance. This had already happened before I sent General Wallace orders to move up to Pittsburg Landing, so my order was to take the road nearest the river. My order was given verbally to a staff officer to deliver to General Wallace, so I cannot say for certain exactly what order the General received. > > General Wallace’s division was posted as follows: the First Brigade at Crump’s Landing, the Second two miles out, and the Third two and a half miles out. Upon hearing the sounds of battle, General Wallace early ordered the First and Third brigades to concentrate on the Second. If our front had not changed position, the route Wallace took would have been somewhat shorter to our right than the river road. > > U. S. GRANT. > MOUNT MACGREGOR, NEW YORK, June 21, 1885. ## CHAPTER XXV. ### STRUCK BY A BULLET—PRECIPITATE RETREAT OF THE CONFEDERATES—INTRENCHMENTS AT SHILOH—GENERAL BUELL—GENERAL JOHNSTON—REMARKS ON SHILOH. During the second day of the battle, I was moving from right to left and back again, wanting to see firsthand the progress being made. Early in the afternoon, as I was riding with Colonel McPherson and Major Hawkins—then my chief commissary—we found ourselves beyond the left flank of our troops. We were proceeding along the northern edge of a clearing, moving at a leisurely pace toward the river above the landing. It didn’t seem as if there were any enemies to our right, until, all at once, a battery with infantry fire opened on us from the edge of the woods across the clearing. Shells and bullets whistled past us rapidly for about a minute. I don't think it took us longer than that to get out of range and out of sight. In our sudden dash, Major Hawkins lost his hat but didn’t stop to retrieve it. When we reached a completely safe spot, we paused to assess any damage. McPherson’s horse was panting as if close to collapse. Upon inspection, we found a bullet had struck him just ahead of the flank, behind the saddle, passing entirely through. In a few minutes, the poor animal fell dead; he had shown no signs of injury until we stopped. Another bullet had struck the metal scabbard of my sword just below the hilt, nearly breaking it off; before the battle ended it broke off entirely. Out of the three of us, one lost a horse, killed; one lost a hat, and one lost a sword scabbard. We were all grateful it wasn’t worse. Following the rain from the previous night and the frequent and heavy showers of recent days, the roads were almost impassable. The enemy’s retreat with their artillery and supply trains made them even worse for those following. I wanted to pursue but lacked the heart to order men who had fought fiercely for two days, lying in the mud and rain whenever not fighting. Nor did I feel it appropriate to insist that Buell—or any portion of his command—press the pursuit. Though I was now senior in rank, I had only been so for a few weeks. Buell had long been a department commander, while I led merely a district. I did not meet Buell directly until it was too late to properly organize an effective pursuit; had I seen him at the moment of the final charge, I would have at least requested that he follow the enemy. The day after the battle, I rode several miles forward and found that the enemy had abandoned much, if not all, of their provisions, some ammunition, and extra caisson wheels, lightening their loads to hasten their retreat with the guns. About five miles out, we found their field hospital deserted. An immediate pursuit would likely have led to the capture of many prisoners and perhaps some of their artillery. Shiloh was the most severe battle fought in the West up to that point in the war, and only a few in the East matched it for hard, determined combat. I saw an open field, under our control the second day, across which the Confederates had repeatedly charged the day before. It was so thickly covered with the dead that one could have crossed it—no matter the direction—stepping from body to body without touching the ground. On our side, Union and Confederate dead were mixed nearly equally; but elsewhere on the field, nearly all the fallen were Confederates. In one section, which had evidently not been cultivated for years, likely due to poor soil, bushes had grown, some as tall as eight or ten feet. Not one remained standing unmarked by bullets. The smaller ones were all severed. Contrary to all my experience at that point—and unlike the army under my command then—we were fighting defensively. We had no entrenchments or defensive advantages of any kind, and more than half of the army engaged on the first day had neither experience nor even basic drill as soldiers. The officers with them, aside from the division commanders and perhaps two or three brigade commanders, were equally inexperienced in warfare. Still, the result was a Union victory that gave the men who fought it enduring confidence in themselves. The enemy fought bravely, but they set out to defeat and destroy our army and capture a position. They failed at both, suffering very heavy casualties, and must have retreated discouraged and convinced that the “Yankee” was not an adversary to be underestimated. After the battle, I verbally instructed division commanders to have their regiments send out parties to bury their own dead, and to detail parties under commissioned officers from each division to bury the Confederate dead in their fronts, reporting the numbers buried. Not all followed through on the latter part; but Sherman’s division and some parties from McClernand’s division did. The enemy’s heaviest losses had been in front of these two divisions. It has often been argued that Union troops ought to have been entrenched at Shiloh. Up to then, picks and spades had rarely been employed in the West. I had already considered this after taking command in the field, but, as mentioned, my only military engineer advised against it. Additionally, my troops—officers and men—needed discipline and training more than experience with pick, shovel, or axe. Reinforcements were arriving almost daily, made up of men hastily collected into companies and regiments—pieces of incomplete organizations, men and officers still strangers. Given all this, I determined that drill and discipline were more valuable for our men than fortifications. General Buell was brave and intelligent, with as much professional pride and admirable ambition as anyone I knew. I spent two years with him at West Point, and served alongside him, both in garrison and during the Mexican war, for several years. He was not inclined, in youth or maturity, to form close friendships. He was habitually studious and always commanded the respect and confidence of those who knew him. He was a strict disciplinarian and perhaps did not sufficiently distinguish between volunteers—who “enlisted for the war”—and soldiers serving during peacetime. One system included men risking their lives for a principle, often men of social status, means, or with independent characters. The other included, generally, men unable to do as well in other occupations. General Buell became the target of harsh criticism later, some even questioning his loyalty. No one who knew him truly believed him capable of anything dishonorable, and nothing could be more dishonorable than accepting a high command in war and then betraying it. When I took command of the army in 1864, I asked the Secretary of War to return General Buell to duty. After the war, in the summer of 1865, I travelled widely through the North, meeting large numbers of people everywhere. Everyone had opinions about how the war was run—who among the generals failed, how, and why. Newspaper correspondents were always ready to note every word spoken, and were not always inclined to report fairly when accounts didn’t fit their preconceived ideas about the war or those involved. I frequently found the chance to defend General Buell against what I considered unjust charges. On one occasion, a correspondent attributed to me the very accusation I had so often contested: disloyalty. This prompted a severe response from General Buell, which I first saw in the New York World, before receiving the letter itself. I understood his grievance at seeing such unfounded charges seemingly confirmed by an officer who, at the time, led the army. I replied to him, but not publicly. I kept no copy of my letter and never saw it printed, nor did I receive a reply. General Albert Sidney Johnston, who commanded the Confederate forces at the start of the battle, was disabled by a wound on the afternoon of the first day. From what I later understood, the wound was not inherently fatal or even dangerous. But he was not a man to abandon what he saw as a vital responsibility in the face of danger, and so continued in the saddle, commanding, until he was so weakened by blood loss that he had to be removed from his horse, dying soon after. The news quickly reached our side, and I assume it gave the National soldiers some encouragement. I had known Johnston slightly during the Mexican war and later as an officer in the regular army. He was a man of high character and ability. His classmates at West Point, and officers who knew him personally and remained loyal, expected him to prove to be the most formidable general the Confederacy would have. I once wrote that his brief army command showed nothing to prove or disprove the high expectations for his military skill; but after reviewing Johnston’s orders and dispatches, I am compelled to revise my opinion of his qualifications as a soldier. I now judge him to have been indecisive and hesitant in his actions. The string of setbacks in Kentucky and Tennessee so discouraged the Richmond authorities that Jefferson Davis sent Johnston an unofficial letter expressing his own and the public’s anxiety, stating he had defended Johnston as a friend, but now needed facts since no report had been made. The letter was not an outright reprimand, but evidently stung as much as one would have. Johnston rebuilt his army as quickly as possible and fortified or entrenched strongly at Corinth. He knew the National troops were preparing to attack his chosen position. But evidently so troubled by his earlier failures, he chose to launch an offensive that, if successful, would restore all lost ground and more. According to his son and biographer, Johnston’s plan was to attack the forces at Shiloh and defeat them, then cross the Tennessee, destroy Buell's army, and carry the war across the Ohio River. The plan was bold; but we are also told Johnston was hesitant and indecisive when carrying it out. He left Corinth April 2 and only attacked April 6—a march of less than twenty miles. Beauregard, his second-in-command, opposed the attack for two reasons: first, he thought the National troops would attack the Confederates if left alone; second, he believed we were on ground of our own choosing and likely entrenched. Johnston not only listened to Beauregard’s objections but held a council of war to discuss the matter on the morning of April 5. He was in further conference with some generals that evening, and yet again on the morning of April 6. During this final conference, and before any decision was reached, the battle began when the National troops opened fire. That settled the matter of whether there would be a battle of Shiloh, and, to me, also settles the issue of whether a surprise occurred. I do not doubt General Johnston’s personal bravery or general ability. But he did not achieve the greatness expected by many of his friends. As a general, he was overrated. General Beauregard, next in command to Johnston, succeeded him and retained command through the rest of the battle, the retreat to Corinth, and the siege there. Confederate writers have sharply criticized his tactics, but I do not believe his fallen chief could have done better under those circumstances. Some of these critics claim victory was imminent when Johnston fell, and that had he lived, my army would have been destroyed or captured. IFs defeated the Confederates at Shiloh. Undoubtedly, we would have suffered a disgraceful defeat IF all our shells and bullets missed and all of theirs found their mark. Commanding generals sometimes fall in battle, and the fact that Johnston was leading a brigade to encourage it to charge—after repeated orders—when shot shows that neither our troops were utterly demoralized nor the Confederates supremely confident, as has been claimed. At no point that day did I doubt the enemy would ultimately be defeated, though I was disappointed that reinforcements so close by did not arrive sooner. The account of Shiloh given by Colonel Wm. Preston Johnston is vivid and well written—the reader may picture each blow struck, a broken, disordered mass of Union soldiers, each attack driving the enemy further demoralized toward the Tennessee River, just over two miles away at the start. If the reader does not stop to wonder why, with such supposed Confederate success after more than twelve hours of fighting, the National troops were not all killed, captured, or driven into the river, the picture seems perfect. But I watched the battle from the National side from eight in the morning until nightfall. I recognize little in that account. The Confederates did fight bravely and deserve credit for their courage and endurance on April 6, but not at the expense of their opponents or by claiming more than their due. Enemy reports state their condition at day's end was dreadful; their losses in killed and wounded were very heavy, and their number of stragglers was at least as high as on the Union side, with the difference being that Confederate stragglers left the field completely, not returning to their units for days. On our side, few stragglers retreated farther than the landing, and many rejoined their units on the second day. Admissions by the highest Confederate officers involved at Shiloh make their victory claims absurd. Neither side had the victory until the battle ended. Then, the victory was Union's, with both the Armies of the Tennessee and Ohio participating. But the Army of the Tennessee engaged the entire Confederate force on the 6th and held them off until near night; and it was night, not the three regiments of Nelson’s division, that ended the conflict. The Confederates fought bravely at Shiloh, but I could not then, and still cannot, see the particular skill that has been claimed for them; though, aside from the later claims, there is nothing to criticize in their action. However, those Confederates who claim superiority in strategy, generalship, and dash are not as unfair to the Union soldiers who fought at Shiloh as many Northern writers have been. The soldiers on both sides were Americans, and united they would have nothing to fear from any foreign adversary. It is possible that Southern soldiers may have begun with a little more dash than their Northern counterparts, but they were correspondingly less enduring. The enemy's efforts on the first day were simply to hurl their men at us—first at one point, then at another, sometimes at several points at once. They did this with daring and energy, until by nightfall the Confederate troops were exhausted. Our effort during the same period was to be prepared to resist assaults wherever they came. The Confederates' objective on the second day was to withdraw as much of their army and supplies as possible, whereas our aim was to drive them away and to capture or destroy as many of their men and material as possible. We succeeded in pushing them back, but were not as effective in making captures as we might have been with a longer pursuit. As it was, on the second day we captured or recaptured about as much artillery as we had lost on the first; and, aside from the major loss of Prentiss, we took more prisoners on Monday than the enemy had taken from us on Sunday. On the 6th, Sherman lost seven artillery pieces, McClernand six, Prentiss eight, and Hurlbut two batteries. On the 7th, Sherman captured seven guns, McClernand three, and the Army of the Ohio twenty. At Shiloh, the effective strength of the Union forces on the morning of the 6th was 33,000 men. Lew Wallace brought 5,000 more after nightfall. Beauregard reported the enemy’s strength as 40,955. By Southern practice in counting, this probably excluded every man enlisted as a musician or detailed as guard or nurse, and all commissioned officers—in short, everyone who did not carry a musket or serve a cannon. In our case, everyone in the field receiving government pay was counted. Excluding the troops who fled in panic before firing a shot, there was not a time during the 6th when we had more than 25,000 men in line. On the 7th, Buell brought 20,000 more. Of his remaining two divisions, Thomas’s did not reach the field during the battle; Wood’s arrived before the fighting had ended, but not in time to be of significant help. Our total losses in the two days of battle were 1,754 killed, 8,408 wounded, and 2,885 missing. Of these, 2,103 came from the Army of the Ohio. Beauregard reported a total Confederate loss of 10,699, including 1,728 killed, 8,012 wounded, and 957 missing. This estimate must be off. We actually buried more of the enemy’s dead in front of McClernand’s and Sherman’s divisions alone than he reports, and burial parties estimated 4,000 Confederate dead on the whole field. Beauregard reported the Confederate force on the 6th at over 40,000, and their total loss during the two days at 10,699; yet at the same time claimed he could put only 20,000 men into battle on the morning of the 7th. The navy gave strong support to the army at Shiloh, as it always did before and after while I was in command. The terrain, however, prevented them from aiding the troops until sundown on the first day. The country was rugged and heavily forested, preventing any view of the battle from the river, making it as dangerous for friends as for the enemy to receive fire from the gunboats. But around sundown, when the National troops were in their last position, the enemy’s right was near the river and exposed to fire from the two gunboats, which delivered their fire forcefully and effectively. After dark, when the land fighting had ended, the fleet’s commander determined the position of our troops as best he could and suggested dropping a shell into the enemy lines every fifteen minutes during the night. This was done effectively, as noted in Confederate reports. Up to the battle of Shiloh, I—like thousands of other citizens—believed the rebellion against the Government would collapse quickly and soon, if a decisive victory could be won over any of its armies. Donelson and Henry were such victories. We captured or destroyed an army of more than 21,000 men. As a result, Bowling Green, Columbus, and Hickman, Kentucky, and Clarksville and Nashville, Tennessee—the last two with immense stores—also fell into our hands. The Tennessee and Cumberland rivers, from their mouths to the head of navigation, were secured. But when Confederate armies regrouped and not only tried to hold a new line farther south, from Memphis to Chattanooga, Knoxville, and on to the Atlantic, but also took the offensive and made a determined effort to regain what they had lost, I gave up hope of saving the Union except by total conquest. Until then, my army's policy, and certainly my own, had been to protect the property of citizens in invaded territory, regardless of their opinions, Unionist or Secessionist. After this event, however, I considered it humane for both sides to protect those found at home, but to use up everything that might supply or aid enemy armies. Protection was still given to supplies within lines we controlled and expected to hold; but supplies within reach of Confederate armies I considered as contraband as weapons or military stores. Destroying these supplies was done bloodlessly and had the same result as destroying armies. I continued this policy until the war’s end. However, indiscriminate looting was discouraged and punished. Orders were always given to have provisions and forage seized only under the supervision of commissioned officers, who would give receipts to the owners, if at home, and turn the property over to quartermaster or commissary officers to be issued as if from Northern depots. Still, much was destroyed without receipts when it could not be brought into our lines and would otherwise aid secession and rebellion. I believe this policy hastened the war's end significantly. The battle of Shiloh, or Pittsburg Landing, is perhaps the most misunderstood—or more precisely, the most persistently misunderstood—engagement between Union and Confederate forces during the entire rebellion. Accurate accounts of the battle have been published, especially by Sherman, Badeau, and, in a speech to veterans, by General Prentiss; but all these accounts appeared well after the war was over, by which time public opinion was already badly misinformed. I did not make an official report to General Halleck other than a letter written immediately after the battle to inform him of the engagement and its outcome. A few days later, General Halleck moved his headquarters to Pittsburg Landing and took command of the troops in the field. Although I was next in rank and was still, nominally, in command of my old district and army, I was ignored as thoroughly as though I had been posted at the furthest edge of my jurisdiction. Even though I had commanded all the troops at Shiloh, I was not allowed to see any reports from General Buell or his subordinates in that battle until the War Department published them long after. For this reason, I never made a complete official report of the engagement. ## CHAPTER XXVI. ### HALLECK ASSUMES COMMAND IN THE FIELD—THE ADVANCE UPON CORINTH—OCCUPATION OF CORINTH—THE ARMY SEPARATED. General Halleck arrived at Pittsburg Landing on April 11 and immediately took command in the field. On the 21st, General Pope arrived with an army 30,000 strong, fresh from the capture of Island Number Ten in the Mississippi River. He set up camp at Hamburg Landing, five miles above Pittsburg. Halleck now had three armies: the Army of the Ohio, commanded by Buell; the Army of the Mississippi, commanded by Pope; and the Army of the Tennessee. His orders divided the combined force into right wing, reserve, center, and left wing. Major-General George H. Thomas, previously with Buell’s army, was transferred with his division to the Army of the Tennessee and put in command of the right wing, which included all of that army except McClernand’s and Lew. Wallace’s divisions. McClernand was assigned to command the reserve, which was made up of his own and Lew. Wallace’s divisions. Buell commanded the center—the Army of the Ohio—and Pope commanded the left wing, the Army of the Mississippi. I was named second in command overall and was also supposed to command the right wing and reserve. Orders were given to all the commanders who fought at Shiloh to send in their reports promptly to department headquarters. Reports from officers of the Army of the Tennessee came through me, but those from the Army of the Ohio were sent by General Buell directly, bypassing me. General Halleck verbally ordered me to send in my report, but I declined, stating that he had already received reports from one part of the army involved at Shiloh without them coming through me. He admitted that my refusal was reasonable under the circumstances, but explained that he had wanted to get the reports off before moving the command, and as he received a report, he forwarded it to Washington. Preparations began immediately upon the arrival of the new commander for an advance on Corinth. Owl Creek, on our right, was bridged, and expeditions were sent northwest and west to determine if our position was threatened from those directions; the roads towards Corinth were corduroyed and new ones built; lateral roads were also constructed so that, if necessary, troops marching by different routes could reinforce each other. All commanders were warned against provoking an engagement and were specifically told it would be better to retreat than to fight. By April 30, all preparations were complete; the country west to the Mobile and Ohio railroad had been reconnoitered, as well as the road to Corinth as far as Monterey, twelve miles from Pittsburg. Everywhere, small groups of the enemy were encountered, but they were only observers, not present in enough force to fight battles. Corinth, Mississippi, lies in a southwesterly direction from Pittsburg Landing and is about nineteen miles away as the crow flies, but probably twenty-two miles by the closest wagon road. It is about four miles south of the line dividing Tennessee and Mississippi, and at the junction of the Mississippi and Chattanooga railroad with the Mobile and Ohio Railroad, which runs from Columbus to Mobile. From Pittsburg to Corinth, the land is rolling, but nowhere does it rise to real hills. In 1862, most of the country was covered with forest, with some clearings and homes in between. Underbrush was thick in the low areas along creeks and ravines, but generally not so dense on high ground as to hinder men passing through. Two small creeks run from north of the town, joining about four miles south, where they become Bridge Creek, which empties into the Tuscumbia River. Corinth sits on the ridge between these and is a naturally strong defensive position. The creeks themselves are small, but the eastern stream spreads out before the town into a swamp, impassable in the face of an enemy. On the crest of the west bank of this stream, the enemy was strongly entrenched.  Corinth was an important strategic point for the enemy to hold, and therefore a valuable one for us to capture. We should have taken it immediately after the fall of Donelson and Nashville, when it could have been seized without a battle, but that opportunity missed, it should still have been captured without delay once troops concentrated at Pittsburg Landing after the battle of Shiloh. In truth, the arrival of Pope should not have been awaited. At any point from the battle of Shiloh to the evacuation of Corinth, the enemy would have withdrawn if pressed. The demoralization among the Confederates—from their defeats at Henry and Donelson, their long marches from Bowling Green, Columbus, and Nashville, and their failure at Shiloh; in short, from having been driven out of Kentucky and Tennessee—was so great they could not make a stand at that time. Beauregard made strenuous efforts to reinforce his army and partially succeeded. He appealed to the people of the Southwest for new regiments and got a few. A. S. Johnston had tried to reinforce before the battle of Shiloh by a different method: he had negroes sent to serve as teamsters, company cooks, and laborers so that more white soldiers could be put into the ranks. While people were willing to send their sons to fight, they were reluctant to send their slaves. To be fair, they probably wanted their slaves to raise food for the army and for families left at home. Beauregard, however, was reinforced by Van Dorn with 17,000 men immediately after Shiloh. Less exposed interior points were also depleted to increase the strength at Corinth. With these reinforcements and the new regiments, Beauregard had, in May 1862, a large force on paper, but likely not much more than 50,000 effective men. We estimated his strength at 70,000. Our own was, in round numbers, 120,000. The defensible nature of the ground at Corinth and the fortifications made 50,000 enough to hold their position against double that number for as long as necessary, except for the demoralization mentioned. On April 30, the grand army began its advance from Shiloh toward Corinth. The movement was a siege from beginning to end. The National troops were always behind entrenchments, except for the small scouting parties sent ahead to clear the way for an advance. Even the commanders of these parties were warned “not to bring on an engagement.” “It is better to retreat than to fight.” The enemy was always observing our advance, but as they were merely watching, there were very few encounters that even approached battles. All the engagements fought could only have encouraged the enemy. New roads were constantly being built in front of us—and again corduroyed; a new defensive line was dug, and then troops advanced to the new position. Crossroads were constructed to these new positions so troops could concentrate in case of attack. The National armies entrenched themselves thoroughly all the way from the Tennessee River to Corinth. As for myself, I was little more than an observer. Orders were sent directly to the right wing or reserve, bypassing me, and advances from one line of entrenchments to another were made without informing me. My position was so awkward that I applied several times during the siege to be relieved. General Halleck generally, if not always, had his headquarters with the right wing. Pope, being on the extreme left, did not see his commanding officer as often, and could sometimes act more freely. On May 3, he was at Seven Mile Creek with the main body of his command, but sent a division forward to Farmington, only four miles from Corinth. His troops had a lively engagement at Farmington that day, but took the place, causing considerable losses to the enemy. There would have been no difficulty at that point in advancing the center and right to form a new line well up to the enemy, but Pope was ordered back to maintain the general line. On May 8, he moved again, taking his whole force to Farmington, and pushed out two divisions close to the rebel line. Again he was ordered back. By May 4, the center and right wing had reached Monterey, twelve miles out. Their advance was slow from there because they entrenched at every step forward. The left wing moved up again on May 25 and entrenched itself close to the enemy. The creek with the marsh already described separated the two lines. Skirmishers, standing thirty feet apart, could have held either line at this point. At this time, our center and right were extended so that the right of our right wing was probably five miles from Corinth and four from the works in their front. The creek, which posed a major obstacle for either side on our left, was much less formidable on our right. Here, the enemy held two positions, one as much as two miles from his main line, on a commanding elevation and defended by an entrenched battery and infantry. A heavy wood separated this work from the National forces. To the south was a clearing extending a mile or more, and south of this clearing a log house, loopholed and occupied by infantry. Sherman’s division took these two positions with some loss to his own men, but probably greater loss to the enemy, on May 28, and with that, the investment of Corinth was complete, or as complete as it ever became. Thomas’s right now rested west of the Mobile and Ohio Railroad. Pope’s left controlled the Memphis and Charleston Railroad east of Corinth. Some days earlier, I had suggested to the commanding general that if he moved the Army of the Mississippi at night behind the center and right, ready to advance at daybreak, Pope would find no natural obstacle in his front, and I believed, no serious artificial one. The ground held by our left could be held with a thin picket line, thanks to the stream and swamp in front. To the right, troops would have a dry ridge over which to march. My suggestion was quickly dismissed, making me feel I had perhaps proposed an unmilitary move. Later, probably on May 28th, General Logan, whose command was then on the Mobile and Ohio Railroad, told me that the enemy had been evacuating for days, and that if allowed, he could enter Corinth with his brigade. Train traffic could be heard constantly coming and leaving Corinth. Some men with pre-war railroad experience claimed that by listening to the rails, they could tell not just the direction trains were moving, but which ones were loaded or empty. They said loaded trains had been departing for several days, while empty cars were arriving. Later events proved them right. Beauregard ordered the evacuation of Corinth on May 26, scheduling his troops to leave by the 29th. On May 30, General Halleck had his entire army formed for battle and announced in orders that there were clear signs that our left would be attacked that morning. In reality, Corinth had already been evacuated and the National troops advanced and took possession without opposition. Everything had been destroyed or removed. The Confederate commander instructed his men to cheer at each arriving train to give the Yankees the impression reinforcements were coming in. No sick or wounded were left behind, nor any supplies. Some ammunition was blown up but not removed, and the only trophies taken were a few Quaker guns—logs resembling cannons, mounted on wagon wheels and pointed threateningly at us. The capture of Corinth was a strategic victory for the National troops, but the victory was empty in other respects. It was nearly bloodless. In fact, it’s questionable whether the morale of the Confederate troops wasn't improved by being allowed to remove all public property and then withdraw without interference. On our side, I know the officers and men of the Army of the Tennessee—and I imagine the same is true for the other commands—were disappointed by the outcome. They couldn’t understand how merely occupying places would end the war while large and effective rebel armies still existed. They believed a well-executed attack would have at least partly destroyed the army defending Corinth. Personally, I am convinced that Corinth could have been captured in a two-day campaign started promptly upon the arrival of reinforcements after the battle of Shiloh. General Halleck immediately began constructing fortifications around Corinth on a scale that suggested this point must be held, even if it meant committing the whole National army. All commanding positions two or three miles to the south, southeast, and southwest were strongly fortified. The plan was, if needed, to connect these forts by rifle pits. They were designed on a scale requiring 100,000 men to fully defend them. It was probably assumed that the final battle of the war would be fought there. However, these fortifications were never used. Soon after occupying Corinth, General Pope was sent in pursuit of the retreating garrison, and General Buell soon followed. Buell, being the senior of the two, commanded the entire column. The pursuit continued for about thirty miles, but resulted in almost no captures of prisoners or materiel—only a few stragglers who fell behind and surrendered willingly. By June 10, the pursuing column had returned to Corinth. The Army of the Tennessee was not part of these movements. With the Confederates now driven from West Tennessee, and after a hard-fought naval engagement on June 6, the National forces took Memphis and now controlled the Mississippi River from its source down to that point. The railroad from Columbus to Corinth was quickly repaired and held by us. We garrisoned Donelson, Clarksville, and Nashville on the Cumberland River, and controlled the Tennessee River from its mouth to Eastport. New Orleans and Baton Rouge had been captured by National forces, so now the Confederates in the west were reduced to a single communication line with Richmond—the eastbound railroad from Vicksburg. Taking this from them became a top priority. Possession of the Mississippi from Memphis to Baton Rouge was also vital—it would cripple the enemy much like losing a limb. After Corinth, a mobile force of 80,000 men—plus enough to secure the territory taken—could have been mobilized for a major campaign to suppress the rebellion. Additional fresh troops were being raised as well. But then the depletion began. Buell with the Army of the Ohio was sent east, following the Memphis and Charleston railroad, which he was ordered to repair as he advanced—only for it to be destroyed by guerrilla bands or other troops as soon as he had moved past a section. Had he been sent directly to Chattanooga, marching as fast as possible and leaving two or three divisions to protect the railroad from Nashville forward, he could have arrived with little fighting, and much of the later loss of life taking Chattanooga could have been avoided. Bragg would not have had time to raise an army to contest middle and eastern Tennessee and Kentucky; the battles of Stone River and Chickamauga likely wouldn't have happened; Burnside would not have been besieged in Knoxville, unable to help himself or escape; the battle of Chattanooga would not have been fought. These are the negative advantages—if that term fits—that would likely have resulted from prompt action after Corinth fell to the National forces. The positive possibilities might have included a bloodless advance to Atlanta, to Vicksburg, or any point south of Corinth in interior Mississippi. ## CHAPTER XXVII. ### HEADQUARTERS MOVED TO MEMPHIS—ON THE ROAD TO MEMPHIS—ESCAPING JACKSON—COMPLAINTS AND REQUESTS—HALLECK APPOINTED COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF—RETURN TO CORINTH—MOVEMENTS OF BRAGG—SURRENDER OF CLARKSVILLE—THE ADVANCE UPON CHATTANOOGA—SHERIDAN COLONEL OF A MICHIGAN REGIMENT. My situation at Corinth, where I held a nominal command but no real authority, became so intolerable that I asked Halleck for permission to move my headquarters to Memphis. I had repeatedly requested, between the fall of Donelson and the evacuation of Corinth, to be relieved from duty under Halleck; but all my requests were denied until after the occupation of the town. At that point, I finally got permission to leave the department, but General Sherman happened to visit me just as I was about to depart and pressed me so strongly not to go that I decided to stay. My request to move my headquarters to Memphis, however, was approved, and on June 21 I set out for that post with my staff and a cavalry escort made up of only part of one company. There was also a detachment of two or three companies headed twenty-five miles west to serve as a guard for the railroad. I went under the protection of this escort to the end of their journey, and then the next morning continued to La Grange with only the few cavalrymen who remained with me. It's forty-seven miles from La Grange to Memphis. There were no troops stationed between these points except for a small force guarding a work crew busy repairing the railroad. Since I didn't know exactly where this party could be found, I stopped in La Grange. General Hurlbut was in command there at the time, and his headquarters tents were set up on the lawn of a large country house. The owner was at home and, upon hearing of my arrival, invited General Hurlbut and me to dine with him. I accepted and spent a very pleasant afternoon with my host, who was a true Southern gentleman, entirely convinced of the justice of secession. After dinner, sitting together on the spacious porch, he told me about his services to the cause. He was too old to serve personally—he must have been around seventy then—but his means allowed him to help in other ways. Normally, the home where he now lived produced the food to supply the slaves on his main plantation in the Mississippi lowlands. Now he raised food and forage on both properties, and believed he would have enough that year to feed three hundred families of poor men who had gone to war and left their families dependent on the "patriotism" of those more fortunate. The crops around me looked good, and I suspected that when harvest time came "Yankee" troops would likely be there to gather those crops for those suppressing the rebellion, rather than those supporting it. Still, I respected my host’s honesty and zeal for a cause he truly believed in, even though our views could not have been further apart. On June 23, 1862, the road from La Grange to Memphis was very hot, even for that area and season. With my staff and small escort, I started early and, by noon, we were within twenty miles of Memphis. There, I saw a comfortable, white-haired gentleman sitting at the front of his house, a short distance from the road. I allowed my staff and escort to ride ahead while I stopped and, using thirst as an excuse, asked for a glass of water. I was immediately invited to dismount and come in. My host was friendly and talkative, and I stayed longer than planned, until the lady of the house announced dinner and invited me to join them. The host, however, did not urge me, so I politely declined and continued on my way. About a mile west from where I stopped is a road coming up from the southeast, which joins the La Grange to Memphis road. A mile west of this junction, I found my staff and escort resting in the shade of forest trees on the lawn of a house set back from the road, their horses tied to the roadside fence. I stopped as well, and we remained there until the cooler part of the afternoon, then rode into Memphis. The gentleman with whom I had stopped twenty miles from Memphis was Mr. De Loche, a man loyal to the Union. He had not pressed me to stay longer because, early in my visit, a neighbor—Dr. Smith—had come by and, after being introduced to me, backed away as if startled. Mr. De Loche knew that Confederate General Jackson was in the area with some cavalry. His neighbor was just as committed to the southern cause as Mr. De Loche was to that of the Union. Mr. De Loche did not know Jackson’s exact location, but he was sure his neighbor did and would report my presence, making my continued stay uncomfortable after Dr. Smith’s visit. I previously mentioned that a detachment of troops was guarding workers repairing the railroad east of Memphis. On the day I entered Memphis, Jackson captured a small herd of cattle that had been sent east for these troops. The drovers were civilians, so he let them go. A day or two later, one of them came to my headquarters and told me that Jackson had been very disappointed not to capture me; that he was six or seven miles south of the Memphis and Charleston railroad when he heard I was at Mr. De Loche’s house, and rode with his men to the junction with the La Grange-Memphis road—only to find that I had passed there three-quarters of an hour before. He decided it was futile to pursue a well-mounted party with so much of a head start on tired horses. If he had gone just three-quarters of a mile farther, he would have found me and my party peacefully resting under the trees, without even weapons in our hands. Of course, General Jackson did not share his disappointment at missing me directly with the young drover, but word got around among the soldiers and that’s how the events became known. A couple of days later, Mr. De Loche visited me in Memphis to apologize for his apparent rudeness in not insisting I stay for dinner. He said his wife accused him of being discourteous, but that after his neighbor’s visit, he was nervous until I left. I never met General Jackson before or during the war but did later at his comfortable summer home in Manitou Springs, Colorado. I reminded him of this incident, and he responded that he was now thankful he hadn’t captured me. I was certainly very thankful as well. My time as district headquarters in Memphis did not last long, but it included a few incidents that were new to me. Until then, I hadn’t taken command of any southern place where the citizens remained in significant numbers. Dover was within the Fort Donelson fortifications, and as far as I remember, every resident was gone. Pittsburg Landing was uninhabited, and Corinth had very few people. But Memphis was a populous city with many citizens who still believed deeply in their cause and thought even the “Yankee soldiery” would agree if only they would honestly confess it. My daily hours were filled listening to complaints and requests. The requests were usually reasonable, and if so, I granted them; but the complaints rarely had foundation. Two examples stand out. First: after Union troops captured the city, the commanding officer ordered one church to be opened for the soldiers and allowed army chaplains to use the pulpit. Second: early in the war the Confederate Congress passed a law confiscating all “alien enemy” property in the South, including Southerners’ debts to Northern men. Because of this law, when Memphis was occupied, the provost-marshal forcibly collected all evidence he could find of such debts. Practically the first complaints brought to me were about these two “outrages.” The man making the complaints told me first about his own high standing as a lawyer, citizen, and Christian. He was a deacon in the church which he said had been defiled by the Union troops occupying it and by a Union chaplain preaching. He didn’t use the word “defile,” but made his meaning clear. He wanted the church restored to its original congregation. I told him that no order had been issued barring the congregation from attending the church. He said, of course, the members couldn’t listen to a northern clergyman who disagreed so completely with them about government. I told him the troops would continue using that church, and that they wouldn’t be subjected to disloyal preaching. That ended the discussion about the church. Then he moved to the second complaint. He wanted back the papers he’d handed over to the provost-marshal under protest; he was a lawyer, and before the “Confederate States Government” existed, had represented many large Northern business houses. “His government” had confiscated all debts owed to “alien enemies,” and appointed officials to collect those debts and pay them to the “government.” However, because of his high standing, he had been allowed to hold these claims himself, trusting he would hand everything over properly. Yet now, he said, when the “government” took full possession again, he would be held personally responsible for the claims he had surrendered. His boldness amused me more than it angered me. I told him that if he stayed in Memphis, I doubted the Confederate government would ever be able to trouble him. He left, no doubt as amazed at my assurance as I was at the audacity of his request. On July 11, General Halleck received telegraphic orders naming him commander of all armies, with headquarters in Washington. He was urged to get to his new post as soon as possible, consistent with the safety and interests of his prior command. As I was next in seniority, he telegraphed me that same day to report to department headquarters at Corinth. The dispatch didn’t mention that my chief had been reassigned, so I was unsure whether to move my headquarters. I telegraphed back asking if I should bring my staff and received this reply: “This place will be your headquarters. You can judge for yourself.” I headed to my new field without delay, arriving at Corinth on July 15. General Halleck stayed until the 17th but was very reticent, giving me no explanation for my summons. After General Halleck left to take up his new post, I remained in command of the district of West Tennessee. Effectively, I became a department commander because no one was put over me and I reported directly to the general-in-chief. I was not formally appointed department commander until October 25, however. While in charge of the Department of the Mississippi, Halleck’s command had extended east as far as a line from Chattanooga north. My district included only West Tennessee and Kentucky west of the Cumberland River. As previously mentioned, Buell with the Army of the Ohio had been ordered east toward Chattanooga, repairing the Memphis and Charleston Railroad as he advanced. Other troops under Halleck were sent north along the Mobile and Ohio railroad to repair it up to Columbus; others were posted along the railroad from Jackson, Tennessee, to Grand Junction, and still more along the road west to Memphis. The magnificent army of 120,000 men that entered Corinth on May 30 was now so scattered that I found myself wholly on the defensive in territory whose population was hostile to the Union. One of my first tasks was to build fortifications at Corinth better suited to the small garrison I had available. The extensive works built in May and June remained as monuments to the engineers’ skill; simpler fortifications suitable for my forces were thrown up in a matter of days. I quickly positioned the troops under my command to fit this new reality. I considered the forces at Donelson, Clarksville, and Nashville, along with those at Corinth and eastward along the railroad, sufficient to repel any attack from the west. The Mobile and Ohio Railroad was guarded from Rienzi, south of Corinth, to Columbus; and the Mississippi Central Railroad from Jackson, Tennessee, to Bolivar. Grand Junction and La Grange on the Memphis railroad were abandoned. South of the Army of the Tennessee, facing us, was Van Dorn with enough men to assemble a mobile force of 35,000 to 40,000 after being reinforced by Price from Missouri. This army could attack Corinth, Bolivar, or Memphis, and if so, the best I could do would be to weaken untargeted posts to reinforce the threatened one. Nothing could be gained for the Union by attacking elsewhere, because the territory already taken was as much as my available force could defend. The most anxious time of the war for me was when the Army of the Tennessee had to guard the lands acquired after Corinth and Memphis fell, and before I had been reinforced enough to take the offensive. The enemy also had cavalry operating in our rear, requiring me to protect every point of the railroad back to Columbus, on which we depended for all supplies. Headquarters connected by telegraph with all areas of the command except for Memphis and the Mississippi below Columbus, with those relying on the railroad to Columbus, then transfer by riverboat. It would take three or four days to get reinforcements to Memphis, and at least two days just to send orders there for troops to move elsewhere. In practice, Memphis was almost cut off from the rest of my command. But it was under Sherman’s control, the troops were well entrenched, and the gunboats provided valuable support. During the two months after Halleck’s departure, there was considerable fighting between small detachments, but these clashes paled in comparison to the major battles, and are now almost forgotten except by those who participated. Still, some of them, if one looks at casualties, were as fierce as many Mexican war battles that had captured public attention. Around July 23, Colonel Ross, at Bolivar, was threatened by a large enemy force and had to be reinforced from Jackson and Corinth. On July 27, there was skirmishing on the Hatchie River, eight miles from Bolivar. On July 30, I received word from Colonel P. H. Sheridan, who had been far to the south, that Bragg himself was at Rome, Georgia, with troops traveling by rail (via Mobile) to Chattanooga and his wagon train making its way by road to join him at Rome. Price, meanwhile, was at Holly Springs, Mississippi, with a large force, using Grand Junction as an outpost. I suggested to the general-in-chief that we should oust Price, but was advised that, while it was my call to make, the most important thing was NOT TO SCATTER MY FORCES, but to keep them ready to reinforce Buell. Bragg’s ability to move himself with his wagons across the country to Chattanooga, while his troops took a longer railroad route, needing guards only when in my direct front, shows the advantage armies have when operating in friendly territory. Buell was marching through hostile regions and had to guard his communications all the way back to the supply base. The deeper Union forces pushed into enemy country, the larger garrison that was needed. Despite having an army strong enough to destroy Bragg, I was stuck on the defensive and achieved little except keeping down a force smaller than my own. On August 2, I was ordered from Washington to subsist off the country, using the resources of citizens hostile to the government as much as possible. I was also instructed to “handle rebels within our lines without gloves,” meaning to imprison or expel them from their homes and our lines. I don't recall ever having arrested and confined a civilian (as distinct from a soldier) throughout the rebellion. I know that many were sent to northern prisons, particularly to Joliet, Illinois, by subordinates stating it was on my orders. Whenever I heard of such arrests, I arranged for their release, and eventually sent a staff officer north to free every prisoner held by alleged order of mine. Many civilians at home certainly deserved punishment as they acted as soldiers whenever it benefited the Confederate cause, but they were not likely to be arrested, and I believed it better that some guilty men escape than many innocent ones suffer. On August 14th, I was ordered to send two more divisions to Buell. They were dispatched the same day by way of Decatur. On the 22nd, Colonel Rodney Mason surrendered Clarksville with six companies of his regiment. Colonel Mason had been one of the officers who led their regiments off the field at almost the first fire of the rebels at Shiloh. By nature and education, he was a gentleman and was deeply mortified by his actions after the battle ended. He came to me in tears, begging for another chance. I felt great sympathy for him and sent him, with his regiment, to garrison Clarksville and Donelson. He chose Clarksville for his headquarters—no doubt because he saw it as more dangerous, being closer to the enemy. But when a band of guerillas demanded his surrender, his constitutional weakness overcame him. He asked how many men the enemy had; after being told it was more than his own force, he said he would surrender if satisfied the enemy had the greater numbers. Arrangements were made for him to count the guerillas, and once convinced, he surrendered and informed his subordinate at Donelson, advising the same. The guerillas paroled their prisoners and moved on Donelson, but the officer in command there marched out and drove them away. During this period, another major difficulty I faced was the government's desire to get as much cotton from the South as possible, directing me to provide every facility for that purpose. Payment in gold was authorized, and locations along the Mississippi River and railroads under our control had to be designated for receiving cotton. This not only gave the enemy a way to turn cotton into money—a commodity valuable worldwide and badly needed by them—but also provided them a means to gather accurate information about our positions and strength. The situation was also demoralizing to the troops. Citizens with permits from the treasury department had to be protected within our lines and given assistance to transport cotton, reaping huge profits. Men who had enlisted to fight for their country resented protecting a trade that supported the enemy they fought, while the profits went to men not sharing any of their dangers. On August 30th, Colonel M.D. Leggett, near Bolivar with the 20th and 29th Ohio Volunteer Infantry, was attacked by a force believed to be about four thousand strong. The enemy was repelled with a loss of over one hundred men. On September 1st, the bridge guard at Medon was attacked by guerillas. The guard held out until reinforced; the enemy were then routed, leaving about fifty dead or wounded, with our loss being only two killed and fifteen wounded. That same day, Colonel Dennis, with fewer than 500 infantry and two artillery pieces, met enemy cavalry in force a few miles west of Medon and drove them away with heavy losses. Our troops buried 179 of the enemy's dead on the field, and all the houses nearby were later found turned into hospitals for the wounded. Our loss was reported as forty-five killed and wounded. On September 2nd, I was ordered to send further reinforcements to Buell. Jackson and Bolivar were still threatened, but the reinforcements were sent. On the 4th, I received orders to send Granger’s division to Louisville, Kentucky, as well. General Buell had left Corinth around June 10th to march on Chattanooga; Bragg, who had replaced Beauregard, sent a division from Tupelo on June 27th towards the same place. This gave Buell about seventeen days' lead. If he had not been required to repair the railroad as he advanced, the march could have been completed in eighteen days at most, and the National forces would have reached Chattanooga before the rebels. The road from Nashville to Chattanooga could easily have been repaired by other troops after occupation, quickly restoring communication with the North. If Buell had been allowed to move at the outset with his full force and those later sent from the Army of the Mississippi, he could have stationed four divisions along the railroad to repair and guard it. Granger's division was promptly sent on September 4th. I was at Corinth station when the troops arrived and found General P.H. Sheridan with them. I expressed surprise at seeing him, saying I did not expect him to go. He showed clear disappointment at the thought of being detained. I felt a bit nettled by his desire to leave and did not hold him back. Sheridan was a first lieutenant in my old regiment, the 4th Infantry, stationed on the Pacific coast when the war began. He was promoted to captain in May 1861 and managed, by the end of the year, to get East—I do not know how. He went to Missouri. Halleck knew him as a successful officer in campaigns against the Pacific coast Indians and made him acting-quartermaster in southwest Missouri. Supplies moved easily while Sheridan was in that role, but he ran into trouble with his superiors over strict rules to stop public transport being used for private purposes. He asked to be relieved from that post, and his request was granted. When General Halleck took the field in April 1862, Sheridan was assigned to his staff. During the advance on Corinth, a vacancy arose in the 2nd Michigan Cavalry. Governor Blair asked Halleck to suggest a professional soldier, saying he would appoint a good man regardless of state. Sheridan was chosen; he performed so efficiently that at Corinth he was given command of a cavalry brigade in the Army of the Mississippi. On July 1st at Booneville, he was attacked by a force at least three times his size. Through skillful maneuvers and bold attack, he routed the enemy. For this, he was made a brigadier-general and gained prominence at Corinth. For this reason, I was sorry to see him go. His departure ultimately proved fortunate, as he rendered distinguished service in his new area. Granger and Sheridan reached Louisville before Buell, and on arriving, Sheridan and his command built defenses around the railroad station to protect arriving troops. ## CHAPTER XXVIII. ### ADVANCE OF VAN DORN AND PRICE—PRICE ENTERS IUKA—BATTLE OF IUKA. At this time, September 4th, I had two divisions of the Army of the Mississippi stationed at Corinth, Rienzi, Jacinto, and Danville. At Corinth were also Davies’s division and two brigades of McArthur’s, along with cavalry and artillery. This force formed my left wing, commanded by Rosecrans. General Ord commanded the center, from Bethel to Humboldt on the Mobile and Ohio Railroad, and from Jackson to Bolivar where the Mississippi Central crosses the Hatchie River. General Sherman commanded the right at Memphis, with two brigades back at Brownsville, where the Memphis and Ohio Railroad crosses the Hatchie. This was the best arrangement I could devise for concentrating reinforcements at any threatened point. All my troops, except those under Sherman, were within telegraphic communication. By bringing part of Sherman’s command to Brownsville—which was connected to Memphis by railroad and telegraph—communications with the rest of my command could be established in a few hours by couriers. If it became necessary to reinforce Corinth, all troops at Bolivar, except a small guard, could be sent by rail through Jackson in less than twenty-four hours, while troops from Brownsville could march to Bolivar to take their place. On September 7th, I learned Van Dorn and Price were advancing, apparently toward Corinth. I brought a division from Memphis to Bolivar to address any emergency arising from the enemy’s move. I was very concerned because, after holding my command’s territories, my chief duty was to stop further reinforcements for Bragg in Middle Tennessee. Already, the Army of Northern Virginia had defeated General Pope and was invading Maryland; in the center, General Buell was on the way to Louisville, with Bragg marching parallel with a large Confederate force toward the Ohio River. Constant calls to reinforce Buell had reduced my force to under fifty thousand men of all arms, covering everything south from Cairo under my command. If I too were forced to retreat, the Ohio River would become the dividing line between the belligerents west of the Alleghenies, while in the East the line was already north of where it was at the war’s start. Nashville was never given up after its capture, but it would have been isolated and the garrison forced to retreat hastily if the troops in West Tennessee had fallen back. To report at the end of the second war year that in the East the dividing line was north of Maryland—a state that never seceded—and in the West beyond Kentucky—a consistently loyal state—would have been extremely discouraging. Indeed, many loyal people in fall 1862 began to despair of saving the Union. The administration at Washington was deeply concerned for the cause, but I believe that not a day passed when the President did not believe that a cause as just as ours would ultimately triumph. Up to September 11th, Rosecrans still had troops east of Corinth on the railroad, but he had ordered all back. By the 12th, all were in except a small force under Colonel Murphy of the 8th Wisconsin, left to guard the remaining stores not yet moved to Corinth. On September 13th, General Sterling Price entered Iuka, a town about twenty miles east of Corinth on the Memphis and Charleston Railroad. Colonel Murphy, with a few men, guarded the town but made no resistance and withdrew at the enemy’s approach. I was worried the rebel objective might be to send troops into Tennessee to reinforce Bragg, as was later confirmed. The authorities in Washington, including the army’s general-in-chief, were very anxious about the situation in East and Middle Tennessee; my own concern for them was equal to my worries for my own command. At Corinth, my force was insufficient to attack Price, even by stripping all other positions. There was also the risk that the rebels could cross the Tennessee before reinforcements could arrive. To prevent this, all spare forces at Bolivar and Jackson were ordered to Corinth, and rail cars concentrated at Jackson for their transport. Within twenty-four hours of ordering, the troops had arrived, despite a four-hour delay caused by a derailed lead train. This brought nearly eight thousand men, with General Ord in command. General Rosecrans commanded the Corinth district, with a mobile force of about nine thousand, in addition to the necessary garrison. It was known General Van Dorn was four days’ march south with a large force. It may have been his plan to attack Corinth, with Price advancing from the east and Van Dorn from the south. My goal was to attack Price before Van Dorn could reach him or come to his aid. General Rosecrans had previously headquartered at Iuka, spreading his command along the Memphis and Charleston Railroad east. While there, he had an excellent map made showing local roads and streams, and he was personally familiar with the area. I therefore deferred to him in planning the approach. We had enough train cars to move all of General Ord’s command to Burnsville, a stop about seven miles west of Iuka. From there, his troops were to march north of the railroad and attack Price from the northwest, while Rosecrans would advance east from south of Corinth by way of the Jacinto road. A small force would cover the Jacinto road where it turned northeast, while the main force moved on the Fulton road, entering Iuka further east. This plan was suggested by Rosecrans.  Bear Creek, a few miles east of the Fulton road, was a major obstacle for troop movements because all bridges there had been destroyed as of September 1862. The Tennessee, a few miles northeast, was also a major challenge for an army being pursued. Ord was on the northwest, and even if a rebel movement had been possible in that direction, it could only have offered temporary relief, as it would have left Price’s army behind enemy lines and isolated. I believed that if Price stayed in Iuka until we arrived, his destruction was inevitable. On the morning of September 18th, General Ord traveled by rail to Burnsville, then left the train and moved out to execute his part of the plan. He was to get as close to the enemy as possible that day and entrench until next morning. Rosecrans was to arrive by the morning of the 19th on the two described roads, and the attack would come from all three directions simultaneously. Troops at Jacinto and Rienzi were left to stall any Van Dorn cavalry that might raid Corinth, so I could be notified. With a telegraph line along the railroad, there would be no communication delay. I kept enough trains at Burnsville to move Ord’s command as a whole; had Van Dorn instead assaulted Corinth, I could have rushed in 7,000 to 8,000 reinforcements before he arrived. I stayed at Burnsville with about 900 men from Ord’s command, communicating with my two wings by courier. Ord met the enemy’s advance after leaving Burnsville. A sharp engagement followed, but he drove the rebels back with heavy loss, including a general officer killed, and held his position, ready for a morning attack. I was disappointed to receive a dispatch from Rosecrans after midnight from Jacinto, twenty-two miles from Iuka, saying some of his column had been delayed and that the rear was not yet at Jacinto. He still promised to be at Iuka by two o’clock next day, though I doubted this was possible due to the distance and bad roads; plus, after a forced march of twenty miles, troops are not ready for battle immediately. Such a march might help relieve a besieged garrison, but not serve to launch an attack. I sent Ord a copy of Rosecrans’ message at once, instructing him to be ready to attack the moment he heard guns to the south or southeast and to keep officers alert for any signs of battle. On the 19th, the wind was blowing in the wrong direction to carry sound toward Ord or Burnsville, where I stayed. A couple of hours before dark on the 19th, Rosecrans arrived with the head of his column at Barnets, where the Jacinto road to Iuka leaves the east road. He then turned north rather than sending troops to the Fulton road. While still moving in column on the Jacinto road, he met an enemy force, and his advance was badly beaten and pushed back on the main road. In this short fight, losses were heavy for the small numbers engaged, and one battery was captured. The wind was still blowing hard in the wrong direction to carry sound toward Ord or me. Neither of us, nor anyone in our commands, heard gunfire from the battlefield. After the engagement, Rosecrans sent me a courier message announcing the outcome. There was no road from Burnsville to Rosecrans’ position, and the terrain was impassable to a mounted courier, so he had to go west almost to Jacinto before finding a road to Burnsville. This meant it was late at night before I heard of the afternoon’s battle. I notified Ord immediately and ordered him to attack early in the morning. The next morning, Rosecrans renewed the attack himself and entered Iuka with little resistance. Ord also entered as ordered, not hearing any gunfire from the south but assuming the southern force was there by that time. However, Rosecrans had posted no troops on the Fulton road, and the enemy used that road to retreat during the night. Word soon reached me that our men were in Iuka. I rode into town to find no pursuit underway, not even by cavalry. I ordered pursuit by Rosecrans’ entire command and accompanied them a few miles. After I left, he followed only a little further, then camped, and the pursuit ended. The results of the battle of Iuka disappointed me—but I had such a high opinion of General Rosecrans that I did not criticize him at the time. ## CHAPTER XXIX. ### VAN DORN’S MOVEMENTS—BATTLE OF CORINTH—COMMAND OF THE DEPARTMENT OF THE TENNESSEE. On September 19th, General Geo. H. Thomas was ordered east to reinforce Buell. This put the army under my command even more on the defensive. The Memphis and Charleston Railroad was abandoned except at Corinth, and only small forces were left at Chewalla and Grand Junction. Shortly afterward, the last of these two places was also given up, and Bolivar became our most advanced position on the Mississippi Central Railroad. Our cavalry remained out front, and frequent expeditions were sent to monitor enemy movements. We were in a region where nearly every inhabitant except the Black population was hostile to us and sympathetic to the cause we were fighting against. It was therefore easy for the enemy to get early information about our every move, but we had to gather information by sending out troops—and often returned without any. On the 22nd, Bolivar was threatened by a large force from south of Grand Junction, thought to be twenty regiments of infantry with cavalry and artillery. I reinforced Bolivar and went to Jackson in person to oversee troop movements to whichever point the attack might focus on. The troops from Corinth arrived in time to foil the threatened attack without a battle. Our cavalry pursued the enemy south of Davis’ Mills in Mississippi. On the 30th, I realized that Van Dorn was apparently trying to reach the Mississippi River above Memphis. At the same time, other points within my command were so threatened that it was impossible to gather enough force to drive him away. At this juncture, there was a significant Union force at Helena, Arkansas, which, had it been under my command, I could have ordered across the river to attack and destroy the Mississippi Central Railroad far to the south. This would not only have forced Van Dorn to retreat, but would have forced the enemy to keep a large force far to the south to prevent similar raids on their supply lines. Geographical boundaries between commands during the rebellion were not always well chosen, or they were enforced too rigidly. Van Dorn did not attempt to get above Memphis, as he had seemed to intend. He was actually covering a deeper objective—one much more important to his cause. By October 1st, it became fully clear that Corinth would be attacked with great force and determination, and that Van Dorn, Lovell, Price, Villepigue, and Rust had combined their strengths for this purpose. There was some skirmishing outside Corinth with the enemy’s advance on the 3rd. The rebels massed in the northwest angle between the Memphis and Charleston and the Mobile and Ohio Railroads, placing themselves between the troops at Corinth and any possible reinforcements. Any support for us would have to come by a roundabout route. On the night of the 3rd, accordingly, I ordered General McPherson, who was at Jackson, to join Rosecrans at Corinth with reinforcements gathered along the line equivalent to a brigade. Hurlbut had been ordered from Bolivar to march to the same destination; and since Van Dorn was approaching Corinth from the northwest, some of his men ran into Hurlbut’s advance, resulting in skirmishing on the evening of the 3rd. On the 4th, Van Dorn launched a bold attack, hoping, no doubt, to capture Rosecrans before his reinforcements could arrive. In that case, the enemy could have occupied the defenses of Corinth and held off all Union troops as they arrived. In fact, he could have attacked the reinforcements with a force three or four times their size while keeping enough men back to hold the works around Corinth. He came close to succeeding; some of his troops broke through the Union lines at least once, but the fortifications built after Halleck’s departure allowed Rosecrans to hold his position until both McPherson and Hurlbut approached the rebel front and rear. The enemy was eventually pushed back with heavy losses: all their charges, made with great bravery, were repelled. Our losses were heavy, but not nearly as severe as Van Dorn’s. McPherson arrived by train as close to the enemy as was prudent, disembarked on the rebel flank, and supported Rosecrans just after the repulse. The enemy was aware of his and Hurlbut’s arrival, which had a psychological effect. However, General Rosecrans failed to follow up the victory, even though I had given specific orders before the battle for him to pursue immediately after repelling the enemy. He did not do so, and I repeated the order after the battle. In my first order, I mentioned that the force of 4,000 men coming to his assistance would be in great danger if the enemy was not pursued. General Ord had joined Hurlbut on the 4th and, being senior, took command of his troops. This force ran into the front of Van Dorn’s retreating column just as it was crossing the Hatchie by a bridge about ten miles from Corinth. The bottomland here was swampy and difficult for troops to operate in, making it a good place to trap an enemy. Ord attacked the troops that had crossed the bridge and drove them back in a panic. Many were killed, and others drowned after being pushed off the bridge in their hurried retreat. Ord pursued and met the main force. He was too outnumbered to assault, but held the bridge and forced the enemy to continue their retreat at another bridge farther up the stream. Ord was wounded in this action, and command passed to Hurlbut. Rosecrans did not begin pursuit until the morning of the 5th, and then took the wrong road. Operating in enemy territory, he traveled with a wagon train to carry his supplies and ammunition. His progress was therefore slower than the enemy, who was moving toward their supplies. Two or three hours of pursuit on the day of battle, with only what the men carried, would have been worth far more than any pursuit started the next day. Even when he did begin, if Rosecrans had followed the enemy’s actual route, he would have come upon Van Dorn in a swamp with a stream in front of him and Ord holding the only bridge; but instead, he took the road north toward Chewalla instead of west, and after marching as far as the enemy had to reach the Hatchie, he was as far from battle as when he started. Hurlbut did not have the numbers to face Van Dorn’s whole force if they had been in any mood to fight, and he could have been in serious danger. At this point, I believed any chance to achieve something through pursuit had passed, and after Rosecrans reached Jonesboro, I ordered him to return. He continued to Ripley, however, and insisted on going farther. I then ordered him to halt and submitted the matter to the general-in-chief, who told me to use my judgment, but asked, “why not pursue?” On this, I ordered Rosecrans to return. Had he gone much farther, he would have encountered a larger force than Van Dorn had at Corinth, and they would have been behind fortifications or on chosen ground. The likelihood is he would have lost his army. The battle of Corinth was a bloody one—our losses were 315 killed, 1,812 wounded, and 232 missing. The enemy lost many more. Rosecrans reported 1,423 dead and 2,225 prisoners. We were fighting behind breastworks, which partly explains the difference. Among the killed on our side was General Hackelman. General Oglesby was badly wounded, and for a time it was thought he would not survive. I received a congratulatory letter from the President, who also expressed his sorrow for our losses. This battle was recognized by me as a decided victory, though not as complete as I had hoped, nor nearly as complete as I now think the commander at Corinth could have achieved. Since the war, it is known that the battle, even as it was, was a crushing blow to the enemy—felt by them much more than it was appreciated in the North. The battle freed me from concern for the safety of the territory under my command, and soon after receiving reinforcements I suggested to the general-in-chief a move against Vicksburg. On October 23rd, I learned that Pemberton was in command at Holly Springs, having been greatly reinforced by conscripts and troops from Alabama and Texas. That same day, General Rosecrans was relieved from duty under my command, and not long after succeeded Buell in command of the army in Middle Tennessee. I was pleased with Rosecrans’ promotion to an independent command, as I still believed that, when free from an immediate superior, the qualities I then attributed to him would become apparent. As a subordinate, I found I could not get him to do as I wished, and had decided to relieve him that very day. At the close of these operations, my force numbered approximately 48,500. Of these, 4,800 were in Kentucky and Illinois, 7,000 in Memphis, 19,200 from Mound City south, and 17,500 at Corinth. General McClernand had been authorized by Washington to travel north and organize troops to use in opening the Mississippi. These new recruits, along with other reinforcements, began arriving now. On October 25th, I was given command of the Department of the Tennessee. Reinforcements kept coming from the north, and by November 2nd I was ready to take the offensive. This was a great relief after two and a half months of constant defense over a large area, where nearly every citizen was an enemy ready to report our every move. I have described only a few of the battles and skirmishes that happened during this time, and only imperfectly. To describe all would take more space than I can allow here; to name all the officers and troops who distinguished themselves would take a whole volume. > ## CHAPTER XXX. ### THE CAMPAIGN AGAINST VICKSBURG—EMPLOYING THE FREEDMEN—OCCUPATION OF HOLLY SPRINGS—SHERMAN ORDERED TO MEMPHIS—SHERMAN’S MOVEMENTS DOWN THE MISSISSIPPI—VAN DORN CAPTURES HOLLY SPRINGS—COLLECTING FORAGE AND FOOD. Vicksburg was important to the enemy because it sat on the first high ground near the river below Memphis. From that location, a railroad runs east, connecting with other lines leading to all parts of the Southern States. A railroad also starts from the opposite side of the river, stretching west as far as Shreveport, Louisiana. At the time discussed in this chapter, Vicksburg was the only direct link connecting the sections of the Confederacy divided by the Mississippi. As long as the enemy held it, they prevented free navigation of the river. This is why it mattered so much. Points along the river between Vicksburg and Port Hudson were dependent on it; if Vicksburg fell, those outposts were sure to fall soon afterward. The campaign against Vicksburg began on November 2nd, as indicated in a dispatch I sent to the general-in-chief: “I have commenced a movement on Grand Junction, with three divisions from Corinth and two from Bolivar. Will leave here to-morrow, and take command in person. If found practicable, I will go to Holly Springs, and, may be, Grenada, completing railroad and telegraph as I go.” At this point, my command was holding the Mobile and Ohio railroad from about twenty-five miles south of Corinth, north to Columbus, Kentucky; the Mississippi Central from Bolivar north to its junction with the Mobile and Ohio; the Memphis and Charleston from Corinth east to Bear Creek, and the Mississippi River from Cairo to Memphis. My entire command was barely sufficient to hold these positions, and perhaps not even that if we stayed on the defensive. By moving against the enemy into territory not yet subdued, driving their army before us, these lines could nearly hold themselves; this would free up a larger force for operations in the field. My force at that time was about 30,000 men, and I estimated Pemberton had about the same number facing me. General McPherson commanded my left wing, General C. S. Hamilton the center, and Sherman was at Memphis with the right wing. Pemberton was fortified at the Tallahatchie, but he occupied Holly Springs and Grand Junction on the Mississippi Central railroad. On the 8th, we occupied Grand Junction and La Grange, pushing a significant force seven or eight miles south along the line of the railroad. The road from Bolivar forward was repaired and put into operation as the troops advanced. Until then, it had been seen as an established rule in war that large bodies of troops had to operate from a supply base, which they always protected and covered during advances. This caused delays in repairing the line back, and in gathering and sending supplies to the front. By my orders, following previous instructions from Washington, all forage within reach was gathered under the supervision of the chief quartermaster, and all provisions under the chief commissary. Receipts were given when there was someone to receive them; the supplies, in any case, were accounted for as government stores. The stock was plentiful, but even so, I had no idea yet that it could be possible to supply a moving column in enemy territory from what the land itself provided. It was probably at this point that the first idea for a “Freedman’s Bureau” was conceived. Government orders forbade expelling Black people who came to the army voluntarily from its protection. Humanity forbade letting them starve. With such a large group of all ages and both sexes gathered near Grand Junction—thousands in total—it was impossible to move forward. There was no special authority to feed them unless they were employed as teamsters, cooks, or pioneers with the army; but only able-bodied young men were suitable for that work. This kind of labor would provide for only a very small percentage of them. The plantations were all abandoned; the cotton and corn stood ready for harvest: men, women, and children above the age of ten could help save these crops. To do this work with contrabands, or have it done, organization under a competent chief was necessary. When looking for such a leader, Chaplain Eaton—now, and for many years, the very able United States Commissioner of Education—was suggested. He proved as efficient in that work as he later did in his present one. I gave him all the assistants and guards he needed. Together, we set the wages to be paid for the Black labor, whether working for the government or individuals. The cotton was to be picked from abandoned plantations, and the workers would get the set rate (I recall it was twelve and a half cents per pound for picking and ginning) from the quartermaster, who shipped the cotton north to be sold for the benefit of the government. Citizens who stayed on their plantations could have their crops saved by freedmen on the same terms. Immediately, the freedmen were able to support themselves. The money was not paid directly to them, but was spent wisely for their benefit. From then on they caused me no trouble. Later, the freedmen were employed cutting wood along the Mississippi River to supply the many steamers operating there. Good wages were paid for cutting wood to supply government steamers (those chartered by the government and which the government had to fuel). Those supplying their own fuel paid much higher prices. In this way, a fund was built up that was more than enough to feed and clothe everyone—old and young, male and female—and to build comfortable cabins, hospitals for the sick, and provide many other comforts they had never known before. At this stage of the Vicksburg campaign, I was very disturbed by newspaper rumors that General McClernand would be given a separate and independent command within mine, to operate against Vicksburg by way of the Mississippi River. Two commanders on the same field are always one too many, and in this instance I did not think the general chosen had the experience or the qualifications for so important a position. I worried about the safety of the troops assigned to him, especially since he intended to raise new levies—raw recruits—for such a critical job. On the 12th, however, I received a dispatch from General Halleck stating that I had command of all troops sent to my department, and authorizing me to engage the enemy wherever I thought best. The next day, my cavalry entered Holly Springs and the enemy withdrew south of the Tallahatchie. I picked Holly Springs as my depot for supplies and munitions of war, all of which at that time came by rail from Columbus, Kentucky, except for a few stores gathered around La Grange and Grand Junction. This was a long supply line (growing longer as we moved south) to maintain deep in enemy territory. On November 15th, while still at Holly Springs, I sent word to Sherman to meet me at Columbus. We were only forty-seven miles apart, but the fastest way for us to meet was for me to take the train to Columbus and for Sherman to use a steamer to travel there. At that meeting, besides discussing my general plans, I gave him his orders to join me with two divisions and to march them down the Mississippi Central railroad if he could. Sherman, always prompt, was at Cottage Hill, ten miles north of Oxford, by the 29th. He brought three divisions with him, leaving only a garrison of four infantry regiments, a couple of artillery pieces, and a small detachment of cavalry. He knew more reinforcements were on their way from the north to Memphis. Around this time, General Halleck ordered troops from Helena, Arkansas (the territory west of the Mississippi was not under my command then) to cut the railroad behind Pemberton’s lines. The expedition, led by Generals Hovey and C. C. Washburn, succeeded in reaching the railroad, but the damage they did was minimal and was soon repaired. The Tallahatchie River, which lay in front of me, was very high, and the railroad bridge had been destroyed, with Pemberton strongly fortified on the south side. It would have been impossible to cross in the face of the enemy. I sent cavalry farther upstream, and they managed to secure a crossing. This led the enemy to abandon their position, likely also due to the actions of Hovey and Washburn. The enemy was pursued as far south as Oxford by the main force, and another seventeen miles farther by McPherson’s command. Here, the pursuit paused to repair the railroad from the Tallahatchie northward, to bring up supplies. The piles supporting the destroyed railroad bridge were left standing. Building a temporary road for the troops was a short task, and rails were later laid for trains. While delayed at Oxford repairing railroads, I found out that an expedition down the Mississippi was now unavoidable, and wanting to have a capable commander in charge, on December 8th I ordered Sherman back to Memphis to take command. The following were his orders: > Headquarters 13th Army Corps, > Department of the Tennessee. > OXFORD, MISSISSIPPI, December 8,1862. > > MAJOR-GENERAL W. T. SHERMAN, > Commanding Right Wing: > > You will proceed, with as little delay as possible, to Memphis, Tennessee, taking with you one division of your present command. On your arrival at Memphis you will assume command of all the troops there, and that portion of General Curtis’s forces at present east of the Mississippi River, and organize them into brigades and divisions in your own army. As soon as possible move with them down the river to the vicinity of Vicksburg, and with the co-operation of the gunboat fleet under command of Flag-officer Porter proceed to the reduction of that place in such a manner as circumstances, and your own judgment, may dictate. > > The amount of rations, forage, land transportation, etc., necessary to take, will be left entirely with yourself. The Quartermaster at St. Louis will be instructed to send you transportation for 30,000 men; should you still find yourself deficient, your quartermaster will be authorized to make up the deficiency from such transports as may come into the port of Memphis. > > On arriving in Memphis, put yourself in communication with Admiral Porter, and arrange with him for his co-operation. > > Let me know as soon as possible when you plan to embark, and what plans have been finalized by then. I will keep the forces here ready to cooperate with you in whatever way the enemy’s movements may require. > > Leave the District of Memphis under the command of a capable officer, with a garrison of four regiments of infantry, the siege guns, and whatever cavalry is there. > > U. S. GRANT, > Major-General. This idea had occurred to me earlier, for on December 3 I asked Halleck if it might be wise to hold the enemy south of the Yallabusha and move a force from Helena and Memphis against Vicksburg. Then, on December 5, from Oxford, I again suggested to Halleck that if the Helena troops were under my command, I thought it possible to take them, along with the Memphis forces, south of the mouth of the Yazoo River to secure Vicksburg and the state of Mississippi. On that same day, December 5, Halleck directed me not to attempt to hold the country south of the Tallahatchie, but to gather 25,000 troops at Memphis by the 20th for the Vicksburg expedition. I immediately sent Sherman with two divisions, notified the general-in-chief, and asked whether I should lead the expedition down the river myself or send Sherman. I was authorized to do whatever I thought best to accomplish the great goal. I sent Sherman and informed General Halleck of my decision. As stated, I hastened Sherman’s departure because I wanted him in command of the forces separated from my direct control. I feared that delay might allow McClernand—his senior, who had authority from the President and Secretary of War to take that command independently—to arrive. I doubted McClernand’s abilities; and I believed that by acting quickly, I was not offending those whose authority outranked both his and mine. Neither my orders to General Sherman, nor any communications between Sherman, General Halleck, and myself at the time, anticipated my going farther south than the Yallabusha. Pemberton’s force in front of me was the main part of the Vicksburg garrison, just as my force protected our territory in West Tennessee and Kentucky. I hoped to keep Pemberton in my front while Sherman moved into his rear and into Vicksburg. The farther north the enemy could be held, the better. However, Sherman and I understood that our movements were to be coordinated; if Pemberton could not be held away from Vicksburg, I was to follow him. At that time, though, it was not expected that we would have to abandon the railroad north of the Yallabusha. With that point as a secondary supply base, we considered the possibility of advancing down the Yazoo until we could open communications with the Mississippi. My intention, understood by Sherman and his command, was that if the enemy retreated, I would follow them even to the gates of Vicksburg. In such a case, I planned to hold the road to Grenada on the Yallabusha and cut loose from there, expecting to set up a new base of supplies on the Yazoo, or at Vicksburg itself, with Grenada as a fallback in case of failure. It should be remembered that at this time, it had not been proven that an army could operate in enemy territory relying on local supplies. We halted at Oxford, with the advance seventeen miles south of there, to finish the railroad to that point and to bring food, forage, and munitions forward. On December 18, I received orders from Washington to divide my command into four army corps, with General McClernand to command one of them and to be assigned to the portion of the army operating down the Mississippi. This disrupted my plans but probably resulted in my eventually taking personal command. McClernand was at that time in Springfield, Illinois. I obeyed the order immediately, sending dispatches to him the same day as directed. On December 20, General Van Dorn appeared at Holly Springs, my secondary supply base, captured the garrison of 1,500 men led by Colonel Murphy, of the 8th Wisconsin regiment, and destroyed all our munitions, food, and forage. The capture was disgraceful for the officer in command but not the troops. At the same time, Forrest attacked our railroad line between Jackson, Tennessee, and Columbus, Kentucky, causing significant damage. This cut me off from all communication with the north for over a week, and over two weeks passed before rations or forage could be issued from regularly obtained stores. This showed the impossibility of maintaining such a long supply line for an army advancing in enemy territory. I decided to abandon my campaign into the interior with Columbus as a base, returned to La Grange and Grand Junction, destroyed the railroad ahead, and repaired the road to Memphis, making the Mississippi River our supply line. Pemberton was also retreating at this time. As soon as I heard of Van Dorn's success, I sent the cavalry at the front back to drive him out. Van Dorn had enough of a head start to move north, destroying the railroad in several places, and attacked multiple small garrisons serving as railroad guards. All but the Holly Springs garrison were warned and prepared for him, and he failed to capture any except the one at Holly Springs, which was larger than all the others he attacked combined. Murphy, too, was warned of Van Dorn’s approach but made no preparations and didn’t alert his command. Colonel Murphy was the same officer who had evacuated Iuka two months earlier when the enemy approached. General Rosecrans denounced him then and wanted him tried and punished. I supported Murphy at the time because his force was much smaller—less than a tenth the enemy’s—and I thought he did well to escape capture. I viewed leaving large stores for Price as an oversight, excusing it as inexperience. He should have destroyed them. However, this latest surrender convinced me that Rosecrans’ judgment of Murphy at Iuka was correct. The surrender of Holly Springs was inexcusable and suggested either Murphy’s disloyalty to the cause he claimed to serve or sheer cowardice. After the war, I read a woman’s diary who had accompanied General Pemberton during his retreat from the Tallahatchie, describing the retreat as nearly a panic. The roads were terrible, making it hard to move artillery and wagons. I don't see why there should have been panic—no expedition had begun down the Mississippi at that point. If I had known the enemy’s demoralized state, or how many supplies central Mississippi held, I would have pursued Pemberton while his cavalry was destroying the roads behind me. After sending cavalry to drive Van Dorn out, my next order was to send all available wagons, with proper escort, to collect and bring in supplies of forage and food from a fifteen-mile area east and west of the road from our front back to Grand Junction, leaving two months’ supplies for local families. I was surprised by how many supplies the region provided. This proved we could have lived off the land for two months—not just two weeks—within those boundaries. This taught me a lesson, which I applied later in the campaign when our army lived twenty days on only five days’ worth of rations from the commissary. We lost many supplies at Holly Springs, but this was more than balanced by what we gathered from the local area and by the lesson learned. News of the capture of Holly Springs and destruction of our supplies brought much joy to the people who remained in Oxford. They greeted me with wide smiles, clearly pleased, asking what I would do now with nothing left to feed my soldiers. I told them that I was not troubled; I had already sent out troops and wagons to collect all the food and forage they could find for fifteen miles on each side of the road. Their expressions quickly changed, and so did their questions. The next was, “What are WE to do?” I replied that we had tried to feed ourselves from the North while visiting, but their friends in gray had been rude enough to destroy what we brought, and no one should expect armed men to starve in a land of plenty. I advised them to move east or west, fifteen miles, and help consume whatever we left behind. ## CHAPTER XXXI. ### HEADQUARTERS MOVED TO HOLLY SPRINGS—GENERAL M’CLERNAND IN COMMAND—ASSUMING COMMAND AT YOUNG’S POINT—OPERATIONS ABOVE VICKSBURG—FORTIFICATIONS ABOUT VICKSBURG—THE CANAL—LAKE PROVIDENCE—OPERATIONS AT YAZOO PASS. This break in my communications to the north—I was effectively cut off from communicating with much of my own command during this period—resulted in Sherman moving from Memphis before McClernand could arrive, because my dispatch on the 18th never reached McClernand. Pemberton returned to Vicksburg before Sherman arrived. The Confederate positions were on a bluff along the Yazoo River, some miles above its mouth. The water was high, so the lowlands were generally flooded, leaving only narrow strips of dry ground between the points where troops could disembark and the high bluffs. These strips were fortified and defended everywhere. The Confederate position was impregnable against any force that could attack it from the front. Sherman was unable to use even a quarter of his men. His attempts to capture the city, or the high ground north of it, were therefore unsuccessful. Sherman's attack was very unfortunate, but I had no way to communicate with him after the railroad and telegraph line behind me were destroyed on the 20th. He didn't know whether I might be in the enemy's rear and relying on him to open a new supply base for my troops. Before he left Memphis, I had instructed him to bring a few small steamers suitable for navigating the Yazoo, not knowing but that I might need them to supply my forces after cutting our base at Grenada. On the 23rd, I moved my headquarters back to Holly Springs. The troops withdrew gradually, but without hurry or confusion, finding plenty of supplies and no enemy pursuit. The road south of Holly Springs wasn't damaged by Van Dorn, at least not enough to cause any delay. As I had decided to move headquarters to Memphis and to repair the road to that point, I stayed at Holly Springs until that work was finished. On January 10th, after the railroad from Holly Springs to Grand Junction and on to Memphis was repaired, I moved my headquarters to Memphis. During this campaign, losses (mostly by capture) were about equal, counting the Confederates’ capture at Holly Springs, which they couldn’t hold. When Sherman started his expedition down the river, he had 20,000 men, taken from Memphis, and was reinforced by 12,000 more at Helena, Arkansas. The troops on the west bank of the river had already been assigned to my command. After receiving orders to take command, McClernand reached the mouth of the Yazoo on January 2nd, immediately taking charge of all the troops with Sherman—a force including his own corps, the 13th, and all of Sherman's, the 15th. Sherman, along with Admiral Porter and the fleet, had withdrawn from the Yazoo. After talking things over, they decided that neither the army nor navy could accomplish anything for the cause where they were, and having learned that I’d withdrawn from the Mississippi interior, decided to return to the Arkansas River and attack Arkansas Post, about fifty miles up that stream, which was garrisoned by about five or six thousand men. Sherman had discovered this force when a captured man, who’d been taken with a steamer carrying ammunition and supplies for his command, escaped and gave him the news. McClernand approved the plan reluctantly, as Sherman said. No obstacle appeared until the gunboats and transports got within range of the fort. After three days of bombardment by the navy, the troops and marines assaulted and took the place, capturing 5,000 prisoners and 17 guns. At first, I was inclined to disapprove of this operation as an unnecessary diversion unrelated to our main objective; but once the result was clear, I saw it as very important. Five thousand Confederate troops left in our rear could have caused damaging trouble and loss during our movements on the Mississippi. Immediately after capturing Arkansas Post and its garrison, McClernand returned with his entire force to Napoleon, at the mouth of the Arkansas River. Here I received messages from both Sherman and Admiral Porter, urging me to come and take command myself, and expressing their doubts about McClernand’s ability and fitness for such a vital and complex expedition. On the 17th, I visited McClernand and his command at Napoleon. It was very clear to me there that both the army and navy distrusted McClernand’s ability to command; while they would do everything possible to succeed, this lack of confidence was a real weakness. It would have been wrong to send troops into such danger under those circumstances. By then I had received authorization to relieve McClernand or assign someone else to command the river expedition, or to take command myself. The situation with McClernand was awkward: he was the senior major-general just behind me in the department and, given his rank and ambition, it would not do to assign a junior over him. Therefore, I had no choice but to take the command myself. I would have liked to put Sherman in command to give him another chance after his failure the previous December, but there was no other solution, as Sherman was junior to McClernand. Sherman’s previous failure doesn’t require an apology. On the 20th, I ordered General McClernand, with the entire force, to Young’s Point and Milliken’s Bend, while I returned to Memphis to make sure the territory behind us was secure. General Hurlbut, with the 16th Corps, was left in command. The Memphis and Charleston Railroad was held, while the Mississippi Central was given up. Columbus was the only point with a garrison between Cairo and Memphis along the river. All the troops and artillery from posts on the abandoned railroad and river stations were sent to the front. On January 29th, I arrived at Young’s Point and took command the next day. General McClernand objected in a way that was typical of him. His correspondence with me was less a protest and more a reprimand. It was highly insubordinate, but I overlooked it, believing that was best for the service. General McClernand was a prominent politician in his state: he was a member of Congress when the Civil War broke out, and he belonged to the political party that, at the time, provided all the opposition to a vigorous prosecution of the war to save the Union. Still, he did not hesitate to support the Union as soon as war began, and was clear in his stance from the start. He also left his seat in Congress to take the field in defense of the principles he had expressed. The real work of the Vicksburg campaign and siege now began. The challenge was to gain a foothold on dry ground on the east side of the river from which troops could operate against Vicksburg. The Mississippi River from Cairo south runs through a broad alluvial valley, bound on the east by land from eighty to two hundred feet or more above the river. The west side’s highest ground, except in a few areas, is just above the highest water line. In this valley, the river winds in a very tortuous fashion, changing directions constantly. In some spots it runs right up to the base of the bluffs. After leaving Memphis, no more highlands touch the water’s edge on the east shore until reaching Vicksburg. The land in between is broken up by bayous filled from the river during high water—many of these are navigable for steamers. All would be, except for overhanging trees, the narrow and winding courses, and sharp bends making it impossible for longer vessels to follow. It was impossible to cross this ground in the face of an enemy; navigating it also proved impractical. According to conventional strategy, we should have gone back to Memphis, made that our supply base, fortified it so a small garrison could hold the storage depots, and advanced along the railroad, repairing it as we went, to the Yallabusha, or Jackson, Mississippi. At that time the North was deeply discouraged. Many strong Union men believed the war was doomed. The elections of 1862 had gone against the party fighting to save the Union at any cost. Voluntary enlistment had almost disappeared in much of the North, and the draft had been used to fill the ranks. I believed that to retreat that far—from Vicksburg to Memphis—would be seen by many still hopeful for the Union’s preservation as a defeat. The draft might be resisted, desertions increase, and the power to recapture or punish deserters disappear. The only option was to press FORWARD TO A DECISIVE VICTORY. That was my resolve as soon as I took personal command at Young’s Point. The winter of 1862–63 was particularly notable for continuous high water in the Mississippi and heavy rain along the lower river. To find dry land, or even just ground above water for the troops, required miles of riverfront. We had to occupy the levees and the immediate ground behind them. This space was so limited that one corps, the 17th under General McPherson, had to go to Lake Providence, seventy miles above Vicksburg. It was January when the troops took their positions opposite Vicksburg. The river was very high and the rain never stopped. There seemed no chance of a land attack before March or even later, and idleness in the meantime would have only hurt morale and the troops’ health. Friends in the North would have grown more discouraged, and critics more vocal in their ridicule and condemnation of the cause and those who fought for it. I’ve always admired how, regardless of the cause’s justice, the South boldly silenced all opposition or complaint, whether from the press or individuals, within their reach. War, whenever possible, should be avoided, especially civil war. But once it starts, it’s unreasonable to expect people to tolerate enemies in their midst who support or comfort the opposing side. As noted already, Vicksburg stands on the first area of high ground that comes down to the river’s edge below Memphis. The bluff, or elevated land, follows the left bank of the Yazoo for a ways, then continues south toward the Mississippi River, and runs along the Mississippi to Warrenton, six miles below. The Yazoo River leaves these heights a short way below Haines’ Bluff and empties into the Mississippi, nine miles above Vicksburg. Vicksburg is built on this high land, where the Mississippi runs at the base of the hill. Haines’ Bluff, eleven miles from Vicksburg on the Yazoo, was heavily fortified. The entire distance from there to Vicksburg, and on to Warrenton, was also entrenched, with batteries as needed and rifle-pits connecting them. At Young’s Point, the Mississippi turns to the northeast just above the city, then swings southwest, meaning any vessel trying to run the blockade would be under fire from batteries for six miles below the city before coming under range of the upper batteries. Since then, the river has cut a new channel, leaving what was once the peninsula in front of the city as an island. North of the Yazoo was all swamp, thickly wooded, cut up by bayous, and largely flooded. A frontal attack was therefore impossible, and I never considered it—not at any point. The challenge became how to land on high ground east of the Mississippi without appearing to retreat. That led to a series of experiments to pass the time and distract the enemy, my own troops, and the public. I personally never had much faith that any of these experiments would succeed, but I was always ready to take advantage if they did. In 1862, General Thomas Williams had come up from New Orleans and dug a ditch ten or twelve feet wide and just as deep, stretching straight from Young’s Point to the river below—a little over a mile. Williams expected that when the river rose, it would cut a navigable channel through, but the canal ran into eddies at both ends and just filled up with floodwater rather than actually cutting a channel. Mr. Lincoln had traveled the Mississippi when he was young and well understood its habit of changing course from time to time. He placed great importance on this canal. Therefore, General McClernand was directed before I arrived at Young’s Point to keep widening and deepening it. After I took over, about 4,000 men—as many as could be used effectively—continued the work until it was interrupted by a sudden rise in the river, which broke a dam at the upper end meant to keep water out until the dig was finished. This happened on March 8th. Even if the canal had worked and been navigable for steamers, it wouldn't have helped us much. It runs nearly perpendicular to the line of bluffs on the river’s east bank. As soon as the enemy saw what we were doing, they set up a battery to cover the canal’s entire length. This battery soon forced out our two dredges, machines which were doing the work of thousands of men. If the canal had been finished, it might have been useful for moving transports past in the dark for use downstream—but the transports would still have to pass batteries, though for a much shorter stretch. While this work was underway, we were also busy on other fronts, trying to find a suitable landing on high ground on the east bank of the river, or to create waterways to get below the city and avoid the batteries. On January 30th, the day after I arrived at the front, I ordered General McPherson, who was stationed with his corps at Lake Providence, to cut the levee at that location. If we succeeded in opening a navigable channel along this route, it would take us to the Mississippi River through the mouth of the Red River, just above Port Hudson and four hundred miles below Vicksburg via the river. Lake Providence is part of the old course of the Mississippi, about a mile from the present channel. It is six miles long and drains through Bayou Baxter, Bayou Macon, and then the Tensas, Washita, and Red Rivers. The last three are navigable streams year-round. Bayous Baxter and Macon are narrow, winding, and their banks are covered with dense forests that hang over the channel. They were also filled with fallen timber that had built up over the years. The land along the Mississippi River from Memphis downward is always highest right next to the river, except where the river runs alongside the bluffs that form the valley's edge. As Bayou Baxter reaches lower ground, it starts to spread out and eventually disappears into a cypress swamp before it connects to the Macon. At that time, there was about two feet of water in this swamp. Even for the lightest draft vessels to get through, it was necessary to clear a wide strip of heavy timber for a passageway. Since the trees had to be cut close to the base—underwater—it was a very challenging task. On February 4th, I visited General McPherson and stayed with him for several days. The work had not progressed far enough to allow the river water into the lake, but the troops had managed to get a small steamer, probably no more than thirty tons, from the river into the lake. With this, we were able to explore the lake and bayou as far as they had been cleared. I realized then that there was little chance this would ever become a practical route for moving troops through enemy country. The distance from Lake Providence to where vessels would re-enter the Mississippi along this route is about four hundred seventy miles by the main river. The distance by those winding bayous was likely even greater. The enemy controlled Port Hudson, just below where the Red River enters, and all of the Mississippi above, up to Vicksburg. The Red River, Washita, and Tensas—being navigable—allowed the enemy to send small groups of men to block our way and pick off our troops with sharpshooters. I allowed the work to continue, believing it was better for the men to stay busy than to remain idle. It also served as a distraction from other, more promising operations. This effort was abandoned after the canal attempt failed. Lieutenant-Colonel Wilson from my staff was sent to Helena, Arkansas, to examine and try to open a route through Moon Lake and Yazoo Pass if possible. There had once been a route through an inlet from the Mississippi into Moon Lake, a mile east of the river, then east through Yazoo Pass to the Coldwater, along that stream to the Tallahatchie, which joins the Yallabusha about two hundred fifty miles below Moon Lake, forming the Yazoo River. Steamboats used to frequent these routes to serve the rich plantations along their banks. However, the State of Mississippi had built a solid levee across the inlet some years before, leaving the only access by way of the Yazoo's mouth, hundreds of miles downstream. On February 2nd, this levee was cut. The river was high and the rush of water through the cut was so great that in a short time the entire barrier was washed away. The bayous soon filled, and much of the country flooded. This pass leaves the Mississippi only a few miles below Helena. On the 24th, General Ross, with his brigade of about 4,500 men on transports, moved into this new waterway. The rebels had blocked Yazoo Pass and the Coldwater by felling trees into them. Much of the timber in this region is heavier than water, and of large size, making removal very difficult; but it was eventually cleared, and on March 11th Ross found himself, with two gunboats under Lieutenant-Commander Watson Smith, in front of a fortification at Greenwood, where the Tallahatchie and Yallabusha join to form the Yazoo River. The bends of the rivers almost create an island at this spot, barely above water at that river stage. The island was fortified and manned, and was called Fort Pemberton after the Vicksburg commander. There was no way to approach by land. The troops could only help by setting up a battery on a small patch of ground found above water. The gunboats attacked on March 11th and again on the 13th. Both times failed, and no further attacks were made. One gunboat was disabled, and we lost six men killed and twenty-five wounded. Enemy losses were less. Fort Pemberton was so close to water level that it was thought a two-foot rise would force the enemy out. Hoping to use the elements to our advantage for once, a second cut was made in the Mississippi levee, this time directly across from Helena, six miles above the previous cut. This didn't have the desired effect, and Ross and his fleet started back. On the 22nd, he met Quinby with a brigade at Yazoo Pass. Being senior, Quinby took command. He was not satisfied to return to his earlier position without seeing for himself if anything further could be done. So Fort Pemberton was visited again by our forces, but inspection alone was enough and there was no attack. Quinby and his men returned soon afterwards. Meanwhile, I was greatly concerned for Ross's safety, not knowing if Quinby had managed to reach him. Reinforcements were useless in a flooded country, since they would have to stay aboard their transports. Relief had to come from elsewhere. So I decided to approach the Yazoo below Fort Pemberton. Steele's Bayou empties into the Yazoo River between Haines’ Bluff and its mouth. It's narrow, very winding, and fringed with dense timber, but it is deep. It comes within about a mile of the Mississippi at Eagle Bend, thirty miles above Young’s Point. Steele’s Bayou connects to Black Bayou, which connects to Deer Creek. Deer Creek links to Rolling Fork, which joins the Big Sunflower River—and the Big Sunflower flows into the Yazoo River about ten miles above Haines’ Bluff as the crow flies, but probably twenty to twenty-five miles by river. All these waterways are about the same as far as navigation goes, until you reach the Sunflower, which provides clear navigation. Admiral Porter explored this waterway as far as Deer Creek on March 14th and said it was navigable. The next day he set out with five gunboats and four mortar boats. I accompanied him for some distance. The heavy overhanging timber and sharp turns in the narrow stream slowed us down. The gunboats managed to push through with no damage beyond their appearance, but the transports—following behind—had a much harder time. The gunboats did help clear a path for them. I returned to headquarters in the evening to hurry along reinforcements. On the 16th, Sherman personally took Stuart’s division of the 15th Corps. They used large river transports to reach Eagle Bend on the Mississippi, disembarked, marched across to Steele’s Bayou, and then re-embarked. The river steamers, with their tall smokestacks and light guards, had trouble keeping up, while the gunboats forged ahead. Porter and his fleet came within a few hundred yards of the clear, unobstructed water—only to run into rebel sharpshooters and fresh obstacles. He could do nothing with gunboats against sharpshooters. The rebels, knowing his route, had sent in about 4,000 men—far more than the number of sailors with the fleet. At the admiral's request, Sherman went back to clear Black Bayou and hurry reinforcements that were lagging behind. On the night of the 19th, the admiral notified him that sharpshooters had attacked and he was in serious danger. Sherman quickly returned through Black Bayou by canoe, and continued until he found a steamer carrying the last of his reinforcements. They tried to force their way through Black Bayou with the steamer but, finding the going too slow, debarked and advanced on foot. It was night, and very dark. Only a narrow strip of land was above water, overgrown with brush or cane. The troops lit their way with candles carried in their hands for a mile and a half, until they reached an open plantation. They rested there until morning, then covered twenty-one miles by noon the next day, arriving in time to rescue the fleet. Porter had been prepared to blow up the gunboats rather than let them fall into enemy hands. He was probably never more grateful for visitors than when the “boys in blue” arrived on this occasion. The vessels were backed out and returned to their rendezvous on the Mississippi. Thus ended in failure the fourth attempt to get in behind Vicksburg. ## CHAPTER XXXII. ### THE BAYOUS WEST OF THE MISSISSIPPI—CRITICISMS OF THE NORTHERN PRESS—RUNNING THE BATTERIES—LOSS OF THE INDIANOLA—DISPOSITION OF THE TROOPS. The original canal effort was also abandoned on March 27. The attempt to create a waterway through Lake Providence and the connecting bayous was given up as entirely impractical around the same time. At Milliken’s Bend and Young’s Point, bayous or channels branch off, which—by connecting with other bayous passing Richmond, Louisiana—re-enter the Mississippi at Carthage, about twenty-five or thirty miles above Grand Gulf. The Mississippi levee cuts off the supply of water to these bayous or channels, but all the rainfall behind the levee at these points travels through these same channels to the river below. If a levee breach happened nearby, the escaping water would use these outlets. Since the dredges and laborers working on the canal were driven out by floods and enemy batteries, I decided to try opening these other channels, if possible. If successful, this would provide a route for our transports, away from the enemy batteries. There was a good road behind the levees, along these bayous, suitable for moving troops, artillery, and wagon trains once the water receded after a few days of dry weather. Thus, after abandoning all the other schemes for finding a base described so far, this new plan was started. As early as February 4, I had written to Halleck about this route, explaining that I thought it much more practical than the Lake Providence plan, and that it would have been accomplished with much less effort if started before the water had spread everywhere. The upper ends of these bayous, being cut off from a water supply except for rainfall behind the levees, had become overgrown with dense timber for several miles from their source. We needed to clear these areas before letting river water in. This work continued until the river began to fall and the road to Richmond, Louisiana, began to emerge from the water. One small steamer and some barges made it through the channel, but no further use came of it because the river kept dropping. Beyond this, it was no more successful than the other attempts that occupied the winter. None of these failures were particularly discouraging to me, since I had not expected much from them; from the start, the best I hoped for was for transports to get past Vicksburg without having to run the full length of batteries defending the city. This long, dreary, and—due to constant heavy rains and high water—unprecedented winter, was one of great hardship for everyone around Vicksburg. The river stood above its natural banks from December 1862 until the following April. The war had halted normal activities in the South except for producing army supplies, leading to neglected and broken levees in many places and submerging the entire region. The troops could scarcely find dry ground to pitch their tents. Malarial fevers broke out among the men. They were also struck by measles and smallpox. However, thanks to excellent hospital arrangements and medical care, loss of life was far less than one might have expected. Visitors to the camps brought home grim stories, and Northern newspapers exaggerated them even more when returning them to the soldiers. Since I would not reveal my ultimate plans to visitors, they called me idle, incompetent, and unfit to lead in an emergency, demanding my removal. Many were not satisfied with just my removal, but even chose my supposed successor—McClernand, Fremont, Hunter, and McClellan were all suggested. I took no steps to reply, but continued to do my duty as I understood it, to the best of my ability. Everyone has superstitions. One of mine is that anyone in a position of great responsibility should do their duty, as well as possible, where assigned by competent authority, without applying for or using influence to get moved. While at Cairo, I had watched the Army of the Potomac’s operations with keen interest, considering it the main theatre of war. I never expected to have a large command myself, nor assumed I was capable of it; but I did have the vanity to think that as a cavalry officer, I could succeed in leading a brigade. On one occasion, discussing this with my staff—all of them civilians without any military education—I said I would give anything to command a cavalry brigade in the Army of the Potomac, believing I could do some good. Captain Hillyer suggested I apply for a transfer to command the cavalry. I told him I would rather cut off my right arm than do so, and mentioned this superstition. In wartime, the President, as Commander-in-Chief of the Army and Navy by the Constitution, is responsible for selecting commanders. He should not be hindered in making his choices. Since I had been selected, my responsibility ended when I did my best. Had I sought the command, or obtained it through personal or political influence, I believe I would have feared to attempt any plan of my own, likely waiting for direct orders from distant superiors instead. Those who get important commands through application or political influence tend to keep a written record of complaints and predictions of failure, which they reveal if disaster occurs—someone else must be blamed for their failures. Despite tremendous pressure, both President Lincoln and General Halleck stood by me throughout the campaign. I had never met Mr. Lincoln, but he continued to support me. Finally the waters began to recede; roads crossing the peninsula behind the levees were emerging from the flood; all the troops gathered from distant points at Milliken’s Bend, ready for the final move that would finally reward their long, tedious, and discouraging efforts with success. All winter, I had planned this movement by land to a point below Vicksburg from which to operate, but only as a backup if none of the other bases could be reached. This could not proceed until the water receded. Therefore, I did not share the plan—even with my staff—until it came time to prepare for departure. I recall that Admiral Porter was the first person I told. Navy cooperation was absolutely essential to the success—even the very idea—of such an operation. I had no more authority to command Porter than he did to command me. If the troops marched to the chosen point, part of his fleet would have to be below Vicksburg. Steamers for ferries were also essential, and the navy alone could protect them, since all would have to pass about fourteen miles of batteries to get below. Porter agreed to the plan at once, suggesting that he personally oversee the preparation of the steamers to run the batteries, reasoning that sailors would handle such work better than soldiers. I eagerly agreed, not only because his argument was sound, but because it allowed me to keep our intentions secret from the enemy a little longer. Porter’s fleet was on the east side of the river above the mouth of the Yazoo, completely hidden from the enemy by dense forests. Even spies could not approach due to the undergrowth and flooded land. Suspicions of some secret movement arose. Our river guards one day discovered a small skiff moving quietly up the river near the east shore from the direction of Vicksburg, heading for the fleet. When they stopped the boat, they found a small white flag, barely bigger than a handkerchief, set at the stern—no doubt intended as a flag of truce if discovered. The boat, crew, and passengers were brought ashore to me. The chief person proved to be Jacob Thompson, Secretary of the Interior under President Buchanan. After a pleasant half-hour conversation, I allowed the boat and all aboard to return to Vicksburg, giving no sign that I doubted Mr. Thompson’s good faith or his flag. Admiral Porter began preparing the steamers for their dangerous run past the enemy’s batteries. The main priority was protecting the boilers from cannon fire and hiding the boiler fires from view. He accomplished this by packing the space between the guards and boilers on the boiler deck, up to the deck above, with bales of hay and cotton, and doing likewise on the deck in front of the boilers, adding sacks of grain. The hay and grain would be needed below, and could not be moved in enough quantity by the muddy roads we expected to march. Even earlier, I had been collecting yawls and barges from St. Louis and Chicago, to serve as ferries once we were below. By April 16, Porter was ready for his dangerous journey. The lead ship, flagship Benton, commanded by Porter, started at ten o’clock at night, followed a few minutes apart by Lafayette with a captured steamer, the Price, lashed alongside, then the Louisville, Mound City, Pittsburgh, and Carondelet—all navy vessels. Then came the transports—Forest Queen, Silver Wave, and Henry Clay—each towing barges loaded with coal to fuel the naval and transport steamers below the batteries. The gunboat Tuscumbia brought up the rear. Soon after starting, a battery between Vicksburg and Warrenton opened fire across the peninsula, followed by the upper batteries, then by batteries all along the line. The gunboats moved close under the bluffs, returning fire at short range, probably with little effect. They were under fire for over two hours and every vessel was struck many times, but the gunboats suffered little real damage. The transports did not fare as well. The Henry Clay was disabled and abandoned by her crew. Soon a shell burst in the cotton packed around the boilers, setting the vessel on fire, and she burned to the waterline. The burning wreck, however, drifted down to Carthage before grounding, as did one of the towed barges. The enemy clearly expected us, for they were ready to light up the river using bonfires on the east bank and by burning houses on the Louisiana side facing the city. The scene was spectacular, but terrible. I watched it from the deck of a river transport, pulled out into mid-river and as far downstream as was safe. I was greatly relieved to hear that none aboard the transports had been killed, and only a few, if any, wounded. During the passage, men were posted in the holds to try to plug shot holes in the hulls with cotton. All the damage was soon repaired by Admiral Porter’s direction. The risk of running batteries was not new during this war. Admiral Farragut had run the Port Hudson batteries with his flagship Hartford and an ironclad, and visited me from below Vicksburg. On February 13, Admiral Porter sent the gunboat Indianola, commanded by Lieutenant-Commander George Brown, downstream. She met Colonel Ellet of the Marine Brigade near Natchez on a captured steamer. Two of Ellet’s vessels had already run the batteries, causing great alarm along the Mississippi from Vicksburg to the Red River. > \[Colonel Ellet reported having attacked a Confederate battery on the Red River two days earlier with one of his boats, the De Soto. Running aground, he had to abandon the vessel, but claimed to have set her on fire and blown her up. Twenty of his men were captured, but with the rest he escaped on a small captured steamer, the New Era, succeeded in passing the batteries at Grand Gulf, and reached the vicinity of Vicksburg. The Indianola stayed near the mouth of the Red River for several days, then started up the Mississippi. The Confederates soon raised and repaired the Queen of the West. > One of Colonel Ellet’s vessels had run the blockade on February 2 and was later sunk in the Red River. With this vessel, the ram Webb (which they already had in the Red River), and two other steamers, they pursued the Indianola. Burdened by coal barges, she could barely make headway against the Mississippi’s current. The Confederate fleet overtook her just above Grand Gulf and attacked her after dark on February 24. The Indianola was stronger in armament than all her pursuers and likely could have destroyed or driven them off, but for her handicap. As it was, she fought for an hour and a half in the dark but was rammed repeatedly (seven or eight times), disabled, and left sinking. The crew threw her armament overboard and ran her ashore. Officers and crew then surrendered.  I had sent McClernand with his corps of four divisions on March 29th, via Richmond, Louisiana, to New Carthage, hoping he might capture Grand Gulf before the rest of the troops arrived; but the roads were in poor condition, barely above water. Several miles from New Carthage, the levee to Bayou Vidal was broken in multiple places, flooding the roads for about two miles. Boats were gathered from the nearby bayous, and some were built on site from whatever materials could be found, to carry the troops across the flooded stretch. By April 6th, McClernand had reached New Carthage with one division and its artillery, the latter ferried through the woods using these boats. On April 17th, I visited New Carthage myself, and saw that moving troops in this way was so slow that a better method was needed. The water was going down, and in a few days there wouldn’t be enough depth for boats; the land, however, would not be dry enough for marching. McClernand had already found a new route from Smith’s plantation—where the breach had occurred—to Perkins’ plantation, eight to twelve miles below New Carthage. This increased the march from Milliken’s Bend from twenty-seven to almost forty miles. Four bridges had to be built across bayous, two of them each over six hundred feet long—about two thousand feet of bridging in total. As the river fell, the current in these bayous became very swift, making it even harder to build and secure the bridges; but the ingenuity of the “Yankee soldier” rose to the challenge. The bridges were built using available materials and were sturdy enough that, in moving the entire army—artillery, cavalry, and wagon trains—there was only a single mishap: one siege gun (a thirty-two pounder) was lost. If I recall correctly, this gun broke through the only pontoon bridge we used during our entire march across the peninsula. All these bridges were built by McClernand’s command, supervised by Lieutenant Hains of the Engineer Corps. I returned to Milliken’s Bend on either the 18th or 19th and, on the 20th, issued the following final order for the movement of troops: > HEADQUARTERS DEPARTMENT OF THE TENNESSEE, > MILLIKEN’S BEND, LOUISIANA, > April 20, 1863. > > Special Orders, No. 110. > > \*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\* > > VIII. The following orders are published for the information and guidance of the “Army in the Field,” in its current movement to secure a foothold on the east bank of the Mississippi River, from which Vicksburg can be approached by practicable roads. > > First.—The Thirteenth Army Corps, under Major-General John A. McClernand, will form the right wing. > > Second.—The Fifteenth Army Corps, under Major-General W. T. Sherman, will form the left wing. > > Third.—The Seventeenth Army Corps, under Major-General James B. McPherson, will form the center. > > Fourth.—The order of march to New Carthage will go from right to left. > > Fifth.—Reserves will be created by divisions from each army corps, or an entire army corps will be held as a reserve, as needed. When the reserve is formed by divisions, each division will remain under the command of its respective corps commander, unless otherwise specially ordered in an emergency. > > Sixth.—Troops will be required to camp in the open until proper facilities can be provided for transporting camp equipment. > > Seventh.—During the current movement, each company is allowed one tent to protect rations from rain; each regimental headquarters, brigade headquarters, and division headquarters is allowed one wall tent each; corps commanders, who must care for the records and paperwork of their commands, are allowed to take only the tents absolutely necessary, not to exceed the numbers authorized by General Orders No. 160, A. G. O., series of 1862. > > Eighth.—All the teams of the three army corps, under the immediate control of their respective quartermasters, will together form a train to carry supplies, ordnance, and authorized camp equipment for the army. > > Ninth.—As soon as the Thirteenth Army Corps advances, the Seventeenth Army Corps will move up to take its place, followed in turn by the Fifteenth Army Corps in the same manner. > > Tenth.—Each corps commander will assign two regiments from their corps to guard the lines from Richmond to New Carthage. > > Eleventh.—General hospitals will be set up by the medical director between Duckport and Milliken’s Bend. All sick and disabled soldiers will stay in these hospitals. Hospital staff will report when soldiers are ready for duty. Each corps commander will designate a capable officer to remain behind and take command of the recovering soldiers of their corps; such officers will organize these men into squads and companies, regardless of their original regiment; and if there aren’t any convalescent commissioned officers available, they may appoint non-commissioned officers or privates. This organized force will defend the line from Duckport to Milliken’s Bend. They will provide all guards and details needed for the hospitals and, with the help of contrabands at the camps, will provide details for loading and unloading boats. > > Twelfth.—The movement of troops from Milliken’s Bend to New Carthage will allow for the transport of ten days’ supply of rations and half the usual allotment of ordnance, as required by previous orders. > > Thirteenth.—Commanders are ordered and instructed to collect all beef cattle, corn, and other necessary supplies along the line of march; but any unnecessary destruction of property, taking of items not useful for military purposes, insulting civilians, entering and searching homes without orders from division commanders, are strictly forbidden. All such misconduct must be promptly punished. > Fourteenth.—Brigadier-General J. C. Sullivan is appointed to command all forces assigned to protect the line from here to New Carthage. His particular attention is directed to General Orders, No. 69, from the Adjutant-General’s Office, Washington, dated March 20, 1863. > > By order of > MAJOR-GENERAL U. S. GRANT. McClernand was already below on the Mississippi. Two of McPherson’s divisions were sent out immediately. The third had not yet arrived from Lake Providence; it was on its way to Milliken’s Bend and would follow upon arrival. Sherman was to follow McPherson. Two of his divisions were at Duckport and Young’s Point, and the third, under Steele, was under orders to return from Greenville, Mississippi, where it had been sent to drive out a Confederate battery that had been harassing our transports. It had now become clear that the army could not be supplied by a wagon train over the single, narrow, and nearly impassable road between Milliken’s Bend and Perkins’ plantation. As a result, six more steamers were reinforced for protection as before, to run past the batteries, and loaded with supplies. They took twelve barges in tow, also loaded with rations. On the night of April 22nd, they attempted the run; five made it through, though some were damaged, while one was sunk. About half of the barges made it through with their essential cargo. When the idea to run the blockade at Vicksburg with river steamers was first suggested, only two captains or masters were willing to go with their vessels, and just one crew volunteered. So, volunteers were requested from the army—soldiers with any experience navigating the western rivers. Enough captains, pilots, mates, engineers, and deckhands stepped forward to crew five times the number of vessels being sent through this dangerous mission. Most volunteers came from Logan’s division, which generally consisted of men from southern Illinois and Missouri. All but two of the steamers were commanded by army volunteers, and all but one were fully crewed by them. As in every case during the war, I found volunteers in the ranks and among the officers for any request for help, whether mechanical or professional. Colonel W. S. Oliver served as master of transportation for this operation by special assignment. ## CHAPTER XXXIII. ### ATTACK ON GRAND GULF—OPERATIONS BELOW VICKSBURG. On the 24th, my headquarters were with the advance at Perkins’ plantation. Reconnaissances were conducted in boats to determine whether there was high ground on the east bank of the river where we might land above Grand Gulf, but none was found suitable. Consequently, the troops were ordered to march to Hard Times, twenty-two miles farther down the river and nearly opposite Grand Gulf. The loss of two steamers and six barges had reduced our transportation capacity so that only 10,000 men could be moved by water at a time. Some of the steamers that had made it below were damaged in their machinery and could serve only as barges, towed by those less severely damaged. All the troops, therefore, except for those that could be transported in a single trip, had to proceed by marching. The road ran west of Lake St. Joseph. Three large bayous needed to be crossed, and these were quickly bridged in the same manner as those previously encountered. On the 27th, McClernand’s corps was assembled at Hard Times, with McPherson’s corps following closely behind. I had decided to attempt a landing on the east side of the river as soon as possible. Accordingly, on the morning of the 29th, McClernand was ordered to embark as many troops from his corps as our transports and barges could carry—about 10,000 men in total. The plan was for the navy to silence the guns at Grand Gulf, while as many men as possible would be ready to disembark quickly under the cover of naval fire and storm the works. The following order was issued: > PERKINS PLANTATION, LA., > April 27, 1863. > > MAJOR-GENERAL J. A. MCCLERNAND, > Commanding 13th A. C. > > Begin immediately boarding your corps, or as much of it as transportation allows. Load the artillery and every item permitted under orders limiting baggage, except the men, and keep them in readiness, with their places assigned, to move at a moment’s notice. > > Send all your troops, except those ordered to remain behind, to a point nearly opposite Grand Gulf, where, as specified by special orders issued today, General McPherson is to send one division. > > The plan of attack is for the navy to attack and silence all the batteries overlooking the river. Your corps will be on the river, ready to descend and land on the nearest suitable ground below the first promontory visible as you travel downstream. Once ashore, instruct each commander, in advance, to arrange his men as best the ground allows, taking control of the most commanding positions, but avoid separating your command to the point where it cannot support itself. The first goal is to secure a foothold where our troops can hold out until preparations are made and sufficient troops assembled to advance further. > > Admiral Porter has offered to place his boats in the previously discussed positions and, once the enemy’s guns are silenced, to bring over any troops that are below the city. > > It is possible the enemy might occupy positions back from the city, out of reach of the gunboats, making it preferable to run past Grand Gulf and land at Rodney. If this turns out to be the case, a signal will be arranged and you informed, at which point the transports should proceed accordingly. Or, it may be necessary for the boats to pass but not the men. In that situation, the transports must return to allow the men to land and march by forced marches to below Grand Gulf, re-embark quickly, and proceed to the new location. This will require three signals: one for the transports to proceed and disembark the troops at Grand Gulf; one to allow the transports to pass by without the troops; the last for the transports to pass by with the troops aboard. > > Should the men need to march, all baggage and artillery will be left to run the blockade. > > Unless already directed, instruct your men to keep three days’ rations in their haversacks, not to be used until a movement begins. > > U. S. GRANT, > Major-General. At 8 o’clock A.M., on the 29th, Porter launched the attack with all available forces—eight gunboats. For nearly five and a half hours the engagement continued, but not a single enemy gun was silenced. Throughout this period, McClernand’s 10,000 men remained crowded together on the transports, waiting for the signal to land. I was on a tug where I could observe the effects of the battle on both sides, within range of the enemy’s fire; however, a small, unarmed tug was unlikely to draw the attention of the batteries while they were under attack themselves. Around half-past one, the fleet withdrew, realizing further effort was useless. The enemy stopped firing as soon as we pulled back. I immediately signaled Admiral Porter and went aboard his ship. In this engagement, the navy suffered eighteen killed and fifty-six wounded, many from the flagship and most from a single shell that struck the ship’s side and exploded between decks where the crew was working the guns. The scene of severely wounded and dying men as I boarded the ship was horrifying. Grand Gulf sits on a high bluff, with the river running directly at its base. It is as defensible from the front as Vicksburg and, at that time, would have been just as impossible to take by frontal assault. I therefore asked Porter to run his fleet past the batteries that night and manage the transports, all of which would be needed downstream. A long tongue of land from the Louisiana side stretches toward Grand Gulf, formed by the river running nearly east from about three miles above, then almost in the opposite direction for a similar distance below. The land was too low and wet for marching an army across, except for a levee. I had explored this earlier, as well as the east bank below, to see if a possible landing existed north of Rodney. It was determined that the top of the levee provided a good marching route. Porter, as was always his way, not only agreed with the plan but volunteered his entire fleet as transports. I had planned to request this, but he anticipated me. At dusk, once out of the enemy’s sight at Grand Gulf, McClernand disembarked his command on the west bank. The navy and transports ran the batteries successfully. The troops marched across the point of land under cover of darkness, unobserved. By daylight, the enemy saw our entire fleet—ironclads, gunboats, steamers, and barges—moving quietly three miles below them, packed with Union troops. When the troops landed on the evening of the 29th, it was anticipated that we might have to go as far as Rodney, about nine miles farther, to find a landing. But that night, a Black man came to us and informed me that a good landing was available at Bruinsburg, a few miles above Rodney, from which a good road led to Port Gibson, about twelve miles inland. His information proved accurate, and our landing was accomplished without opposition. Sherman had not yet left his position above Vicksburg. On the morning of the 27th, I ordered him to create a diversion by moving his corps up the Yazoo and threatening an attack on Haines’ Bluff.  My goal was to force Pemberton to keep as many troops near Vicksburg as possible, until I could secure a good foothold on high ground east of the river. The move was highly successful and, as we later learned, caused considerable confusion around Vicksburg and uncertainty about our real intentions. Sherman made his move on the day of our attack on Grand Gulf, the 29th, with ten regiments from his command and eight gunboats that Porter had left above Vicksburg. He disembarked his troops and appeared to make every preparation to attack the enemy while the navy bombarded the main forts at Haines’ Bluff. This maneuver was accomplished without a single casualty in either the army or navy. On the first of May, Sherman received orders from me (sent from Hard Times on the evening of April 29th) to withdraw from Haines’ Bluff and follow McPherson with two divisions as quickly as possible. I had set up a supply depot at Perkins’ plantation. Now that all our gunboats were below Grand Gulf, it was possible the enemy might outfit boats in the Big Black with makeshift armament to try and destroy these supplies. McPherson was at Hard Times with part of his corps, and the depot was guarded by some of his men. On the night of the 29th, I instructed him to arm one of the transports with artillery and send it up to Perkins’ plantation as a guard, and to move the siege guns we had brought there and put them in position. The crossing below Grand Gulf took place at De Shroon’s, Louisiana, six miles above Bruinsburg, Mississippi. Early on the morning of April 30th, McClernand’s corps and one division of McPherson’s corps were quickly landed. When this was accomplished, I felt a relief rarely matched before or since. Vicksburg was not yet taken, nor were its defenders discouraged by any of our previous moves. Still, I was now in enemy territory, with a vast river and the stronghold of Vicksburg between me and my base of supplies. But I was on dry ground, on the same side of the river as the enemy. All the campaigns, labor, hardship, and exposure since the previous December had been aimed at achieving this one objective. I had with me the 13th corps, commanded by General McClernand, and two brigades of Logan’s division of the 17th corps, commanded by General McPherson—in total, no more than twenty thousand men to begin the campaign. These were soon reinforced by the last brigade of Logan’s division and Crocker’s division of the 17th corps. On May 7th, I was further reinforced by Sherman with two divisions from his 15th corps. My total force was then about thirty-three thousand men. The enemy occupied Grand Gulf, Haines’ Bluff, and Jackson with nearly sixty thousand men. Jackson is fifty miles east of Vicksburg and connected to it by railroad. My first mission was to capture Grand Gulf and use it as a base. Bruinsburg is two miles from high ground. The river bottom there is higher than most of the low land in the Mississippi Valley, and a good road leads up to the bluff. It was only natural to expect the Grand Gulf garrison would come out to meet us and try to prevent us from reaching this solid base. Bayou Pierre enters the Mississippi just above Bruinsburg and, since it's a navigable stream and was high at the time, the enemy had to go via Port Gibson—the nearest bridge—to intercept us. This doubled the distance from Grand Gulf to the high ground behind Bruinsburg. No time could be lost in gaining this foothold. Our transportation was insufficient to move the entire army at once, or even within two trips; still, by April 30th and early evening, the 13th corps and one division of the 17th were landed. McClernand was advanced as soon as ammunition and two days' rations (to last five days) could be issued to his men. The bluffs were reached an hour before sunset, and McClernand was pushed forward, hoping to reach Port Gibson and secure the bridge over Bayou Pierre before the enemy could. Crossing a stream in the presence of the enemy is always a challenge. Port Gibson, too, is the junction of roads leading to Grand Gulf, Vicksburg, and Jackson. McClernand’s advance met the enemy about five miles west of Port Gibson at Thompson’s plantation. There was some firing during the night, but nothing that rose to the level of a battle until daylight. The enemy had taken up a strong natural position with most of the Grand Gulf garrison, numbering about seven or eight thousand men under General Bowen. His hope was to hold me back until reinforcements under Loring could arrive from Vicksburg, but Loring did not come in time to offer much help south of Port Gibson. Two brigades from McPherson’s corps followed McClernand as quickly as rations and ammunition could be issued, and were ready to join the battle as soon as the 13th corps could clear the way. The country in this part of Mississippi is almost as if it stood on edge, with the roads running along the ridges except where they occasionally cross from one ridge to another. Where there are no clearings, the hill slopes are covered with heavy timber and undergrowth, and the ravines filled with vines and canebrakes—almost impossible to penetrate. This makes it easy for a smaller force to delay, if not stop, a much larger one. Near where Bowen chose to defend, the road to Port Gibson splits, following two ridges that are only a mile or two apart at their widest. These roads rejoin just outside the town. This made it necessary for McClernand to divide his force. Not only were they divided, but separated by a deep ravine like I previously described. One flank could only reinforce the other by marching all the way back to the road junction. McClernand placed the divisions of Hovey, Carr, and A. J. Smith on the right-hand branch and Osterhaus on the left. I was on the field by ten A.M. and personally inspected both flanks. On the right, the enemy, while not being driven back, at least was not pushing our advance back. On the left, however, Osterhaus was not doing as well—he had been repulsed with some losses. As soon as McClernand's troops could clear the road, I ordered up McPherson, who was just behind with two brigades of Logan’s division. Around noon, I instructed him to send one brigade (General John E. Smith’s was chosen) to support Osterhaus and to move to the left and flank the enemy out of position. This required the brigade to cross a deep ravine to a third ridge, and when Smith’s troops were well through the ravine, Osterhaus was directed to renew his frontal attack. It succeeded, with little loss. The enemy’s right retreated completely, and their left followed before sunset. While things were happening on our left, McClernand—who was on the right—with his flank, sent me repeated requests for reinforcements, even though his force was not under heavy pressure. Having been on the ground, I knew the terrain did not allow him to use all the men he had. We pursued our victory until nightfall stopped us about two miles from Port Gibson; then the troops camped for the night. ## CHAPTER XXXIV. ### CAPTURE OF PORT GIBSON—GRIERSON’S RAID—OCCUPATION OF GRAND GULF—MOVEMENT UP THE BIG BLACK—BATTLE OF RAYMOND. We started the next morning for Port Gibson as soon as there was enough light to see the road. We quickly entered the town, and I was pleased to find that the enemy had not stayed to contest our crossing any further at the bridge, which he had burned. The troops immediately began building a bridge across the South Fork of the Bayou Pierre. At this time, the water was high and the current swift. What amounted to a raft bridge was quickly built from materials gathered from wooden buildings, stables, fences, and so on, and it was strong enough to carry the entire army across safely. Colonel J. H. Wilson, a member of my staff, planned and supervised the construction of this bridge, going into the water and working as hard as anyone else. Officers and men in general joined in this work. When the bridge was finished, the army crossed and marched eight miles further to the North Fork that same day. One brigade from Logan’s division was sent down the stream to keep a rebel battery and its infantry supports occupied—their purpose had been to prevent us from repairing the burned railroad bridge. Two more of Logan’s brigades were sent up the bayou to find a crossing and to reach the North Fork to repair the bridge there. The enemy soon withdrew when he saw we were building a bridge elsewhere. Before leaving Port Gibson we were reinforced by Crocker’s division from McPherson’s corps, which had crossed the Mississippi at Bruinsburg and had come straight through except for a short stop to collect two days’ rations. McPherson still had one division west of the Mississippi River, guarding the road from Milliken’s Bend to below the river until Sherman’s command could arrive and relieve them. When leaving Bruinsburg for the front, I left my son Frederick, who had joined me a few weeks earlier, sleeping on one of the gunboats, hoping to leave without him until after Grand Gulf had been taken. Once he awoke and realized I had left, he followed the sounds of the fighting at Thompson’s Hill—known as the Battle of Port Gibson—and made his way to me. He didn’t have a horse to ride at the time, and I had no way to provide him with food. He managed as best he could until we reached Grand Gulf. Mr. C. A. Dana, then an officer of the War Department, accompanied me during the Vicksburg campaign and part of the siege. He was in the same situation as Fred concerning transportation and meals. The first I remember seeing either of them after the battle, they were mounted on two huge old horses, gray with age, equipped with worn-out saddles and bridles. A few days later, our supply trains arrived, and after that, we were all properly equipped. My son stayed with me throughout the campaign and siege, causing no worry to either me or his mother at home. He took care of himself and was present at every battle in the campaign. His age—just shy of thirteen—allowed him to absorb everything he saw and remember it far better than he could have at a more mature age. When the movement from Bruinsburg began, we had no wagon train. The train still west of the Mississippi was making its way, properly escorted, by a circuitous route from Milliken’s Bend to Hard Times, seventy or more miles below, and it didn’t reach us until several days after the battle of Port Gibson. My own horses, the headquarters’ transportation, my servants, mess chest, and everything except what I wore were with this train. General A. J. Smith happened to have an extra horse at Bruinsburg, which I borrowed; its saddle was just a tree with stirrups, no padding. I had nothing else to ride for nearly a week. Transportation for ammunition was essential. Provisions could be taken from the local countryside, but ammunition carried by each man is quickly used up in heavy fighting. Therefore, upon landing, I ordered that all vehicles and draft animals—horses, mules, or oxen—be gathered from the area and loaded as much as possible with ammunition. Quite an odd train was assembled on the 30th. In this caravan were fine carriages, heaped nearly to the top with ammo boxes thrown in randomly, pulled by mules in plough harness, with straw collars and rope lines; long wagons built for hauling cotton bales, drawn by oxen; in short, any transport usually found on a plantation, used for either work or leisure. Creating formal provision returns was suspended for now. No procedure or paperwork was allowed to slow us down until we had secured a position and could take the time for proper procedures. It was at Port Gibson that I first heard—through a Southern newspaper—of the complete success of Colonel Grierson, who was making a raid through central Mississippi. He had set out from La Grange on April 17th with three regiments totaling about 1,700 men. On the 21st, he detached Colonel Hatch with one regiment to destroy the railroad between Columbus and Macon, then return to La Grange. Hatch had a hard fight with the enemy at Columbus and retreated along the railroad, destroying it at Okalona and Tupelo, and reached La Grange on April 26th. Grierson continued with about 1,000 men, damaging the Vicksburg & Meridian Railroad and the New Orleans & Jackson Railroad, arriving at Baton Rouge on May 2nd. The raid was highly significant, as Grierson had drawn the enemy’s attention away from our main movement against Vicksburg. On the night of May 2nd, the bridge over the North Fork was repaired, and the troops began crossing at 5 a.m. Before the leading brigade was all the way over, it was fired on by the enemy, who held a commanding position, but they were soon chased off. Clearly, the enemy was covering a retreat from Grand Gulf to Vicksburg. Every strong position from this (Grindstone) crossing to Hankinson’s Ferry over the Big Black was occupied by the retreating enemy to delay our advance. McPherson, however, reached Hankinson’s Ferry before nightfall, seized the ferry boat, and sent part of his command across and several miles north along the Vicksburg road. When the junction of the road to Vicksburg and the road from Grand Gulf to Raymond and Jackson was reached, Logan and his division were turned left towards Grand Gulf. I went with him a short distance from that junction. McPherson encountered the largest enemy force yet since Port Gibson, and had a skirmish almost amounting to a battle; but the road Logan had taken allowed him to come up on the enemy’s right flank, which soon forced the enemy to retreat. McPherson was ordered to hold Hankinson’s Ferry and the road back to Willow Springs with one division. McClernand, now in the rear, was to share this duty and also guard the line farther down the bayou. I did not want to risk having enemies lurking behind us. On the road from the junction to Grand Gulf, where the road meets the one from Vicksburg to the same place six or seven miles out, I found out that the last of the enemy had already retreated, heading for Vicksburg. I left Logan to make proper arrangements for his men overnight, while I rode into Grand Gulf with an escort of about twenty cavalry. Admiral Porter and his fleet had already arrived. The enemy had abandoned his heavy guns and evacuated the place. When I got to Grand Gulf on May 3rd, I had not been with my baggage since April 27th and, as a result, had not changed underclothes, had no proper meal except what I could pick up at other headquarters occasionally, and no tent for shelter. The first thing I did was take a bath, borrow clean underclothes from one of the naval officers, and have a good meal on the flagship. Then I wrote letters to the general-in-chief informing him of our situation, sent dispatches to be telegraphed from Cairo, issued orders to General Sullivan commanding above Vicksburg, and gave orders to all my corps commanders. By around midnight, I had finished my work and started for Hankinson’s Ferry, arriving there before daylight. While at Grand Gulf, I received word from Banks, who was on the Red River, saying he could not be at Port Hudson before May 10th and then only with 15,000 men. Up to this time, I had planned to secure Grand Gulf as a supply base, detach McClernand’s corps to join Banks, and work together to capture Port Hudson. Banks’s news forced me to adopt a different plan of campaign. Waiting for his cooperation would have delayed us at least a month. His reinforcements would amount to fewer than ten thousand men, after accounting for losses and the need to guard the river at key points for over three hundred miles. Meanwhile, the enemy would have had time to strengthen his position and get more reinforcements than Banks could provide. Therefore, I decided to move independently of Banks, cut loose from my base, destroy the Confederate forces behind Vicksburg, and invest or capture the city. Grand Gulf was thus abandoned as a base, and the authorities in Washington were notified. I knew Halleck’s cautious nature would likely make him disapprove of this plan, but it was the only way to have any chance of success. By the time I could hear back from Washington, it would be too late for anyone to interfere until my plan had either succeeded or failed. Even Sherman—who would later ignore the need for supply bases larger than what he could obtain by living off the land as he marched through four Confederate States with an army more than twice the size of mine—wrote me from Hankinson’s Ferry, telling me it would be impossible to supply the army over a single road. He urged me to “stop all troops till your army is partially supplied with wagons, and then act as quick as possible; for this road will be jammed, as sure as life.” I replied: “I do not count on the possibility of supplying the army with full rations from Grand Gulf. I know it will be impossible unless more roads are built. My plan is to bring up what hard bread, coffee, and salt we can, and get the rest from the country.” We had marched from Bruinsburg with about two days’ worth of rations, and received no more from our own supplies for several days; meanwhile, we found plenty in the country. Delay would have meant letting the enemy reinforce and fortify. McClernand’s and McPherson’s commands were kept basically where they were on the night of the 2nd, waiting for enough supplies to issue three days’ rations per man. Beef, mutton, poultry, and forage were easily found; we got quite a bit of bacon and molasses from the surrounding area, but there was not enough bread and coffee for everyone. However, every plantation had a stone corn mill run by mules for grinding corn for the owners and their slaves. All of these mills worked day and night while we stopped, and even while we were marching, everywhere troops were stationed. Still, the corn meal went to the troops nearest by, meaning most of the men had to go without bread until a new base could be set up on the Yazoo above Vicksburg. While the troops waited for food supplies, I ordered McClernand and McPherson to conduct reconnaissance, to make the enemy think we planned to cross the Big Black and attack Vicksburg at once. On the 6th, Sherman arrived at Grand Gulf and crossed his command that night and the following day. Three days’ rations had come up from Grand Gulf for the advance troops and were issued. Orders were given for a forward movement the next day. Sherman was instructed to call up Blair, who had been left to guard the road from Milliken’s Bend to Hard Times with two brigades. The quartermaster at Young’s Point was told to send 200 wagons with Blair, and the commissary was to fill them with hard bread, coffee, sugar, salt, and 100,000 pounds of salt meat. On the 3rd, Hurlbut, who had been left at Memphis, was ordered to send four regiments from his command to Milliken’s Bend to relieve Blair’s division, and on the 5th, he was ordered to send Lauman’s division in addition; the latter was to join the army in the field. The four regiments were to be selected from troops stationed near the river so there would be no delay. During the night of the 6th, McPherson pulled his troops north of the Big Black and set out early on the road to Jackson, via Rocky Springs, Utica, and Raymond. That night, both McPherson and McClernand were at Rocky Springs, ten miles from Hankinson’s Ferry. McPherson stayed there through the 8th, while McClernand moved to Big Sandy and Sherman marched from Grand Gulf to Hankinson’s Ferry. On the 9th, McPherson advanced to a point a few miles west of Utica; McClernand and Sherman stayed where they were. On the 10th, McPherson moved to Utica, Sherman to Big Sandy; McClernand remained at Big Sandy. On the 11th, McClernand was at Five Mile Creek; Sherman at Auburn; McPherson five miles ahead of Utica. On May 12th, McClernand was at Fourteen Mile Creek; Sherman at Fourteen Mile Creek; McPherson at Raymond after a battle. After McPherson crossed the Big Black at Hankinson’s Ferry, Vicksburg could have been approached and besieged from the south side. However, it is unlikely that Pemberton would have allowed a close siege. The broken terrain would have enabled him to defend a strong line from the river south of the city to the Big Black, keeping control of the railroad back to that point. My plan, therefore, was to reach the railroad east of Vicksburg and approach from that direction. Accordingly, McPherson’s troops that had crossed the Big Black were withdrawn and the movement east toward Jackson began. As stated before, the countryside is very rugged and the roads generally run along the hilltops. The troops were moved one (sometimes two) corps at a time to reach designated points running parallel to the railroad, only six to ten miles from it. McClernand’s corps kept its left flank on the Big Black, guarding all crossings. Fourteen Mile Creek, which runs roughly parallel to the railroad, was reached and crossed by McClernand and Sherman with slight losses. McPherson was positioned to the right of Sherman, extending toward Raymond. The cavalry was used in this advance to scout roads, cover our movement, and to find the most practical routes between commands so they could support each other if attacked. During this operation, I estimated Pemberton’s mobile force at Vicksburg to be about eighteen thousand men, with smaller forces at Haines’ Bluff and Jackson. It would not be possible for Pemberton to attack me with all his troops in one place, so I decided to throw my army between his forces and defeat them separately. This plan succeeded, but I later found I had underestimated Pemberton’s strength. Up to this point, our movements had faced little serious opposition. Our line was now nearly parallel with the Jackson and Vicksburg railroad, about seven miles south of it. The right was at Raymond, eighteen miles from Jackson, under McPherson’s command; Sherman was in the center on Fourteen Mile Creek, his advance having crossed it; McClernand was to the left, also on Fourteen Mile Creek, with his advance across and his pickets within two miles of Edwards Station, where the enemy had gathered a sizable force and clearly expected us to attack. McClernand’s left was on the Big Black. During all these movements, the left had closely followed the Big Black, and all the ferries had been guarded to prevent the enemy from sending a force into our rear. McPherson encountered the enemy, five thousand strong with two batteries under General Gregg, about two miles outside Raymond. This occurred around 2 P.M. Logan was in the lead with one of his brigades. He deployed and moved up to engage the enemy. McPherson ordered the road behind to be cleared of wagons and instructed the rest of Logan’s division, along with Crocker’s—which was even farther back—to hurry forward. The order was carried out quickly. Logan got his division into position for an assault before Crocker could arrive and attacked vigorously, capturing the enemy’s position easily and sending Gregg fleeing from the field, not to appear against us again until we met at Jackson. In this battle, McPherson lost 66 killed, 339 wounded, and 37 missing—nearly all from Logan’s division. The enemy’s losses were 100 killed, 305 wounded, and 415 taken prisoner. I considered both Logan and Crocker to be as capable as any division commanders in or out of the army, and both deserving of much higher command. However, Crocker was suffering from consumption when he volunteered. His illness never kept him off duty when a battle was expected, as long as he could remain on his feet. He died not long after the close of the war. ## CHAPTER XXXV. ### MOVEMENT AGAINST JACKSON—FALL OF JACKSON—INTERCEPTING THE ENEMY—BATTLE OF CHAMPION’S HILL. When news of McPherson’s victory at Raymond reached me around sundown, I was with Sherman. I immediately decided to turn the entire column toward Jackson and capture it without delay. Pemberton was now on my left, with, as I then believed, about 18,000 men; in reality, as I later learned, nearly 50,000. A force was also gathering on my right, at Jackson, the junction where all the railroads leading to Vicksburg met. All the enemy’s reinforcements and supplies would have to come through that point. Since I ultimately intended to besiege Vicksburg, I first needed to cut off all potential aid. So, I resolved to move quickly on Jackson, destroy or drive off any enemy in that direction, and then turn against Pemberton. However, by moving on Jackson, I was exposing my own supply line. I finally decided to abandon my communications entirely and move my whole force eastward, cutting loose from my base. I no longer had concerns about my communications, and if I moved rapidly enough, I could turn upon Pemberton before he could strike my rear. Accordingly, all previous orders issued during the day for movements on the 13th were replaced with new ones. McPherson was ordered to move at daybreak toward Clinton, ten miles from Jackson; Sherman was informed of my intent to capture Jackson and then work westward from there. He was commanded to start at four in the morning and march to Raymond. McClernand was ordered to march with three divisions via Dillon’s to Raymond, leaving one division to guard the crossing of the Big Black. On the 10th I received a letter from Banks, on the Red River, requesting reinforcements. Porter had gone to assist him with part of his fleet on the 3rd, and I now wrote to Banks explaining my position and declining to send any troops. I saw side operations as a waste of time and resources as long as the enemy held Port Hudson and Vicksburg. General Joseph E. Johnston arrived at Jackson on the night of the 13th from Tennessee, and immediately took command of all Confederate troops in Mississippi. I knew he was expecting reinforcements from the south and east. On the 6th, I had written to General Halleck: “Information from the other side leads me to believe the enemy are bringing forces from Tullahoma.” Up to this stage, my troops had been kept at supporting distances from each other, as much as the terrain allowed. Reconnaissances were constantly made from each corps to help them become familiar with the most practical routes to each other, in case a union became necessary. McPherson reached Clinton with the advance early on the 13th and immediately began destroying the railroad. Sherman’s advance reached Raymond before the last of McPherson’s troops had left the town. McClernand skillfully withdrew from the enemy front at Edward’s station without loss, reaching his position for the night in good order. On the night of the 13th, McPherson was ordered to march at dawn toward Jackson, only fifteen miles away. Sherman was given the same order, but he was to use the direct road from Raymond to Jackson, which lies south of McPherson’s route and does not come within two miles of it where it crosses the city’s line of fortifications. McClernand was ordered to move one division of his command to Clinton, another division a few miles past Mississippi Springs following Sherman’s route, and a third to Raymond. He was also told to send his four siege guns with the troops moving via Mississippi Springs. McClernand’s position was advantageous under any scenario. With one division at Clinton, he could quickly reinforce McPherson at Jackson if needed; the division beyond Mississippi Springs was equally ready to reinforce Sherman; the one at Raymond could take either road. He had two additional divisions further back (now that Blair had arrived) that could reach Jackson within a day. If this last command was not needed at Jackson, they were already a day’s march closer to Vicksburg on three different roads leading to that city. My most important concern, however, was to have a force facing Pemberton should he attempt to strike my rear. I fully expected this; as will be shown later, Johnston had instructed him to make such a move. I notified General Halleck that I would attack the state capital on the 14th. A courier carried the message to Grand Gulf through unprotected territory.  Sherman and McPherson communicated during the night and planned to arrive at Jackson at about the same time. It poured rain during the night of the 13th and the early part of the 14th. The roads were terrible, and on some stretches along Sherman’s route, where the land was low, the water was more than a foot deep. Still, the troops never complained. By nine o’clock, Crocker, of McPherson’s corps, who was now in the lead, encountered enemy pickets and quickly drove them back to their main force. These troops were outside the fortifications, in a strong position, and proved to be the same units driven from Raymond. Johnston had been reinforced overnight by regiments from Georgia and South Carolina, bringing his force to eleven thousand men, and he was still expecting more. Sherman also met Confederate pickets some distance from the town, but quickly pushed them inside. He now stood on the south and southwest of Jackson, confronting the Confederates behind their breastworks, while McPherson’s right was nearly two miles north, occupying a line that ran north and south across the Vicksburg railroad. Artillery was brought forward, and reconnaissance was carried out in preparation for an assault. McPherson brought up Logan’s division while deploying Crocker’s troops for the attack. Sherman made similar arrangements on the right. By eleven A.M., both were ready to attack. Crocker advanced his division, led by a strong line of skirmishers. These troops immediately engaged the enemy’s advance and drove them back to their main force, then returned to their regiment and the whole division charged, completely routing the enemy and forcing them into their main line. This stand by the enemy occurred more than two miles outside their primary fortifications. McPherson advanced his command up to gun range of the enemy’s works, then paused to bring his troops into line and reconnoiter before the next move. It was now around noon. While this was happening, Sherman faced a Confederate battery that swept the road he was advancing on—the Mississippi Springs road—and commanded a bridge spanning a stream he had to cross. By flanking right and left, the stream was forced, and the enemy was swiftly driven back into the main line. This maneuver brought our entire line in front of the enemy’s works, which extended continuously on the north, west, and south sides from the Pearl River north of the city to the river’s southern part. I was with Sherman. We faced a force strong enough to hold us back. The situation did not justify an assault at our position. I had directed Sherman to send a force to the right and reconnoiter as far as the Pearl River. This force—Tuttle’s division—did not return, so I rode to the right with my staff and soon discovered the enemy had abandoned that part of the line. Tuttle’s movement, or McPherson’s pressure, had likely led Johnston to retreat, leaving only the gunners at their posts to delay us while he withdrew. Tuttle had noticed this, and, passing through the lines without resistance, came up behind the artillerymen facing Sherman and captured them along with ten guns. I rode directly to the State House, where Sherman soon joined me. Around the same time, McPherson noticed the enemy leaving and sent Crocker forward, who was so close that the enemy could neither move nor destroy their guns. He captured seven guns and, continuing on, raised the national flag over the rebel capital of Mississippi. Stevenson’s brigade was dispatched to cut off the rebel retreat, but arrived either too late or moved too slowly. Our losses in this engagement were: McPherson, 37 killed, 228 wounded; Sherman, 4 killed and 21 wounded or missing. The enemy lost 845 killed, wounded, or captured. Seventeen guns were captured, and the enemy destroyed their storehouses by fire, burning a large quantity of commissary supplies. That same day, Blair reached New Auburn and joined McClernand’s 4th division. He brought with him two hundred wagons loaded with rations, the only commissary supplies received during the entire campaign. That night I slept in the room that Johnston was said to have occupied the previous night. Around four in the afternoon, I summoned the corps commanders and gave instructions for positioning their troops. Sherman was to remain in Jackson until he had destroyed it as a railroad center and manufacturing city of military supplies. He accomplished the task thoroughly. Sherman and I visited a factory which had continued working despite the battle and the entry of Union troops. Our presence seemed to attract no attention from the manager or the workers, most of whom were women. We watched for a while as tent cloth rolled off the looms, each bolt woven with “C. S. A.” There was an enormous amount of cotton in bales outside. Finally, I told Sherman I thought they had done enough work. The workers were told they could leave and take whatever cloth they could carry. Within minutes, both the cotton and the factory were in flames. The owner later went to Washington while I was President to seek compensation for the property, claiming it was private. He asked me for a statement confirming that his property had been destroyed by National troops, so he could use it in Congress in support of his claim. I refused. On the night of the 13th, Johnston sent the following dispatch to Pemberton at Edward’s station: “I have lately arrived, and learn that Major-General Sherman is between us with four divisions at Clinton. It is important to establish communication, that you may be reinforced. If practicable, come up in his rear at once. To beat such a detachment would be of immense value. All the troops you can quickly assemble should be brought. Time is all-important.” This dispatch was sent in triplicate, by different messengers. One of the messengers happened to be a loyal man who had previously been expelled from Memphis by Hurlbut for making disloyal and threatening comments. There was much publicity about his expulsion, supposedly as a warning to others with similar views; but Hurlbut and this man understood each other. He delivered his copy of Johnston’s dispatch to McPherson, who passed it on to me. After receiving this dispatch on the 14th, I ordered McPherson to move promptly the next morning back to Bolton, the closest point where Johnston could intercept the road. Bolton is about twenty miles west of Jackson. I also informed McClernand of the capture of Jackson and sent him the following order: “It is evidently the design of the enemy to get north of us and cross the Big Black, and beat us into Vicksburg. We must not allow them to do this. Turn all your forces towards Bolton station, and make all dispatch in getting there. Move troops by the most direct road from wherever they may be on the receipt of this order.” And to Blair I wrote: “Their plan is clearly to cross the Big Black and go down the peninsula between the Big Black and Yazoo rivers. We must defeat them. Turn your troops immediately toward Bolton; take all the trains with you. Smith’s division, and any other troops now with you, should go to the same place. If possible, take parallel roads, to split your troops and train.” Johnston stopped on the Canton road just six miles north of Jackson on the night of the 14th. From there, he sent dispatches to Pemberton announcing the loss of Jackson, along with the following order: “As soon as the reinforcements have arrived, they must be joined with the rest of the army. I am eager to see a force assembled strong enough to strike a heavy blow against the enemy. Can Grant supply himself from the Mississippi? Could you cut him off from it? And above all, if he’s forced to retreat from lack of supplies, defeat him.” The concentration of my troops was easy, given the nature of the country. McPherson moved along the road parallel and near the railroad. In McClernand’s command, one division (Hovey’s) was on the road McPherson had to take, but with a four-mile head start. Another (Osterhaus) was at Raymond, on a converging road that crossed the other near Champion’s Hill; one (Carr’s) had to travel the same road as Osterhaus, but since he was behind at Mississippi Springs, he would not be delayed; the fourth (Smith’s), together with Blair’s division, was near Auburn on a different road. McClernand turned around and moved promptly. His cavalry from Raymond captured Bolton by 9:30 a.m., driving out the enemy’s pickets and capturing several men. On the night of the 15th, Hovey was at Bolton; Carr and Osterhaus were about three miles south, but abreast, facing west; Smith was north of Raymond with Blair to his rear. McPherson’s command, with Logan in the lead, had set out at seven o’clock, and by four reached Hovey’s position and went into camp; Crocker bivouacked just behind Hovey on the Clinton road. Sherman, commanding two divisions, was still in Jackson, finishing the destruction of roads, bridges, and military factories. I went in person to Clinton. Upon my arrival, I ordered McClernand to move early in the morning on Edward’s station, warning him to watch for the enemy and not to engage unless he was quite certain of victory. Naturally, I expected Pemberton would attempt to obey his superior’s orders, as I have shown, which were to attack us at Clinton. I knew he could not do this, but I was sure he would try to reach that point. However, he had determined his superior’s plans were impractical, and instead chose to move south from Edward’s station and try to get between me and my base. However, I had no base, having abandoned it over a week earlier. On the 15th, Pemberton actually marched south from Edward’s station, but the rains had made Baker’s Creek so swollen he could not ford it, and the bridges were washed away. This forced him back to the Jackson road, which had a good bridge over Baker’s Creek. Some of his troops marched until midnight to get there. Early on the 16th, receiving another order to join Johnston at Clinton, he decided to comply, and sent his chief a dispatch telling him which route he would take. Around five in the morning (the 16th), two men who had worked on the Jackson and Vicksburg railroad were brought to me. They reported coming through Pemberton’s army in the night, and that it was still moving east. They estimated he had eighty regiments of infantry and ten batteries—about twenty-five thousand men in all. I had planned to leave Sherman at Jackson another day to finish his work, but upon receiving this information, I ordered him to proceed immediately to Bolton, sending one division and its ammunition train on the road at once. That division’s commander was instructed to march as quickly as possible until he joined our rear. Steele’s division was on the road within an hour of receiving the order. At the same time, I sent orders to Blair, near Auburn, to hurry to Edward’s station. McClernand was told to include Blair in his command for the time being. Blair’s division was part of the 15th army corps (Sherman’s), but as it was joining its corps, it naturally reached our left first, now that we were moving west. The 15th corps, when it caught up, would be on our far right. McPherson was instructed to clear his trains out of the way of the troops and to follow Hovey’s division as closely as possible. McClernand had two roads about three miles apart that merged at Edward’s station to march his troops over. Hovey’s division of his corps had the lead on a third road (the Clinton), even farther north. McClernand was told to move Blair’s and A. J. Smith’s divisions by the southernmost road, and Osterhaus and Carr by the middle road. All were ordered to advance with caution, sending out skirmishers to probe for the enemy. Smith’s division, on the southernmost road, was the first to encounter the enemy’s pickets, who were quickly driven in. Osterhaus, on the middle road, heard the firing and pushed his skirmishers forward, found the enemy’s pickets, and drove them back to the main line. Around the same time, Hovey engaged the enemy on the northern or direct wagon road from Jackson to Vicksburg. McPherson was hurrying up to join Hovey, but was delayed by Hovey’s trains blocking the road. I was still back at Clinton. McPherson sent me a message about the situation, wishing I was there. By 7:30 I was on the road, moving quickly to the front, and ordered all trains ahead of the troops off the road. When I arrived, Hovey’s skirmishing had almost become a battle. McClernand was himself on the middle road and had a shorter distance to reach the enemy than McPherson. I sent a staff officer to tell him to push forward and attack. These orders were repeated several times but didn’t seem to make McClernand advance any faster. Champion’s Hill, where Pemberton took his stand, whether by accident or design, was well chosen. It is one of the highest points in the area and overlooked all the surrounding ground. On the east side, the ridge is steep and has a ravine that runs first north, then west, ending at Baker’s Creek. The ravine is thickly overgrown with large trees and brush, making it hard for troops to cross even when not defended. The ridge occupied by the enemy drops off abruptly where the ravine turns west. The enemy’s left held the northern tip of the ridge. The Bolton and Edward’s station wagon road turns almost due south at this spot and climbs the ridge for about a mile, then turns west and slopes gently down to Baker’s Creek, about a mile away. On the west side, the ridge descends gradually and was cultivated almost to the creek. At that time, a narrow strip of timber stood near the summit west of the road.  From Raymond there is a direct road to Edward’s station, about three miles west of Champion’s Hill. There is also one to Bolton. A third road leaves this latter route about three and a half miles before Bolton and leads straight to Edward’s station. Along these two roads, three divisions of McClernand’s corps, and Blair of Sherman’s—temporarily under McClernand—were marching. Hovey of McClernand’s command was with McPherson, farther north on the road from Bolton directly to Edward’s station. The middle road joins the northern road where the latter turns west and goes down to Baker’s Creek; the southern road is still several miles south and does not meet the others until Edward’s station. Pemberton’s lines covered all these roads and faced east. Hovey’s line, after his initial contact with the enemy’s pickets, was formed parallel to the enemy and faced their left. By eleven o’clock the skirmishing had turned into an intense battle. Before reinforcements could reach him, Hovey alone managed to capture an enemy battery, but couldn’t hold the position and abandoned the guns. McPherson arrived with his troops as fast as possible, Logan in the lead, and deployed them on Hovey’s right, hitting the enemy’s flank. Logan reinforced Hovey with a brigade from his division, and with his other two brigades advanced farther west to make room for Crocker, who was coming up as quickly as the road permitted. Hovey was still under heavy pressure and called for more reinforcements. I ordered Crocker, now arriving, to send a brigade from his division. McPherson ordered two batteries placed to almost enfilade the enemy’s line, and they were very effective. From Logan’s position, a direct move forward would take him across open ground behind the enemy and parallel to their line. He made just such a move, attacking through the woods that covered the west slope for a short distance. Up to then, I had stayed near Hovey, where the pressure was greatest; but around noon I moved, with part of my staff, around to our right until I found Logan himself. I caught up to him near the road going down to Baker’s Creek. He was, in fact, commanding the only road by which the enemy could retreat; Hovey, backed by two brigades from McPherson’s command, faced the enemy’s left; Crocker, with two brigades, covered their left flank; McClernand, two hours earlier, had been two and a half miles from their center with two divisions, and the two divisions, Blair’s and A. J. Smith’s, faced the rebel right; Ransom, with a brigade of McArthur’s division of the 17th corps (McPherson’s), had crossed the river at Grand Gulf a few days before and was moving up on their right. Neither Logan nor I knew we had cut off the enemy’s retreat. At that moment, a messenger arrived from Hovey, requesting more reinforcements. None were available. I then ordered McPherson’s command to move around left to support Hovey. This opened the rebel line of retreat, which the enemy quickly used. Meanwhile, Hovey—reinforced by brigades from Logan and Crocker, and with Crocker coming up with two more brigades on his right—had made several assaults, the last just as the road was cleared in the rear. The enemy fled in disorder. This was between three and four o’clock. I rode ahead, or rather back, to the intersection of the middle and north roads and found Carr’s division’s skirmishers just arriving. Osterhaus was farther south, and soon arrived with his skirmishers advanced in the same way. Hovey’s division, with McPherson’s two divisions, had marched and fought since dawn and were not in any shape to chase the retreating enemy. I ordered Osterhaus to pursue, and I explained the situation to Carr, whom I saw personally, and instructed him to chase vigorously to the Big Black, crossing if possible; Osterhaus was to follow him. The pursuit continued until after dark. The battle of Champion’s Hill lasted about four hours of hard fighting, preceded by two or three hours of skirmishing, some of which nearly rose to the level of battle. Every man in Hovey’s division and McPherson’s two divisions fought during the battle. No other parts of my command were engaged, except as noted before. Osterhaus’s and A. J. Smith’s divisions encountered the enemy’s advanced pickets as early as 7:30 a.m. Their positions were excellent for attacking the enemy’s line. McClernand, with two divisions, was only a few miles from the battlefield long before noon and within easy hearing range. I sent him several orders by staff officers capable of explaining the situation. They passed through the woods separating us, unescorted, and told him to push forward, but he didn’t come. It’s true, there was a small force of the enemy positioned in front of McClernand, behind a good defensive ravine, but if he had moved right along the road my staff officers used, the enemy must have either retreated or been cut off. Instead, he sent orders to Hovey, his subordinate, to join on to his right flank. Hovey was under intense attack at that moment. To follow the order, he would have had to pull away from the enemy’s front and march back the same distance McClernand had to advance to reach the battle, and over much the same ground. Of course, I did not allow Hovey to follow the order of his immediate superior. We had about 15,000 men directly engaged in this battle, excluding those who did not arrive in time—meaning all of McClernand’s command except Hovey. Our casualties were 410 killed, 1,844 wounded, and 187 missing. Hovey alone lost 1,200 killed, wounded, and missing—over a third of his division. Had McClernand advanced with reasonable speed, or had I known the ground as I did later, I see no way Pemberton could have escaped with any organized force. As it happened, he lost over three thousand killed and wounded and about three thousand captured in battle and pursuit. Loring’s division, the right of Pemberton’s line, was cut off from the retreating army and never rejoined Vicksburg. Pemberton retreated that night to the Big Black River. His troops marched until midnight or later, and many left before the general retreat began, likely returning home. Logan alone captured 1,300 prisoners and eleven guns. Hovey captured 300 under fire and about 700 in total, not including 500 sick and wounded whom he paroled, making 1,200. McPherson joined the advance as soon as his men could refill their cartridge boxes, leaving one brigade to guard our wounded. The pursuit continued as long as there was enough light to see the road. On the night of May 16th, McPherson’s command bivouacked between two and six miles west of the battlefield, along the road to Vicksburg. Carr and Osterhaus were at Edward’s Station, and Blair was about three miles southeast; Hovey stayed on the field where his troops had fought bravely and suffered heavily. Much war material abandoned by the enemy was collected on the battlefield, including thirty pieces of artillery. I made my way through the advancing column with my staff and stayed in front until after dark. Finding ourselves alone, we stopped and took shelter in a vacant house. When no troops arrived, we moved back a mile or more until we met the head of the column just settling into bivouac on the road. We had no tents, so we occupied the porch of a house that had been taken for a Confederate hospital and was filled with wounded and dying soldiers who had been brought from the battlefield we had just left. While a battle is raging, one can see the enemy cut down by the thousands or even tens of thousands with great composure; but after the fighting, these scenes become distressing, and one is naturally inclined to do as much to alleviate the suffering of an enemy as of a friend. ## CHAPTER XXXVI. ### BATTLE OF BLACK RIVER BRIDGE—CROSSING THE BIG BLACK—INVESTMENT OF VICKSBURG—ASSAULTING THE WORKS. We were now confident of our position between Johnston and Pemberton, with no possibility for their forces to unite. Pemberton might have made a night march to the Big Black, crossed the bridge there, and by moving north on the west side, avoided us and eventually rejoined Johnston. But this would have meant giving us Vicksburg. However, it would have been the appropriate move for him to make, and it’s the move Johnston would have made had he been in Pemberton’s position. In fact, it would have followed Johnston’s orders to Pemberton. Sherman left Jackson with his last troops around noon on the 16th and reached Bolton, twenty miles to the west, before stopping. His rear guard did not arrive until 2 A.M. on the 17th but resumed their march at daylight. He paroled his prisoners at Jackson and was forced to leave his own wounded in the care of surgeons and attendants. At Bolton, he received news of our victory. He was directed to begin the march early the next day and to turn off from the road he was on to Bridgeport on the Big Black River, some eleven miles above where we expected to find the enemy. Blair was ordered to meet him there with the pontoon train as soon as possible. This movement brought Sherman’s corps together at a point where I hoped a crossing of the Big Black could be made, allowing Sherman’s corps to flank the enemy out of their position in our front, thereby opening a crossing for the rest of the army. I informed him that I would try to hold the enemy in my front while he crossed the river. The lead division, Carr’s (McClernand’s corps), resumed pursuit at 3:30 A.M. on the 17th, closely followed by Osterhaus, with McPherson and his corps bringing up the rear. As expected, the enemy was found in position on the Big Black. The location was only six miles from where my advance had rested that night and was reached early. Here, the river makes a turn westward and has eroded close to the high ground; the east side is low bottomland, sometimes flooded during high water, but it was cleared and in cultivation. A bayou runs irregularly across this low land, the bottom of which is higher than the surface of the Big Black River at ordinary times. When the river is full, water flows through the bayou, turning the point of land into an island. The bayou was overgrown with timber that the enemy had felled into the ditch. At this time, there was a foot or two of water in it. The rebels had built a parapet along the inner bank of this bayou by stacking cotton bales from the nearby plantation and covering them with dirt. The entire position was thoroughly commanded from the heights west of the river. At the upper end of the bayou, there was a strip of uncleared land which provided cover for some of our men. Carr’s division was deployed on our right, with Lawler’s brigade on the far right extending through the woods to the river above. Osterhaus’s division was deployed to Carr’s left and covered the enemy’s entire front. McPherson was in column on the road, the lead close by, ready to assist wherever needed.  While the troops stood as described, an officer from Banks’s staff arrived and gave me a letter from General Halleck, dated May 11th. It had been sent by way of New Orleans to Banks to be forwarded to me. The letter ordered me to return to Grand Gulf and to coordinate from there with Banks against Port Hudson, and then to return with our combined forces to besiege Vicksburg. I told the officer that the order had arrived too late, and that Halleck would not have given it now if he knew our current position. The officer insisted that I ought to obey the order, supporting his argument, when I heard loud cheering on the right of our line. Looking in that direction, I saw Lawler in his shirt sleeves leading a charge on the enemy. I quickly mounted my horse and rode toward the charge, losing sight of the officer who brought the dispatch; I believe I haven’t seen him since, even to this day. The assault succeeded. There was little resistance. The enemy fled from the west bank of the river, burning the bridge behind them and leaving their men and guns on the east side to fall into our hands. Many tried to escape by swimming the river; some succeeded, but others drowned. We captured eighteen guns and 1,751 prisoners. Our losses were 39 killed, 237 wounded, and 3 missing. The enemy probably lost few men besides those captured or drowned. Had the bridge not been so successfully and thoroughly destroyed, I have little doubt we would have pursued the enemy closely enough to stop them from occupying their defenses around Vicksburg. Since the bridge was destroyed and the river was high, new bridges had to be built. It was just after 9 A.M. when the capture happened. As soon as it was possible, orders were given to construct three bridges. One was managed by Lieutenant Hains of the Engineer Corps, one by General McPherson himself, and one by General Ransom, a brave and intelligent volunteer officer. As I recall, Hains built a raft bridge; McPherson constructed a pontoon using large numbers of cotton bales as pontoons; and Ransom felled trees on opposite banks, cutting only one side of each so the tops would fall and interlace in the river, but not be completely severed from their stumps. A bridge was then made using these trees to support the roadway. Lumber was taken from buildings, cotton gins, and wherever else it could be found for this purpose. By eight o’clock on the morning of the 18th, all three bridges were complete and the troops began crossing. Sherman reached Bridgeport around noon on the 17th, finding Blair there already with the pontoon train. A few enemy troops were entrenched on the west bank, but they offered little resistance and soon surrendered. Two divisions crossed that night, and the third crossed the following morning. On the 18th, I moved along the Vicksburg road ahead of the troops and joined Sherman as soon as possible. My first concern was to secure a supply base on the Yazoo River above Vicksburg. Sherman’s path led him to the very point on Walnut Hills that the enemy had held the previous December when he was repulsed. Sherman was just as eager as I was. Our impatience led us to move ahead of the column and right up with the advanced skirmishers. There were some isolated fortifications along the crest of the hill still occupied by the enemy, or perhaps the garrison from Haines’ Bluff had not all passed on their way to Vicksburg. Either way, enemy bullets whistled past in a heavy volley for a short time. In a few minutes, Sherman had the satisfaction of looking down from the spot he had yearned for the previous December onto the ground where his command had once been so helpless to act offensively. He turned to me, saying that up to that moment he had felt no true assurance of success. However, he said, this was the conclusion of one of the greatest campaigns in history and I should report on it at once. Vicksburg wasn’t yet taken, and there was no telling what would happen before it fell; but whether it did or not, the campaign was already complete and successful. I don’t claim to quote Sherman’s exact words—just the essence. I mention this incident for a reason that will become clear later. After crossing the Big Black, McPherson reached the Jackson and Vicksburg road where Sherman was, but behind him. He arrived at night near the enemy’s lines and camped. McClernand moved via the direct railroad route to Mount Albans, then turned left onto the road from Baldwin’s Ferry to Vicksburg, placing him south of McPherson. I now had my three corps at the defensive works built to protect Vicksburg, on three roads—one to the north, one east, and one southeast of the city. By the morning of the 19th, the investment was as thorough as my limited troop numbers would allow. Sherman was on the right, covering the high ground from the Yazoo as far southeast as possible. McPherson was next, holding ground on both sides of the Jackson road. McClernand took the left, stretching as far toward Warrenton as he could while maintaining a continuous line. On the 19th, we engaged in constant skirmishing with the enemy as we improved our positions. The enemy had been badly shaken by their defeats at Champion’s Hill and the Big Black, and I believed they wouldn’t try hard to hold Vicksburg. Therefore, at two o’clock I ordered an assault. The result was improved positions for all our troops, where they were fully shielded from enemy fire. The 20th and 21st were spent strengthening our positions and building roads behind the army from the Yazoo River or Chickasaw Bayou. Most of the army had, by now, gone three weeks with only five days’ rations officially supplied by the commissary. They had enough food, but began to feel the lack of bread. I remember that on the 21st, as I was moving along the left of the line, a soldier recognized me and said quietly, but clearly enough for me to hear, “Hard tack.” In a moment, the call was picked up along the line, “Hard tack! Hard tack!” I told the nearest men that we had been working ever since the troops arrived to build a road for getting them all the supplies they needed. Instantly, the call turned to cheers. By nightfall on the 21st, all troops had received full rations. The bread and coffee were especially appreciated. I now decided on a second assault. Johnston was in my rear, only fifty miles away, with an army not much smaller than mine, and I knew he was getting reinforcements. There was a real threat that he might come to Pemberton’s aid and possibly prevent the capture of the city, perhaps even defeating our plans entirely. Capturing Vicksburg quickly would eliminate the need to send reinforcements to me that were needed elsewhere and would free my army to drive Johnston from the state. But above all, the troops believed they could storm the works in front of them and would not have worked so patiently in the trenches if not allowed to try. The attack was set to begin at all points on the line at ten o’clock A.M. on the 22nd, with a furious bombardment from every battery in position. All the corps commanders set their watches by mine so we would all open the attack at the same moment. The assault was bold, and parts of each of the three corps managed to get right up to the enemy’s parapets, even planting their battle flags upon them; but nowhere were we able to actually enter. General McClernand reported that he had broken into the enemy’s defenses at several points, and requested reinforcements. I was watching from a position where I believed I could see as well as he could what was happening in his sector, and I did not see the success he described. But because he repeated his request, I could not ignore it and sent him Quinby’s division of the 17th Corps. Sherman and McPherson were both ordered to renew their assaults as a diversion to help McClernand. This last attack only increased our casualties without any real benefit. As soon as it was dark, our troops who had reached the enemy’s line and had to stay there for safety all day were withdrawn; thus ended the last assault on Vicksburg. ## CHAPTER XXXVII. ### SIEGE OF VICKSBURG. I now decided on a regular siege—to “out-camp the enemy,” so to speak, and to avoid further unnecessary losses. The experience of the 22nd had convinced both officers and men that this was the best approach, and they set to work on defenses and approaches with determination. With the navy in control of the river, the encirclement of Vicksburg was complete. As long as we could maintain our position, the enemy was limited to whatever supplies of food, men, and munitions of war they already possessed. These could not last indefinitely. The troop crossing at Bruinsburg began on April 30th. By May 18th, the army was behind Vicksburg. On May 19th, exactly twenty days after the crossing, the city was fully invested and an assault had been launched: five distinct battles (not counting constant skirmishing) had been fought and won by Union forces; the state capital had fallen and its arsenals, military factories, and everything useful for war had been destroyed; the troops engaged had marched an average of about 180 miles; only five days’ rations had been issued, and no forage; over six thousand prisoners had been captured, and as many or more of the enemy had been killed or wounded; twenty-seven heavy cannon and sixty-one field guns had fallen into our hands; and four hundred miles of the river, from Vicksburg to Port Hudson, were under our control. The Union force that had crossed the Mississippi River by this time was fewer than forty-three thousand men. One of these divisions, Blair’s, arrived just in time to participate in the battle of Champion’s Hill, but was not actually engaged there; and one brigade, Ransom’s of McPherson’s corps, reached the field after the battle. The enemy had at Vicksburg, Grand Gulf, Jackson, and on the roads connecting these places, over sixty thousand men. They were on home ground, requiring no rear guards. The country favored defense, but made offensive operations difficult. All their troops had to be met. We were fortunate, at the least, to confront them in sequence: at Port Gibson seven or eight thousand; at Raymond, five thousand; at Jackson, from eight to eleven thousand; at Champion’s Hill, twenty-five thousand; at Big Black, four thousand. Some of those met at Jackson were all that remained of those encountered at Raymond. They were defeated in sequence by a smaller force on their own territory. Our casualties up to this point were: |   | KILLED | WOUNDED | MISSING | |---------------------------|--------|---------|---------| | Port Gibson…………….. | 131 | | 25 | | South Fork Bayou Pierre….. | | | | | Skirmishes, May 3 ………. | 1 | | | | Fourteen Mile Creek……… | 6 | | | | Raymond………………… | 66 | | 39 | | Jackson………………… | 42 | | 7 | | Champion’s Hill…………. | 410 | 1,844 | | | Big Black………………. | 39 | | 3 | | Bridgeport……………… | | | | |   | | | | | Total………………….. | 695 | 3,425 | | Of the wounded, many received only slight injuries and continued on duty. Fewer than half were disabled for any significant period. After the unsuccessful assault on the 22nd, the regular siege commenced. Sherman took the right, starting from the river above Vicksburg, McPherson held the center (with McArthur’s division now with him), and McClernand the left, securing the road south to Warrenton. Lauman’s division arrived at this point and was placed on the extreme left of the line. In the period between the attacks of the 19th and 22nd, roads were completed from the Yazoo River and Chickasaw Bayou, wrapping around the rear of the army, to allow the transport of supplies and ammunition. Campsites had been selected and cleared, and tents and cooking utensils were brought forward. The troops had been without these since they crossed the Mississippi. Everything was now ready for the pick and spade. Prentiss and Hurlbut were ordered to send forward all available men. Cavalry was especially needed to watch the fords along the Big Black and to monitor Johnston. I knew that Johnston was getting reinforcements from Bragg, who was confronting Rosecrans in Tennessee. Vicksburg was so important to the enemy that I believed they would spare no effort to break the siege, even if it meant losing ground elsewhere. My line extended more than fifteen miles, from Haines’ Bluff to Vicksburg, then to Warrenton. The enemy’s line was about seven miles long. Additionally, with an enemy force at Canton and Jackson in our rear, which was constantly being reinforced, we needed a second line of defense facing the opposite direction. I did not have enough troops under my command to man all these positions. General Halleck understood the situation and, without being asked, sent reinforcements as quickly as possible. The ground around Vicksburg is excellent for defense. On the north side it rises about two hundred feet above the Mississippi River at its highest point, and is deeply cut by rain-washed ravines; the ravines were grown up with cane and underbrush, while the slopes and tops were covered in dense forest. Farther south, the terrain flattens somewhat and was being farmed. However, here too it was interrupted by ravines and small streams. The enemy’s line followed the crest of a ridge from the river north of the city going east, then curved southward to the Jackson road, roughly three miles behind the city; from there it went southwesterly back to the river. Deep ravines like those described were in front of these defenses. Since a succession of gullies, carved by rains, cut along the side of the ridge, the line was necessarily irregular. To follow each spur with fortifications, commanding the slopes on either side, would have greatly extended their line. Therefore, in many places, their line ran nearly straight from the head of one gully to another, and a triangular outer work, usually open at the back, was built on the point; with a few men in these outer works, they could completely defend the approaches to the main line. The work necessary to make our position as strong against the enemy as theirs was against us was substantial. The situation was also made more difficult because we needed our line as close to the enemy’s as possible. We had just four engineer officers with us. Captain Prime of the Engineer Corps was chief, and at first directed most of the work. His health soon failed, and he was succeeded by Captain Comstock, also of the Engineer Corps. To provide assistants for such an extended line, I ordered that all officers who had graduated from West Point—where they had studied military engineering—should help with the work in addition to their regular duties. The chief quartermaster and the chief commissary were West Point graduates. The chief commissary, now the Commissary-General of the Army, asked to be excused, saying the only part of engineering he was suited for was serving as a sap roller. Since soldiers needed rations while working in the trenches as well as when marching and fighting, and since we could not afford to lose him, I let him be. The general is a large man; he weighs two hundred and twenty pounds, though he is not tall. We had no siege guns except six thirty-two-pounders, and there were none available in the West. Admiral Porter, however, supplied us with a battery of large-caliber navy guns, and with these, plus the field artillery used during the campaign, the siege began. The first step was to place the artillery in batteries on commanding ground; then set up camps in places protected from enemy fire but as close as possible; and then construct rifle pits and covered ways, to connect the entire command as directly as possible. The enemy did not trouble us much while we built our batteries. Their artillery ammunition was probably running low, and their infantry was restrained by our sharpshooters, who were always alert and would fire at any head that appeared above the Confederate works.  In no place were our lines more than six hundred yards from the enemy. It was necessary, therefore, to protect our men with more than just the usual parapet. For additional protection, bullet-proof sandbags were placed along the tops of the parapets, spaced far enough apart to create loopholes for musket fire. Logs were placed on top of these. With these measures, the men could walk about upright when off duty, without fear of being targeted by sharpshooters. The enemy used explosive musket balls in their defense, no doubt thinking that, when bursting over our men in the trenches, they would inflict damage; but I do not recall a single instance where a man was injured by a fragment of one of these shells. When a man was hit and the ball exploded, the wound was horrific. In such cases, a solid ball would have wounded him just as well. Their use is barbaric, as they increase suffering without offering any real advantage to those employing them. The enemy could not use our method of protection for their men because we had an almost unlimited supply of ammunition and used it liberally. Splinters from the timber would have caused havoc among their men. The besiegers had no mortars except for those the navy had in front of the city; but wooden mortars were improvised by taking the toughest logs available, boring them out for six or twelve pound shells, and securing them with strong iron bands. These served as coehorns and successfully launched shells into the enemy trenches. Most of the labor of building batteries and digging trenches was done by the pioneers, assisted by Black laborers who came within our lines and were paid for their work; but details from the troops often had to be assigned as well. The work was pushed forward as rapidly as possible, and whenever an advanced position was secured and shielded from enemy fire, the batteries were brought forward. By the 30th of June, there were two hundred and twenty guns in position, mostly light field pieces, along with a battery of heavy guns belonging to, manned, and commanded by the navy. At this point, we were as strong in defense against the Vicksburg garrison as they were against us; but I knew that Johnston was behind us and receiving constant reinforcements from the east. At that time, his force was larger than mine had ever been before the battle of Champion’s Hill. As soon as the Union army’s arrival behind Vicksburg was reported in the North, a flood of visitors began pouring in. Some came out of curiosity; others to see sons or brothers who had survived the ordeal; members of the Christian and Sanitary Commissions arrived to attend to the needs of the sick and wounded. Often, those coming to visit a son or brother brought a dozen or more chickens. They did not realize how little the soldiers would appreciate the gift. Many of the men had lived so long on chickens, ducks, and turkeys without bread during the march that the sight of poultry—if bacon was available—almost took away their appetite. Still, the gesture was well meant. Among the earliest visitors was the Governor of Illinois, accompanied by most of the State officers. Naturally, I wanted to show them what was most interesting. Sherman’s sector had the most rugged and wooded terrain, and more could be seen there without risk. So, I took them to Sherman’s headquarters and made introductions. Before heading out to inspect the lines—perhaps while Sherman’s horse was being saddled—many questions were asked about the recent campaign, which the North knew little about. Small groups formed around Sherman and me, and I heard Sherman animatedly repeating what he had said when we first looked out from Walnut Hills onto the land below on May 18th, adding: “Grant is entitled to every bit of the credit for the campaign; I opposed it. I wrote him a letter about it.” If not for this statement, Sherman’s opposition may never have become known. His tireless energy and great effectiveness during the campaign entitle him to a full share of the credit for its success. He could not have contributed more if the plan had originated with him. > On May 26th, I sent Blair’s division up the Yazoo to drive out enemy forces believed to be between the Big Black and the Yazoo. The region was rich in supplies of both food and forage. Blair was instructed to seize all of it. Cattle were to be rounded up for our army, and food and forage were to be consumed by our troops or destroyed by fire; all bridges were to be burned, and the roads made as impassable as possible. Blair traveled forty-five miles and was gone for nearly a week. His mission was thoroughly accomplished. At the same time, I asked Porter to send the marine brigade—a unique, floating unit assigned to his command, which proved to be quite useful—up to Haines’ Bluff to hold it until reinforcements could arrive. That same day, I also received a letter from Banks, requesting that I reinforce him at Port Hudson with ten thousand men. Naturally, I could not comply, nor did I think he needed them. He was in no danger of attack from the garrison before him, and there was no army forming behind him to lift the siege. On June 3rd, a brigade under General Kimball arrived from Hurlbut’s command. It was sent to Mechanicsburg, several miles northeast of Haines’ Bluff and about midway between the Big Black and the Yazoo. A brigade from Blair’s division and twelve hundred cavalry had already, on Blair’s return from the Yazoo, been sent to the same place, with instructions to watch the crossings of the Big Black River, to destroy the roads in Blair’s front, and to gather or destroy all supplies. On June 7th, our modest force of Black and white troops across the Mississippi, at Milliken’s Bend, was attacked by about 3,000 men from Richard Taylor’s trans-Mississippi command. Supported by gunboats, they quickly repelled the attackers. I sent Mower’s brigade over with orders to push the enemy beyond Tensas Bayou; after that, we had no further trouble in that area during the siege. This was the first major engagement of the war in which Black troops came under fire. These men were very inexperienced, having enlisted only since the beginning of the siege, but they behaved admirably. On June 8th, a full division from Hurlbut’s command, led by General Sooy Smith, arrived. It was immediately sent to Haines’ Bluff, with General C. C. Washburn assigned to overall command there. On the 11th, a strong division from the Department of the Missouri under General Herron arrived and was positioned on our left. This eliminated the last possible means of communication between Pemberton and Johnston, enabling Lauman to close up on McClernand’s left while Herron entrenched from Lauman to the water’s edge. At this point, the water recedes a few hundred yards from the high ground. Through this gap, Confederate commanders had probably managed to get messengers through under the cover of night. On the 14th, General Parke arrived with two divisions from Burnside’s corps and was immediately sent to Haines’ Bluff. These reinforcements—Herron’s and Parke’s—had been sent by Halleck in anticipation of their possible need. They arrived just in time. By this point, I had about seventy-one thousand men. More than half were positioned across the peninsula, between the Yazoo at Haines’ Bluff and the Big Black, with Osterhaus’s division monitoring crossings of the latter river further south and west, from Jackson Road crossing to Baldwin’s Ferry and below. There were eight roads leading into Vicksburg, along which—and their immediate sides—our work was especially focused and batteries advanced; but no strategic point within range of the enemy was neglected. On the 17th, I received a letter from General Sherman and one on the 18th from General McPherson, informing me that their commands had complained to them about a flattering, congratulatory order published by General McClernand for the 13th Corps, which greatly slighted the other troops involved in the campaign. This order had been sent North and published in newspapers, and copies had now reached our camps. No one outside McClernand’s command, myself included, had heard of the order until then. I immediately wrote to McClernand, directing him to send me a copy. When he did, I promptly relieved him of command of the 13th Army Corps and ordered him back to Springfield, Illinois. Publicizing his order in the press violated orders from the War Department as well as my own. ## CHAPTER XXXVIII. ### JOHNSTON’S MOVEMENTS—FORTIFICATIONS AT HAINES’ BLUFF—EXPLOSION OF THE MINE—EXPLOSION OF THE SECOND MINE—PREPARING FOR THE ASSAULT—THE FLAG OF TRUCE—MEETING WITH PEMBERTON—NEGOTIATIONS FOR SURRENDER—ACCEPTING THE TERMS—SURRENDER OF VICKSBURG. On June 22nd, definite information was received that Johnston had crossed the Big Black River with the intention of attacking our rear, to lift the siege and free Pemberton. The correspondence between Johnston and Pemberton shows that by this time, Johnston had given up all hope of holding Vicksburg. I immediately put Sherman in command of all forces from Haines’ Bluff to the Big Black River. This now included almost half the troops around Vicksburg. Additionally, Herron’s and A. J. Smith’s divisions were ordered to stand ready to reinforce Sherman. Haines’ Bluff had strong fortifications on the land side, and batteries were built on all commanding points from there to the Big Black at the railroad crossing. The task of connecting these by rifle pits—where this wasn't already done—was easy for the troops assigned to defend them. We were now facing west, laying siege to Pemberton, yet also looking east to defend ourselves against a possible siege by Johnston. Against the Vicksburg garrison, we were as well protected as they were against us. Facing east and north, we were strongly fortified and on the defensive. Johnston clearly understood the situation and, wisely I think, refrained from attacking us because it would only have caused losses on both sides with nothing to be gained. We were strong enough to take the offensive against him, but I didn't want to risk losing our hold on Pemberton's army, even though I would have welcomed the chance to defend against an attack by Johnston. From May 23rd forward, the work of fortifying and moving our positions closer to the enemy steadily progressed. At three points on the Jackson road, in front of Leggett’s brigade, we dug a sap up to the enemy’s parapet, and by June 25th we had mined under it and packed it with explosives. The enemy had tried to countermine but failed to reach our mine. At this position, the hill supporting the Confederate work rose steeply. Our sap went right up to the outside of the enemy’s parapet, and this parapet protected us as well. Occasionally, soldiers from both sides chatted over this barrier; sometimes Union hardtack was exchanged for Confederate tobacco, while at other times, the enemy would lob hand grenades, and often our men, catching them, would toss them back.  We started our mine some distance down the hill; so, when it reached the parapet, it was many feet beneath it. This is why the enemy failed to find and destroy it. At three o’clock on June 25th, everything was ready and the mine was detonated. A heavy artillery barrage all along the line began at the same moment. The explosion blew off the top of the hill and created a crater. The breach wasn’t wide enough for a column of attackers to get through. In fact, once the enemy realized they could not reach our mine, they built a new line farther back, and stationed most of their defenders there. Still, a few remained at the forward line and others were working in their own countermine when the explosion hit. All who were there were blasted into the air—some of them landed on our side, still alive. I recall one Black worker who was underground at the explosion and thrown to our side. He was not hurt badly, but extremely shaken. Someone asked how high he thought he had been thrown. “Dunno, massa, but t’ink ’bout t’ree mile,” he answered. General Logan, who commanded at this point, took this man to his quarters, where he served until the end of the siege. Immediately after the explosion, two nearby regiments—placed under cover for just this purpose—rushed into the crater. The enemy made a fierce attempt to drive them out, but failed and soon retreated behind their new line. From there, they continued to throw grenades, causing some casualties. Our men returned the favor, but with less effect. The enemy could simply place their grenades on the parapet, which directly divided our lines, and roll them down onto us, while our men had to throw theirs over the high parapet. During the night, we tried to fortify our position in the crater against enemy missiles, aiming to run trenches along the base of the enemy’s parapet, but the enemy kept throwing grenades, and even tossed shells by hand, lighting the fuses with portfires. With this, we found the work impossible to continue. Consequently, another mine was begun and exploded on July 1st, destroying a whole Confederate redan, killing and wounding many of its defenders, and leaving an enormous gap in their works. No assault was attempted this time; our experience from June 25th had warned us. Our losses in the first action were about thirty killed and wounded. The enemy must have lost more in the two explosions than we lost in the first one. We had no losses in the second. From this point on, mining and moving positions closer to the enemy continued with vigor, and I resolved not to detonate any more mines until we could explode several at once and immediately assault. By now, at three different points, one in front of each corps, only the enemy’s parapet separated us. At this time, we intercepted a dispatch from Johnston to Pemberton stating that Johnston would make a determined attack to relieve the Vicksburg garrison. I knew the garrison wouldn't put up a serious effort to escape on their own. The picket lines were so close—so close that pickets could even converse with one another—that any attempt to break out was unlikely. On June 21st, I learned from Union pickets that Pemberton was planning to escape by crossing to the Louisiana side at night; he had employed workers to build boats for this purpose, and canvassed his men to see if they would attack the “Yankees” and fight their way out. The men refused and nearly mutinied; only the promise that enough boats would soon be ready calmed them. The Confederate pickets said houses were being torn down in the city to get building material for these boats. Later, this story was confirmed; when we entered the city, we found many crudely built boats. Every precaution was taken to stop such an escape. Our pickets were doubled; Admiral Porter was notified to keep a closer watch on the river; combustible materials were gathered on the west bank to light the river if an escape was attempted; and batteries were set up along the levee across the Louisiana side of the peninsula. If they had tried it, the Vicksburg garrison would have been drowned, or captured on the Louisiana side. General Richard Taylor was expected to cooperate from the west bank, I believe, but he never appeared—and he couldn't have brought a large enough force to help anyway. We now controlled the Mississippi from source to mouth, except directly in front of Vicksburg and Port Hudson. The region west of us, from Lake Providence down to opposite Bruinsburg, had been nearly stripped of resources. The roads to the west were not good enough to move supplies for any significant force. By July 1st, our approaches had reached the enemy’s ditch at several points. At ten positions, we could move under cover to within as little as five yards, and at most a hundred yards, of the enemy. Orders were given to prepare for an assault on July 6th. We widened the debouches for easy passage, and the approaches were widened so troops could pass through four abreast. Planking and tightly packed cotton bags were prepared so troops could cross the ditches. On the night of July 1st, Johnston was between Brownsville and the Big Black, and he wrote Pemberton from there that around July 7th an attempt would be made to create a diversion so Pemberton could break out. Pemberton, however, became a prisoner before this message reached him. On July 1st Pemberton, seeing there was no hope for outside relief, sent the following letter to each of his four division commanders: “Unless the siege of Vicksburg is lifted, or supplies are brought in, it will soon be necessary to evacuate. I see no chance for the former, and there are many great, if not insurmountable, obstacles to the latter. So, I ask you to tell me, as soon as possible, about the condition of your troops and whether they’re fit and able to march and endure the hardships needed for a successful evacuation.” Two of his generals suggested surrender, and the other two essentially did the same, saying an evacuation would likely fail. Pemberton had already managed to get a message to Johnston, suggesting he try to negotiate with me for a release of the garrison with their arms. Johnston replied that doing so would admit weakness; yet he authorized Pemberton to use his name in making such arrangements. On July 3rd, around ten o’clock in the morning, white flags appeared on part of the Confederate works. Hostilities in that section stopped at once. Soon, two people appeared toward our lines carrying a white flag—General Bowen, a division commander, and Colonel Montgomery, aide-de-camp to Pemberton, carrying this letter to me: “I have the honor to propose an armistice for—hours, with the view to arranging terms for the capitulation of Vicksburg. To this end, if agreeable to you, I will appoint three commissioners, to meet a like number to be named by yourself at such place and hour to-day as you may find convenient. I make this proposition to save the further effusion of blood, which must otherwise be shed to a frightful extent, feeling myself fully able to maintain my position for a yet indefinite period. This communication will be handed you under a flag of truce, by Major-General John S. Bowen.” It was a glorious sight to the officers and soldiers on that part of the line where the flags appeared, and the news quickly spread throughout the command. The troops felt that their long, hard marches, fierce fighting, endless vigilance by night and day in a hot climate, exposure to all weather, diseases, and, worst of all, the biting words of many Northern newspapers that said all their suffering was for nothing and that Vicksburg would never fall, were finally over—and the Union was sure to be saved. Bowen was received by General A. J. Smith, who was asked if he could see me. Before the war, I had been neighbors in Missouri with Bowen and knew him well and favorably; but his request was denied. He then suggested I meet Pemberton. To this, I sent a verbal message that, if Pemberton wished, I would meet him in front of McPherson’s corps at three o’clock that afternoon. I also sent the following written reply to Pemberton’s letter: “Your note of this date has just been received, proposing an armistice for several hours to arrange terms of capitulation through commissioners to be appointed, etc. The unnecessary bloodshed you propose to stop by this course can end at any time you choose, by the unconditional surrender of the city and garrison. Men who have shown such endurance and courage as those now in Vicksburg will always command the respect of an adversary, and I assure you they will be treated with all the respect due to prisoners of war. I do not accept the proposal to appoint commissioners to arrange the terms of capitulation, because I have no terms other than what I already stated.” At three o’clock, Pemberton arrived at the point I had suggested in my verbal message, accompanied by the same officers who had carried his letter earlier that morning. Generals Ord, McPherson, Logan, A. J. Smith, and several members of my staff accompanied me. Our meeting was on a hillside within a few hundred feet of the rebel lines. Nearby was a stunted oak tree, made historical by the event. It did not take long before every piece of the tree, root and limb, had vanished, taken as trophies. Since then, that tree has provided as much wood in the form of trophies as “The True Cross.” Pemberton and I had served in the same division during part of the Mexican War, so I knew him very well and greeted him as an old acquaintance. He soon asked what terms I proposed for his army if it surrendered. My answer was as in my reply to his letter. Pemberton then said, rather sharply, “The conference might as well end,” and turned abruptly as if to leave. I said, “Very well.” General Bowen, I noticed, was very eager for the surrender to be finalized. His demeanor and comments during Pemberton's and my conversation made this clear. He then suggested that he and one of our generals hold a conference. I had no objection to this, since nothing they proposed would be binding on me. Smith and Bowen then held a conference, while Pemberton and I, moving a short distance toward the enemy’s lines, continued to talk. After a while, Bowen suggested that the Confederate army should be allowed to march out with the honors of war, carrying their small arms and field artillery. This was promptly and flatly refused. At this point, the interview ended, but I agreed to send a letter with final terms by ten o’clock that night. Word was sent to Admiral Porter soon after correspondence with Pemberton began, so that hostilities would stop between both the army and navy. Pemberton and I agreed that fighting would not resume until our correspondence was finished. When I returned to headquarters, I sent for all the corps and division commanders whose troops were immediately facing Vicksburg. Half the army was eight to twelve miles away, waiting for Johnston. I informed them of Pemberton’s letters, my reply, the main points of our interview, and that I was open to their suggestions—but would reserve the final decision. This was the closest I ever came to holding a “council of war.” Against the general, and nearly unanimous, opinion of the council, I sent the following letter: “In line with our agreement this afternoon, I propose the following terms for the surrender of the City of Vicksburg, public stores, etc. Upon your acceptance, I will march in one division as a guard and take possession at eight A.M. tomorrow. As soon as the rolls are made out and paroles are signed by officers and men, you will be allowed to march out of our lines, officers keeping their side-arms and clothing, and field, staff, and cavalry officers one horse each. The rank and file may keep their clothing, but no other property. If you accept these terms, you may take as many rations as you need from your current stores, as well as the necessary cooking utensils. Thirty wagons—counting two two-horse or mule teams as one wagon—will be allowed for carrying what can't be moved otherwise. The same arrangement applies to sick and wounded officers and soldiers, as they become well enough to travel. The paroles for these must be signed while officers are still present and authorized to sign the roll of prisoners.” Under the terms of the cartel in force at the time, prisoners captured by either army were to be sent as soon as possible to either Aiken’s Landing below Dutch Gap on the James River, or to Vicksburg, to be exchanged or paroled until they could be exchanged. There was a Confederate commissioner at Vicksburg, authorized to oversee the exchange. I did not intend to take him as a prisoner, but to leave him free to carry out his duties. Had I insisted on unconditional surrender, there would have been over thirty thousand men to transport to Cairo, which would have greatly inconvenienced the army on the Mississippi. From there, they would have to go by rail to Washington or Baltimore, and by steamer to Aiken’s—all at great expense. At Aiken’s, they would be paroled, since the Confederates did not have Union prisoners to exchange. Also, Pemberton’s army was largely made up of men from the South-west; I knew many of them were tired of the war and would go home as soon as possible. Many had already come into our lines during the siege and asked to be sent north to find work until the war was over and they could return home. Late at night, I received the following response to my last letter: “I have the honor to acknowledge the receipt of your communication of this date, proposing terms of capitulation for this garrison and post. In the main your terms are accepted; but, in justice to the honor and spirit shown by my troops in defending Vicksburg, I must offer the following amendments, which, if you agree, will complete our agreement. At ten o’clock A.M. tomorrow, I propose to evacuate the works in and around Vicksburg, and to surrender the city and garrison under my command by marching out with my colors and arms, stacking them in front of my present lines. Afterwards, you may take possession. Officers to keep their side-arms and personal property, and the rights and property of citizens to be respected.” This arrived just after midnight. I replied as follows: “I have the honor to acknowledge the receipt of your communication of July 3rd. I cannot fully accept your proposed amendment. Every officer and man must be furnished with a parole signed by himself, and compiling the roll of prisoners will necessarily take some time. Also, I cannot agree to any promises regarding the treatment of citizens or their private property. While I do not intend to cause them any undue annoyance or loss, I cannot put myself under any constraint by making such promises. The property officers can take is as stated in my proposal last evening: officers may take their private baggage and side-arms, and mounted officers one horse each. If by your proposal you mean that each brigade will march to the front of their lines and stack arms at ten o’clock A.M., then return inside to remain as prisoners until properly paroled, I have no objection. If I do not receive notification of your acceptance of my terms by nine o’clock A.M., I will consider them rejected and act accordingly. If you accept, white flags should be shown along your lines to prevent my troops, who may not be informed, from firing on your men.” Pemberton quickly accepted these terms. During the siege, there had been a good deal of friendly banter between the soldiers of the two armies at picket posts and wherever the lines were close together. All rebels were called “Johnnies,” and all Union troops were called “Yanks.” Often “Johnny” would call out, “Well, Yank, when are you coming into town?” Sometimes the reply was, “We plan to celebrate the 4th of July there.” Or it might be, “We always treat our prisoners with kindness and do not want to hurt them,” or, “We’re holding you as prisoners of war while you’re feeding yourselves.” The garrison, from the commanding general down, undoubtedly expected an assault on the fourth. They knew their men’s morale well enough to know such an attack would succeed, and that would be an even greater humiliation than surrender. It would also mean severe losses for them. The Vicksburg newspaper, which we regularly received through the courtesy of rebel pickets, stated before the fourth—responding to the “Yankee” boast that they would dine in Vicksburg that day—that the best recipe for cooking a rabbit was, “First catch your rabbit.” At this time, and for some time prior, the paper was printed on the blank side of wallpaper. The final issue came out on July 4th and announced that we had “caught our rabbit.” I am certain that Pemberton began his correspondence on the third with two goals: first, to avoid an assault, which he knew would succeed, and second, to keep the capture from taking place on the national holiday, Independence Day. By holding out for better terms, he lost that chance. At the agreed time, the Vicksburg garrison marched out of their defenses, formed a line in front, stacked their arms, and then marched back in good order. Our whole army present witnessed the scene in silence. Logan’s division, which had advanced closest to the rebel works, was the first to march in, and soon a flag of one of his regiments was flying over the courthouse. As soon as our soldiers entered the lines, both armies began to fraternize. Our men had enjoyed full rations throughout the siege, but the enemy had suffered, especially toward the end. I myself saw our men share bread from their haversacks with the enemy soldiers they had so recently been starving out. The Confederates accepted eagerly and gratefully. Pemberton says in his report: > “If it should be asked why the 4th of July was selected as the day for surrender, the answer is obvious. I believed that upon that day I should obtain better terms. Well aware of the vanity of our foe, I knew they would attach vast importance to the entrance on the 4th of July into the stronghold of the great river, and that, to gratify their national vanity, they would yield then what could not be extorted from them at any other time.” This does not agree with my view of his reasons for choosing that day to surrender. But we must remember that his first letter requesting terms was received about 10 o’clock A.M., July 3rd. It could hardly have been expected that it would take twenty-four hours to arrange a surrender. He knew Johnston was behind us trying to relieve the siege, and naturally would want to hold out as long as possible. He knew his men would not resist an assault, and they expected one on the fourth. In our interview, he told me he had rations to last some time—my recollection is two weeks. That statement led me to include in the surrender terms that he should supply his men with rations from his own stores. On July 4th, General Holmes, commanding an army of eight or nine thousand men from the Trans-Mississippi Department, attacked Helena, Arkansas. He was thoroughly defeated by General Prentiss, who held Helena with fewer than forty-two hundred soldiers. Holmes reported his loss at 1,636, including 173 killed; but since Prentiss buried 400, Holmes clearly underreported his casualties. The Union loss was 57 killed, 127 wounded, and between 30 and 40 missing. This was the last Confederate attempt to lift the siege of Vicksburg. On the third, as soon as negotiations began, I notified Sherman and instructed him to be ready to go on the offensive against Johnston, drive him out of the state, and destroy his army if possible. Steele and Ord were instructed at the same time to be prepared to join Sherman as soon as the surrender occurred. Sherman was also informed of this. I entered Vicksburg with the troops and went to the river to exchange congratulations with the navy on our joint victory. At that time, I discovered that many of the citizens had been living underground. The ridges on which Vicksburg is built, and those extending back to the Big Black, are composed of a deep yellow clay of great strength. Where roads and streets are cut through, the resulting perpendicular banks stand as firm as if made of stone. The enemy's magazines were created by carving passageways into this clay at points where there were deep cuts. Many citizens secured safe places for their families by carving rooms out of these embankments. In such cases, a doorway would be made in a high bank starting at the level of the road or street, and after a few feet, a room of the desired size would be hollowed out in the clay, with the dirt carried out through the doorway. In some instances, I saw where two rooms had been carved for a single family, with a doorway connecting them through the clay wall. Some of these spaces were carpeted and furnished with considerable care. The occupants of these rooms were fully protected from the navy's shells, which were fired into the city night and day without pause. I returned to my old headquarters outside the city that afternoon and did not move into town until the sixth. On the afternoon of the fourth, I sent Captain Wm. M. Dunn of my staff to Cairo, the nearest point with telegraph access, with a dispatch to the general-in-chief. It read: > “The enemy surrendered this morning. The only terms allowed is their parole as prisoners of war. This I regard as a great advantage to us at this moment. It saves, probably, several days in the capture, and leaves troops and transports ready for immediate service. Sherman, with a large force, moves immediately on Johnston, to drive him from the State. I will send troops to the relief of Banks, and return the 9th army corps to Burnside.” This news, combined with the victory at Gettysburg won the same day, lifted a great burden of anxiety from the minds of the President, his Cabinet, and the loyal people throughout the North. The fate of the Confederacy was sealed when Vicksburg fell. Although much hard fighting remained and many precious lives would still be lost, the morale stayed with the supporters of the Union from that moment on. At the same time, I wrote to General Banks, informing him of the fall and sending him a copy of the terms; I also assured him I would send any troops needed to guarantee the capture of the only remaining foothold the enemy had on the Mississippi River. General Banks had several copies of this letter printed, or at least a summary, and very soon a copy made its way to General Gardner, then in command of Port Hudson. Gardner immediately wrote to the commander of the National forces, stating that he had been informed of Vicksburg's surrender and detailing how he received the news. He added that if this was true, there was no point in holding out any longer. General Banks assured him that Vicksburg had indeed surrendered, and General Gardner surrendered unconditionally on July 9th. Port Hudson, with nearly 6,000 prisoners, 51 guns, 5,000 small arms, and other supplies, fell into Union hands: from that day until the end of the rebellion, the Mississippi River from its source to its mouth stayed under National control. Pemberton and his army were kept in Vicksburg until everyone could be paroled. The paroles were done in duplicate, by organization (one copy for each, Federal and Confederate), and signed by the commanding officers of the companies or regiments. Duplicates were also made for each soldier and signed individually, one copy to be kept by the soldier and one by us. Several hundred refused to sign their paroles, choosing rather to be sent North as prisoners than to be sent back to fight again. Others avoided being found, hoping to escape both options. Pemberton appealed to me personally to force these men to sign their paroles, but I refused. It soon became known that many who had signed their paroles intended to desert and go home as soon as they were out of our lines. When Pemberton heard this, he again appealed to me for help. He asked for arms for a battalion to act as guards, keeping his men together while marching them to a camp of instruction, where he hoped to keep them until they could be exchanged. I also refused this request. It was exactly what I expected and hoped they would do. I told him, though, that I would ensure they marched out of our lines in good order. By the eleventh—just one week after the surrender—the paroles were completed and the Confederate garrison marched out. Many deserted, and fewer of them ever returned to the ranks to fight again than would have been the case if the surrender had been unconditional and the prisoners sent to the James River to be paroled. As soon as our troops took possession of the city, guards were stationed along the entire parapet, from the river above to the river below. The prisoners were allowed to remain in their old camps behind the entrenchments. The only restraint on them came from their own commanders. They received rations much the same as our own men, from our own supplies. The men of both armies fraternized as if they had been fighting for the same cause. When they marched out of the works they had defended so long and bravely, passing between lines of their recent opponents, not a cheer was raised, not a remark made that would cause pain. Really, I believe most of the Union soldiers felt a sense of sadness at seeing the dejection of their former adversaries. The day before their departure, the following order was issued: “Paroled prisoners will be sent out of here to-morrow. They will be authorized to cross at the railroad bridge, and move from there to Edward’s Ferry, and on by way of Raymond. Instruct the commands to be orderly and quiet as these prisoners pass, to make no offensive remarks, and not to harbor any who fall out of ranks after they have passed.” ## CHAPTER XXXIX. ### RETROSPECT OF THE CAMPAIGN—SHERMAN’S MOVEMENTS—PROPOSED MOVEMENT UPON MOBILE—A PAINFUL ACCIDENT—ORDERED TO REPORT AT CAIRO. The capture of Vicksburg, along with its garrison, ordnance, and supplies, as well as the successful battles fought to reach them, revived the spirit of loyal people in the North. New hope for the Union’s eventual success was inspired. The victory achieved at Gettysburg on the same day added to these hopes. Now, the Mississippi River was completely under the control of National troops, since the fall of Vicksburg immediately gave us Port Hudson. The Army of Northern Virginia was driven out of Pennsylvania and pushed back to almost the same ground it had held in 1861. The Army of the Tennessee joined with the Army of the Gulf, dividing the Confederate States completely. The first message I received from the government after Vicksburg’s fall said: > “I fear your paroling the prisoners at Vicksburg, without actual delivery to a proper agent as required by the seventh article of the cartel, may be construed into an absolute release, and that the men will immediately be placed in the ranks of the enemy. Such has been the case elsewhere. If these prisoners have not been allowed to depart, you will detain them until further orders.” Halleck was not aware that the prisoners had already been handed over to Major Watts, the Confederate commissioner for the exchange of prisoners. At Vicksburg, 31,600 prisoners were surrendered, along with 172 cannons, about 60,000 muskets, and a large quantity of ammunition. The enemy’s small arms were far superior to most of ours. Up to that point, our troops in the West had generally been issued old United States flintlock muskets converted to percussion, or the Belgian musket imported early in the war—almost as dangerous to the shooter as to the target—and only a few new and improved weapons. These were of many different calibers, making ammunition distribution during battle very difficult. The enemy, on the other hand, mostly had new arms that had run the blockade and were of uniform caliber. After the surrender, I authorized all colonels whose regiments had inferior muskets to put them into the stack of captured arms and swap them for the better ones. Many of the arms turned in to the Ordnance Department as captured had actually just been used by the Union army to take Vicksburg. In this narrative, I have not mentioned as many officers, living and dead, whose efforts deserve special notice as I would have liked. Nor have I sufficiently mentioned the navy, though it thoroughly deserves it. Suffice it to say, by the end of the siege of Vicksburg, we had an army that was, proportionally, as good as any in officers and men. A military education had been acquired that no other school could offer. Men who at first thought it enough to command a single company were fit by now to command regiments or brigades; most brigade commanders could have handled divisions, and one, Ransom, was at least equal to corps command. Logan and Crocker ended the campaign ready to command independent armies. General F. P. Blair joined me at Milliken’s Bend as a full general, without having served at any lower rank. He led a division in the campaign. I had met Blair in Missouri, where I had voted against him in his 1858 campaign for Congress. I knew him as a frank, assertive, and generous man, faithful to friends even to a fault, always a leader. I dreaded his arrival; from experience, I knew it was more challenging to command two generals eager to lead than one army with intelligent and subordinate officers. It is my pleasure now to record that I was quite pleasantly surprised regarding his character. No man was braver, nor did any other obey all orders from superiors more promptly. He was one kind of man as a soldier, another as a politician. Throughout the campaign, the navy under Porter was unsurpassed. Without its support, the campaign could not have been completed with twice as many men. In fact, it could not have been done at all, in the way it was, with any number of men, without the navy’s help. There was perfect harmony between the two branches of the service. As far as I know, any request made of the flag officer or his subordinates was promptly granted. The Vicksburg campaign arose from and was shaped by circumstances. The 1862 elections had gone against continuing the war. Voluntary enlistments had nearly stopped, and the draft had to be imposed; this was resisted, and a defeat or fallback would have prevented its execution. A decisive victory was essential. So, I resolved to get below Vicksburg, unite with Banks against Port Hudson, make New Orleans our base, and from there, along with Grand Gulf as a starting point, use our combined forces against Vicksburg. Upon reaching Grand Gulf, after passing its batteries and fighting a battle, I received a letter from Banks saying he could not be at Port Hudson for ten days, and even then only with fifteen thousand men. Time was more valuable than reinforcements; therefore, I pushed into the enemy’s interior. With a large river behind us, controlled above and below by the enemy, quick movement was vital for success. Jackson was taken the day after a new commander arrived, and just days before substantial reinforcements were due. A rapid movement to the west followed; the Vicksburg garrison was engaged twice, badly beaten, and driven back into its stronghold, where it was then besieged. Now, looking back, it seems as though Providence directed the course of the campaign, while the Army of the Tennessee carried it out. After the surrender of Vicksburg’s garrison, three things needed immediate attention. First, to send a force to clear the enemy from our rear and out of the state. Second, to reinforce Banks near Port Hudson, if needed, in order to ensure the opening of the Mississippi from source to mouth to vessels bearing the Stars and Stripes. Third, to inform the authorities in Washington and the North of the good news, to relieve their suspense and strengthen their confidence in the cause they cared about so deeply. Shortly after opening negotiations with General Pemberton for the city’s surrender, I notified Sherman—whose troops stretched from Haines’ Bluff on the left to where the Vicksburg and Jackson road crosses the Big Black on the right—to ready his command to advance and drive the enemy from the state as soon as Vicksburg fell. Steele and Ord were instructed to be ready to join Sherman’s move against General Johnston, and Sherman was told of this as well. Sherman acted promptly, crossing the Big Black at three separate points with as many columns, all coming together at Bolton, twenty miles west of Jackson. Johnston learned of Vicksburg’s surrender almost immediately, and quickly retreated to Jackson. On July 8th, Sherman was within ten miles of Jackson, and by the 11th was right up to the city’s defenses, shelling the town. The siege continued until the morning of the 17th, when it was discovered that the enemy had left during the night. The weather was extremely hot, the roads dusty, and the water bad. Johnston destroyed the roads as he left and had such a head start that pursuing him was pointless; but Sherman did send Steele’s division on to Brandon, fourteen miles east of Jackson. The National losses in this second capture of Jackson amounted to fewer than one thousand killed, wounded, and missing. The Confederate losses were probably less, except for prisoners. More than this number were taken captive. Medicines and food were left for the wounded and sick Confederates who had to be abandoned. Large quantities of rations were issued to families remaining in Jackson. Medicine and food were also sent to Raymond for destitute families and for the sick and wounded; I thought it only fair to return some of the things we had taken while marching through the country. I wrote to Sherman: “Impress upon the men the importance of going through the State in an orderly manner, abstaining from taking anything not absolutely necessary for their subsistence while travelling. They should try to create as favorable an impression as possible upon the people.” Provisions and forage, when asked for, were given to all the people, from Bruinsburg to Jackson and back to Vicksburg, whose resources had been used to supply our army. Grocery and provisions shipments were distributed in very large quantities. Sherman was ordered back to Vicksburg, and his troops resumed about the same positions as before—from the Big Black to Haines’ Bluff. Having cleared the area around Vicksburg and captured or driven off all regular Confederate forces for more than a hundred miles in every direction, I felt that the troops who had done so much should be allowed to accomplish more before the enemy could recover, and while important points might be taken without bloodshed. I suggested to the General-in-chief the idea of a campaign against Mobile, starting from Lake Pontchartrain. Halleck preferred a different approach. In his view, controlling the trans-Mississippi region seemed more important than nearly any campaign east of the Mississippi. I know the President was very eager for a foothold in Texas to ease the demands of some foreign governments who seemed to be looking for a pretext to interfere, or at least to recognize the Confederate States as belligerents. This, however, could have been achieved easily without wasting troops in western Louisiana and eastern Texas, by simply sending a garrison immediately to Brownsville on the Rio Grande. Halleck rejected my proposal to go against Mobile, so I had to settle for being put on the defensive again as I had been in west Tennessee a year earlier. At the time I suggested it, capturing Mobile would have been easy. With Mobile as a base, we could send troops into the interior against General Bragg’s army, forcing Bragg to detach forces to defend his rear. If he hadn’t, our troops from Mobile could have dealt a severe blow to areas that supplied both his and Lee’s armies. I was convinced enough to renew my request later in July, and again around August 1st, offering to send all the necessary troops, needing only the navy’s help to protect the troops as they landed near Mobile. I also asked for leave to visit New Orleans, should my idea to take Mobile be approved. Both requests were denied. In my experience, General Halleck found it far easier to refuse a request than to grant one. However, I did not see this as a favor; it was, in my view, a necessary part of my duty, even if outside my department. With the General-in-chief decided against me, as after the fall of Corinth the previous year, the army that had won a series of great victories began to be depleted, with its troops sent where they could do the least good. By orders, I sent a force of 4,000 men to Banks; returned the 9th Corps to Kentucky; and, once transportation was arranged, sent a division of 5,000 to Schofield in Missouri where Price was raiding. I also detached a brigade under Ransom to Natchez to garrison that place permanently. The timing of Ransom’s arrival was quite fortunate—the enemy happened to have about 5,000 head of cattle there, on their way from Texas to feed the Eastern armies, as well as a large amount of munitions probably sent through Texas from the Rio Grande and bound for Lee’s and other armies in the East. The troops remaining with me around Vicksburg were kept very busy—and not pleasantly so—conducting expeditions against guerrilla bands and small detachments of cavalry that infested the interior, and destroying mills, bridges, and rolling stock on the railroads. The guerrillas and cavalry were not there to fight, but rather to harass us, so they disappeared at the first sign of our troops. The area behind Vicksburg was full of deserters from Pemberton’s army and, it was reported, many from Johnston’s as well. These men were determined not to fight again for the rest of the war. Those who lived outside the Confederate army’s reach wanted to return home. Those who did not wanted to head North, where they could work to support themselves until the war ended. Besides this, there was, at least for a time, a notable peace sentiment among the citizens in that part of Mississippi, though this feeling soon faded. It is unlikely that Pemberton got away with more than 4,000 of his men to the camp he intended to take them to, and those who did make it were in a demoralized condition. On August 7th, I further depleted my army by sending the 13th Corps, under General Ord, to support Banks. I also received orders to cooperate with General Banks in operations west of the Mississippi. Upon receiving those instructions, I traveled to New Orleans to meet Banks regarding the proposed movement. All these efforts ultimately led nowhere. During this visit, I reviewed Banks' army a short distance above Carrollton. The horse I rode was vicious and not used very often, and on the ride back to New Orleans, it ran away. Shying at a locomotive in the street, it fell, probably landing on me. I lost consciousness, and when I awoke I found myself in a nearby hotel, attended by several doctors. My leg was swollen from the knee up to the thigh, and the swelling, nearly to the point of bursting, extended up my body to the armpit. The pain was nearly unbearable. I remained in the hotel for over a week, unable even to turn over in bed. I had a steamer stop at the closest point it could, and was carried to it on a litter. I was then taken to Vicksburg, where I remained immobile for some time afterwards. While I was away, General Sherman declined to assume command, saying it would create confusion in the records; yet he let all orders be issued in my name and was eager to provide any assistance he could. No orders were given by my staff—certainly no important ones—without consulting and receiving approval from Sherman. On September 13th, while I was still in New Orleans, Halleck telegraphed me to send all available forces to Memphis and from there to Tuscumbia, to help Rosecrans relieve Chattanooga. On the 15th, he telegraphed again requesting all available forces be sent to Rosecrans. This message reached me on the 27th. I was still confined to my bed, unable to get up without help, but I immediately ordered Sherman to send a division to Memphis as soon as transports were available. A division from McPherson’s corps, which had been en route to join Steele in Arkansas, was recalled and sent to report to Hurlbut at Memphis as well. Hurlbut was directed to forward these two divisions, along with two from his own corps, at once, and to send any other returning troops as well. Halleck suggested that a capable commander, such as Sherman or McPherson, be sent to Memphis to take charge of the troops heading east. I decided to send Sherman, as he seemed the most suitable for this independent command, and, besides, he deserved it if it was to be given to anyone. He was instructed to take another division from his corps with him, leaving one behind, but since he had one of McPherson’s divisions, he still had the equivalent strength. Before I received these orders, the battle of Chickamauga had already taken place, and Rosecrans had been driven back into Chattanooga. The administration, as well as the General-in-chief, was nearly frantic about the situation there. Mr. Charles A. Dana, an officer with the War Department, was sent to Rosecrans’ headquarters. I am not sure what his instructions were, but he was still in Chattanooga when I arrived there later. It appears Halleck suggested I should go to Nashville as soon as I was able to travel and take overall direction of the troops moving from the west. I received the following dispatch, dated October 3rd: “It is the wish of the Secretary of War that as soon as General Grant is able he will come to Cairo and report by telegraph.” Although I was still quite lame, I set out without delay. Upon arriving at Columbus on the 16th I reported by telegraph: “Your dispatch from Cairo of the 3d directing me to report from Cairo was received at 11:30 on the 10th. Left the same day with staff and headquarters and am here en route for Cairo.” ## VOLUME II.  ## CHAPTER XL. ### FIRST MEETING WITH SECRETARY STANTON—GENERAL ROSECRANS—COMMANDING MILITARY DIVISION OF MISSISSIPPI— ANDREW JOHNSON’S ADDRESS—ARRIVAL AT CHATTANOOGA. The reply to my telegram of October 16, 1863, sent from Cairo to announce my arrival there, came on the morning of the 17th. It directed me to proceed immediately to the Galt House in Louisville, where an officer from the War Department would meet me with my instructions. I left Cairo within an hour or two of receiving this dispatch, traveling by rail through Indianapolis. Just as my train was about to depart from the Indianapolis depot, a messenger rushed up to stop it, announcing that the Secretary of War was arriving at the station and wanted to see me. I had never met Mr. Stanton before, though we had held frequent conversations by telegraph the year prior, when I was in Tennessee. Occasionally, at night, he would order the wires between the War Department and my headquarters connected, and we would talk for an hour or two. On this occasion, the Secretary was accompanied by Governor Brough of Ohio, whom I had not met previously, although he and my father had been old acquaintances. Mr. Stanton dismissed the special train that had brought him to Indianapolis and joined me in traveling to Louisville. Up to this time, I had no indication of what was expected after I left Vicksburg, except for a suggestion in one of Halleck’s dispatches that I should go to Nashville to supervise the operation of troops sent to relieve Rosecrans. Soon after we set off, the Secretary handed me two orders and said I could choose between them. The two orders were identical except for one point. Both created the “Military Division of Mississippi” (appointing me as the commander), which included the Departments of the Ohio, the Cumberland, and the Tennessee, covering all territory from the Alleghanies to the Mississippi River north of Banks’s command in the southwest. One order kept the department commanders unchanged, while the other relieved Rosecrans and appointed Thomas in his place. I chose the latter. We arrived in Louisville after nightfall, and, if I recall correctly, in a cold, drizzling rain. The Secretary of War later told me that he caught a cold on that occasion from which he never expected to recover—which proved true. We spent a day in Louisville, the Secretary briefing me on military news from the capital and discussing the disappointment over the outcome of some campaigns. By that evening, all points of discussion seemed exhausted, so I left the hotel to spend time elsewhere, as both Mrs. Grant (who was with me) and I had relatives living in Louisville. That evening, Mr. Stanton received a dispatch from Mr. C. A. Dana, who was then in Chattanooga, informing him that Rosecrans would retreat unless prevented, and advising peremptory orders to stop him. As mentioned earlier, after the fall of Vicksburg I strongly urged the government to consider a movement against Mobile. General Rosecrans had been stationed at Murfreesboro’, Tennessee, with a large and well-equipped army since early 1863, with Bragg facing him with a force nearly equal at first, especially being on the defensive. But after Vicksburg was invested, Bragg’s army was heavily reduced to reinforce Johnston in Mississippi, who was trying to lift the siege. I frequently wrote to General Halleck, suggesting that Rosecrans should move against Bragg. By doing this, he would either keep Bragg’s troops where they were or leave Chattanooga vulnerable to capture. General Halleck strongly approved my suggestion, eventually telling me he had repeatedly ordered Rosecrans to advance, but Rosecrans consistently failed to do so. Finally, after holding a council of war, Rosecrans replied that it was a military maxim “not to fight two decisive battles at the same time.” If that were true, it didn’t apply in this situation. It would be risky to lose two decisive battles on the same day, but not to win them. However, I was not engaged in battle, and the siege of Vicksburg had pulled so many enemy troops from Rosecrans’ front that his odds of a victory were much better than they’d be after the siege, when those troops could return. Rosecrans was ordered to move against the army sending reinforcements to break the siege. He finally did, on June 24th, but ten days later Vicksburg surrendered, freeing the troops Bragg had sent away to return. It was at this time that I recommended to the general-in-chief a campaign against Mobile. I understood the dangers facing the Army of the Cumberland, being steadily diminished not just by regular losses, but also by needing to detach troops to secure its ever-lengthening supply line, while enemy forces in front kept growing. Mobile was valuable to the enemy, and with no present threat was guarded by little more than artillery. If attacked by land and water simultaneously, the city would fall easily or require enemy reinforcements. Those reinforcements would have to come from Bragg. My advice was overruled, and my troops were scattered to places where it was believed they could be most helpful. Soon Washington realized that Rosecrans was in trouble and needed help. The emergency was now too great to offer this assistance by launching an attack to Bragg’s rear against Mobile. Reinforcements had to be sent directly from every available point. Rosecrans had skillfully maneuvered Bragg south of the Tennessee River, through and past Chattanooga. If he had stopped and entrenched there, making his position strong, everything would have been well, partly making up for the error of not moving earlier. Instead, he pressed on, with his forces widely scattered, until Bragg’s Mississippi troops began rejoining him. Then Bragg seized the initiative. Rosecrans had to retreat, and just managed to bring his army together at Chickamauga, a few miles southeast of Chattanooga, before the main battle occurred. The battle was fought on September 19th and 20th, and Rosecrans suffered a severe defeat, losing sixteen thousand men killed, wounded, or captured, and much artillery. Major-General George H. Thomas’s corps held its ground, while Rosecrans, along with Crittenden and McCook, withdrew to Chattanooga. Thomas also returned later but with his troops still in good order. Bragg pursued and seized Missionary Ridge, which overlooked Chattanooga. He also took Lookout Mountain, west of the city, which Rosecrans abandoned along with his control of the river and the river road as far as Bridgeport. The Union troops were now strongly entrenched in Chattanooga Valley, with the Tennessee River behind them. The enemy held commanding heights to the east and west, as well as a strong line stretching across the valley from mountain to mountain—with Chattanooga Creek, for a large part of the distance, in front of the Union lines.  On the 29th Halleck telegraphed me the above results and instructed me to send all troops that could be spared from my department to assist Rosecrans. Well before I received this dispatch, Sherman was already en route, and McPherson was heading east with most of Vicksburg’s garrison. A retreat at that moment would have been a terrible disaster. Not only would it have meant losing a critical strategic position, but it also would have resulted in the loss of all artillery remaining with the Army of the Cumberland and the total destruction of the army itself, either by capture or demoralization. All supplies for Rosecrans had to come from Nashville. The railway between that base and the army was under Union control up to Bridgeport, where the line crosses to the south side of the Tennessee River. But with Bragg occupying Lookout and Raccoon mountains west of Chattanooga, he controlled the rail line, the river, and the shortest and best wagon roads—both south and north of the river—connecting Chattanooga and Bridgeport. The rail distance was only twenty-six miles, but due to Bragg’s position, all supplies for Rosecrans had to be transported by a circuitous route north of the river, across mountainous terrain, making the journey over sixty miles. This region provided little forage for the animals; nearly 10,000 had already starved, and there weren’t enough left to pull even a single piece of artillery or convey the sick. The men had been on half rations of hard bread for some time, with few other supplies except for beef driven all the way from Nashville. The land along the route soon became so depleted that by the time the cattle reached Chattanooga they were as starved as the few surviving animals in the city—“on the lift.” The beef was so poor that soldiers would joke, with faint humor, that they were living on “half rations of hard bread and BEEF DRIED ON THE HOOF.” Nothing but food could be transported, and the troops lacked enough shoes or clothing for the approaching cold. What they had was well worn. The fuel within the Union lines was used up, even down to the tree stumps. There were no teams to haul it from the far bank, where fuel was abundant. For some time before my arrival, the only way to get fuel was to cut trees on the north side of the river, form them into rafts, and float them down with the current, landing them across from our lines using paddles or poles. The wood would then be carried by the men on their shoulders to their camps. If a retreat had been made at that point, it’s unlikely any of the army would have reached the railroad as an organized force, had the enemy pursued. Upon receiving Mr. Dana’s dispatch, Mr. Stanton sent for me. Learning that I was out, he became nervous and agitated, asking everyone he met—including hotel guests—if they knew where I was, and asking them to find and send me to him immediately. Around eleven o’clock, I finally returned to the hotel. On my way, nearly everyone I met was a messenger from the Secretary, evidently sharing his urgency. I hurried to the Secretary’s room and found him, in his dressing gown, pacing the floor rapidly. He insisted that the retreat must be prevented and showed me Dana’s message. I immediately wrote an order assuming command of the Military Division of the Mississippi and telegraphed it to General Rosecrans. Then I sent him the order from Washington assigning Thomas to command the Army of the Cumberland, and informed Thomas that he must hold Chattanooga at all costs, also telling him that I would arrive at the front as soon as possible. Thomas promptly replied, “We will hold the town till we starve.” I fully understood the meaning of this message later when I saw the actual conditions that inspired it. It truly seemed as if only two options remained: to starve, or to surrender or be captured. On the morning of October 20th, I departed with my staff and traveled as far as Nashville. At that time, it was not safe to travel farther at night, so I stayed in Nashville until the next morning. Here, I met Andrew Johnson, the Military Governor of Tennessee, for the first time. He gave a speech of welcome. His confidence made it clear this was far from his first public speech. It was long, and I suffered throughout, fearing I’d be expected to speak in reply. Fortunately, when he finished, the people seemed satisfied and instead began general hand-shaking—which, while tiring under such circumstances, was in this case a welcome relief. From Nashville, I telegraphed Burnside, then at Knoxville, that important posts in his department should be fortified so they could be held by the smallest possible force; telegraphed Admiral Porter at Cairo to inform him that Sherman’s advance had passed Eastport, Mississippi, that rations were probably en route by boat from St. Louis to supply his army, and asked him to send a gunboat to escort the supply boats; and wrote Thomas suggesting that large parties get to work improving the wagon road then in use back to Bridgeport. On the morning of the 21st, we took the train toward the front, arriving at Stevenson, Alabama, after dark. Rosecrans was there, heading north. He came into my car and we had a brief conversation, during which he described the situation at Chattanooga very clearly and made some excellent suggestions about what should be done next. My only surprise was that he had not already carried them out. We then continued to Bridgeport, where we stopped for the night. From there, we took horses and traveled by way of Jasper and over Waldron’s Ridge to Chattanooga. There had been a lot of rain, and the roads were nearly impassable with mud, knee-deep in places, and wash-outs along the mountainsides. I had been on crutches since my fall in New Orleans and had to be carried over places where it was unsafe to cross on horseback. The roads were littered with debris from broken wagons and the carcasses of thousands of starved mules and horses. At Jasper, about ten or twelve miles from Bridgeport, we stopped. General O. O. Howard had his headquarters there. From this point, I telegraphed Burnside, urging him to do everything possible to secure five hundred rounds of ammunition for his artillery and small arms. We spent the night at a small hamlet about ten or twelve miles farther on. The next day, we reached Chattanooga a little before dark. I went directly to General Thomas’s headquarters, and stayed there a few days until I could establish my own. That evening, most of the general officers came by to pay their respects and discuss the state of affairs. They pointed out on the map the line, marked in red or blue pencil, to which Rosecrans had thought of withdrawing. If any of them supported the move, they did not mention it to me. I found General W. F. Smith serving as the chief engineer of the Army of the Cumberland. I had known Smith as a cadet at West Point, but had no memory of meeting him after my graduation in 1843 until now. He explained the positions of the two armies and the topography of the area so thoroughly that I could picture it even without an inspection. I learned that he had set up a sawmill on the riverbank using an old engine found nearby, and, by floating logs from the north side of the river, had produced enough lumber to finish pontoons and planks for a second bridge—there was already one flying bridge in place. He was also quickly producing materials and building boats for a third bridge. On top of that, he was far along in constructing a steamer to run between Chattanooga and Bridgeport when we secured control of the river. This boat was made of a scow built from the planks sawed at the mill, with an enclosed house, and a stern wheel added, powered by a second engine taken from some shop or factory. That night, I telegraphed Washington to notify General Halleck of my arrival and requested that General Sherman be given command of the Army of the Tennessee, with headquarters in the field. The request was promptly approved. ## CHAPTER XLI. ### ASSUMING THE COMMAND AT CHATTANOOGA—OPENING A LINE OF SUPPLIES—BATTLE OF WAUHATCHIE—ON THE PICKET LINE. The next day, the 24th, I set out to make a personal inspection, taking Thomas and Smith with me, along with most members of my personal staff. We crossed to the north side of the river and, moving north of the detached spurs of hills, reached the Tennessee at Brown’s Ferry, about three miles below Lookout Mountain, without being noticed by the enemy. Here, we left our horses back from the river and approached the water on foot. On the opposite side, an enemy picket station of about twenty men was in full view, within easy range. They did not fire on us or seem bothered by our presence. They must have seen that we were all officers. I imagine they regarded the garrison at Chattanooga as effectively prisoners of war, starving or feeding themselves, and thought it would be inhumane to kill any of them unless in self-defense. That night, I issued orders to open up the route to Bridgeport—a "cracker line," as the soldiers aptly called it. They had been living on such short rations that my first priority was establishing a route for food to reach them.  Chattanooga sits on the south bank of the Tennessee, where the river runs almost straight west. It lies at the north end of a valley five or six miles wide, through which Chattanooga Creek flows. To the east of the valley is Missionary Ridge, which rises from five to eight hundred feet above the creek, ending somewhat abruptly about half a mile before meeting the Tennessee. On the west side of the valley is Lookout Mountain, which reaches twenty-two hundred feet above sea level. Just below the town, the Tennessee turns south and runs to the base of Lookout Mountain, leaving no level ground between the mountain and the river. The Memphis and Charleston Railroad passes this point, where the mountain stands nearly vertical. East of Missionary Ridge flows the South Chickamauga River; west of Lookout Mountain is Lookout Creek; and beyond that, the Raccoon Mountains. The northern end of Lookout Mountain rises almost vertically for some distance, then tapers off into gently sloping cultivated fields near the summit, ending in a thirty-foot or higher cliff. On the sloping ground between the upper and lower cliffs, there is only one farmhouse, reached by a wagon road from the valley to the east. The enemy’s fortified line began at the north end of Missionary Ridge and ran along the crest for some distance south, then crossed Chattanooga Valley to Lookout Mountain. Lookout Mountain was also fortified and occupied by the enemy, who also stationed troops in Lookout Valley to the west and on Raccoon Mountain, with pickets extending down the river to control the road on the north bank, rendering it useless to us. Additionally, there was a fortified line in the Chattanooga Valley stretching from the river east of town to Lookout Mountain, completing the investment. Besides the fortifications on Mission Ridge, there was a line at the base of the hill, with occasional spurs of rifle-pits halfway up the front. The enemy’s pickets reached far into the valley toward the town, close enough for pickets of both armies to converse. At one point, they were separated only by the narrow creek that gives its name to the valley and town, from which both sides drew water. The Union lines were shorter than those of the enemy. Thus, the enemy, with a much larger force, was strongly fortified to the east, south, and west, with control of the river below. Effectively, the Army of the Cumberland was under siege. The enemy, using cavalry north of the river, had stopped a train loaded with ammunition and medical supplies. The Union army was short of both, without even enough ammunition for one day’s fighting. Long before I came into this new theater, General Halleck had ordered parts of the 11th and 12th Corps, under Generals Howard and Slocum, with Hooker in overall command, from the Army of the Potomac to reinforce Rosecrans. It would have been folly to send them to Chattanooga merely to consume the few rations left there, so they were left along the railroad, where supplies could still reach them. Before my arrival, Thomas ordered them concentrated at Bridgeport. General W. F. Smith had been crucial in planning for the move I was about to make and showed sound judgment regarding its execution. I felt it only fair that he should command the troops assigned to carry out the task, although he was then acting as a staff officer and not in command of troops. On October 24th, after returning to Chattanooga, the following orders were given: General Hooker, then at Bridgeport, was to cross to the south side of the Tennessee and march up via Whitesides and Wauhatchie to Brown’s Ferry. General Palmer, with a division of the 14th Corps, Army of the Cumberland, was to move down the river on the north side by a back road until opposite Whitesides, then cross over and secure the road in Hooker’s rear once he had passed. Four thousand men were also assigned to serve directly under General Smith from Chattanooga. Eighteen hundred of them, under General Hazen, were to take sixty pontoon boats and, under cover of night, float past the enemy pickets at the north base of Lookout to Brown’s Ferry, then land on the south side and capture or disperse the pickets at that location. Smith was to march with the remaining men, also by night, along the north bank of the river to Brown’s Ferry, bringing all the materials needed to lay a bridge as soon as the crossing was secured. On the 26th, Hooker crossed the river at Bridgeport and began his eastward march. At three o’clock in the morning on the 27th, Hazen went into the river with his sixty p ontoons and eighteen hundred well-equipped and brave men. Smith started early enough to be near the river when Hazen arrived. North of the river at Chattanooga, several detached hills provide a good road behind them, parallel to the water and shielded from view from the top of Lookout. Smith marched along this road. At five o’clock, Hazen landed at Brown’s Ferry, surprised the picket guard, and captured most of them. By seven o’clock, Smith’s entire force was ferried over and occupied a height commanding the ferry. This was quickly fortified, while a detail laid the pontoon bridge. By ten o’clock, the bridge was complete, and our right flank, now in Lookout Valley, was fortified and joined with the rest of the army. The two bridges over the Tennessee—a temporary one at Chattanooga and the new one at Brown’s Ferry—combined with the north bank road, protected from enemy fire and observation, created a complete connection. Hooker faced minor obstacles and, on the afternoon of the 28th, entered Lookout Valley at Wauhatchie. Howard marched on to Brown’s Ferry, while Geary, who commanded a division in the 12th Corps, stopped three miles further south. The pickets of the enemy, stationed along the river below, were now cut off and soon surrendered. The river was now open to us from Lookout Valley to Bridgeport. Between Brown’s Ferry and Kelly’s Ferry, the Tennessee passes through a narrow gorge in the mountains, making the current too strong for an ordinary steamer. To get up these rapids, steamers had to be rope-towed from the shore—a practice known as "cordelling." Still, there’s no difficulty navigating the river from Bridgeport to Kelly’s Ferry. Kelly’s Ferry is only eight miles from Chattanooga, connected by a good wagon road that runs through a low pass in the Raccoon Mountains on the south side of the river to Brown’s Ferry, and then on the north side to opposite Chattanooga. Several steamers were at Bridgeport, and there was plenty of forage, clothing, and provisions. On my way to Chattanooga, I had telegraphed Nashville for a good supply of vegetables and small rations, food the troops had long lacked. Hooker had come from the east with ample land transport. His animals had not been worked hard or deprived of forage, so they were in good condition. In five days after my arrival in Chattanooga, the road to Bridgeport was open; within a week, thanks to steamers and Hooker’s teams, the troops were getting full rations. It’s hard for anyone who wasn’t there to understand the relief this brought. The men were soon refitted with clothing and food; plenty of ammunition arrived, and a cheerfulness returned that had been missing for many weeks. Officers and men no longer saw themselves as doomed. The weak and haggard look that marked the troops before quickly disappeared. I do not know what the effect was on the other side, but I imagine it was quite discouraging. Mr. Davis had visited Bragg not long before, and likely saw our situation as Bragg described it in his later report: “These dispositions, faithfully sustained, insured the enemy’s speedy evacuation of Chattanooga for want of food and forage. Possessed of the shortest route to his depot, and the one by which reinforcements must reach him, we held him at our mercy, and his destruction was only a question of time.” But the “dispositions” were not “faithfully sustained,” and I have no doubt thousands of the men assigned to “sustain” them are glad of it now. At no time during the rebellion did I think otherwise, and I often said the South was likely to benefit more from its defeat than the North. The North had the people, institutions, and territory to become a strong and prosperous nation. The South was burdened with an institution abhorred by all civilized societies not raised under it—one that degraded labor, kept workers in ignorance, and weakened the ruling class. With the world opposed to this institution, the South could not have expanded its borders. The labor force lacked skill and the chance to gain it. White laborers lost status, and those who toiled were dismissed as “poor white trash.” The system would have quickly exhausted the land and left the population poor. The non-slaveholders would have left, and small slaveholders would have sold out to wealthier neighbors. Before long, slaves would have outnumbered the masters and, lacking sympathy with them, might have risen and wiped them out. The war was costly to both North and South in blood and treasure, but it was worth every cost. The enemy was surprised by the moves that secured our supply line. He recognized its importance and tried to recapture it. His strength on Lookout Mountain was not equal to Hooker’s forces in the valley below. From Missionary Ridge, the enemy had to march twice as far as we did from Chattanooga to reach Lookout Valley. Nevertheless, on the night of October 28th and 29th, Longstreet’s corps attacked Geary at Wauhatchie. When the fighting began, Hooker ordered Howard to move up from Brown’s Ferry, a three-mile march to reach Geary. On the way, Howard’s troops were fired upon by rebel forces from a foot-hill to the left of the road, which commanded the route. Howard turned, charged the hill, and captured it before the enemy could dig in, taking many prisoners. Leaving enough troops to hold the hill, he continued to reinforce Geary. Before Howard arrived, Geary had already faced a much larger enemy force for about three hours. It was so dark that the soldiers could only identify each other by the flashes of their muskets. In the confusion, Hooker’s teamsters panicked and abandoned their teams. The mules, also frightened, broke free and stampeded straight toward the enemy, who likely mistook this for a charge and in turn stampeded themselves. By four o’clock in the morning, the fighting was over, and our “cracker line” was never threatened again. In securing Lookout Valley, Smith lost one man killed and four or five wounded. The enemy lost nearly all their pickets at the ferry, who were captured. In the night action on the 28th–29th, Hooker lost 416 killed and wounded. I never learned the enemy’s exact losses, but our troops buried more than 150 of their dead and captured over a hundred prisoners. After securing the supply line for the army, I made a personal inspection of the picket situation between the two armies. As mentioned before, Chattanooga Creek runs down the middle of the valley to about a mile from the town, then veers west, then northwest, and meets the Tennessee River at the base of Lookout Mountain. This creek, from its mouth to where it turns west, lay between the two lines of pickets, and guards from both sides drew their water from the same source. As I would be exposed to short-range fire in open country, I took no one with me except, I think, a bugler who stayed a distance behind. I rode from our right around to our left. As I reached our picket guard’s camp, the call came: “Turn out the guard for the commanding general.” I replied, “Never mind the guard,” and they were dismissed and returned to their tents. Not far behind, at an equal distance from the creek, were the Confederate pickets. Their sentinel called out in the same manner, “Turn out the guard for the commanding general,” and, as I recall, added, “General Grant.” Instantly, their line faced north toward me and saluted, which I returned. There seemed to be genuinely friendly relations between the pickets of both armies. At one spot, a fallen tree bridged the creek, used by soldiers on both sides for drawing water for camp. General Longstreet’s corps was stationed there at the time and wore blue uniforms of a slightly different shade from ours. Spotting a soldier in blue on this log, I rode up, began a conversation, and asked which corps he belonged to. He was very polite, touched his hat, and said he belonged to General Longstreet’s corps. I asked him a few casual questions—not to gain any significant information—which he answered, and then I rode off. ## CHAPTER XLII. ### CONDITION OF THE ARMY—REBUILDING THE RAILROAD—GENERAL BURNSIDE’S SITUATION—ORDERS FOR BATTLE—PLANS FOR THE ATTACK—HOOKER’S POSITION—SHERMAN’S MOVEMENTS. After placing the Army of the Cumberland in a secure position, I turned my attention to the rest of my new command. Burnside was in nearly as dire a situation as the Army of the Cumberland had been—though not yet under siege. He was a hundred miles from the nearest possible base, the Big South Fork of the Cumberland River, and much farther from any railroad under our control. The roads to the rear crossed mountains, and all local supplies had long been used up. His animals had been starved, and their carcasses lined the road back from Cumberland Gap and far toward Lexington, Kentucky. East Tennessee still provided beef, bread, and forage, but not ammunition, clothing, medical supplies, or small rations like coffee, sugar, salt, and rice. Sherman had set out from Memphis for Corinth on October 11. His orders required him to repair the railroad behind him to bring up supplies. The route was about three hundred and thirty miles through hostile territory. Even if the road had been intact, his whole force could not have secured it. The enemy had destroyed all the bridges and caused further damage. The region was home to hostile civilians, guerilla bands roamed the area, and some of the enemy's cavalry remained in the West. Often, the repairs Sherman’s men made were undone soon after, sometimes when they were barely out of sight. The Memphis and Charleston Railroad reaches the Tennessee River at Eastport, Mississippi. Knowing how hard it would be for Sherman to supply himself from Memphis, I had previously arranged for supplies to be sent from St. Louis on small steamers, escorted by navy vessels, to meet him at Eastport. Sherman received these supplies. I then ordered him to stop his railroad repairs and move his entire force to Stevenson, Alabama, without delay. This order reached Sherman via a messenger who paddled down the Tennessee in a canoe, floating over Muscle Shoals; it was delivered at Iuka on the 27th. The order informed Sherman that the rebels appeared to be moving toward Cleveland, East Tennessee, and might be heading to Nashville. If that were the case, his troops would be best placed to beat them to their destination. With characteristic promptness, Sherman abandoned his previous work and advanced at once. On November 1, he crossed the Tennessee at Eastport, and that same day reached Florence, Alabama, at the head of his column, while his troops were still crossing at Eastport, with Blair bringing up the rear. Sherman’s force acted as an additional army, complete with cavalry, artillery, and supply trains, all of which had to be supported by the single-track railroad from Nashville. There was also increasing likelihood we would have to supply Burnside’s command in East Tennessee—an additional twenty-five thousand men—via the same route. A single track could not support this demand. Therefore, I ordered Sherman to have General G. M. Dodge’s command, about eight thousand men, halt at Athens, and later ordered Dodge to position his troops along the railroad from Decatur north toward Nashville and to rebuild that rail line. The route from Nashville to Decatur crossed rugged country, cut by countless streams—many wide—with valleys far below the tracks. The enemy had destroyed all bridges and had pulled up and twisted the rails. All cars and locomotives left behind had been destroyed as thoroughly as possible. Every bridge and culvert between Nashville and Decatur—and then to Stevenson, where the Memphis and Charleston and the Nashville and Chattanooga lines met—had been destroyed. Rebuilding this line would give us two supply routes as far as Stevenson. From Bridgeport, a bit farther east, the river could aid the railroad. General Dodge was not only a capable soldier but also an experienced railroad builder. He and his men had only the basic tools—axes, picks, and spades. With these, he fortified his men to protect against surprise attacks. With no supply base until the rail line was finished back to Nashville, his immediate concern after security was gathering food and forage from the local area. He had his men and teams bring in all available grain and cattle, and whatever food could be found. Millers were assigned from among the ranks to operate mills along the army’s course. When these were too far to protect, they were relocated closer to the rail line. Blacksmith shops, including any iron and steel found there, were moved in the same way. Blacksmiths were assigned to build the tools needed for rail and bridge construction. Axemen supplied timber for bridges and locomotive fuel for when the road was ready. Car-builders repaired locomotives and cars. Every part of railroad building—manufacturing tools, feeding the workers—was tackled all at once, and entirely by the command’s own soldiers; no outside mechanics or laborers were used. However, the men could not make rails and cars without raw materials, and there was not enough rolling stock to fully utilize the existing railroad. There were no spare rails except those currently in use. To address these shortages, I ordered eight of the ten engines General McPherson had at Vicksburg sent to Nashville, along with all cars but ten. I also directed troops in West Tennessee to move to points on the river and the Memphis and Charleston line and ordered that the cars, locomotives, and rails from all railroads—except the Memphis and Charleston—be sent to Nashville. The military railroad manager was also instructed to provide more rolling stock and bridge material as best he could. General Dodge completed his assigned work within forty days of receiving his orders. He rebuilt one hundred eighty-two bridges, many over deep and wide gorges, and repaired one hundred and two miles of track. The rebel troops, originally thought to be targeting Burnside or possibly Nashville, went no farther than Cleveland. Their presence there alarmed the authorities in Washington, and due to our vulnerable position at Chattanooga, caused me great concern. I received constant dispatches urging me to help Burnside, emphasizing the importance of holding East Tennessee, and noting that the President was deeply worried about protecting the loyal people in that area. At Chattanooga, we lacked enough animals to pull even a single artillery piece, let alone supply wagons. Reinforcements could not help Burnside, since he was short on both supplies and ammunition—even basic food for his existing soldiers was scarce. The only real way to relieve him was to drive the enemy from Missionary Ridge and the area around Chattanooga. On November 4, Longstreet left our front with about fifteen thousand men, as well as Wheeler’s cavalry—another five thousand—to move against Burnside. The situation appeared desperate, and was all the more frustrating because nothing could be done until Sherman arrived. Washington was now more anxious than ever about Burnside’s safety, and I received urgent dispatches, demanding action for his relief. On the 7th, before Longstreet could have reached Knoxville, I ordered Thomas to attack the enemy’s right immediately, to force the return of the troops that had moved up the valley. I directed him to collect mules, officers’ horses, or any animals available, to move the necessary artillery. But Thomas insisted he could not move a single gun and did not see how he could comply. All I could do was try to answer the dispatches from Washington, urge Sherman to hurry—though he was doing his utmost already—and encourage Burnside to hold on, assuring him that he would soon be relieved. Burnside’s own dispatches showed the greatest confidence in his ability to maintain his position as long as his ammunition lasted. He even suggested giving up the region south and west of Knoxville, drawing the enemy farther from his own base and making it harder for him to return to Chattanooga when fighting started. Longstreet’s railroad extended as far as Loudon, but from there to Knoxville he had to rely on wagons. Burnside’s suggestion made sense, and was adopted. On the 14th, I telegraphed him: > “Sherman’s advance has reached Bridgeport. His whole force will be ready to move from there by Tuesday at the latest. If you can hold Longstreet in check until he arrives, or by skirmishing and falling back can avoid serious losses and gain time, I will be able to force the enemy back from here and put a force between Longstreet and Bragg that will inevitably make the former take to the mountain passes by every available road to reach his supplies. Sherman would have arrived before now except that high water in the Elk River forced him some thirty miles upstream to cross.” And again later in the day, outlining my plans for relief: > “Your dispatch and Dana’s just received. Since you are there, you can better judge how to resist Longstreet’s attack than I can advise. Given your situation, it is probably best to give up Kingston at the last moment and save the most productive part of your territory. Every arrangement is now made to send Sherman’s force across the river, just at and below the mouth of Chickamauga Creek, as soon as it arrives. Thomas will attack on his left at the same time; together, they are expected to take Missionary Ridge and from there push a force to the railroad between Cleveland and Dalton. Hooker will attack at the same time, and if possible, capture Lookout Mountain. The enemy now appears to expect an attack on his left flank, which works in our favor. To reinforce this impression, Sherman’s leading division will march directly from Whiteside to Trenton, while the rest moves over a new road just finished from Whiteside to Kelly’s Ferry, staying concealed and leaving the enemy to suppose the entire force is heading up Lookout Valley. Sherman’s advance has just arrived at Bridgeport. His rear will get there only on the 16th. That makes the 19th the earliest for launching the combined operation. Tell me if you think you can hold on until that date. I can hardly imagine the enemy breaking through at Kingston and moving on Kentucky, but if they do, a different problem arises. Thomas has ordered a cavalry division near Sparta. I will check if they have started and let you know. It is entirely out of the question to send you ten thousand men—not because they can’t be spared, but because there is no way to feed them even one day east of here.” Longstreet, for some reason, remained at Loudon until the 13th. Since that was the end of his railroad, it’s likely he was ordered to stay put. His position threatened Knoxville, but also allowed him to return quickly to Chattanooga if needed. The day after Longstreet left Loudon, Sherman arrived at Bridgeport in person, came to see me that evening, November 14th, and reached Chattanooga the next day. My orders for battle were all prepared before Sherman’s arrival, except for the actual dates, which depended on when the troops would be in position. Holding Lookout Mountain was no longer especially useful. Hooker was instructed to send Howard’s corps to the north side of the Tennessee, move up behind the hills there, and camp opposite Chattanooga. With the rest of his troops, Hooker was, at a later appointed time, to climb the western slope between the upper and lower palisades to enter Chattanooga Valley. > CHATTANOOGA, November 18, 1863. > > MAJOR-GENERAL W. T. SHERMAN: > > Enclosed herewith I send you a copy of the instructions to Major-General Thomas. Since you have inspected the ground yourself and heard the whole matter discussed, no further instructions should be necessary for you. It is especially important that a force be pushed through to the railroad between Cleveland and Dalton, to cut Longstreet off from communication with the South; but, since we face a large and well-entrenched enemy force here, the way to do this cannot be determined until our first attempt is made. > > I should add, as not stated in my instructions to Thomas, that a cavalry brigade is being sent here, and if it arrives in time, will cross the Tennessee above Chickamauga and may be able to make the ride to Cleveland or thereabouts. > > U. S. GRANT > Maj.-Gen’l. > > CHATTANOOGA, November 18, 1863. > MAJOR-GENERAL GEO. H. THOMAS, > Chattanooga: > > All preparations should be made to attack the enemy’s position on Missionary Ridge by Saturday at daybreak. Since I do not have a map with the names of roads, mountain spurs, and landmarks, I cannot give instructions as specific as I would like. However, the general plan, as you understand, is for Sherman—with the force he brought, reinforced by a division from your command—to cross the Tennessee River just below the mouth of Chickamauga. His crossing will be protected by artillery from the heights on the river’s north bank (to be selected by your chief of artillery) and to secure the heights at the north end extending toward the railroad tunnel before the enemy can concentrate against him. You will coordinate your movements with Sherman. The troops in Chattanooga Valley should be tightly concentrated on your left flank, leaving only the force necessary to defend the fortifications on the right and center, and keeping a mobile division ready to move wherever needed. This division should make itself appear as threatening as possible along the most practical route for an attack up the valley. Your objective will be to join with Sherman, advancing firmly toward the north end of Missionary Ridge and moving as close to simultaneously with him as possible. Once the junction is formed and the ridge is taken, communications will be established between the two armies by roads on the river’s south bank. Further actions will then depend on the enemy. I believe Geary’s division, along with any of your troops still in Lookout Valley from the old Army of the Cumberland, will be enough to hold it. Howard’s corps can then be kept ready to act either with you at Chattanooga or with Sherman. It should be marched on Friday night to a position on the north side of the river, not lower down than the first pontoon bridge, and held there in readiness for further orders. All troops are to carry two days’ cooked rations in their haversacks and one hundred rounds of ammunition per infantry soldier. All officers should be especially careful to prevent wasteful or unnecessary firing of ammunition. You will request from the engineer department whatever preparations you think necessary for moving your infantry and artillery over the creek. > > U. S. GRANT, > Major-General. The battle plan called for Sherman to attack the enemy’s right flank, form a line across it, and extend our left over the South Chickamauga River to threaten or cut the railroad in Bragg’s rear, forcing him either to weaken his lines elsewhere or lose his link to his base at Chickamauga Station. Hooker was to do the same on our right. His task was to move from Lookout Valley to Chattanooga Valley as quickly as possible; then cross the latter rapidly to Rossville, south of Bragg’s line on Missionary Ridge, form a line across the ridge facing north, with his right stretched to Chickamauga Valley east of the ridge, thereby threatening the enemy’s rear and forcing reinforcements to that flank too. Thomas, with the Army of the Cumberland, held the center and was to attack while most of the enemy’s forces were engaged on the flanks. To carry out the plan, Sherman was to cross the Tennessee at Brown’s Ferry and move east of Chattanooga to a point opposite the north end of Missionary Ridge, placing his command behind the foothills and out of sight of the enemy on the ridge. There are two streams named Chickamauga that empty into the Tennessee River east of Chattanooga—North Chickamauga rises in Tennessee, flows south, and meets the river about seven or eight miles east, while South Chickamauga rises in Georgia, flows northward, and joins the Tennessee three or four miles above the town. There were now 116 pontoons in the North Chickamauga River, their presence unknown to the enemy. At night, a division was to be marched to that point, and at 2 o'clock in the morning, move down with the current, thirty men to a boat. A few were to land east of the mouth of the South Chickamauga, capture the pickets, and then build a bridge linking the two banks of the river. The rest would land on the south side of the Tennessee, at the point where a continuation of Missionary Ridge would meet the river, while enough men remained in the boats to ferry over the rest of Sherman’s command as those on the south side entrenched themselves. Thomas was to move out from his lines facing the ridge, leaving enough of Palmer’s corps to guard against any attack down the valley. Lookout Valley was of no further value to us, and would be untenable for the enemy if we secured Missionary Ridge, so Hooker’s instructions were changed. His revised orders brought him to Chattanooga by the usual route north of the Tennessee. From there, he was to move to the right to Rossville. Hooker’s position in Lookout Valley was crucial while Chattanooga was under siege, as it was the key to supplying the army. But it was no longer necessary once the enemy was driven from our front, or even after the battle began. Therefore, Hooker’s orders were aimed at getting his force beyond Lookout Mountain and Chattanooga Valley, and up to Missionary Ridge. By crossing the north face of Lookout, the troops would enter Chattanooga Valley behind the enemy’s line, likely forcing its evacuation. Orders were given to march that way. However, well before the battle, both the pros and cons of this plan were carefully weighed. Crossing the mountain in the face of an enemy was a difficult task, and might have taken so much time that the troops could not be used elsewhere, where they were urgently needed. After reaching Chattanooga Valley, the creek of the same name—a significant obstacle—would have to be crossed. Frankly, I was completely willing for the enemy to keep Lookout Mountain until we were done with the troops on Missionary Ridge. By marching Hooker to the river’s north side, then up the stream and recrossing at the town, he could be put in place at any chosen time; once there, he would have Chattanooga Creek behind him, and the assault on Missionary Ridge would surely cause the enemy to abandon their line across the valley and on Lookout Mountain. Hooker’s orders were changed accordingly. As previously discussed, however, we had to return to the original orders because a flood made the bridge at Brown’s Ferry unsafe to use at the critical moment when all forces needed to converge on Missionary Ridge. The day after Sherman’s arrival, I took him—along with Generals Thomas and Smith and other officers—to the north side of the river to show them the ground over which Sherman’s force would march and explained generally what he was to do. Both I and the authorities in Washington were still deeply anxious for Burnside’s safety. Burnside himself, I think, was the only one who was not worried. However, nothing could be done for him until Sherman’s troops were in place. As soon as the tour ended, Sherman set off for Bridgeport to speed things up, reportedly rowing a boat himself from Kelly’s Ferry. Sherman had left Bridgeport the night of the 14th, arrived at Chattanooga the evening of the 15th, did the inspection on the morning of the 16th, and left that evening to hurry his command, understanding fully how important time was. His march moved as quickly as the roads and season allowed. By the 20th, he was at Brown’s Ferry with the lead elements, but many of his troops were far behind, and one division (Ewing’s) was at Trenton, sent that way to give the impression that Lookout would be attacked from the south. Sherman received his orders at the ferry and was asked if he could be ready for an assault the next morning. News had arrived that fighting had started at Knoxville. Burnside had lost telegraphic communication. The President, Secretary of War, and General Halleck were in a state of anxiety. I also shared this concern, though it was bearable since I could soon do something about it. It was impossible to have Sherman’s troops ready for the next day. I then asked if they could be ready for an assault on the morning of the 22nd, and ordered Thomas to move then. But the weather worked against us. It rained without stopping on the 20th and 21st, and the river rose so fast that it was hard to keep the pontoons in place. General Orlando B. Willcox, a division commander under Burnside, was at this time stationed farther up the valley than Knoxville—about Maynardville—and was still in telegraphic contact with the North. A dispatch from him said he was threatened from the east. The following reply was sent: > “If you can communicate with General Burnside, tell him our attack on Bragg will begin in the morning. If we’re successful, a move will be made that I believe will relieve East Tennessee, if he can hold out. If Longstreet gets through to Kentucky, there is no need for alarm. He will find the country so barren that he will lose his transport and artillery before reaching Kentucky, and will meet such a force before he gets through that he will not be able to return.” Meanwhile, Sherman kept up his crossing as quickly as his troops could be brought up. This crossing was plainly visible to the enemy watching from the top of Lookout Mountain. But once across, the troops quickly disappeared behind a hill on the north side, and would not be seen again—either from Lookout Mountain or Missionary Ridge—until they emerged between hills to reach the riverbank. However, when Sherman’s advance reached a point across from Chattanooga, Howard—who, you will recall, had been concealed behind the hills on the north side—moved out to join the troops on the south side. His crossing was in full view from Missionary Ridge and from Lookout’s summit, so the enemy naturally believed these troops to be Sherman’s. This allowed Sherman to reach his assigned position without being discovered. ## CHAPTER XLIII. ### PREPARATIONS FOR BATTLE—THOMAS CARRIES THE FIRST LINE OF THE ENEMY—SHERMAN CARRIES MISSIONARY RIDGE—BATTLE OF LOOKOUT MOUNTAIN—GENERAL HOOKER’S FIGHT. On the 20th, when so much was happening to create discouragement—heavy rains falling, delaying troops crossing the river at Brown’s Ferry and threatening the bridge’s collapse; word coming that a battle was raging at Knoxville; Willcox being threatened by a force from the east—a letter arrived from Bragg containing these words: “As there may still be some non-combatants in Chattanooga, I deem it proper to notify you that prudence would dictate their early withdrawal.” Of course, I recognized this as a ploy meant to deceive; but I did not know the exact purpose. On the 22nd, however, a deserter arrived to inform me that Bragg was leaving our front, and on that day Buckner’s division was sent to reinforce Longstreet at Knoxville, with another division ordered to follow but then recalled. The aim of Bragg’s letter was, no doubt, to delay my actions until Knoxville could be captured and his troops returned to Chattanooga. During the night of the 21st, the remaining pontoon boats—one hundred and sixteen in total—were brought up to and placed in North Chickamauga. The materials for the roadway over these pontoons were positioned out of sight of the enemy, within a few hundred yards of where the north end of the bridge would rest on the Tennessee’s bank. Hearing nothing from Burnside, and with much anxiety coming from Washington on his behalf, I could no longer delay operations for his relief. I resolved, therefore, to do on the 23rd, with the Army of the Cumberland, what had originally been planned for the 24th. The position the Army of the Cumberland occupied had been made extremely strong for defense during the months it had been besieged. The line was about a mile from the town, stretching from Citico Creek—a small stream running along the base of Missionary Ridge and flowing into the Tennessee about two miles below the mouth of the South Chickamauga—on the left, to Chattanooga Creek on the right. All key points on the line were well fortified and supplied with artillery. The important elevations within the line were all carefully fortified and armed. Among these was Fort Wood to the east of town, its chief importance being that it lay between the town and Missionary Ridge, where most of the enemy's strength was concentrated. Fort Wood held twenty-two pieces of artillery, most of which could reach the nearer points of the enemy's line. On the morning of the 23rd, Thomas, following orders, moved Granger’s corps—two divisions, Sheridan and T. J. Wood commanding—to the foot of Fort Wood, forming them in line as if for parade, Sheridan on the right, Wood to the left, extending to or near Citico Creek. Palmer, commanding the 14th Corps, occupied the stretch of our line facing south and southwest. He supported Sheridan with one division (Baird’s), while his other division under Johnson remained in the trenches, under arms and ready to move as needed. Howard’s corps was moved to the rear of the center. The picket lines were within a few hundred yards of each other. By two o’clock in the afternoon, all was ready to advance. By now, the clouds had lifted enough that the enemy, from his elevated position, could see all our activity. The signal to advance was given by cannon fire from Fort Wood and other points along the line. The rebel pickets were soon driven back onto their main guards, who occupied minor and detached heights between the main ridge and our lines. These were also carried before halting, before the enemy could reinforce their advance guards. Still, there were casualties on both sides. This movement gave us a line fully a mile ahead of our morning position, and the one the enemy had occupied up to then. The fortifications were quickly turned to face the other way. During the following night they were made strong. We lost about eleven hundred killed and wounded in this preliminary action; the enemy’s losses were likely as great, including prisoners we captured. Except for artillery fire from Missionary Ridge and from Fort Wood that continued until nightfall, this ended the first day’s fighting. The advantage was now greatly on our side, and if I could have been certain that Burnside could keep up for ten days longer, I would have felt much more at ease. We were doing everything possible for him and our cause.  By the night of the 23rd, Sherman’s command was ready to move, though one division (Osterhaus’s) had not yet crossed the river at Brown’s Ferry. The steady rise of the Tennessee had made it impossible to keep the bridge at that point fit for troop crossings; but I was determined to move that night even without this division. I ordered Osterhaus to report to Hooker if he could not cross by eight o’clock on the morning of the 24th. Because of the bridge failure, Hooker’s orders were again changed, but this time only reverted to the original instructions. General W. F. Smith had been appointed Chief Engineer of the Military Division. He was assigned general oversight of moving troops by boats from North Chickamauga, laying the bridge after they arrived, and all other duties belonging to the office of chief engineer. During the night, General Morgan L. Smith’s division marched to the pontoons’ location, and Giles A. Smith’s brigade was chosen for the delicate task of manning the boats and surprising the enemy pickets on the river’s south bank. That night, General J. M. Brannan, chief of artillery, moved forty artillery pieces belonging to the Army of the Cumberland to the north side of the river to command the ground opposite and assist in protecting the approach to where the bridge’s south end would rest. He had to use Sherman’s artillery horses for this task, as Thomas had none available. At two o’clock in the morning, November 24th, Giles A. Smith set off from North Chickamauga with his hundred and sixteen boats, each carrying thirty brave, well-armed men. The boats and their precious passengers floated quietly down with the current, avoiding attention from anyone who could warn the enemy, until nearing the mouth of South Chickamauga. There, a few boats landed, the troops debarked, and a quick assault was made on the picket guard at that point. The guard was surprised and twenty of them captured. The rest of the troops landed at the bridge site with similarly good success. Ferrying over Sherman’s command from the north side of the Tennessee began immediately, using the pontoons. A steamer was also brought from the town to help. The rest of M. L. Smith’s division crossed first, then John E. Smith’s division. As each group landed, they went to work digging in and fortifying their position. By daylight, both divisions were across and well protected by their earthworks. Work then began on the bridge, needed to cross the artillery and cavalry. Ferrying over infantry continued with the steamer and pontoons, but pontoons were moved into place in the bridge as soon as they were available. By a little past noon, the bridge was finished, as was a smaller one over the South Chickamauga connecting the troops left on that side with their colleagues below, and all infantry and artillery were on the south bank of the Tennessee. Sherman immediately formed his troops to assault Missionary Ridge. By one o’clock, with M. L. Smith on his left, keeping close to the course of Chickamauga River; J. E. Smith next on the right and slightly to the rear; and Ewing farther to the right and slightly to the rear of J. E. Smith’s column—ready to deploy right if the enemy appeared from that direction—the forces advanced with a strong skirmish line ahead of each column. Soon they reached the base of the hill; the skirmishers pushed directly up, closely followed by their support. By half-past three, Sherman held the heights without sustaining much loss. One brigade from each division came up, and artillery was hauled up the hill by hand. The enemy didn’t appear to recognize this movement until after the summit was reached. There had been a light rain during the day, and clouds hung so low that Lookout Mountain and the Missionary Ridge crest were hidden from those in the valley. But now the enemy opened fire on their attackers, making several attempts to drive them off with skirmishers, but to no effect. Later that day, a more determined counterattack was made, but it also failed, and Sherman held and fortified his gains. Sherman’s cavalry crossed soon after the bridge was built. By half-past three, all the cavalry was across both bridges, moving to strike the enemy’s communications at Chickamauga Station. By this time, all of Sherman’s command was south of the Tennessee. That afternoon, General Giles A. Smith was severely wounded and taken from the field. With Thomas having accomplished on the 23rd what had been expected of him on the 24th, he had nothing to do this day except to consolidate and strengthen his position. However, Howard managed to cross Citico Creek and join Sherman, and was ordered to report to him. With two or three regiments from his command, he moved along the Tennessee in the morning and reached the bridge construction site. He ventured out onto the bridge as far as it was completed from the south end, and saw Sherman overseeing the work from the north side—and moving south himself as each additional boat and stretch of roadway was added. Howard reported to his new chief across the narrowing gap, which was soon closed entirely. While these movements took place east of Chattanooga, Hooker was active on the west. He had three divisions: Osterhaus’s from the 15th Corps, Army of the Tennessee; Geary’s from the 12th Corps, Army of the Potomac; and Cruft’s from the 14th Corps, Army of the Cumberland. Geary was on the right at Wauhatchie, Cruft in the center, and Osterhaus near Brown’s Ferry. All these commands were west of Lookout Creek. The enemy held the creek’s east bank with strong pickets and entrenchments, and had three brigades of troops behind to reinforce if attacked. Those brigades were on the summit of the mountain, under General Carter L. Stevenson. I see no reason why any troops except artillery with a small infantry guard remained on the mountain-top. A hundred men could have held the summit—which is a sheer cliff for more than thirty feet—against assault from any number of men from Hooker’s position below. The side of Lookout Mountain facing Hooker’s command was rugged, heavily forested, and full of chasms, making troop movement difficult even without opposition. Higher up, the ground flattened and was under cultivation. On the east side the slope is far more gradual, and a zigzag wagon road connects the town of Chattanooga with the summit. Early on the 24th, Hooker advanced Geary’s division, supported by a brigade of Cruft’s, up Lookout Creek to cross. The rest of Cruft’s division was ordered to seize the bridge over the creek near the railroad crossing. Osterhaus was to move to the bridge and cross there. The bridge was captured by Gross’s brigade after a minor skirmish with pickets guarding it. This drew enemy attention and left Geary’s movement farther upstream unseen. A heavy mist hid him from the troops on top of the mountain. He crossed the creek almost unnoticed, capturing a guard of over forty men nearby. He then began ascending the mountain in front of him. By then, enemy forces could be seen coming down the slopes from their camps, filling their rifle pits to contest the bridge. By eleven o’clock the bridge was finished. Osterhaus arrived, and after some sharp fighting, the enemy was driven off with notable losses in killed and captured. As operations at the bridge continued, Geary pressed up the hill, overcoming massive obstacles, under direct fire from the enemy and from the mountain’s summit guns. Seeing their left flank and rear threatened, the enemy gave way, pursued by Cruft and Osterhaus. Soon they were abreast of Geary, and all pressed up the hill, driving the enemy further back. By noon, Geary had reached the open space on the north slope, his right close to the upper palisade’s base, though strong fortifications remained ahead. As the rest came up, a line was formed from the palisade’s base to the mouth of Chattanooga Creek. Thomas and I were atop Orchard Knob. Hooker’s advance now made our line unbroken and visible, running from the Tennessee River, where Sherman crossed, up Chickamauga River to the base of Mission Ridge, over the north end of the ridge into Chattanooga Valley, then on, parallel to the ridge for over a mile, across the valley to the mouth of Chattanooga Creek, and up the slope of Lookout Mountain to the upper palisade. The day was hazy, so Hooker’s operations were not visible to us except when the clouds lifted. But the sound of artillery and musketry was constant. The enemy ahead of him, though partially entrenched, was soon routed. That afternoon, thick clouds again hid the top of Lookout from those below, stopping operations as darkness set in. At four, Hooker reported his position as unassailable. By a little after five, direct communication was open, and a brigade from Chattanooga reinforced him. These troops had to cross Chattanooga Creek and met some opposition but overcame it, and by nightfall, General Carlin reported to Hooker and was assigned to his left. I then telegraphed Washington: “The fight to-day progressed favorably. Sherman carried the end of Missionary Ridge, and his right is now at the tunnel, and his left at Chickamauga Creek. Troops from Lookout Valley carried the point of the mountain, and now hold the eastern slope and a point high up. Hooker reports two thousand prisoners taken, besides which a small number have fallen into our hands from Missionary Ridge.” The next day the President replied: “Your dispatches as to fighting on Monday and Tuesday are here. Well done. Many thanks to all. Remember Burnside.” Halleck also telegraphed: “I congratulate you on the success thus far of your plans. I fear that Burnside is hard pushed, and that any further delay may prove fatal. I know you will do all in your power to relieve him.” The division under Jefferson C. Davis of the Army of the Cumberland had been assigned to the North Chickamauga to guard the pontoons as they were placed in the river and to prevent any entry or exit of civilians. On the night of the 24th, Davis’s division crossed with Sherman and took position on our far left, stretching from the upper bridge across the plain to the northern base of Missionary Ridge. Gunfire continued late into the night, but it was not linked to any assault at any location. ## CHAPTER XLIV. ### BATTLE OF CHATTANOOGA—A GALLANT CHARGE—COMPLETE ROUT OF THE ENEMY—PURSUIT OF THE CONFEDERATES—GENERAL BRAGG—REMARKS ON CHATTANOOGA. At midnight, when all was quiet, I began issuing orders for the next day and sent a dispatch to Willcox to encourage Burnside. Sherman was directed to attack at daylight. Hooker was ordered to move at the same time and try to intercept the enemy’s retreat if they remained; if they had left, he was to move directly to Rossville and attack the left and rear of the force on Missionary Ridge. Thomas was not to move until Hooker had reached Missionary Ridge. Since I was with him on Orchard Knob, he would wait for further orders from me. The morning of the 25th dawned clear and bright, and the entire battlefield was visible from the top of Orchard Knob, remaining so all day. Bragg’s headquarters were in plain sight, and staff officers could be seen coming and going constantly. The ground Sherman had taken on the 24th was almost separated from the main ridge held by the enemy. A low pass, crossed by a wagon road and near a railroad tunnel, lay between the two hills. The challenge now was to reach the main ridge. The enemy was fortified on the point; and farther back, on even higher ground, was a second fortification commanding the first. Sherman was out as soon as it was light enough to see, and by sunrise his troops were moving. Three brigades held the hill already taken. Morgan L. Smith moved along the east base of Missionary Ridge; Loomis along the west base, supported by two brigades from John E. Smith’s division; and Corse with his brigade was between the two, heading directly for the hill to be captured. The ridge is steep and heavily wooded on the east, where M. L. Smith’s troops advanced, but cleared and with a gentler slope on the west. The troops advanced quickly and took the extreme end of the rebel works. Morgan L. Smith advanced to a point cutting the enemy off from the railroad bridge and their means of bringing up supplies from Chickamauga Station, their main depot. The enemy fiercely tried to dislodge our troops from the position, but without success. The contest lasted two hours. Corse, a brave and capable commander, was badly wounded in this assault. Sherman now threatened both Bragg’s flank and his supplies, forcing Bragg to weaken other parts of his line to reinforce his right. From my position, I could watch column after column of Bragg’s troops moving against Sherman. Every Confederate gun that could be used was aimed at our forces. J. E. Smith, with two brigades, charged up the west side of the ridge to support Corse’s command, crossing open ground under heavy artillery and musket fire, reaching the enemy’s parapet. For a time, they lay there, but as the enemy attacked his right flank with a large force, Smith had to fall back, pursued by the foe. A few hundred yards brought Smith’s forces into woods, where they quickly reorganized and then counterattacked, driving the enemy back to their entrenchments. Witnessing J. E. Smith’s advance, repulse, and renewed advance from where I stood, I ordered Thomas to send a division to reinforce him. Baird’s division was sent from the right of Orchard Knob. They had to march a considerable distance, exposed to the enemy’s view. Bragg immediately began reinforcing that area. This was what I wanted. But by now it was late in the afternoon, and I had expected Hooker to be crossing the ridge near Rossville, forcing Bragg to concentrate troops there as well. The enemy had evacuated Lookout Mountain during the night, as I anticipated. On crossing the valley, they burned the bridge over Chattanooga Creek and did everything possible to block the roads. Hooker was on the move early, with nothing stopping him except the distance and the damage described above. He was delayed four hours crossing Chattanooga Creek, losing the immediate advantage I had hoped for. His reaching Bragg’s flank and extending beyond it was supposed to signal Thomas’s assault on the ridge. But Sherman’s situation was becoming so critical that the assault to support him could not be put off. Sheridan’s and Wood’s divisions had been on alert since early morning, ready to move as soon as the signal was given. I now directed Thomas to order the charge immediately. I waited anxiously to see the result and grew impatient when there was no sign of a charge. The center of the line to make the attack was near where Thomas and I stood, but hidden by woods. When I turned to ask Thomas about the delay, I was surprised to see General Thomas J. Wood, one of the division commanders supposed to attack, standing and talking with him. I asked General Wood why he had not attacked as ordered an hour before. He promptly replied that this was the first he had heard of it, but had been ready all day. I told him to advance at once. He left immediately, and in an incredibly short time there was loud cheering as he and Sheridan drove the enemy’s advance toward Missionary Ridge. The Confederates were strongly entrenched on the crest of the ridge in front, with a second line half-way down, and another at the base. Our men pushed ahead so quickly that the Union troops followed the enemy so closely that both Union and rebel troops went over the first line of works almost together. Many rebels were captured and sent to the rear under fire from their own friends higher up the hill. Those not captured retreated, and were chased. With the fleeing enemy between both sides, the Confederates fired high to avoid hitting their own men. In fact, during this attack, the Union soldiers closest to the enemy were the safest. Without further orders or pausing to reorganize, our troops pressed on to the second line of works, then over that, and toward the crest—thus carrying out my orders from the 18th for the battle and from the 24th for this charge. > CHATTANOOGA, November 24, 1863. > MAJOR-GENERAL GEO. H. THOMAS, > Chattanooga > > General Sherman carried Missionary Ridge as far as the tunnel with only slight skirmishing. His right now rests at the tunnel and on top of the hill, his left at Chickamauga Creek. I have instructed General Sherman to advance as soon as it is light in the morning, and your attack, which will be simultaneous, will be in cooperation. Your command will either carry the rifle-pits and ridge directly in front of them, or move to the left, as the presence of the enemy may require. If Hooker’s position on the mountain with a small force, and it is found impracticable to carry the top from where he is, it would be advisable for him to move up the valley with all the force he can spare, and ascend by the first practicable road. > > U. S. GRANT, > Major-General. I watched their progress with great interest. The fire along the rebel line was intense. Cannon and musket balls filled the air, but the actual damage was small compared to the ammunition used. The pursuit continued to the crest, and soon our men were seen climbing over Confederate barriers in front of both Sheridan’s and Wood’s divisions. The enemy’s retreat along most of the line turned into a rout, and the panic was so great that Bragg and his officers lost all control. Many were taken prisoner, and thousands threw away their arms as they fled. Sheridan advanced until he reached the Chickamauga River at a point above where the enemy crossed. He encountered resistance from troops holding a second hill behind Missionary Ridge, likely there to cover the main force and protect artillery and wagons. It was now dark, but Sheridan, without pause, pushed his men up this second hill quietly, while sending detachments to surround the position. The enemy discovered the movement before it was complete and quickly retreated, leaving behind artillery, wagons, and many prisoners. Thanks to Sheridan’s prompt movement, the Army of the Cumberland, and the nation, gained much of the captured prisoners, artillery, and small arms that day. Without his immediate pursuit, much less would have been accomplished. While the advance up Missionary Ridge continued, General Thomas with his staff, General Gordon Granger—commander of the corps making the assault—and myself and my staff, watched from Orchard Knob, which overlooked the entire field. When the troops were seen crossing the last Confederate line, I ordered Granger to join his command, and, mounting my horse, rode to the front. General Thomas left about the same time. Sheridan on the far right was already pursuing the enemy east of the ridge. Wood, commanding to Sheridan’s left, accompanied his men on horseback in the charge but did not join Sheridan in the pursuit. To the left, in Baird’s sector where Bragg’s troops had concentrated against Sherman, resistance was tougher and the fight lasted longer. I ordered Granger to pursue the enemy with Wood’s division, but he was so excited and kept up such heavy musket fire in the enemy’s direction that by the time I could stop the shooting, the enemy had gotten well away. The enemy facing Sherman, now seeing their left collapsing, fled as well. Sherman, however, was unaware of our success until after dark, when he received orders to pursue at daylight. Once Sherman found the enemy gone from his front, he ordered his reserves, Davis’s division of the Army of the Cumberland, to cross the pontoon bridge at the mouth of the Chickamauga and move to Chickamauga Station. He told Howard to move up the stream about two miles to an old bridge, repair it overnight, and follow Davis at four in the morning. Morgan L. Smith was sent to scout the tunnel to see if it was still held by the enemy; nothing was found except casualties from both sides. The rest of Sherman’s force was ordered to follow Howard at daylight, heading toward the railroad at Graysville. Hooker, as noted, was delayed at Chattanooga Creek by the destroyed bridge. He got his troops over—except for the artillery—by fording the stream after three o’clock. He left the artillery to follow when the bridge was rebuilt and pushed on with the rest of his command. At Rossville he hit the flank of a Confederate division, which soon began retreating along the ridge, running into Palmer’s men. They could offer little resistance and those who could, escaped. Many, however, were captured. Hooker camped that night near Rossville, extending east of the ridge. Palmer was to his left, on the road to Graysville. That night I telegraphed Willcox that Bragg had been defeated, and that help would be sent to Burnside if he could hold out. I sent Halleck a report of our victory, and told him that forces would be sent up the valley to relieve Burnside. Before the battle at Chattanooga started, I had made plans to send help to Burnside as soon as the way was clear. Thomas was told to have the little steamer built at Chattanooga packed with all possible rations and ammunition. Granger’s corps was to move along the south bank of the Tennessee River to the mouth of the Holston, then up to Knoxville, accompanied by the boat. In addition to supplies transported by boat, the men would carry forty rounds of ammunition each and four days’ rations in their haversacks. In the battle of Chattanooga, troops from the Army of the Potomac, the Army of the Tennessee, and the Army of the Cumberland all took part. In fact, the accidents caused by heavy rains and the sudden rise of the Tennessee River mixed the troops together so much that they could not remain organized under their respective commanders during the battle. On the right, Hooker had Geary’s division from the 12th Corps, Army of the Potomac; Osterhaus’s division from the 15th Corps, Army of the Tennessee; and Cruft’s division from the Army of the Cumberland. Sherman had three divisions from his own army, Howard’s corps from the Army of the Potomac, and Jefferson C. Davis’s division from the Army of the Cumberland. There was no jealousy—barely even rivalry. In fact, I doubt whether either officers or men paid any attention at the time to this mixing of commands. All saw a defiant enemy surrounding them and assumed that every move was meant to drive him out, and it made no difference where the troops came from as long as the objective was achieved. The victory at Chattanooga was achieved against tough odds, considering the enemy’s strong defensive position, and it was accomplished more easily than expected because Bragg made several serious errors: first, by sending away his best corps commander with over twenty thousand troops; second, by sending away a division of troops just before battle; and third, by placing so much of his force on the plain in front of his otherwise impregnable position. It was known that Mr. Jefferson Davis had visited Bragg on Missionary Ridge not long before I reached Chattanooga. It was reported and believed that he came to resolve a serious conflict between Bragg and Longstreet, and, finding that hard to do, planned the campaign against Knoxville to be led by Longstreet. I had known both Bragg and Longstreet before the war, especially the latter. We had spent three years together at West Point, and after I graduated, we served in the same regiment for a while. We also served together in the Mexican War. I had known Bragg in Mexico and met him occasionally afterward. I could easily understand how there could be an irreconcilable difference between them. Bragg was remarkably intelligent and well informed, both professionally and otherwise. He was also thoroughly honest. But he had an irritable temper and was naturally argumentative. Though he had the highest moral character and the best habits, in the old army he was often in trouble. As a subordinate, he was always alert to catch his commanding officer infringing on his rights; as a post commander, he was equally vigilant for the slightest neglect, even of a trivial order. I once heard in the old army an anecdote that perfectly captured Bragg’s character. On one occasion, while stationed at a post with several companies under a field officer, he was himself commanding one company while also acting as post quartermaster and commissary. He was a first lieutenant at the time, as his captain was away on other duty. As company commander, he made a requisition to the quartermaster—himself—for something he needed. As quartermaster, he refused the requisition and wrote his reasons on the back of it. As company commander, he replied, insisting his request was proper and that the quartermaster was obliged to fill it. As quartermaster, he continued to insist he was right. In this situation, Bragg referred the whole matter up to the commanding officer of the post. When the commander saw what was being referred, he exclaimed, “My God, Mr. Bragg, you have quarreled with every officer in the army, and now you are quarreling with yourself!” Longstreet was completely different. He was brave, honest, intelligent, a very capable soldier—subordinate to his superiors, fair and kind to his subordinates, but protective of his own rights, which he had the courage to defend. He was not looking for slights, but could recognize one as quickly as anyone when it was deliberate. Perhaps Longstreet was not sent to Knoxville for the reason given, but instead because Mr. Davis had an inflated opinion of his own military genius, and thought he saw an opportunity to “kill two birds with one stone.” On several occasions during the war, he helped the Union army, thanks to his own SUPERIOR MILITARY GENIUS. I speak deliberately when I say Mr. Davis prided himself on his military ability. He more or less says this himself in his response to the announcement of his nomination to the Confederate presidency. Several of his generals have also said so in their writings since the Confederacy fell. As I recall, my first orders for the battle of Chattanooga were as they were fought: Sherman was to get onto Missionary Ridge, as he did; Hooker was to cross the north end of Lookout Mountain, as he did, sweep across Chattanooga Valley, and move to cross the southern end of the ridge near Rossville. When Hooker secured that position, the Army of the Cumberland was to attack the center. However, before Sherman arrived, the order was changed so that Hooker was instead directed to come to Chattanooga by the north bank of the Tennessee River. Due to heavy rains, the river rose so quickly that the bridge at Brown’s Ferry could not be maintained for crossing troops. For this reason, Hooker’s orders were changed by telegraph back to their original form. ## CHAPTER XLV. ### THE RELIEF OF KNOXVILLE—HEADQUARTERS MOVED TO NASHVILLE —VISITING KNOXVILLE—CIPHER DISPATCHES—WITHHOLDING ORDERS. With Chattanooga now secure in the hands of the National troops beyond any doubt, I immediately turned my attention to relieving Knoxville, a matter about which the President was particularly anxious. Before the battles, I had already made preparations to send troops to relieve Burnside at the earliest possible moment after securing Chattanooga. We had two small steamers there, constructed and assembled from the remnants of old boats and made fit to run. General Thomas was directed to have one of these boats loaded with rations and ammunition, and to move it up the Tennessee River to the mouth of the Holston, keeping the boat constantly abreast of the troops. General Granger, with the 4th Corps reinforced to twenty thousand men, was to depart the moment Missionary Ridge was carried, and under no circumstances were the troops to return to their previous camps. With the supplies carried, and what little could be gathered locally, it was expected he could hold out until Longstreet was driven off, after which East Tennessee would provide plenty of food for both Burnside’s army and his own. While pursuing the enemy on the 26th and again on the morning of the 27th—partly by the road to Ringgold—I gave Thomas verbal instructions not to start Granger until he received further orders from me, advising him that I was going to the front to better assess the situation. I was not entirely sure Bragg’s troops wouldn’t recover from their panic by the time they reached Dalton. In that case, Bragg might decide to return to Cleveland, move toward Knoxville, and, after joining Longstreet, make a sudden attack on Burnside. However, when I arrived at Ringgold on the 27th, I saw the Confederate retreat was in earnest. The enemy had discarded guns, caissons, and small arms, abandoned provisions, and collectively seemed to be fleeing as a disorganized mob, except for Cleburne’s division, which served as a rear guard covering the retreat. When Hooker moved from Rossville toward Ringgold, Palmer’s division took the road to Graysville, and Sherman advanced via Chickamauga Station toward the same point. As soon as I saw the situation at Ringgold, I sent a staff officer back to Chattanooga to inform Thomas of developments and direct, in my name, that Granger begin his march at once. Confident the troops were already moving toward Burnside’s relief, I was in no rush to return, and remained at Ringgold for the day to prepare for our troops’ return. Ringgold is situated in a mountain valley between East Chickamauga Creek and Taylor’s Ridge, about twenty miles southeast of Chattanooga. I arrived just as the artillery Hooker had left behind at Chattanooga Creek was arriving. His men were attacking Cleburne’s division, which had taken a strong position in the hills to cover the Confederate army’s retreat through a narrow gorge at that point. Just past the gorge, the valley narrows, and the creek is so winding that it must be crossed many times within the first mile. This attack proved unfortunate and needlessly cost us some men. However, Hooker captured three pieces of artillery and 230 prisoners, and 130 Confederate dead were left on the field. I instructed General Hooker to collect flour and wheat from the nearby mills for the troops’ use, then destroy the mills and any other property that could benefit the enemy, but to avoid senseless destruction. At this point, Sherman arrived, having reached Graysville with his troops and found Palmer was already there. Palmer had gathered many prisoners and much abandoned property along the way. That evening, I went back to Graysville with Sherman, stayed overnight, and did not return to Chattanooga until the next night, the 29th. I found that Thomas had not yet started Granger, thus losing a full day—a delay I deemed crucial in deciding Knoxville’s fate. Both Thomas and Granger knew that on the 23rd, Burnside had reported via telegram that his supplies would last ten or twelve days, and that he could hold out against Longstreet for that time, but if not relieved promptly, he would be forced to surrender or attempt to retreat. Retreat was impossible; he was already low on ammunition, and with an army in pursuit, could not gather supplies. Upon discovering that Granger had not only failed to start but was very reluctant to go—believing it a poor move—I sent word to General Sherman and directed him to march for the relief of Knoxville. I outlined our challenge to him: that Burnside now had only four to six days’ supplies remaining and must be relieved within that period. Fortunately, Sherman had not yet started his return from Graysville, having sent detachments along the railroad from Dalton to Cleveland and Knoxville to destroy it thoroughly, and these troops had not yet rejoined their camp. I was very hesitant to send Sherman, as his men badly needed rest after their long march from Memphis and the hard fighting at Chattanooga. But I was convinced Burnside would not be rescued if his relief depended on General Granger’s action. Sherman’s men had left camp on the north side of the Tennessee River near Chattanooga on the night of the 23rd, carrying two days’ cooked rations. Expecting to return quickly and to fight in the meantime, they brought neither overcoats nor blankets. The weather was already cold, and at night they must have suffered. The two days’ rations ended up lasting five days; and now they had to march through a land repeatedly stripped by Confederate troops, making it unlikely to find much food. They did manage, however, to capture some flour and found a lot of bran in some mills, which they baked into bread; in this and other ways they survived until reaching Knoxville. I was deeply anxious for Burnside to receive news of the relief efforts, to encourage him to hold out longer if necessary, so I decided to send him a message. I sent Colonel J. H. Wilson, of my staff, to try to reach Knoxville, fully inform Burnside of the situation, and offer all encouragement possible. Mr. Charles A. Dana was at Chattanooga during the battle, even before I took command, and he volunteered to accompany Colonel Wilson. I put my information about the relief in writing and ordered that—secretly, if necessary—a copy reach General Longstreet, thus making him aware of Sherman’s advance. Wilson and Dana completed their journey safely; General Longstreet did learn of Sherman’s coming in advance, and Burnside was prepared to hold out longer if needed. Burnside had stretched a boom across the Holston River to intercept scows and flats as they floated downstream. By previous arrangement with loyal East Tennessee residents, these carried flour, corn, forage, and other supplies for Union troops. Cattle were also driven into Knoxville from the east side, which the enemy did not cover; so by the time relief arrived, Burnside actually had more provisions than when he had last reported. Our total loss (excluding Burnside’s) in all these engagements was 757 killed, 4,529 wounded, and 330 missing. We captured 6,142 prisoners—about 50 percent more than the enemy reported for their total loss—40 pieces of artillery, 69 artillery carriages and caissons, and over 7,000 small arms. The enemy’s loss in arms was probably much higher than reported, as we found many abandoned along the way. At Chattanooga, I had roughly 60,000 men. Bragg had about half that, but his position was thought impregnable. It was Bragg’s own decision not to have more men present. He’d sent Longstreet away with his corps, reinforced to over 20,000 men, reducing his own force by more than a third and depriving himself of his most capable general. He did this after our troops had opened supply lines via Brown’s and Kelly’s ferries to Bridgeport, securing full rations and every kind of supply; and also when he knew I was receiving reinforcements. Knoxville was of no use to him while Chattanooga remained in our hands. Had he captured Chattanooga, Knoxville and its garrison would have fallen to him effortlessly. I have never understood the rationale behind his decision. Moreover, after Sherman arrived, and Bragg knew he was on the north side of the Tennessee, he sent Buckner’s division to reinforce Longstreet. Another division started out later, but as our attack began before it reached Knoxville, Bragg recalled it. However, by then it was too far away to return to Chattanooga in time to be of use. Perhaps this blunder came from Bragg being confused about our intentions. Sherman had, as already mentioned, crossed to the north side of the Tennessee at Brown’s Ferry in clear view of Bragg’s troops on Lookout Mountain, only to vanish behind foothills and not reappear until they struck at Missionary Ridge. Bragg saw Sherman’s troops cross, and with them out of sight for so long, may have thought they went up the north bank of the Tennessee toward Knoxville, making him worry Longstreet was at risk. Still, the original blunder—detaching Longstreet—cannot, in my view, be explained. If Bragg had captured Chattanooga, East Tennessee would have fallen without resistance. It would have been an achievement just to extricate our army from Chattanooga safely. Instead, we forced the besieging enemy to withdraw, defeated them on their chosen ground, and nearly destroyed them—a far greater victory. Our loss in killed was likely higher, as we were attacking. The enemy reported 361 killed, but as he claimed 4,146 missing, while we held over 6,000 prisoners and with hundreds or thousands having deserted, little trust can be placed in these figures. There was deep dissatisfaction with Bragg among his soldiers over his harsh treatment, and a desire to escape if possible. Then too, as Chattanooga came in the same half-year as Gettysburg in the East and Vicksburg in the West, the South now felt much as the North had in the previous fall and winter. Had southern people and press enjoyed the same freedoms as their northern counterparts, Chattanooga might well have been the last battle fought for the preservation of the Union. General William F. Smith’s service in these battles was such that I considered him clearly entitled to promotion. I knew the President had previously nominated him for major-general, but his nomination was rejected by the Senate. Not knowing the reason for this, I strongly recommended him for a major-general’s commission. My recommendation was accepted, and the appointment was made. Upon lifting the siege of Knoxville, I, of course, informed the authorities at Washington—the President and Secretary of War—which brought great rejoicing there. The President in particular was delighted that Knoxville had been relieved without further bloodshed. > WASHINGTON, D. C., > December 8, 1863, 10:20 A.M. > > MAJOR GENERAL U. S. GRANT: > > Now that your position at Knoxville and Chattanooga is secure, I wish to offer you, and everyone under your command, not just my thanks, but my deepest gratitude for the skill, courage, and perseverance with which you and your men, in spite of so many difficulties, achieved this important goal. God bless you all, > > A. LINCOLN, > President, U. S. The safety of Burnside’s army and the loyal people of East Tennessee had been a source of great anxiety to the President for several months. During that time, he did everything he could to help the situation—sending a new commander with a few thousand troops through Cumberland Gap, and telegraphing me daily, almost hourly, to “remember Burnside,” “do something for Burnside,” and similar appeals. He saw no way out for East Tennessee until after our victory at Chattanooga. Even then he was worried that Burnside might be out of ammunition, starving, or defeated; his anxiety remained high until he heard that Longstreet had been driven from the field. Burnside pursued Longstreet only as far as Strawberry Plains, about twenty miles further east, and then stopped, believing that Longstreet would leave the state. However, Longstreet did not leave but instead stopped only a bit further on and sustained his army through the entire winter off East Tennessee. Foster then relieved Burnside. Sherman positioned his troops along the Tennessee River as instructed. I left Thomas in command at Chattanooga and, around December 20th, moved my headquarters to Nashville, Tennessee. Nashville was the most central point for communicating with my entire military division, as well as with the authorities in Washington. While staying at Chattanooga, I risked having my telegraphic communications cut off, which could disconnect me from both my command and Washington. Nothing of note happened at Nashville during the winter, so I focused on positioning troops so they could move advantageously, and gathering necessary supplies to be ready to demand our fair share of the enemy’s attention as soon as the first good weather arrived in spring. I expected to keep my current command and was preparing for the campaign against Atlanta. I also had high hopes for a campaign against Mobile from the Gulf. After Atlanta fell, I planned to occupy it permanently, and to cut Lee’s army off from the West using the railway through Augusta to Atlanta and then southwest. I planned to hold Atlanta with a small garrison, and expected to push through to Mobile if that city was in our hands; if not, then to Savannah. In this way, I aimed to capture the only east–west railroad the enemy would still have. But the spring campaign against Mobile was never carried out. The Army of the Ohio had been getting supplies over Cumberland Gap until their animals had nearly all starved. I decided to go myself to see if there was any possible way to use that route in the spring, and if not, to abandon it. So I left Nashville in late December by rail for Chattanooga. From Chattanooga, I took one of the small steamers mentioned earlier, put my horses onboard, and went up to where the Clinch joins the Tennessee. From there, the railroad had been repaired up to Knoxville and out east to Strawberry Plains. I took the train to Knoxville, where I stayed for several days. General John G. Foster was then in command of the Department of the Ohio. It was an extremely cold winter, with the thermometer down to zero every morning for more than a week while I was at Knoxville and on my way by horseback to Lexington, Kentucky, the first place where I could catch a train to take me back to my headquarters at Nashville. The road over Cumberland Gap, and behind it, was scattered with debris from broken wagons and dead animals, just as I had found earlier on my first trip to Chattanooga over Waldron’s Ridge. The road had been churned into deep ruts by mules and wagons, and then frozen in place; so the six-day ride from Strawberry Plains to Lexington, over those holes and bumps, was very bleak and unpleasant. I met many people at home along that route, both in Tennessee and Kentucky, and almost without exception, they were extremely loyal. They would gather in small groups where we stopped for the night, eager to see me, having usually heard of my approach before we arrived. People expected the commanding general to be the oldest member of the party. I was then forty-one years old, while my medical director was gray-haired and at least a dozen years older than I was. The crowds would generally gather around him, which allowed me to quietly slip off my horse and enter the house. This also let me overhear comments from one spectator to another about their supposed general. These remarks tended to praise the cause more than the appearance of the general, partly because he was wrapped up to keep warm, and also because of the travel-worn condition we all were in after each day's hard ride. I was back in Nashville by January 13, 1864. When setting out on this trip, I needed someone with me who could put dispatches into cipher, and also read cipher messages, which I might receive daily or even hourly. At that time, Mr. Stanton of the War Department had taken complete control over managing the telegraph, deciding how it should be used, and determining who alone could have the ciphers. The operators in possession of the ciphers, as well as the ciphers themselves, were effectively independent of the commanders they were serving directly, and had to report to the War Department through General Stager all the messages they sent or received. I had to leave the telegraphic operator behind at Nashville, since that was where all my messages would arrive, to be forwarded from there. As I’ve said, I also needed an operator during this inspection who had the cipher so I could telegraph to my division and to the War Department without all the operators along the line being able to read my messages. So I ordered the cipher operator to hand over the key to Captain Cyrus B. Comstock of the Corps of Engineers, whom I had chosen as a wise and trustworthy man who could certainly be trusted with the cipher, as much as the operator at my headquarters could. The operator flatly refused to hand the key over to Captain Comstock as I'd instructed, explaining that his orders from the War Department were not to give it to anyone—the commanding general or anyone else. I told him I would see about that. He said if he did, he would get in trouble. I told him if he didn’t, he certainly would. Finally, realizing he would be punished for disobeying me, and being somewhat distant (and perhaps protected) from the War Department, he gave in. When I returned from Knoxville, I found quite a stir. The operator had been severely reprimanded and ordered to be relieved of duty. I notified the Secretary of War, or his assistant secretary in charge of the telegraph, Stager, that the man could not be relieved, since he had only obeyed my orders. It was absolutely necessary for me to have the cipher, and the man certainly would have been punished if he had refused to provide it; that they would have to punish me if they were to punish anyone, or something to that effect. This was about the only event that could be called a genuine disagreement between the Secretary of War and myself, until after the war ended, when we had another minor dispute. Because of his tendency to assume all power and control in everything he was even remotely involved with, he boldly took command of the armies, and, while issuing no formal orders, prohibited any orders from me leaving the adjutant-general’s office without his approval. He arranged it so that any order I sent to be issued from the adjutant-general’s office would be held until he reviewed and approved it. He never hurried to review my orders either; so the orders I prepared would sometimes sit for three or four days before receiving his approval. I protested this in writing, and the Secretary apologetically restored my rightful authority as General-in-Chief. But he soon fell back into his old habits and resumed control as before. After the relief of Knoxville, Sherman had proposed to Burnside that he should go with him to drive Longstreet out of Tennessee; but Burnside assured him that, with the troops brought by Granger and those left behind, he'd be fully able to take care of Longstreet without needing this help. As previously mentioned, Sherman’s men had left their camps north of the Tennessee, near Chattanooga, with only two days’ rations in their haversacks, without coats or blankets, and with few wagons, expecting to return at the end of that time. The weather was now cold and they were suffering, but they were still willing to make further sacrifices if needed for the cause that had brought them into service. Sherman, having accomplished his mission, marched back at a leisurely pace to his old camp on the Tennessee River. ## CHAPTER XLVI. ### OPERATIONS IN MISSISSIPPI—LONGSTREET IN EAST TENNESSEE—COMMISSIONED LIEUTENANT-GENERAL—COMMANDING THE ARMIES OF THE UNITED STATES—FIRST INTERVIEW WITH PRESIDENT LINCOLN. Soon after returning from Knoxville, I ordered Sherman to distribute his forces from Stevenson to Decatur and from there north to Nashville. Sherman suggested that he be allowed to go back to Mississippi, within the boundaries of his own department and where most of his army still remained, to clear out any remaining Confederate forces on the east bank of the Mississippi River that might obstruct navigation by our boats. He also expected to coordinate with Banks to do the same on the west shore. Of course, I gave my full approval. Around January 10th, Sherman returned to Memphis, where Hurlbut was in command. He gathered his Memphis men, or ordered them assembled and sent to Vicksburg. He then went to Vicksburg and out to where McPherson was commanding, and had him organize his available troops so that Sherman would have about 20,000 men in total. Sherman knew that General (Bishop) Polk was stationed at Meridian with his headquarters and had two divisions of infantry, with a significant cavalry force scattered to the west. Sherman decided, therefore, to move directly on Meridian. I had sent about 2,500 cavalry under General Sooy Smith to Sherman’s department, and most had arrived before Sherman reached Memphis. Hurlbut had 7,000 cavalry, and Sherman ordered him to reinforce Smith so that Smith would have a force of about 7,000 men to go against Forrest, who was known to be southeast of Memphis. Smith was instructed to move around the 1st of February. While Sherman was waiting at Vicksburg for Hurlbut to arrive with his surplus men, he sent out scouts to determine the enemy’s position and strength and to gather all possible information. When these scouts returned, they provided the information that General Polk was at Meridian, and the size and disposition of his command. Forrest had about 4,000 cavalry under his command. These men were thoroughly well-trained, and under such a skilled leader, they were very effective. Smith’s command was nearly double the size of Forrest’s, but not equal in quality due to their lack of combat experience comparable to Forrest’s men. The truth is, troops who have fought and won several battles, especially when they follow up their victories, improve immensely—often far beyond what might be expected. This difference can make the outcome a decisive victory instead of a shameful defeat. Often, this difference also depends on how well the troops are led, and for the type of warfare Forrest practiced, neither army had a more effective officer than he was. Sherman set out on February 3rd for his expedition. He encountered no opposition until he crossed the Big Black River, and only limited opposition after that until he reached Jackson, Mississippi. He reached Jackson on the 6th or 7th, Brandon on the 8th, and Morton on the 9th. Up to this point, he moved in two columns to better secure forage and hasten the march. However, signs appeared of Confederate infantry concentrating nearby, and he had to keep his army closer together. There were no major battles, but some enemy forces destroyed several of his wagons near Decatur, Mississippi, where, incidentally, Sherman himself almost got captured. He entered Meridian on the 14th, the enemy having withdrawn toward Demopolis, Alabama. Sherman stayed several days in Meridian, thoroughly destroying the north-south railroad and waiting for word from Sooy Smith, whom he believed had already met Forrest and, with his superior numbers, had hopefully won a decisive victory. However, hearing nothing, Sherman began his return to Vicksburg. There, he learned that Smith, delayed by some of his men being stuck in ice on the Ohio River, did not leave until the 11th, rather than the 1st as expected. Smith did engage Forrest, but Forrest clearly triumphed. Sherman had sent a letter to Banks suggesting a joint movement against Shreveport, subject to my approval. I disapproved of Sherman going in person because I had other important work for him, but I allowed him to send some troops to assist Banks, with the condition their absence be brief. We needed them for the spring campaign. The trans-Mississippi movement ultimately failed.  My oldest son, who had accompanied me during the Vicksburg campaign and siege, fell ill while there. His illness worsened until he was so gravely sick that on January 24th I received permission to travel to St. Louis, where he was staying, to see him—hardly expecting to find him alive on my arrival. While I was allowed to go, I was not permitted to hand over my command to anyone else, but was required to keep headquarters with me and maintain regular communication with all parts of my division and with Washington, just as if I had remained at Nashville. I received this leave while at Chattanooga, where I had gone again to prepare for the troops under Thomas in southern Tennessee to cooperate with Sherman’s movement in Mississippi. I instructed Thomas, and Logan at Scottsboro, Alabama, to keep up a threatening movement southward against J. E. Johnston—who had once again replaced Bragg—in order to keep as many of Johnston’s troops there as possible. From Confederate sources, I learned that Johnston had already sent two divisions toward Mobile, likely to oppose Sherman, and two more divisions to Longstreet in East Tennessee. Since Johnston’s forces had been thus reduced, I ordered Thomas to send at least ten thousand men—besides Stanley’s division, which was already to the east—into East Tennessee. I notified Schofield, now commanding in East Tennessee, about this reinforcement and also about the troops Longstreet had received. My goal was to drive Longstreet out of East Tennessee as part of preparations for my spring campaign. Around this time, General Foster—who had led the Department of the Ohio after Burnside, until Schofield replaced him—advised me that it might be better to keep Longstreet where he was. Foster noted that Longstreet was quiet in East Tennessee, and if forced to leave, his well-equipped army would be free to deploy wherever it could be most useful to their cause. I thought the advice sound and, accepting that view, I rescinded the orders to pursue Longstreet. > WASHINGTON, D. C. > December 29, 1863. > > MAJ.-GENERAL U. S. GRANT: > > General Foster has asked to be relieved from his command on account of disability from old wounds. Should his request be granted, who would you like as his successor? It is possible that Schofield will be sent to your command. > > H. W. HALLECK > General-in-Chief. > (OFFICIAL.) On February 12, I ordered Thomas to take Dalton and hold it, if possible, and directed him to move without delay. When I found he had not moved, I urged him again on the 17th to start, emphasizing the importance of the movement and explaining that its purpose was to cooperate with Sherman, who was moving eastward and might be in danger. Again, on the 21st, as he still had not started, I asked if he could move the next day. He finally set out on the 22nd or 23rd. The enemy withdrew from his front without a battle but took up a new position just as strong and farther to the rear. Thomas reported that he could not advance any farther because, with his nearly starved and poor teams, it was impossible to keep up supplies until the railroads were repaired. He soon fell back. Schofield also had to return for the same reason. He could not bring enough supplies, and Longstreet was between him and what supplies remained in the area. In Longstreet’s retreat, he was moving toward his own supplies, while our forces, following him, were moving away from theirs. On March 2, however, I learned of Sherman’s success, which greatly eased my mind. The next day, March 3, I was ordered to Washington. The bill restoring the grade of lieutenant-general in the army passed Congress and became law on February 26. My nomination was sent to the Senate on March 1 and confirmed the next day (March 2). I was ordered to Washington on the 3rd to receive my commission and left the following day. The commission was handed to me on the 9th, presented at the Executive Mansion by President Lincoln in the presence of his Cabinet, my eldest son, my staff who were with me, and a few other visitors. Before presenting my commission, the President read from a prepared statement—mentioning beforehand that he knew I was reluctant to speak in public, so he had prepared this in writing and given me a copy in advance so I might prepare a brief reply. The President said: “General Grant, the nation’s appreciation of what you have done, and its reliance upon you for what remains to be done in the existing great struggle, are now presented, with this commission constituting you lieutenant-general in the Army of the United States. With this high honor also comes a corresponding responsibility. As the country entrusts you with this duty, so, under God, it will support you. I hardly need to add, that, with what I express here on behalf of the nation, goes my own sincere personal support.” To this I replied: “Mr. President, I accept the commission with gratitude for the high honor conferred. With the help of the brave armies that have fought in so many fields for our common country, it will be my sincere effort not to disappoint your expectations. I feel the full weight of the responsibilities now placed upon me; and I know that if they are met, it will be due to those armies, and above all, to the favor of that Providence which guides both nations and men.” On the 10th I visited the headquarters of the Army of the Potomac at Brandy Station. I then returned to Washington and promptly headed west to arrange to turn over my commands there and give general directions for preparations for the spring campaign. Before this, I had intended to stay in the West, even if I became lieutenant-general; but when I arrived in Washington and saw the situation, it became clear that this was where the commanding general needed to be. Probably no one else could resist the pressure to abandon his own plans and follow others. Therefore, before I left, I decided to have Sherman promoted to my former post, McPherson to Sherman’s position in command of the department, and Logan to McPherson’s corps. These changes were made on my recommendation and without hesitation. My commission as lieutenant-general was given to me on March 9, 1864. The following day, as already stated, I visited General Meade—commander of the Army of the Potomac—at his headquarters at Brandy Station, north of the Rapidan. I had known General Meade slightly during the Mexican War, but had not seen him since until this visit. I was a stranger to most of the Army of the Potomac—indeed, to all except the regular army officers who had served in the Mexican War. Some changes to the organization of the army had been made before my promotion, including consolidating five corps into three, which removed some officers of rank from major commands. Meade evidently thought that I might want to make an additional change which had not yet been ordered. He told me I might want an officer from the West who had served with me, mentioning Sherman especially, to take his place. If that were the case, he asked that I not hesitate to make the change, asserting that the work before us was so critical to the nation that no one’s personal feelings or wishes should stand in the way of selecting the right men for every position. For himself, he said, he would serve to the best of his abilities wherever placed. I assured him I had no intention of replacing him. As for Sherman, he could not be spared from the West. This incident gave me an even higher opinion of Meade than his great victory at Gettysburg the previous July had done. It is those who wait to be chosen—not those who seek positions—whom we can always expect to give the most effective service. Meade’s position afterward became awkward for me, if not for him. He was commanding an army and, for nearly a year before I took command of all the armies, had been in supreme command of the Army of the Potomac—except for the authorities in Washington. All other general officers in similar roles were independent in their commands as far as anyone present with them was concerned. I tried to make Meade’s position as close as possible to what it would have been had I been in Washington or elsewhere away from his command. Therefore, I gave all orders regarding the movements of the Army of the Potomac to Meade for execution. To avoid having to issue orders directly to the troops, I established my headquarters near his unless there was a compelling reason to locate them elsewhere. Occasionally, this happened, and I did have to give direct orders to affected troops. On the 11th I returned to Washington, and the next day orders from the War Department were published placing me in command of all the armies. I had left Washington the evening before to return to my former command in the West and to meet Sherman, whom I had telegraphed to join me in Nashville. Sherman assumed command of the Military Division of the Mississippi on March 18, and we left Nashville together for Cincinnati. I had Sherman travel with me that far on my way back to Washington so we could discuss the matters I wanted to go over with him, without losing any more time from my new command than necessary. The first point I wished to discuss was the coordination of his command with mine for the upcoming spring campaign. There were also other issues—minor compared to the outcome of the war itself—including whether to restore to duty officers who had been relieved from important commands, namely McClellan, Burnside, and Fremont in the East, and Buell, McCook, Negley, and Crittenden in the West. Sometime in the winter of 1863–64, the general-in-chief invited me to share my views on the campaign I thought best for the command then under me—now under Sherman. General J. E. Johnston was defending Atlanta and the interior of Georgia with an army, the larger part of which was positioned at Dalton, about 38 miles south of Chattanooga. Dalton lies at the junction of the railroad from Cleveland with the one running from Chattanooga to Atlanta. There could be no disagreement about the first duty for the armies of the Military Division of the Mississippi. Johnston’s army was the primary target, and Atlanta—an important railroad center—was the second. When I wrote General Halleck with my thoughts for the coming campaign, and when I met with Sherman, it was expected that General Banks would have completed his campaign—which he had been directed to conduct before my appointment to overall command—and would be ready to cooperate with the armies east of the Mississippi. Banks’ role was to move on Mobile by land, while the navy would close the harbor and offer all possible assistance. The plan was therefore for Sherman to attack Johnston, destroy his army if possible, capture Atlanta and hold it, and with his and Banks’ troops to hold a line through to Mobile, or at least to hold Atlanta and control the railroad running east and west, with troops from either army holding key points on the southern road, the only east-west line the enemy would retain. This would split the Confederacy in two again, as our earlier capture of the Mississippi River had done. Banks was not ready in time for his assigned role, and unforeseen circumstances shaped the campaign that followed—a campaign whose success and scale reverberated worldwide. Regarding officers relieved from important commands, I left it to Sherman to deal with those removed in the West, while I took care of the rest. I directed, however, that he make no assignments until I could speak with the Secretary of War. Shortly afterward, I recommended to the Secretary that General Buell be offered a post. I was assured that duty would be offered to him, and later the Secretary told me that he had assigned Buell a role, but Buell declined, saying it would be a humiliation to accept the assignment offered. I later understood that he had refused to serve under Sherman or Canby because he had previously outranked both. Both had graduated before him and outranked him in the old army. Sherman outranked him as a brigadier-general. All of them outranked me in the old army, and Sherman and Buell did as brigadiers. The weakest excuse a soldier can offer for declining service is that he once outranked the commander he is now ordered to serve under. On March 23, I was back in Washington, and on the 26th made my headquarters at Culpeper Court-House, a few miles south of the headquarters of the Army of the Potomac. Though I came from Illinois, the President’s state, I had never met Mr. Lincoln until I was called to the capital to receive my commission as lieutenant-general. However, I knew of him very well and favorably through accounts from officers under my command in the West who had known him their entire lives. I had also read the remarkable series of debates between Lincoln and Douglas a few years earlier, when they vied for the U.S. Senate. At the time, I lived in Missouri and was by no means a “Lincoln man” in that contest, but I recognized his great capabilities even then. In my first private conversation with Mr. Lincoln, he told me that he had never claimed to be a military man or to know how campaigns should be run, and never wanted to interfere with them; but that delays by commanders, along with pressure from people in the North and Congress—which was always present—forced him to issue his series of “Military Orders”—numbers one, two, three, and so forth. He admitted he did not know if they were right, and was certain that some were not. All he had wanted was someone who would take responsibility and act, and ask him for any support needed, assuring me that he would use the full power of the government to provide such assistance. I assured him that I would do my best with the means available, and avoid, as much as possible, troubling him or the War Department; and with that, our first interview ended. I had met the Secretary of War only once before, but I felt as if I knew him better. While commanding in West Tennessee, I had occasionally spoken with him over the telegraph at night, when the wires were not being used for other business. Both he and General Halleck had warned me not to share my campaign plans with the President, explaining that he was so kind-hearted and so reluctant to refuse anyone that some acquaintance would very likely manage to obtain from him all he knew. I should mention that, during our meeting, the President told me directly that he did not want to know what I planned to do. However, he did present a campaign plan of his own, which he wanted me to hear before I acted as I saw fit. He took out a map of Virginia on which he had clearly marked every position held by both the Federal and Confederate armies up to that point. He pointed out two streams flowing into the Potomac and suggested that the army could be transported by boat and landed between the mouths of these streams. This would allow us to use the Potomac to bring in supplies, while the tributaries would protect our flanks as we advanced. I listened respectfully but did not mention that these same streams would also protect Lee’s flanks if he tried to trap us. I did not share my plans with the President, nor did I with the Secretary of War or General Halleck. On March 26th, my headquarters were, as mentioned before, at Culpeper, and preparations began for an early campaign. ## CHAPTER XLVII. ### THE MILITARY SITUATION—PLANS FOR THE CAMPAIGN—SHERIDAN ASSIGNED TO COMMAND OF THE CAVALRY—FLANK MOVEMENTS—FORREST AT FORT PILLOW—GENERAL BANKS’S EXPEDITION—COLONEL MOSBY—AN INCIDENT OF THE WILDERNESS CAMPAIGN. When I took command of all the armies, the situation was as follows: the Mississippi River was guarded from St. Louis to its mouth; the line of the Arkansas was held, giving us all the Northwest north of that river. A few locations in Louisiana near the river were occupied by Federal troops, as was the mouth of the Rio Grande. East of the Mississippi, we held almost everything north of the Memphis and Charleston Railroad as far east as Chattanooga, then along the Tennessee and Holston rivers, covering nearly the entire state of Tennessee. West Virginia was in our hands, as was that part of old Virginia north of the Rapidan and east of the Blue Ridge. On the coast, we controlled Fortress Monroe and Norfolk in Virginia; Plymouth, Washington, and New Berne in North Carolina; Beaufort, Folly and Morris Islands, Hilton Head, Port Royal, and Fort Pulaski in South Carolina and Georgia; Fernandina, St. Augustine, Key West, and Pensacola in Florida. The remainder of the Southern territory, vast in size, was still under enemy control. Sherman, who had succeeded me as commander of the Military Division of the Mississippi, commanded all troops in the area west of the Alleghenies and north of Natchez, with a significant mobile force near Chattanooga. His command was divided into four departments, but all the commanders reported directly to Sherman and followed his orders. This setup improved the protection of communication lines throughout the acquired territory, as the different department commanders could act swiftly in case of a sudden or unexpected raid within their jurisdictions without waiting for orders from the division commander. In the East, the opposing forces remained in much the same positions as three years before, when the war began; both were positioned between the Federal and Confederate capitals. It's true that we had secured some footholds on the coast in Virginia and North Carolina, but aside from that, neither side had gained any major advantage. Battles had been fought with the same intensity as any known in warfare, throughout the territory from the James River and Chickahominy near Richmond to Gettysburg and Chambersburg in Pennsylvania, but with indecisive results—sometimes favoring the National army, sometimes the Confederate. However, in every instance, I believe, the Southern press, if not the generals, claimed victory for the South. The Northern press, in general, did not challenge these claims; some always magnified the Rebels’ successes and downplayed ours, while others, though sincerely wanting the Union preserved and the Federal armies to win, would still often express dissatisfaction that our victories were not more decisive. Those in the Army of the Potomac not tasked with guarding communication lines were on the north bank of the Rapidan. The Army of Northern Virginia faced them from the opposite bank, strongly entrenched and commanded by the Confederacy’s most skilled general. The land back to the James River is broken up by many streams, usually narrow, deep, and hard to cross unless bridged. The area is dense with timber, the roads are narrow, and become very poor with even a little rain. Facing such an enemy, it goes without saying, we expected well-built fortifications at key points all the way back to Richmond, so that once pushed from one, they always had another line to fall into further back. Supplying an army campaigning against such a formidable foe, through such country, using wagons alone, seemed nearly impossible. System and discipline were both absolutely necessary. The Union armies at this point were divided into nineteen departments, though four in the West had been combined into a single military division. The Army of the Potomac was a separate command with no defined territory. So there were seventeen independent commanders. Up to this point, these different armies had acted separately and independently, often allowing the enemy to drain troops from one front not being pressured to reinforce another that was under attack. I decided to stop this practice. To that end, I considered the Army of the Potomac as the center; everything west to Memphis and north of it, along our lines at the time, as the right wing; the Army of the James, under General Butler, as the left wing; and all southern troops as a force in the enemy’s rear. Some of these southern commands held positions where they could not contribute to the overall effort as much as their numbers allowed. Those were reduced to the minimum necessary to guard against blockade runners; where that could not be done, the positions were abandoned. In this way, ten thousand troops were sent from South Carolina to reinforce the Army of the James, with General Gillmore in command. Gillmore wasn’t expected to leave his department; but since most of his men were reassigned for active duty, he requested permission to go with them, which was granted. Officers and soldiers on furlough—there were thousands—were called back to their units; concentration was the plan, and getting it done in time to move as soon as spring weather allowed was the real challenge. To reinforce the Army of the Potomac, or support it, the 9th Army Corps, over twenty thousand strong, under General Burnside, was stationed at Annapolis, Maryland. This was an excellent location for such a reinforcement. The Corps could be added at the last second to the Army of the Potomac, or redirected to the coastal areas south of Norfolk in Virginia or North Carolina to operate against Richmond from another direction. In fact, Burnside and the War Department both thought the 9th Corps was designated for such an expedition until the last moment. My overall plan was to concentrate every available force against the Confederate armies in the field. There were only two such armies, as mentioned before, east of the Mississippi and facing north. The Army of Northern Virginia, under General Robert E. Lee, was on the south bank of the Rapidan, facing the Army of the Potomac; the second, led by General Joseph E. Johnston, was at Dalton, Georgia, opposing Sherman, who remained at Chattanooga. Besides these main forces, the Confederates had to guard the Shenandoah Valley, an important supply source for their armies, as well as their communication lines from Richmond to Tennessee. Forrest, a bold and determined cavalry general, operated in the West with a large force, requiring us to keep a strong garrison in Middle and West Tennessee. We could not give up any territory north of the line held by the enemy, as it would expose the Northern states to invasion. Still, just as the Army of the Potomac was responsible for the defense of Washington even when moving against Lee, all the western forces and the Army of the James maintained their particular responsibilities—advancing from their posts or remaining at them. In fact, by advancing, they forced the enemy to defend his own lines and resources further away and with more troops. Smaller raids to destroy a bridge, tear up a rail line, burn a storehouse, or cause other nuisances became much more difficult. Therefore, I ordered a simultaneous advance along the whole line. Sherman would move from Chattanooga, targeting Johnston’s army and Atlanta. Crook, in West Virginia, was to move from the mouth of the Gauley River with cavalry and some artillery, aiming for the Virginia and Tennessee Railroad. The enemy would have to keep a substantial force protecting these communication lines or see them destroyed, with much-needed forage and supplies falling into our hands. Sigel commanded in the Valley of Virginia and was to advance there, protecting the North from invasion through that route both by moving forward and by holding his territory near Harper’s Ferry. Every mile he advanced also gave us possession of stores Lee depended on. Butler was to advance by the James River, targeting Richmond and Petersburg. > > > HEADQUARTERS ARMIES OF THE UNITED STATES, WASHINGTON, D. C., > April 4, 1864. > > MAJOR-GENERAL W. T. SHERMAN, > Commanding Military Division of the Mississippi. > > GENERAL:—It is my intention, if the enemy remains quiet and lets me take the initiative for the spring campaign, to coordinate all the army's movements, aiming somewhat towards a common center. For your information, I’m now writing to share my current plan. > > I have sent orders to Banks, by private messenger, to finish up his present expedition against Shreveport with all speed; to assign the defense of Red River to General Steele and the navy and to return your troops to you and his own to New Orleans; to abandon all of Texas except the Rio Grande, and hold that with no more than four thousand men; to minimize the number of troops on the Mississippi to what’s essential to hold it, and to gather not less than twenty-five thousand men from his command. To this, I will add five thousand men from Missouri. With this force, he is to begin operations against Mobile as soon as possible. He cannot start too early. > > Gillmore will join Butler with ten thousand men, and together they'll operate against Richmond from the south side of the James River. This gives Butler thirty-three thousand men for his operation, with W. F. Smith commanding the right wing and Gillmore the left. I will stay with the Army of the Potomac, reinforced by Burnside’s corps of at least twenty-five thousand effective men, and operate directly against Lee's army, wherever it may be found. > > Sigel will assemble all his available forces into two columns: one, under Ord and Averell, starting from Beverly, Virginia, and another, under Crook, leaving from Charleston on the Kanawha, to move against the Virginia and Tennessee Railroad. > > Crook’s entire force will be cavalry, with the goal of reaching around Saltville and moving east from there to join Ord. His command will be all cavalry, while Ord will command from ten to twelve thousand men of all arms. > > You, I propose to move against Johnston’s army, to break it up, advance as far into the enemy's interior as possible, and inflict all the damage you can to their war resources. > I do not intend to give you a fixed campaign plan, but instead to outline the objectives that need to be achieved and leave you free to carry them out in your own way. However, submit your plan of operations to me as soon as possible. > > As mentioned, Banks has been ordered to begin operations as soon as he is able. Gillmore has been ordered to report to Fortress Monroe by the 18th of this month, or as soon after as practicable. Sigel is currently concentrating his forces. No one is to move from their assembly points until I give the order, except for Banks. I want to be ready to move by the 25th if possible. For now, all I can direct is that you prepare as quickly as you can. I realize you will face difficulties crossing the mountains to areas where supplies are plentiful, but I am confident you will succeed. > > I do not expect major results from the expedition in the Department of West Virginia; however, it is the only way I can move troops from there. Given the long stretch of railroad Sigel must protect, he cannot spare any troops except to move directly forward. In this way, he must either break through to inflict significant damage on the enemy or force the enemy to detach a large force from one of their armies to stop him. In other words, if Sigel can’t “skin” the enemy himself, he can at least hold a leg while someone else does. > > I am, General, very respectfully, your obedient servant, > > U. S. GRANT, > Lieutenant-General. Before the advance began I visited Butler at Fort Monroe. This was the first time I had ever met him. Before I gave him any orders regarding his role in the upcoming campaign, I asked for his views. They were nearly identical to what I intended to direct, and what I did direct in writing before leaving. General W. F. Smith, who had been promoted to major-general shortly after the battle of Chattanooga at my request, had not yet been confirmed by the Senate. I discovered there was strong opposition to his confirmation by most of the Senate, but I insisted his service warranted the promotion. My wishes were reluctantly granted, and I assigned him to command one of the corps under General Butler. It didn’t take me long to learn that the objections to Smith’s promotion were justified. In one of my early meetings with the President, I expressed my dissatisfaction with the cavalry’s limited achievements so far in the war, and my belief that it could accomplish much more with the right leader. I said I wanted the very best man in the army for that command. Halleck, who was present, said, “How would Sheridan do?” I replied, “He’s exactly the man I want.” The President said I could have anyone I wished. Sheridan was telegraphed for that very day, and upon arrival, was placed in command of the cavalry corps with the Army of the Potomac. This replaced General Alfred Pleasonton. However, this was not a criticism of General Pleasonton, as I did not know but that he had been as effective as any other cavalry commander. Banks, in the Department of the Gulf, was ordered to gather all his troops at New Orleans in time to join the general movement, with Mobile as his objective. At that time, I had not entirely decided whether to move the Army of the Potomac by the enemy’s right flank or by his left. > IN FIELD, CULPEPER COURT HOUSE, VA., > April 9, 1864. > > MAJ. GENERAL GEO. G. MEADE > Commanding Army of the Potomac. > > For your information and guidance in preparing for the coming campaign, the following is communicated to you confidentially for your eyes only. > > As far as practicable, all armies are to move together, converging toward a common center. Banks has been instructed to leave the defense of the Red River to General Steele and the navy, to give up Texas except for the Rio Grande, and to gather all the forces he can—no fewer than 25,000 men—to move against Mobile. He is to do this independently of the other operations. Because his command is spread out, he cannot possibly assemble it in New Orleans before May 1st, if even by then. Sherman will move at the same time you do, or two to three days earlier, with Jo. Johnston’s army as his target and the heart of Georgia as his ultimate goal. If he succeeds, he will secure the line from Chattanooga to Mobile with Banks’s help. > > Sigel cannot detach troops from his army to reinforce the larger armies, but he can support them by advancing directly forward. He has been ordered to do this and is preparing. Two columns of his troops will move south at the same time as the general advance; one from Beverly, ten to twelve thousand strong and led by Major-General Ord; the other from Charleston, Va., made up primarily of cavalry under Brig. General Crook. The first of these will try to reach the Tennessee and Virginia Railroad, south of Covington, and, if possible, will move east toward Lynchburg and either return via the Shenandoah Valley or join you. The other will strike Saltville, Va., and then move east to join Ord. The cavalry from Ord’s column will test tributary routes that could give us an easy supply line to all positions the army might occupy from the Rapidan to the James River. However, Lee could also choose to detach or move his whole army north on a more central line than the one we would have to use. A movement on his left—our right—would prevent this, but in that case we would have only the supplies and ammunition we carried with us. All thought of using this plan was dropped once we realized the limited amount of supplies we could bring. The land we would cross was so depleted of food and forage that we would have to carry everything ourselves. > > While these preparations were happening, the enemy wasn’t completely idle. In the West, Forrest made a raid in West Tennessee up to the northern border, capturing a garrison of four or five hundred at Union City. He then attacked Paducah, Kentucky, on the Ohio River. While he entered the city, he failed to capture the forts or any of the garrison. As soon as I learned of Forrest’s raid, I telegraphed Sherman to send all his cavalry after him, and not to let him escape. Sherman had already anticipated this and sent troops before receiving my order. > > Despite this, Forrest fell back quickly and attacked the troops at Fort Pillow, a station to protect navigation on the Mississippi River. The garrison was to open a route southward if they succeeded in reaching the Virginia and Tennessee Railroad, in order to cut the main lines connecting Richmond to the South and Southwest. > > Gillmore will join Butler, bringing about 10,000 men from South Carolina. Butler can draw down his garrison to take 23,000 men into the field straight ahead. The command will be under Maj. General W. F. Smith. With Smith and Gillmore, Butler will seize City Point and attack Richmond from the south side of the river. His movement will happen at the same time as yours. > > Lee’s army will be your main objective. Wherever Lee moves, you will follow. The only issue I am still considering is whether it is better to cross the Rapidan above or below him. Each option has significant advantages and drawbacks. By crossing above, Lee is cut off from the possibility of bypassing Richmond and heading north on a raid. But using this route, we would be limited to the rations we started with and would be separated from Butler, making cooperation impossible. On the other route, Brandy Station can serve as a supply base until we secure another on the York or James Rivers. > I will discuss these advantages and objections with you more thoroughly in person than I can in writing. > > Burnside, with a force of about 25,000 men, will reinforce you. As soon as he arrives, which will be shortly after the 20th of this month, I will assign him the defense of the road from Bull Run as far south as we decide to hold it. This will allow you to gather all your forces around Brandy Station and to the front. > > There will be naval support on the James River, and transports and ferries will be provided so that, should Lee retreat into his entrenchments at Richmond, Butler’s force and yours will be combined, or at least able to operate together. Therefore, I direct that you start immediately reducing baggage to the absolute minimum. Two wagons per regiment of 500 men should be the maximum allowed for all baggage, excluding subsistence and ordnance stores. One wagon for brigade and one for division headquarters is adequate, and about two for corps headquarters. > > Should our route be by Lee’s right flank, you will need to arrange for all sorts of supplies to be quickly forwarded to White House on the Pamunkey. Make your estimates for this possibility at once. If not needed there, it is very likely they will be needed on the James River or elsewhere. > > If Lee’s left is turned, you will need to make large provisions for ordnance stores. I would say nearly five hundred rounds of infantry ammunition would be needed for this route. For the other, half that amount would be sufficient. > > U. S. GRANT, > > Lieutenant-General. Each plan offered certain advantages. If we advanced by his right—my left—the Potomac, Chesapeake Bay, and their tributaries would provide us with easy transport to every position the army could take between the Rapidan and the James River. However, Lee could, if he wished, detach or move his whole army north along a route more direct than the one I would have to take in following him. An advance by his left—our right—would prevent this; but everything accomplished would have to be done with the supplies and ammunition we carried from the start. The idea of adopting this latter plan was abandoned when we realized how limited the supplies were that we could bring. The region we would have to cross was so depleted of all food and forage that we would be forced to carry everything with us. While these preparations were underway, the enemy was not entirely idle. In the West, Forrest conducted a raid in West Tennessee up to the northern border, capturing the garrison of four or five hundred men at Union City, and then attacked Paducah, Kentucky, on the Ohio River. Although he managed to enter the city, he failed to capture the forts or any part of the garrison. On hearing of Forrest’s raid, I telegraphed Sherman to send all his cavalry after Forrest and not let him escape the trap he had set for himself. Sherman had already anticipated this and had dispatched troops after him before my order arrived. Nevertheless, Forrest quickly retreated and then attacked the troops at Fort Pillow, a post protecting navigation on the Mississippi River. The garrison consisted of a regiment of Black infantry troops and a detachment of Tennessee cavalry. These troops fought bravely but were overpowered. I will let Forrest’s own dispatches describe what happened to them. “The river was dyed,” he says, “with the blood of the slaughtered for two hundred yards. The approximate loss was upward of five hundred killed, with few officers escaping. My loss was about twenty killed. It is hoped these facts will prove to the Northern people that Black soldiers cannot compete with Southerners.” Later, Forrest submitted a report which omitted the aspect that shocks human conscience. In the East, too, the rebels stayed active. I had told Halleck that holding Plymouth and Washington, North Carolina, was unnecessary. It would be better to transfer the garrisons there to Butler’s command. If our arms succeeded, both towns, and others as well, would fall into our hands naturally. These places had been occupied by Federal troops before I took command, and I knew the administration would be reluctant to give them up, so I explained my position. But before my advice could be acted upon, the rebels captured the garrison at Plymouth. I then ordered the abandonment of Washington, but instructed that New Berne be held at all costs. This was crucial, as New Berne was a port accessible to blockade runners. General Banks had embarked on an expedition up the Red River long before I was promoted to general command. I had strongly opposed the movement but went along with it as it was the order of my then-superior. By Halleck’s direction, I had reinforced Banks with a corps of about ten thousand men from Sherman’s army. I needed those reinforcements back before the campaign began. But by then Banks had gone so far that it seemed best for him to take Shreveport on the Red River, then turn over the line of that river to Steele, who commanded in Arkansas, for holding instead of the Arkansas line. Orders were given accordingly, with the expectation that Banks would finish the campaign in time to return A. J. Smith’s command and get back to New Orleans in time for his part in the general plan. But the expedition failed. Banks did not return in time to join the planned operations, and Smith was not returned until well after the movements of May, 1864, had begun. The services of forty thousand veteran troops, beyond those needed to hold key points in the Department of the Gulf, were thus suspended. To be fair to Banks, his expedition was ordered from Washington, and he was responsible only for its conduct. I am not criticizing him on this point. He opposed the expedition. By April 27, spring had advanced enough for me to set a date for the major movement. That day, Burnside left Annapolis to take up Meade’s position between Bull Run and the Rappahannock. Meade was notified and instructed to move his troops up to his advance. The next day, Butler was notified of my planned advance on May 4 and was told to set out that night, get as far up the James River as possible by daylight, and proceed with his assigned mission. He was also told that reinforcements were being gathered in Washington and would be sent to him if the enemy retreated into Richmond’s trenches. That same day, Sherman was ordered to assemble his forces and be ready to advance on the 5th. Sigel, stationed in Winchester, was also instructed to move in coordination with the others. Some writers on the campaign from the Rapidan to the James River have argued that all the casualties could have been avoided by moving the army there by transport. Richmond was so well fortified and entrenched that one man defending it inside was worth more than five besieging or assaulting from outside. Capturing Lee’s army was the primary goal. With his defeat, Richmond would inevitably fall. It was better to fight him outside his stronghold than within it. Had the Army of the Potomac been moved en masse to the James River by water, Lee could have sent part of his forces back to Richmond, recalled Beauregard from the south, and with the remainder moved against Washington. I had already ordered a simultaneous movement up the James River by a significant force already gathered at the river’s mouth. While my headquarters were at Culpeper, from March 26 to May 4, I usually visited Washington once a week to confer with the Secretary of War and the President. On my last visit, just a few days before moving, an incident nearly delayed my role in the campaign entirely. Colonel John S. Mosby had long commanded a partisan unit operating in the rear of the Army of the Potomac. On my return to the field, as our train approached Warrenton Junction, we saw a large dust cloud to the east of the road, as if a cavalry charge was underway. When we arrived at the junction, the train stopped and inquiries were made. There was only one man at the station, and he told us that Mosby had crossed just minutes earlier at full speed pursuing Federal cavalry. Had Mosby seen our train coming, he likely would have released his prisoners to capture the train. I was traveling on a special train, as I recall, without any guard. Since the war ended, I have come to know Colonel Mosby personally and fairly well. He is quite different from what I expected—slender, not tall, wiry, and seemingly able to endure any amount of physical exertion. He is capable, and entirely honest and truthful. Few men in the South could have successfully commanded a separate force operating in the rear of an enemy army so close to active hostilities for as long as he did without losing his entire command. On this same visit to Washington, I had my last meeting with the President before reaching the James River. He was, of course, aware that a general movement had been ordered all along the line and seemed to see it as a new approach to warfare. I explained that we needed many troops to guard and hold the territory we had taken and to prevent raids into the Northern states. These troops could perform their duties just as well by advancing as by staying put; and by advancing, they would force the enemy to keep detachments to hold them back or else leave their own territory open to invasion. He replied: “Oh, yes! I see that. As we say out West, if a man can’t skin he must hold a leg while somebody else does.” There is an incident related to the Wilderness campaign that is worth mentioning here to avoid digressing later. A few days before leaving Culpeper, the Honorable E. B. Washburne visited me and accompanied my headquarters south through the Wilderness battle and, I believe, to Spottsylvania. He was accompanied by a Mr. Swinton, whom he introduced as a literary gentleman wanting to join the army to write a history of the war. He assured me—and I have no doubt Swinton also assured him—that he was not present as a press correspondent. I was completely willing to let Swinton join the army and would have permitted him as a correspondent, though limited in the information he could share. We received Richmond newspapers almost as regularly as if there were no war, and knew our papers were equally available to the Confederates. Therefore, it was important that correspondents not serve as unofficial spies for the enemy within our lines. Probably Mr. Swinton expected to be invited to my headquarters and was disappointed when he wasn't. In any case, he was not invited, and I soon discovered that he was corresponding with a newspaper (I’ve forgotten which one), thus breaking his word, whether explicitly or implicitly given. He was aware of the assurance Washburne had made about the nature of his mission. To my recollection, I never saw the man again after our introduction. However, he did accompany us for a while. On the second night after crossing the Rapidan (the night of May 5th), Colonel W. R. Rowley of my staff was serving as night officer at my headquarters. A little before midnight, I gave him verbal instructions for the night. Three days later, I read in a Richmond newspaper a word-for-word report of these instructions. A few nights later (after the first, and possibly after the second, day’s fighting in the Wilderness), General Meade came to my tent for a consultation, bringing some of his staff officers with him. Both his staff and mine went out to the campfire a few yards in front of the tent, thinking our conversation should remain private. There was a stump off to one side, between the tent and the campfire. One of my staff, Colonel T. S. Bowers, saw what he thought was a man sitting on the ground, leaning against the stump, listening to my conversation with Meade. He pointed this out to Colonel Rowley, who immediately grabbed the man’s shoulder and asked, in rather strong language, what he was doing there. The man turned out to be Swinton, the “historian,” and his answers were evasive and unsatisfactory. He was warned not to eavesdrop again. The next I heard of Mr. Swinton was at Cold Harbor. General Meade came to my headquarters to report that General Burnside had arrested Swinton, who had previously caused considerable trouble, and had ordered that he be shot that afternoon. I immediately ordered that the prisoner be released but directed that he be expelled from the army lines and warned not to return under penalty of punishment. ## CHAPTER XLVIII. ### COMMENCEMENT OF THE GRAND CAMPAIGN—GENERAL BUTLER’S POSITION—SHERIDAN’S FIRST RAID. The armies were now ready to move forward to accomplish a single goal. They were all acting as a unified force, as much as was possible over such an extensive area. Lee, along with the Confederate capital, was the main objective toward which all efforts were directed. Johnston, holding Atlanta, was a significant obstacle in the way of our intended results and was, therefore, nearly an independent objective. This was of slightly lesser importance only because capturing Johnston and his army would not have as immediate and decisive an effect in ending the rebellion as would capturing Richmond, Lee, and his army. All other troops were employed solely in support of these two movements. This was the plan, and I will now try to explain, as concisely as possible, how it was to be carried out, first outlining the operations of the smaller, detached but cooperating columns. As previously mentioned, Banks failed to achieve his mission on the Red River, which meant that the grand campaign was deprived of forty thousand veteran soldiers who had been expected—ten thousand with Sherman and thirty thousand against Mobile. Sigel’s record is almost as brief. He did move out, as planned, but just as I hoped for good news from the valley, I instead received this message from Halleck: “Sigel is in full retreat on Strasburg. He will do nothing but run; never did anything else.” The enemy had intercepted him near New Market and defeated him badly, costing him six guns and about nine hundred men out of his six thousand. The strategy had been for Sigel’s forces to advance in two columns. Even though the column under his direct command failed ignominiously, the other was more successful. Under Crook and Averell, his western column advanced from the Gauley in West Virginia at the set time and achieved better results. They reached the Virginia and Tennessee Railroad at Dublin, destroyed a supply depot, tore up several miles of track, and burned the bridge over New River. Once this was accomplished, they recrossed the Alleghenies to Meadow Bluffs and waited for further orders. Butler embarked at Fort Monroe with all his troops, except for the cavalry and some artillery, which moved up the south bank of the James River. His steamers first moved up Chesapeake Bay and York River as if threatening Lee’s army from the rear. At midnight, they turned back, and by daylight, Butler was far up the James River. He took City Point and Bermuda Hundred early in the day without loss, no doubt greatly surprising the enemy.