Thirteen Months in the Rebel Army by William G. Stevenson

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What sleep the men could get on the cold, damp ground, with little
protection or fire, they secured during the early part of Saturday
night. On Sunday morning, the 6th of April, we were under arms and
ready to move by three o'clock.

General Hardee, one of the bravest men in the Confederate service,
led the advance and center, and made the attack. Had I not been
called to staff duty, I should have been in the advance with my
company. Glad was I that I was not called to fire upon the
unsuspecting soldiers of my Northern home. As the day dawned we
could hear the musketry, first in dropping shots, then volley after
volley, as the battle grew hotter. A little after daylight we
passed General Beauregard and staff, who were then over a mile in
rear of the troops engaged. He addressed each brigade as it passed,
assuring them of a glorious victory, telling them to fight with
perfect confidence, as he had 80,000 men available, who should come
into action as fast as needed; and wherever reinforcements were
wanted, Beauregard would be there. This boast of 80,000 men the
officers knew to be false, as he had not a man over 45,000; but as
he expected 30,000 under Price and Van Dorn he counted them in, and
added 10,000 more to strengthen confidence. But neither he nor any
other Confederate general asks any defence for such statements.
"Military necessity" will justify any course they choose to take in
advancing their cause. After we passed Beauregard, a few minutes of
"double quick" brought our division to Grant's advance pickets, who
had been surprised and cut down by Hardee's cavalry. This was the
first time many of the soldiers had seen men killed in battle, and
they stepped carefully around the dead bodies, and seemed to
shudder at the sight. General Breckenridge observing it, said
quickly, "Never mind this, boys; press on!" Before night, those who
remained walked over dead bodies in heaps without a shudder. We soon
reached an open field, about eighty rods wide, on the further side
of which we could see the camps, and the smoke of battle just
beyond. We here made a sharp _detour_ to the right, and ascended a
broken range of hills, pressing on for nearly a mile. Here we took
position just in front of General Albert Sidney Johnson and staff,
and awaited orders. General Breckenridge rode up to General Johnson,
and after conversing in a low tone for a few minutes, Johnson said,
so that many heard it, "I will lead _your_ brigade into the fight
to-day; for I intend to show these Tennesseans and Kentuckians that
I am no coward." Poor general! you were not allowed the privilege.
We then advanced in line of battle, and General Statham's brigade
was engaged first. "Boys," said Breckenridge, "we must take that
battery which is shelling Statham. Will you do it?" A wild shout of
"Ay, ay, sir," and "Forward to take that battery," was the word;
but before we reached the ground it was withdrawn. We now advanced,
cautiously, and soon entered the camp of the Seventy-first Ohio
Volunteers. By this time, ten o'clock A.M., the battle seemed to be
raging along the whole line.

A part of the original plan of battle was to have a space several
hundred yards wide between Breckenridge's left and Hardee's right,
and thus invite Grant's men into a trap. They refusing to be
entrapped, and keeping their front unbroken, Breckenridge sent me to
General Johnson for new instructions. When I had come within about
ten rods of Johnson's staff, a shell burst in the air about
equidistant from myself and the staff. The missiles of death seemed
to fill the air in every direction, and almost before the fragments
had found their resting-place, I reined up my horse and saluted.
General Johnson, who was in front of his staff, had turned away his
horse and was leaning a little forward, pressing his right knee
against the saddle. In a moment, and before the dispatch was
delivered, the staff discovered that their leader was wounded, and
hastened to his assistance. A piece of the shell, whose fragments
had flown so thick around me as I came up, had struck his thigh half
way between his hip and knee, and cut a wide path through, severing
the femoral artery. Had he been instantly taken from his horse
and a tourniquet applied, he might perhaps have been saved.
When reproached by Governor Harris, chief of staff and his
brother-in-law, for concealing his wound while his life-blood was
ebbing away, he replied, with true nobility of soul, "My life is
nothing to the success of this charge; had I exclaimed I was wounded
when the troops were passing, it might have created a panic and
defeat." In ten minutes after he was lifted from his horse he ceased
to breathe. Thus died one of the bravest generals in the Rebel army.
My dispatch was taken by Colonel Wickliffe and handed to Harris, who
directed me to take it to General Beauregard. When he had read it,
he asked--

"Why did you not take this to General Johnson?"

"I did, sir."

"Did he tell you to bring it to me?"

"General Johnson is dead, sir."

"How do you know?"

"I saw him die ten minutes ago?"

"How was he killed?"

I told him. He then dictated two dispatches, one to Governor Harris
and one to General Breckenridge, telling them to conceal the death
of Johnson, and bidding me not to speak of it to any one. So far as
the report of his death was circulated the officers denied it, some
affirming that it was Governor Johnson of Kentucky who was killed,
others admitting that General A.S. Johnson was slightly wounded. The
army knew not of his death till they reached Corinth.

When I returned to General Breckenridge's staff they had advanced
half a mile, and were furiously engaged within half-musket range
with both small-arms and artillery. About noon General Bowen's
brigade--Breckenridge's left--was forced to fall back for ammunition
and to reform, their place being supplied by two regiments of
Louisiana troops. Here, from two to four P.M., was the hardest
fighting in the battle. Breckenridge's own brigade losing nearly
one-fourth within two hours. The fire of the Union troops was low
and very effective. A battery here did fearful execution among the
Rebels with shell, grape, and canister. A wounded gunner belonging
to this battery told me the shells were fired with one-second fuses.
Our men were ordered to lie down and load, and yet many were killed
in this position, so accurate was the fire of the Federal troops. I
saw five men killed by the explosion of one shell.

About three o'clock I was sent to the rear with dispatches of the
progress of the battle, and asking reinforcements. When about half
way to Beauregard's staff, riding at full gallop, my first serious
accident occurred, my life being saved by but a hair's breadth. As
my horse rose in a long leap, his fore-feet in the air and his head
about as high as my shoulder, a cannon-ball struck him above the eye
and carried away the upper part of his head. Of course the momentum
carried his lifeless body some ten feet ahead, and hurled me some
distance further,--saber, pistols, and all. I gathered myself up,
and to my surprise was not hurt in the least. One second later, the
ball would have struck me and spared the horse. Thankful for my
life, I threw off my saber and my tight uniform-coat, gave my
pistols to a cavalryman near by, and started in search of another
horse. General Breckenridge had told me in the morning, if my horse
was killed to take the first unemployed one I could find. I knew
where some of the infantry field-officers had tied their horses in a
ravine in the rear, and while seeking them, I met a scene which
lives in my memory as if it were but yesterday.

I had just filled my canteen at a spring, and as I turned from it my
eye met the uplifted gaze of a Federal officer, I think a colonel of
an Illinois regiment, who was lying desperately wounded, shot
through the body and both legs, his dead horse lying on one of his
shattered limbs. A cannon-ball had passed through his horse and both
of his own knees. He looked pleadingly for a drink, but hesitated to
ask it of an enemy, as he supposed me to be. I came up to him, and
said, "You seem to be badly wounded, sir; will you have some water?"

"Oh, yes," said he; "but I feared to ask you for it."

"Why?"

"Because I expected no favor of an enemy."

Two other men coming by, I called them to aid in removing the dead
horse from his wounded limb. They did so, and then passed on; but I
seemed bound to him as by a spell. His manly face and soldierly
bearing, when suffering so terribly, charmed me. I changed his
position, adjusted his head, arranged his mangled legs in an easy
posture, supporting them by leaves stuffed under the blanket on
which we had laid him. In the mean time he took out his watch and
money, and requested me to hand him his pistols from the
saddle-holsters, and urged me to take them, as some one might rob
him, and I was the only one who had shown him kindness. I declined,
and wrapping them up in a blanket, placed them under his head,
telling him the fortunes of war might yet bring his own troops to
his side. He seemed overcome, and said, "My friend, why this
kindness to an enemy?"

As I gave him another draught of water, I said, "_I am not the enemy
I seem_;" and pressing his hand, I walked quickly on.

He could not live long, but I hope his friends found him as they
swept back over the ground the next day.

I soon found a splendid horse, and rode to General Beauregard for
orders, and reached my own general about four o'clock P.M. I found
that the Federal troops had fallen back more than a mile, but were
still fiercely contending for the ground. The Rebels were confident
of victory, and pressed them at every point. I had scarce time to
mark the condition of things however, until I was again dispatched
to the commander-in-chief. I had but fairly started, when I was
struck on the right side by a piece of a shell almost spent, which
yet came near ending my earthly career. My first feeling after the
shock was one of giddiness and blindness, then of partial recovery,
then of deathly sickness. I succeeded in getting off rather than
falling from my horse, near the root of a tree, where I fainted and
lay insensible for nearly an hour. At length, I recovered so far as
to be able to remount my horse, whose bridle I had somehow held all
the time, though unconsciously. I had ridden but a few rods when a
musket-ball passed through the neck of this, my second horse, but,
to my surprise, he did not fall immediately. A tremor ran through
his frame which I felt, convincing me that he was mortally wounded.
I dismounted, and stood watching him. He soon sank on his knees, and
then slowly lay down on his side. As his life-blood ebbed away, his
eye glazed, and making a last futile effort to rise, he fell back
again and died with a groan almost like the last agony of a human
being. The pain of my side and my knee, which was never entirely
free from pain, grew worse, and I saw that unless I found surgical
attendance and rest, I would soon be exhausted. In making my way to
the general hospital which was established on the ground where the
battle commenced, I met one of Forrest's cavalry, wounded in the
foot, and very weak from loss of blood. With my handkerchief and a
short stick, I made a simple tourniquet, which stopped the bleeding,
when I accompanied him to the hospital. After the dressing of my
wound, which was an extensive bruise, about five inches in diameter,
I took the cavalryman's horse, and started back to my command. When
I had reached the camp of the 71st Ohio Volunteers, my strength
failed, and after getting something to eat for myself and horse, and
a bucket of water to bathe my side during the night, I tied my horse
near the door of a tent, and crept in to try to sleep. But the
shells from the gunboats, which made night hideous, the groans of
the wounded, and the pleadings of the dying, for a time prevented.
Weariness at length overcame me, and sleep followed more refreshing
and sound than I hoped for under the circumstances.

The sharp rattle of musketry awakened me early, announcing the
opening of the second day's battle. But before I speak of Monday the
7th, I will state why the Confederates ceased to fight at half-past
five P.M., on Sabbath evening, when they had another hour of
daylight. They had already driven back the Federal forces more than
three miles along their whole line, had taken 4000 prisoners,
including most of General Prentiss's brigade, had captured about
seventy pieces of artillery, according to their statement, had taken
an immense baggage-train, with vast quantities of commissary,
quartermaster's, and medical stores, and had driven Grant's forces
under the shelter of their gunboats. Had the battle ended here, the
victory would have been most triumphant for the Rebels. Generals
Bragg and Breckenridge urged that the battle should go on, that
Grant's force was terribly cut up and demoralized, that another hour
would take them all prisoners, or drive them into the river, and
that then the transport fleet of more than a hundred boats, would be
at the control of the Confederates, who could assume the offensive,
and in five days take Louisville. Other officers argued that half of
their own troops were disabled or scattered, that it would risk the
victory already gained to push the remainder of Grant's forces,
which now turned at bay, might make a desperate stand. They
estimated their own loss at ten or twelve thousand men, and knew
that many, thinking the battle was over, had left their commands and
were loading themselves with plunder, from the pockets of the dead
and the knapsacks lying over the field or found in the Federal
camps. Some expressed strong confidence that Price and Van Dorn
would arrive during the night, and the victory would be easily
completed on the morrow.

While this argument lasted, the men were resting, the hour passed
away, and night spread her sable pall over the scene.

The night was spent in removing the wounded, and as much of the
captured stores and artillery as possible; but horses and wagons
were scarce, and most of the stores and some wounded were left. The
Confederates carried off thirty-six pieces of artillery, which were
not retaken. Hospitals were established on the road leading to
Corinth, and most of the wounded of the first day received every
attention possible under the circumstances; though the advance had
been made so suddenly, that insufficient attention had been given to
providing medical stores and surgical instruments. The scattered
regiments were gathered, reorganized, and put, as far as possible,
in order for battle, and Beauregard ordered a large cavalry force to
stretch themselves out in a line a short distance in rear of the
army, to turn back all stragglers, and gave them instructions to
shoot any unwounded man retreating. This was rigidly enforced, and
some who attempted to escape were shot. Orders were issued to shoot
any one found plundering the dead or wounded. Stragglers were forced
into the nearest regiment, and every thing done that could be to
insure success.

From the foregoing account it will be seen that the following
telegram, sent by Beauregard to Richmond, is not far from literally
true:

"BATTLE-FIELD OF SHILOH,
Via Corinth and Chattanooga, April 6, 1862.

"GENERAL S. COOPER, Adjutant-general,--We have this morning
attacked the enemy in strong position in front of Pittsburg, and
after a severe battle of ten hours, thanks to Almighty God, gained
a complete victory, driving the enemy from every position.

"The loss on both sides is heavy, including our commander-in-chief,
General Albert Sidney Johnson, who fell gallantly leading his troops
into the thickest of the fight.

"G.T. BEAUREGARD,
General commanding."

The morning of Monday, April 7th, was dark and gloomy; the men were
weary and stiffened by the exertions of the previous day, and from
the chilling effects of the rain which fell during the night. The
dead of both armies lay strewed over the field by hundreds, and many
of the desperately wounded were still groaning out their lives in
fearful agony. At five A.M. I was in the saddle, though, scarcely
able to mount, from the pain in knee and side; and in making my way
to General Beauregard's staff, my head reeled and my heart grew sick
at the scenes through which I passed. I record but one. In crossing
a small ravine, my horse hesitated to step over the stream, and I
glanced down to detect the cause. The slight rain during the night
had washed the leaves out of a narrow channel down the gully some
six inches wide, leaving the hard clay exposed. Down this pathway
ran sluggishly a band of blood nearly an inch thick, filling the
channel. For a minute I looked and reflected, how many human lives
are flowing past me, and who shall account for such butchery!
Striking my rowels into the horse to escape from the horrible sight,
he plunged his foot into the stream of blood, and threw the already
thickening mass in ropy folds upon the dead leaves on the bank! The
only relief to my feelings was the reflection that I had not shed
one drop of that blood.

I took my position on General B.'s staff at six o'clock in the
morning, and remained near him most of the day. The Federal forces
had already commenced the attack, and the tide of battle soon
turned. Grant's reinforcements had come up during the night, but
Beauregard's had not, and early in the day it became evident that we
were fighting against fearful odds. Beauregard sent forward 3000 of
his best troops, held as a reserve during the first day. They did
all that so small a number could do, but it was of no avail. Step by
step they drove us back, while every foot of ground was yielded only
after a determined resistance. The battle raged mainly on our left,
General Breckenridge's division doing but little fighting this day,
compared with the first day. General Grant seemed determined to
outflank our left, and occupy the road behind us, and as the
Confederates had not men enough to hold the camps they had taken,
and check this flank movement, retreat became necessary. About nine
A.M. I rode to General Beauregard for orders; when returning, I
heard the report that General Buell had been killed and his body
taken toward Corinth. This report that the Federal commander, as
many supposed Buell to be, was killed, and his body taken, revived
the flagging hopes of the Confederates. Of the fluctuations of the
battle from nine A.M. till three P.M. I can say but little, as it
was mainly confined to our center and left. During this time the
Rebel forces had fallen back to the position occupied by Grant's
advance Sabbath morning. The loyal troops had regained all the
ground lost, and whatever of artillery and stores the Rebels had
been unable to convey to the rear, and were now pressing us at every
point.

Just before the retreat, occurred one of the most remarkable
incidents of the battle; few more wonderful are on record. General
Hindman, than whom no more fearless, dashing, or brave man is found
in the Rebel service, was leading his men in a fearful struggle for
the possession of a favorable position, when a shell from the
Federal batteries, striking his horse in the breast and passing into
his body, exploded. The horse was blown to fragments, and the rider,
with his saddle, lifted some ten feet in the air. His staff did not
doubt that their general was killed, and some one cried out,
"General Hindman is blown to pieces." Scarcely was the cry uttered,
when Hindman sprang to his feet and shouted, "Shut up there, I am
worth two dead men yet. Get me another horse." To the amazement of
every one, he was but little bruised. His heavy and strong cavalry
saddle, and probably the bursting of the shell downward, saved him.
In a minute he was on a new horse and rallying his men for another
dash. A man of less flexible and steel-like frame would probably
have been so jarred and stunned by the shock as to be unable to
rise; he, though covered with blood and dust, kept his saddle during
the remainder of the day, and performed prodigies of valor. But no
heroism of officers or men could avail to stay the advance of the
Federal troops.

At three o'clock P.M. the Confederates decided on a retreat to
Corinth; and General Breckenridge, strengthened by three regiments
of cavalry,--Forrest's, Adams', and the Texas Rangers, raising his
effective force to 12,000 men,--received orders to protect the rear.
By four P.M. the Confederates were in full retreat. The main body of
the army passed silently and swiftly along the road toward Corinth,
our division bringing up the rear, determined to make a desperate
stand if pursued. At this time the Union forces might have closed in
upon our retreating columns and cut off Breckenridge's division,
and perhaps captured it. A Federal battery threw some shells, as a
feeler, across the road on which we were retreating, between our
division and the main body, but no reply was made to them, as this
would have betrayed our position. We passed on with little
opposition or loss, and by five o'clock had reached a point one and
a half miles nearer Corinth than the point of attack Sabbath
morning.

Up to this time the pursuit seemed feeble, and the Confederates were
surprised that the victorious Federals made no more of their
advantage. Nor is it yet understood why the pursuit was not pressed.
A rapid and persistent pursuit would have created a complete rout of
the now broken, weary, and dispirited Rebels. Two hours more of
such fighting as Buell's fresh men could have made, would have
demoralized and destroyed Beauregard's army. For some reason this
was not done, and night closed the battle.

About five o'clock I requested permission to ride on toward Corinth,
as I was faint and weary, and, from the pain in my side and knee,
would not be able to keep the saddle much longer. This was granted,
and I made a _detour_ from the road on which the army was
retreating, that I might travel faster and get ahead of the main
body. In this ride of twelve miles alongside of the routed army, I
saw more of human agony and woe than I trust I will ever again be
called on to witness. The retreating host wound along a narrow and
almost impassable road, extending some seven or eight miles in
length. Here was a long line of wagons loaded with wounded, piled in
like bags of grain, groaning and cursing, while the mules plunged on
in mud and water belly-deep, the water sometimes coming into the
wagons. Next came a straggling regiment of infantry pressing on past
the train of wagons, then a stretcher borne upon the shoulders of
four men, carrying a wounded officer, then soldiers staggering
along, with an arm broken and hanging down, or other fearful wounds
which were enough to destroy life. And to add to the horrors of the
scene, the elements of heaven marshaled their forces,--a fitting
accompaniment of the tempest of human desolation and passion which
was raging. A cold, drizzling rain commenced about nightfall, and
soon came harder and faster, then turned to pitiless blinding hail.
This storm raged with unrelenting violence for three hours. I passed
long wagon trains filled with wounded and dying soldiers, without
even a blanket to shield them from the driving sleet and hail, which
fell in stones as large as partridge eggs, until it lay on the
ground two inches deep.

Some three hundred men died during that awful retreat, and their
bodies were thrown out to make room for others who, although
wounded, had struggled on through the storm, hoping to find shelter,
rest, and medical care.

By eight o'clock at night I had passed the whole retreating column,
and was now in advance, hoping to reach Corinth, still four miles
ahead. But my powers of endurance, though remarkable, were
exhausted, and I dismounted at a deserted cabin by the wayside,
scarce able to drag myself to the doorway. Here a surgeon was
tending some wounded men who had been sent off the field at an early
hour of the first day. To his question, "Are you wounded?" I
replied that my wound was slight, and that I needed refreshment and
sleep more than surgical aid. Procuring two hard crackers and a cup
of rye Coffee, I made a better meal than I had eaten in three days,
and then lay down in a vacant room and slept.

When I awoke it was broad daylight, and the room was crowded full of
wounded and dying men, so thickly packed that I could hardly stir. I
was not in the same place where I had lain down; but of my change of
place, and of the dreadful scenes which had occurred during the
night, I had not the slightest knowledge.

As I became fully awake and sat up, the surgeon turned to me, and
said, "Well, you are alive at last. I thought nothing but an
earthquake would wake you. We have moved you about like a log, and
you never groaned or showed any signs of life. Men have trampled on
you, dying men have groaned all around you, and yet you slept as
soundly as a babe in its cradle. Where is your wound?"

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